Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Luna rotates more towards me. “Can I hold your hand?”
I glance from the road to her, seeing she’s exceptionally calm, and maybe I’m not tanking this moment. So I slide my right hand into hers and drive with my left.
She touches her fingertips to my fingertips. “I know you might think you’re not unique, but you do catch what I say better than most people. There’ve been plenty of times just in the past couple of months that I thought there’s no way you could hear me, but you did.”
I run my tongue over my molars, fighting the burn in my eyes.
“I don’t want to upset you—”
“It’s alright. It’s alright,” I breathe, swallowing hard. “Normally, I would love it. I’d love knowing I won’t miss a thing you’re saying. I’d love knowing I can hear you better than anyone else can. But what she said back there—she ruined it. ‘Cause now when I hear your whispered words—I just hear her. Saying the only reason I hear you is because of my childhood trauma. What’d she call it?”
“Hyper-independence. That you likely grew up in a state of extreme self-reliance and your unstable environment caused you to be on alert for threats…which is why you have super bionic ears.”
It bothers me about a hundred times less when Luna says it. She’s not that put off or acting like I’m now fissured down the middle, and I take a deeper breath. “Yeah…” I exhale another breath and clasp her hand.
It’s hard to deny that I’m hyper-independent. Especially when Farrow has mentioned our extreme independence being a detriment before.
I sigh out, “Let’s just forget she said it. Pretend I can only hear you this well ‘cause I have a superpower.”
“Is it so bad?” she whispers.
I hear her really clearly. “Is what?”
“Knowing the origin of how you can hear me so well.” She tries to turn more toward me but the seatbelt yanks at her body. “Lots of superheroes have powers from their environment, from trauma, from catastrophes. Spider-Man getting bit by a radioactive arachnid wasn’t exactly a sweet moment. It was painful, and it’s sad that it happened but it doesn’t make his powers any less amazing. Good came out of bad. Light out of dark.”
I’m choked up for a solid minute, and fuck, I wanna pull over and look at her, touch more of her than just her hand. It feels like she’s reaching straight into my heart and cradling it with force—like she sees it’s in one piece and won’t bleed out. I glance from the road, to her, the road, her, road, Luna. “Girl, you keep doing this to me,” I say in one breath.
“What?”
“Making me fall in love with you.” I’m still choked. Don’t know how I managed to say it at all, but I clear the ball out of my throat. “Don’t stop.”
Very softly, she says, “I never will.”
33
PAUL DONNELLY
I never will.
She’s said that to me before. It’s a common phrase, I know, but the first time she said it, we were in New York, too. Sometimes I feel like her memories are right there. Simmering. Slowly seeping out.
Might just be hopeful thinking on my part ‘cause I know how badly she wants to remember everything. And yeah, I want that for her just as bad.
While Luna stays back at the Cobalt brothers’ bachelor pad, discussing the Fizzle CEO race with Eliot, I hit the gym with Beckett. Only, we take an excruciatingly awkward elevator ride to the rec level on the fifteenth floor. I’d like to say I’m not the one making this shit uncomfy.
But it’s me.
And O’Malley.
That’s right—Beckett’s bodyguard has joined us. Dark-haired, pale Irish complexion, the lightest soul-sucking blue eyes, and the most punchable face you can imagine—that’s Chris O’Malley. That’s the shithead who told Luna he knows her better than I do.
I hate that he’s the same age as me.
I hate that he’s from a do-gooder, well-loved Irish-American family in South Philly.
I hate that the Catholic church adores the O’Malleys but spit on my parents.
I hate that on paper, he’s the inverse of me.
I hate that I hate everything about him. ‘Cause he shouldn’t be worth the amount of raging blood coursing through my veins.
At least he’s not here to lift weights as Beckett’s friend. He’s on-duty. The gym at the apartment complex is accessible to anyone with a key. He better be standing outside the gym and not in it. I really will walk out like a petty asshole if I have to curl a dumbbell and stare at his snide face.
I level my eyes on the descending numbers.
Beckett is between us, wearing joggers and a loose-fitted black muscle shirt. The two of us are holding water bottles, but we’re all sharing the suffocating tension. I sense Beckett glancing from O’Malley to me before he asks, “What’s the story here?”