Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I tune out everyone and unlock my phone to a new text.
Harassment is a strong word. – Dad
My jaw muscle twitches. I text: What word would you use then? I send the message.
Maximoff hasn’t touched his food yet. “Bad news?”
“No news,” I say under my breath. “He’s being a vague asshole.” My attention drifts as Oscar pops a metal tin. “You seriously brought Audrey’s cookies here?” I didn’t even notice him carrying them.
“Yeah,” Oscar says. “We didn’t know if anything would be open, Redford. I was thinking ahead.”
My phone rattles on the table.
I would call it being proactive, productive, and professional. I shouldn’t be the primary care physician to your boyfriend. It’s a better role for you. Your talent shouldn’t be wasted. Do what you’re meant to do. – Dad
My nose flares. I grind my teeth, irritation crawling down my spine. I can’t discern whether he’s behind the Instagram account or the leak. He’s only referencing how he’s no longer Maximoff’s doctor. That incident alone sets me on an aggravated edge I rarely near.
I’m not replying back anytime soon. I pass my phone to Maximoff. Wanting to keep him in the loop. And I look across at Oscar, who eats a heart-shaped cookie whole.
“How’s the cookie, Oliveira?”
“Perfection.” He picks another one, and his eyes narrow at the icing. He goes very still, serious. More methodical.
Something’s not right.
I reach for the tin and sift through the cookies. Pink icing decorates half of them with two words: I’m sorry.
“I don’t understand it,” Oscar tells me. Neither do I.
“Did she get glasses?” I ask him. “Maybe she finally realized you’re not hot enough for special deliveries—”
He aggressively chucks a cookie at Maximoff, who catches it easily.
My brows arch at Oscar. “Fuck you,” I say and add a middle finger.
Oscar cracks a short-lived smile. He watches Maximoff inspect the I’m sorry cookie, then Jane sees them.
“I’ll call my sister.” Jane starts dialing a number, and Maximoff stares off in thought. The other end of the table is discussing the best barbecue they’ve ever had. I throw a wadded napkin at Akara.
He dodges. “Hey—”
“Catch.” I toss him a cookie.
“Fuck, are they moldy?” Sulli wonders, noticing us. “That’s the worst.”
“No, they’re not moldy,” Jane replies, phone to her ear.
Akara flashes the cookie to everyone.
Thatcher sets down a steak knife and zeroes in on Oscar. “Did you do something where she’d need to apologize?”
“No,” Oscar says seriously. “I don’t really talk to her. She sends me cookies, I eat them. That’s about it.”
Charlie scrapes his chair back, capturing everyone’s attention. “My little sister is fascinated with boys. But she crushes on ones she knows she can’t and will never have. Because she doesn’t actually want to see it through.” He stands and saunters over to Jane. “Audrey just likes the idea of love more than the reality.”
“Oui,” Jane agrees. “She borrowed all my Outlander novels a year ago, and I haven’t seen them since. She loves a good romance.”
“Fictional romance,” Beckett emphasizes, rising to join his brother and sister, and Jane stands too. I take note of those three, the Cobalts, on their feet together.
Admittedly, I may not be that partial to the Cobalts, but I can tell when they sense something’s “afoot” in their family. Standing upright, their unity carries a profound strength that clenches the air. They may as well have buckled their armor and sheathed their weapons.
If I sense this, then so does Maximoff. He stares at his cousins, then at the phone. Weight strains the restaurant.
“Everyone quiet,” Jane says as the line connects. She presses speakerphone. “Audrey, I know it’s late, but Oscar just opened your cookie tin. He’s next to me, and you’re on speaker. We just wanted to know if everything’s okay.”
I hear sniffling. On the verge of tears.
Maximoff edges closer to the table. “Are you home?”
“Yes, hi Moffy,” Audrey says softly. “I’m in my bedroom. I’ve grounded myself for eternity.” Her whimsical voice sounds like she’s starring in Little Women or Tuck Everlasting. “It’s what I deserve most of all. Who else is with you?”
“Everyone,” Jane says. “I can hand the phone over to Oscar if you’d like.”
“No, this is better.” She sighs morosely, then she sighs again, her voice quivering.
Donnelly winces, hating when the young kids cry. It’s not my favorite thing either. I spin a saltshaker and listen to the Cobalts.
“Audrey,” Charlie says. “What are you apologizing for?”
Her voice cracks. “I’m so sorry. I am.” More tears, this time a sob.
Beckett whispers to Jane, “Take it off speaker.”
Before Jane moves, Audrey blubbers, “I did it.”
My breath gives, and I must be too fixated on the stalker because my mind immediately goes there. It’s fucking irrational. Maximoff’s thirteen-year-old cousin isn’t creating death and murder images of him.
“Did what?” Jane asks, wide-eyed.
“I’m the one who shared the video,” she says in a tearful confession.