Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Thatcher and Farrow already checked the garage and every vehicle. All clear , they said. We were mostly worried about Sulli’s Jeep, but it’s completely intact.
Nothing stolen or damaged there.
“Maybe it’s not the price tag they’re after, Janie,” Maximoff whispers back.
“They want something of sentimental value?” I wonder. “If that were the case, they would’ve taken Sulli’s Jeep.”
He steps over Toodles who sprawls sluggishly on an entire stair. “I bet it’d be harder to steal a car than things you can hold.”
Good points. “Yes, the risk does seem higher.”
His shoulders are squared, and once we reach the second-floor landing, I set Lady Macbeth down. Moffy and I work together to check Sulli and Luna’s room. We do a deep-dive and ensure everything is in place.
Including Sulli’s Olympic gold medals, climbing gear, framed family photos, and Luna’s laptop, Wampa cap, and sweatshirts. For the most part, their room appears entirely untouched.
We check my perpetually messy room next.
I find my pink buckled sandals stuffed in my closet where I last left them. Ones that my mom gifted me after the FanCon tour, and I let out a sigh of relief.
I have other keepsakes. Like a Siamese cat bobble-head that Moffy and I won at a fair, my diploma from Princeton, a stack of birthday cards tied with ribbon from all my siblings each and every year.
That and more are here. Undisturbed.
We exit.
Maximoff stares off in deeper thought.
“What is it, old chap?”
His powerful forest-green eyes rise to me. “We aren’t sure this was a burglary.”
It sickens me a little. To think that maybe someone entered with other motives in mind.
To hurt one of us?
To take pictures of themselves? On our beds? I shift my weight. “Right, and if it’s not a burglary then…perhaps they just wanted to tour our house.”
“Because there’s so much to see.” He motions towards the third-floor attic. “Let me show you my awesome dresser and my even more awesome bed where I rest my awesome head on an earth-shattering, revolutionary pillow .”
I nearly smile. “You sleep in that awesome bed with your future husband,” I remind him. “It’s what people care about.”
He nods, knowing this too, and then he goes rigid in sudden thought. “Jesus fucking Christ—if they raided our hampers and took Farrow’s underwear, someone is alligator bait, honest to God, Janie.”
I put my hands on his stiff shoulders. “Farrow won’t care. Just like you don’t care about your underwear being stolen. Just like I think that’s positively the least worst thing they could’ve taken.”
Dirty underwear.
Hair from our brushes.
Both are much better than anything meaningful to us.
He nods, exhaling a tense breath.
And as we climb the stairs to the attic, Maximoff says, “I keep thinking the timing of the break-in is bad with Sulli and Luna living here, but there is one good thing.” The stairs creak under our weight. “You’re on a sex hiatus, and Farrow and I don’t use condoms anymore. Which means no one could’ve stolen used condoms from the trash and taken sperm.”
Oh God.
Thatcher and I have protected sex.
He came in multiple condoms just last night, but I did check my trash bins. I even counted. I’m thorough.
None were taken.
More so, I am sweating at the thought of lying to my best friend right now. Who is so assured that I’m not having sex with anyone. Because he trusts that I would’ve told him.
I try to maintain total composure. “Good observation.” My heart is beating out of my chest.
He’s about to turn around and look at me, but Walrus and Carpenter scamper past our heels. Distracting him enough that the topic is dropped.
The lie sits heavy on top of my unease from the intruder, and I’m not sure staying quiet is the right thing to do.
But tonight is hard enough on us. I’m not going to make it harder.
* * *
The police just left, and the four of us stand tensely in the living room. I warm my hands around a mug of coffee.
Suspect: one male, identity unconfirmed.
He broke the kitchen window and crawled inside the house. He concealed his face with a baseball cap, and so his age and features are nondescript.
Apparently, he paid some teenagers to distract the security guards on-duty, so the police are tracking down the kids for a better suspect description. Plus, any footage paparazzi may’ve inadvertently caught.
The intruder was in the townhouse for about ten minutes. Our cameras showed him running away. Right before security entered.
Thatcher switches a knob on his radio. “We need to talk about this house.” He looks at me with grave concern, then to Moffy.
Strangely enough, Farrow is beside Thatcher . Radios and guns holstered on their waistbands, earpieces likely still humming with chatter.
Both twenty-eight-year-old men are facing Maximoff and me. Like we’re young and in need of guidance in this decision. I suppose this is a security issue and they are our bodyguards—but they’re more, too.