Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
So I wait and listen.
“He’s a beautiful dancer,” Charlie says, clearing his throat, almost choked. “One of the best in the world, and it won’t take words from me or anyone else to convince him to stop. Not even you.”
It slices me open for a second.
He winces. “And now that you know this, there’s a sick part of me that loves that you’ll be hurting with me.” His chin almost quakes, and he drops his head, dragging his gaze across the cement.
Then he ambles forward.
“Charlie, wait.” I’ll hurt with him if that’s what he needs. I’ll share in his pain. I’ll do anything for him…I know that’s partly the problem. Heroism.
He stops. Looks up at me.
“We’re doing this together?” I ask. “Don’t leave me behind.”
Charlie takes a breath and nods. “I understand watching your siblings make a mistake and not having the ability to shake them. And all you can do is search for a solution. Any solution.”
Everything clicks. “The auction,” I realize.
He slips the sunglasses back on and pulls at his hair. “I convinced Beckett to do the auction because I knew he’d have to take leave from ballet again. He missed Swan Lake, and he won’t return until rehearsals for Cinderella begin. He’s clean for now.”
That’s good. “Who knows?” I wonder.
“Me, Oscar, and Donnelly,” Charlie says. “Now you, and I’m assuming Jane and Farrow won’t be far behind. But don’t let it go further than them.”
“I won’t.” I’m surprised that Charlie’s bodyguard knew. If I remember correctly, Farrow told me that Oscar didn’t know anything. Since Farrow never lies to me, I’m assuming that Oscar lied to Farrow.
Charlie supports himself on his crutches. “So now can we do this my way?”
I fight every instinct in me that says to hold on to the figurative wheel, but I nod once and relinquish control.
We ring the doorbell on the stone stoop of a stucco mansion, a welcome mat beneath our feet. Hanging ferns flank the wide front door, and Charlie leans most of his weight on one crutch.
We wait.
A few tense seconds pass before the wooden door swings open. I prepared to meet Easton’s mom or dad or maybe even a sibling—it seemed more plausible—but the face staring back at me can’t be older than sixteen.
First impressions: messy chocolate hair, long aquiline nose, pale sheet-white skin and pinpointed hazel eyes. A navy blue Dalton Academy honor society shirt hangs on his lanky frame. Definitely not built like a jock, and for some reason, I thought he’d be buffer. Older.
He just seems young to me. Really young.
I don’t know what it is with me and kids around my sibling’s age, but it fucking gets to me. Like there’s a part of me that just wants to protect this boy. And I don’t know him—but I do know he’s a wrench in my brother’s life and I know Xander is partly to blame—but I also see a human being in front of me.
I never forget that. I can’t.
“Are you Easton Mulligan?” I ask, ready to solve this crisis with Charlie.
“Yeah…” he says slowly and looks from me to my cousin. “And you’re Maximoff Hale and Charlie Cobalt.” He hangs onto his door. “Um…so Xander didn’t say anything about you two coming over.” He hones in on Charlie’s cast.
Even with a broken leg and bent on a crutch, Charlie evokes supreme confidence. His take-no-shit demeanor intimidates the kid so much that he tries to look at me for comfort.
I’m not that soft either, but I think I’m empathetic enough that his uncertain eyes linger on me.
“We’ll make this quick,” Charlie tells him. “We’re here because you’re getting pills from Xander Hale.”
Easton frowns. “How do you—”
I raise my phone, already on the text that I screen-shotted from Ben’s phone. “You’ve been bragging about it.”
“Shit…” Easton curses again. His widened eyes flit between us.
“Here’s what’ll happen,” Charlie says, sharpness to his voice. He hands me the crutch that he’s not using.
Don’t ask me what he’s up to. I don’t know. I’m on edge, holding my breath.
Charlie slips out a piece of paper and passes it to Easton. “This is a phone number to a doctor in Philadelphia. He’ll prescribe whatever you want. Just give him a call, let him know who you are, and you can get your pills legally.”
What the fuck.
Easton frowns and reads the paper. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because you’re going to stop taking Xander’s pills,” Charlie says.
Easton shakes his head. “I’m not—I mean, I am, but…” He looks to me. “You do know that Xander gets refills about a month before he’s even out. For me.”
I don’t move or flinch or react. I didn’t know.
The boy glances back into his house, then comes forward and shuts the door behind him. Fully on the front porch. He speaks more to me than to Charlie. “My parents aren’t as nice as yours…I tell my mom I’m not doing well, and she tells me it’s summer allergies.” He shakes his head. “Dude, I would never take pills Xander needed. That’d be…that’s fucked up.”