Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Our child?
Are we allowed to call him ours…? I don’t know, but Christ, a strong feeling burrows into my body.
Luna sits across from Farrow and slurps an energy drink as she says, “We may be waiting for a solid century then. Buckle up for the hunger.”
Xander groans and reopens the drawer. My brother is fast, grabbing a spoon.
I head back. “Summers—”
“One bite.” Xander tries to lean for the bowl, but I block him. “Come on, Moffy. It smells so good. Take it as a compliment.”
I glance to Farrow. Conflicted on what I should do. Ripley is more content in his hands, sucking on the bottle that Farrow props to his lips.
“We could start dinner,” Farrow suggests. “I don’t think Lily would mind if she misses a few minutes.”
“Yes, thank you.” Xander waves a hand at my fiancé. “Moffy, you should always listen to Farrow.”
I narrow my eyes at my little brother. “Let’s not go that far.”
Farrow’s smile spreads gradually and enormously. Reaching cheek-to-cheek.
Iconic.
To be clear, that’s not my assessment. Iconic is what the media and fans have been calling his know-it-all smile.
In my brain, that smile is more iconic for aggravating me.
“Take the food to the table,” I tell Xander. “And for Christ’s sake, don’t eat it on the way.”
Walking to the door, he mumbles something about 3/4ths Loren Hale. Sometimes I am like my dad, and that notion usually warms me. But right now, any mention of him reminds me that he’s not here. My muscles constrict.
I’m more rigid than five minutes ago.
Ripley locks eyes with me and pries his mouth off the bottle. He blubbers like he wants to say, come hold me. He squirms against Farrow’s chest, reaching out for me.
I stay still.
My heart clenches. I don’t fully get why he’s still so attached to me over everyone. And especially over Farrow.
Between the two of us, I’m stiff. Unbending. Not that comfortable to embrace. Whereas Farrow exudes the kind of serenity you want to crawl into. His hands are strong but so careful, wielding power with responsibility and extreme care.
“You don’t want me, Rip,” I tell him and then gesture to Farrow. “He’s the one with all the nutrients you need to grow big and strong.”
Ripley scrunches his nose like I spoke a bad word. He makes a face at Farrow like, explain this nonsense to me. He even babbles a confused noise.
We all laugh.
Farrow tilts the bottle towards the baby, and Ripley takes the bait, drinking more.
Luna glances between us. “So you’re going to tell the public about him?”
The media hasn’t asked questions about Ripley because no one knows he exists. But that’s going to change. Soon.
“We’re not going to hide him,” I tell my sister.
I can’t imagine a universe where we keep this baby a secret. Yeah, the media will hound him. But if Farrow and I are going to be raising Ripley for a while, this unconventional life is all he’ll know. And he’ll have to get used to it. Like I did.
Like Luna did.
Like all my siblings and cousins did.
We made it through alright, and so can he.
“The world gets the truth,” Farrow says. “Or part of it.”
For privacy reasons, we plan on not mentioning the birth parents or Donnelly’s involvement. Basics—they get basics, and that has to be enough.
Luna leans closer to the baby. “Don’t worry, Ripley. Take it from your Auntie Luna, most of the things people say online are just garbage. You only need to listen to this right here.” She puts a finger to his heart.
Farrow and I share a look.
Not that long ago, I had a serious talk with Luna, and I told Farrow about it.
Luna and I—we were in her teenage bedroom, which is one of the coolest places in the house. Hands down. It’s like being transported into space. Rotating light boxes cast stars and planets on the glitter-green walls, and shimmery fabrics hang from the ceiling.
We sat on a fuzzy rug against the wood bedframe, her laptop half-opened with an in-progress fanfic. She yanked at the strings of her Thrashers hoodie. “It’s not like I hadn’t heard it before.”
She meant people calling her a sex addict.
My jaw hardened. And I nodded, neck stiff. I remembered all the hecklers who tried to incite me by calling my sister a sex addict. “Bet she puts out twice as much as your mom. Is she a little sex addict too?”
Memories still burned in my eyes and skull.
They would provoke, and I’d launch a fist in their face.
I’m not proud of that.
But she’s my sister. I’m her big brother, and if anyone comes for her with ill-intent, they have to get through me.
“This doesn’t feel different to you?” I asked since the rumors are in tabloids and posted online. On a much larger scale than usual.
Luna stared faraway. “People suck. They always suck. I just…I kind of hate that I can’t kiss whoever I want at a club without starting rumors.” She looked up at me. “Paparazzi have always pressured us to talk about sex. You get it worse now that you’re with Farrow. Just yesterday, a camera guy asked me whether I thought you were a top or bottom.”