Page 56 of Alphas Like Us

Charlie watches for a short beat before eyeing the door. “Seeing you struggle isn’t as entertaining as I thought it’dbe.”

“Thanks?” I chug what’s left of my water. A teeny tinysip.

Stairscreak.

Quickly, Charlie says, “I won’t be heartbroken if you don’t take my advice. It’s there for you to stupidly ignore if youwish.”

“Good talk,” I tell him dryly and pat his hard cast. This wasn’t a particular painful conversation.Progress?

But he also called me stupidtoday.

So,slowprogress.

Walrus skips across Charlie’s lap as my old door squeaks. Being pushed wider open, Beckett emerges and carries two rolled air mattresses that need inflating. My twenty-year-old cousin makes lugging hefty objects look beyondgraceful.

He practically glides into my room. Black cotton pants are tied low on his waist, and arm tattoos peek out of his Carraways bandtee.

“You look bad,” Beckett instantly tellsme.

“I feel great,” I say sarcastically. “How are you doing with the auction?” I learned from Jane that another of our grandmother’s socialite friends won Beckett, and even Charlie, who was bid on without beingpresent.

Beckett drops the air mattresses. “I deal with Grandmother Calloway’s crotchety friends at the ballet almost every week. I can fake nice for anight.”

“I can’t,” Charlieadmits.

Beckett passes his twin brother the fallen crutch, and Charlie hoists himself off my bed with both crutches. The mattress undulates without his weight, and a shrill pang stabs my shoulder and ribs. I shut my eyes tightly and clench my teeth. Breathing hard through mynose.

“He looks extraordinarilyawful.”

“The fuckingworst.”

Those aren’t the Cobalt brothers. I open one eye to see pajama-clad Jane and Sulli. Standing at the foot of my bed, they cradle pastel beanbags, pillows, and fuzzy blankets. Charlie and Beckett flank the girls. All four staring at me. Sympathetically. Charlie, more sopityingly.

I’ve had every teenager, every kid in the family, make me promise that I wouldn’t die on them. These four are the ones that see me less like Captain America and more like an imperfecthuman.

I need them in myworld.

I can admitthat.

“I’m alive,” I say with a sharpbreath.

“Sadly,” Charliequips.

“Charlie,” they allchastise.

A pretentiously coy grin plays at his lips. “Onlyjoking.”

Jane hones in on my bruises. “No wonder Farrow was so quiet,” she mutters, setting down the sleepover loot. I figure they all plan to crash in the attic. When we were kids, we’d pop out sleeping bags and air mattresses and spend the night at each other’shouses.

My brows knit. “Farrow wasquiet?”

“He spoke to me.” Beckett plugs in an airmattress.

“Only because you were being a fucking ass,” Sulli tells her best friend, and then she pats my foot consolingly, a turquoise blanket slipping from the heap sheholds.

“What’d you say to Farrow?” I ask Beckett, my shoulders constrict and thathurtslike a thousand pitchforks poking my bone. I wipe my perspiring forehead with the heel of mypalm.

“I thanked him for helping Ben, Winona, Charlie, and you in the crash, and then I said if he has anymore exes thatyoushould know about, you deserve fulltransparency.”