Page 44 of Sinful Like Us

One who put toothpaste and shaving cream on our dad’s pillow, thinking he wouldn’t notice. (He did.) One who was so afraid ofJurassic Parkas a child, he crawled into my bed for the whole month of July.

Tom swings his head to Eliot with a laugh. “You think it’s us?” He means the dead quiet.

Eliot grins. “If it’s not, I’d be offended.” He unbuttons his expensive pea coat. If the God of War and hedonistic Dionysus birthed a child, they’d spit out my nineteen-year-old brother.

It’s best not to confront Eliot and Tom. They’ll joke around the truth like they’re batting an inflatable ball over my head, and I need answers.

So I do the sensible thing and approach Ben. “Pippy.” I use his nickname.

My sixteen-year-old brother lingers near a dirtied high-top table. He offers me a warm smile while he takes off his Dalton Academy beanie and unzips his letterman jacket, one for ice hockey. He’s grown into his height, and at six-five, he stands like a confident athlete.

I touch his arm. “Que se passe-t-il?”What’s going on?

He winces a little. “Demande à Charlie.”Ask Charlie.

I frown. “What’d he put you up to?”

“Nothing. I want to be here,” Ben says strongly. “It’s important.” I wonder why our sister isn’t with them, but it’s a question for later.

My voice is soft as I ask, “Then why do you look pained?”

“Parce que. Je ne pense que cela te plaira beaucoup.”Because. I don’t think you’ll enjoy this very much.

My stomach drops out of my butt.

I glance over at Beckett. He leans calmly on the bar and eats a carton of Wendy’s fries. Tonight is a rare night where he doesn’t have a ballet performance, and I bet that’s why they chose today.

So he could be here.

His lips are noticeably downturned and face sullen. He locks eyes with Donnelly, his former bodyguard.

I mutter under my breath, “It’s like a break-up.”

More than just me notices their silent, uncomfortable exchange. With an equally morose expression, Donnelly stuffs his cheesecake in a plastic bag and waves goodbye to Farrow and Oscar before he leaves the bar altogether.

Beckett is a heartbreaker,I’ve come to realize.

“Which mailman lost my invite this time?” Charlie asks dryly.

I locate him, just as he stands up on the bar with unkempt sandy-brown hair and mysteries behind yellow-green eyes. He has no coat, just an askew white button-down that sticks halfway out of black slacks.

The media talks about how we, Cobalts, are intelligent and witty. Poised and confident. But very few mention how deeply wefeel.

How Eliot can summon tears out of cold-hearted eyes. How Beckett can make your awed gasp feel like the last breath you’ll take. How Ben can harness your empathy so you do the right thing. How Tom can wake the dead things buried inside you. How Audrey can bottle love andromancelike it’s life’s greatest necessity.

And Charlie—everyone thinks he has no soul but his is just the darkest, deepest of them all.

I sidle to the bar. “It was housemates only, but if I’d known you were in town, I would’ve invited you all.”

“Where’s Luna?” Eliot asks.

Tom looks mildly worried at the lack of Luna.

I frown. “I thought she’d be with you,” I say honestly, and I look to Maximoff. He puts his phone to his ear and heads further back into the bar. Farrow follows. I trust that Luna’s older brother will find her.

I look up at Charlie. “Are you here to drink and watch a wrestling match?”

A coy smile inches up his lips. “You know I’m not.” He leans slightly on his cane. He hasn’t needed one in a while, but the cold weather has stiffened his healing leg, which he had surgery on back in May after the car crash.