Page 98 of Wherever You Are

Maximoff lounges on a beanbag in the living room, munching on a bag of granola bites that belong to Ryke. They taste like dirt, but Moffy seems to like them.

Granola crumbs areeverywhere.His lap, the beanbag, the rug. And I planned to vacuum before Lily and Lo come home.

But I can’t move. I feel like a hundred million pounds, and on top of that, the sound, look, and smell of granola dirt has my stomach in a blender. I fight nausea and bear down on my teeth.

My phone buzzes, and I check the text.

Willow:Birthday plans tomorrow are lowkey, just dessert at Barnaby’s with Tess & Sheetal. Wanna Skype later? Let me know a good time for u

She doesn’t know I’m coming. But I’ll be there. Even if I have to crawl my way to London,I’ll be there.

Sheetal and Tess, I actually do like. They care about Willow, and they’ve given me a second chance to make a better first impression. Knowing how much I mean to Willow.

Salvatore is still a dick.

I stare at my phone, fingers hovering over the letters. I have to give her a little bit of a white lie, since it’s still a surprise that I’m flying there.

So I send a fewGilmore Girlsbirthday gifs that I made for her, all with Jess and Rory. And I text back:Definitely wanna talk on this big day. Skype me after dessert when u have time *birthday cake emoji*

I cough.

Bad idea. My stomach cramps like someone is wedging a knife into my gut. Fuck, what did I eat? I cringe as another text comes through.

Willow:not that big, only turning 22

I smile through the pain and text her:yeah and we’ll be the same age again. Big bold 22.

She texts back a bunch of hearts, and then the front door swings open. My duffel bag is already packed near the stairs, and honestly, I’m ready to go. I could be half-dead on the way to the airport, and I’d still find a way on the plane.

“He do okay?” Lo whispers as he drops keys in a bowl. Eyes pinpoint to his four-year-old.

Maximoff is out. Asleep with granola on his chest.

“He’s perfect. Like always,” I say. “Hey, I’m gonna head out.” I walk past him to grab my duffel.

He frowns. “You’re forgetting a shirt.” Before I can reply, he adds, “Christ, you look like shit. Garrison—”

“I’m fine,” I say, cutting him off and unzipping my bag. I dig through and find a T-shirt. “It’s just hot in here.” I pull it over my head and stand.

“No, it’s not.” Lo walks forward, about to reach for my forehead to take my temp. But he stops himself quickly. Quicker than I can flinch. “Please take your temperature. For me. Because I’m betting you’re at a hundred-and-one, at least, and it just hurts to look at you.”Awesome.

“I’m totally fine, man,” I say. “I think the turkey in my sandwich this afternoon might have been bad or something.” Pain starts jackhammering my stomach, and I suck in a tight breath. “It’ll pass.”

Lo grimaces. “You’d fly commercial with food poisoning just to see my sister? You’re about to spend eight-hours shitting on a cramped airplaneshitter.”

I don’t fucking care. “I’m going.” I try to pass, but he steps in front of me. “Lo—”

“Take my jet.” He makes a surprised face at himself. “Christ, I sound like Connor.”

“Rich and pretentious.”

Lo lets out a laugh, a real one. No sarcasm. “Yeah.”

“Why’s that funny?” I ask.

“Because I’ve always been rich.” Lo can tell that I don’t fully get it, and he’s not wasting time catching me up to speed. He just says, “If you’re going to shit yourself, do it in the comforts of aprivateplane.”

I actually laugh now, and the act hurts, pain radiating to my lower back.Fuuuck. I suck it down. “Sounds like a plan. See ya.”