Fearless Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  The Star Wars movie marathon isn’t enough to distract my cravings, and I already gave Luna her 20th birthday present: a new beaded friendship bracelet and a nonfiction book about life in the universe.

  “Thanks, Sulli.” We fist-bumped and then hugged. All seemed to be going okay. Except, now I’m a beanbag behind Luna, Moffy, and Jane, and I catch Luna passing her brother a note.

  My ribcage tightens. They’re not leaving you out, Sulli.

  The insecurity rises tenfold as Maximoff unfurls the notes and reads, angling his body away from me.

  Fuck.

  Why would Luna pass a note? Couldn’t she just talk to Moffy? What if she’s deliberately trying to keep something from me?

  I sink even further down my beanbag. Sufficiently no longer interested in the alien cupcake, I set the baked good aside.

  Glancing to my left and right, I expect to see Banks or Akara. To seek shelter in the fact that they’re with me and they leave me out of nothing. But most of SFO are in the library, currently in a security meeting.

  So it’s just me, Luna, Jane, Moffy, and Moffy’s son. Baby Ripley is curled up on a beanbag with Arkham, the furry brown Newfoundland puppy. Luna’s black-furred Newfie has been chasing a calico cat around the pinball machines.

  And then Luna’s best buds, Tom and Eliot are en route to join the movie marathon, driving from New York, and Luna already had a birthday dinner with her family at the Hale house.

  Moffy stretches further over and whispers to Luna.

  She nods.

  I cage breath as Moffy passes the note to Jane.

  They are leaving me out. I’m the only other one in the fucking room. Hurt courses through me for a full minute, just watching Jane peer at the note, and once she’s done, she nods with certainty to Luna. And then…

  And then she passes the note to me.

  Shock parts my lips, and Jane waves the note because I’m too frozen to take it right away. Unfreezing, I retrieve the note and feel Moffy, Luna, and Jane eyeing me. They even scoot a little closer, and I’m totally fucking confused until I stare at Luna’s handwriting in neon gel pen.

  In case the penthouse IS bugged, can we make a pact tonight? No one talks about my hookup with Donnelly out loud in the penthouse. My dad will kill him. My one birthday wish is for him to stay alive & not get fired.

  I relax, understanding why the secrecy with the note. We’re in the penthouse right now, and she can’t say any of this out loud.

  I nod to Luna and mouth, I fucking promise.

  She begins to smile, then puts a hand in the middle of our circle. Her big brother puts his on top of hers, then me, and finally, Jane.

  We explode our hands up.

  Knock knock.

  “No,” Luna and I moan in pain at the fucking leaks. We’re so over these incoming tidal waves.

  Moffy has the same knock knock alert on his phone as SFO, and he opens up the website before I can even grab my cell.

  His cheekbones sharpen. “Luna, wait—”

  She’s already looking, and I peer over her shoulder to read.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Luna Hale writes tentacle porn.

  #TodaysLeaks #omg! #scandalous

  “Oh my God,” Jane breathes, wide-eyed.

  “That fucking mole,” I mutter. “On her birthday of all days. It’s fucking cruel.”

  “Oui,” Jane nods.

  If the penthouse is bugged, I hope they’ve heard how much I’ve cursed them to Satan’s anus.

  “Luna?” Moffy says a little softer, his hand on her shoulder.

  Luna is superglued to the screen. “You think Mom and Dad will be freaked out?” She looks up at her big brother.

  “I think they’re going to ask questions, but what you write isn’t wrong, Luna. They’ll understand that.”

  “The world won’t,” she mutters. “They’ll just keep saying I’m a sex addict like Mom.” She shrugs. “People suck, though. What’s new?” Luna is jaded towards bad things happening.

  I wish we could instill more birthday magic. My mom has a staple theory above most theories.

  Cake fixes everything.

  “Cupcake?” I ask Luna, holding my uneaten one out to her.

  “Thanks, Sulli.” She licks off the icing.

  The door swings open. SFO come swooping back into the game room. Concern lines their faces, knowing exactly what just leaked. Everyone falls silent as they trickle inside.

  Chewbacca’s Wookie noise pitches the air from the TV, and Luna mimics it almost perfectly. She adds a couple R2D2 beeps in at the end. It doesn’t do much to quell the tension in the room. As soon as she’s done, silence befalls for an awkward beat.

  Akara cuts it and tells Luna, “Hey, I’m sorry this happened, Luna. I promise we’re working on it.”

  “I know.” She shrugs, then wobbles to her feet. To everyone, she asks, “Thumbs-up if you want a Jell-O shot. Jane made them.”

  My thumb goes up, along with Banks and several others. Akara must have business calls or something because he keeps his hand down.

  Luna pockets the note about Donnelly, and the tattooed, chestnut-haired bodyguard keeps his thumb up for Luna. Close to each other, he uses his thumb to pick an eyelash off her cheek. “Make a wish.”

  “You make it. I’m not as lucky.”

  35

  AKARA KITSUWON

  “She rejected Akara Kitsuwon in front of an entire football stadium of people, not to mention everyone watching in sports bars and at home, Cathy.”

  “We have to give Sullivan Meadows some leeway here. She’s shy in public, and the pressure couldn’t have been easy to handle. Like you said, Jackie, she had millions of eyes on her.”

  “Come on, you saw her look over at Banks Moretti.”

  “She denied him too. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I pull my AirPods out, done listening to a segment of 97.2 The Fix. Sulli texted me the radio clip with sad face emojis and I didn’t mean to reject anyone. I’m sorry, Kits.

  With a pang in my chest, I quickly text Sulli back: you don’t have to apologize. I didn’t expect you to kiss me, Sul. It was an impossible situation. And the Kiss cam shit will die down soon. It’s only been 10 days.

  She’s put a lot of pressure on herself to be fair and equal to me and Banks, and she’s better at it than she even realizes.

  Sulli also isn’t a dig-for-audio-clips kind of client. Apparently, the girl squad overheard the radio station, and Winona sent Sulli the video, asking what she should tell Kinney, Audrey, and Vada.

  Speculation has been swirling among the teenagers and the Cobalt brothers. They’ve been left out. Until today, when Banks, Sulli, and I gave the go ahead for certain family members to tell others. Before they start taking sides, it’s better they know that Sulli is with me and Banks.

  Winona told the girl squad.

  Beckett told his brothers.

  And Maximoff told Xander.

  We didn’t need to give Sulli’s parents the go ahead to tell Rose, Connor, Lily, and Loren. They had already told them, and mostly, I’m unsurprised. Ryke has been pissy and moody, and I’m sure Loren Hale asked his brother, what’s wrong with you, bro?

  I can only imagine his response.

  My daughter is dating two fucking bodyguards, that’s what’s fucking wrong.

  Phone buzzing in my palm, Sulli texts back a fist-bump emoji.

  I’m slugging you virtually for cursing virtually – Sulli

  I did curse in text, didn’t I?

  I smile a little, but just in case she’s still letting the situation dig under her skin, I send my girlfriend about four dorky emojis. Kiss face, tongue sticking out face, an eggplant, then an okay hand.

  She texts the water emoji, signaling wetness.

  My lips keep rising, and I want nothing more than to just keep texting Sulli. To forget about all
the troubles that pile on and on my plate. Today, I’m currently digging through the main course with my men.

  And I’ve just dipped out on them—for a brief second. I just had to text her back and listen to the radio clip in private.

  I’m in a bathroom inside a swanky Philadelphia clothier, specialized in suit and tux fittings with on-site tailors. Salt scrub is in a dish next to the marble sinks, and if Banks comes in here, he’d be grunting at the pretentiousness of it all while using the salt scrub.

  As I rotate to head back to the guys, the door opens, and my chest rises, half-expecting, half-hoping to see Banks walk through.

  Instead, his twin brother comes in.

  Thatcher barely acknowledges my existence. He’s my best friend. And our friendship has already gone through the ringer once and come out bruised but whole. Now, it feels different.

  Like I’m losing him completely.

  Like there’s no way back.

  There’s always a way back, Nine.

  My eyes burn. I don’t know if that’s true. He’s drifting closer to Farrow, and I’m drifting closer to Banks, and maybe there’s no avenue where we rebuild the bridge that I burned between us.

  Before Thatcher reaches a urinal, I call out, “You want to talk about this?”

  Craning his neck over his shoulder, he looks back at me. “You already know how I feel.”

  I massage my hands, breath tight in my lungs. “I’m not trying to hurt your brother. I love Banks.”

  Thatcher turns slightly, expression incensed, pained, protective. “If you loved him at all, you wouldn’t do this to him.”

  It’s a gut punch.

  I nearly stagger back. Hearing those same words that I heard from Ryke now come from Thatcher—it almost kills my resolve.

  I shake my head tensely. “Sulli loves Banks more than you understand—”

  “She’ll never love him like she loves you, and you know it,” he interjects with heat.

  “Why?” I glower, my chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “My history with Sulli doesn’t change the fact that she needs him. This doesn’t work without Banks.”

  Thatcher is disbelieving. “You’re saying you and Sulli can’t be together without him? You’re saying down the line, when things get messy, you won’t realize it’s easier with just you and her?”

  “I don’t give a crap about what’s easy.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You won’t have it that hard. You’re the fan favorite, Akara. And my brother…” His eyes redden with emotion. He jabs a finger towards my chest. “…my brother deserves more than coming second to you, to me.” He pushes his finger to his own chest, then motions around the bathroom. “And to anyone in this fucked world.”

  I nod, eyes stinging. “We agree on that.”

  “But you won’t do a damned thing about it. That’s how I know you don’t love him.” With that finality, he turns his back on me.

  His words eviscerate me. Like a blade in the chest, I’m exiting the bathroom wounded, and I do my best to pretend like I’m peachy.

  Not bleeding out at all. With a deep breath, I get my crap together. I have a meeting to lead and a tux fitting scheduled for every bodyguard.

  Back in a private fitting room, racks of designer suits hang in wooden cubbies. Wreaths hang on the store’s windows, and outside, snow flurries catch in the breeze.

  December has arrived. Classic Christmas tunes are even playing softly in the background.

  Warm inside—Banks, Quinn, Donnelly, and Farrow lounge on leather furniture while Oscar is on a circular platform facing mirrors. A tailor wraps a tape measure around his bicep.

  “He’s giving it that extra flex,” Donnelly jokes.

  “I don’t need to give it an extra anything, Donnelly,” Oscar says, “I’m just this hot.” He flips curly pieces of his hair with a head-jerk. “Tens across the board.”

  “Keep talking to the mirror, Oliveira,” Farrow calls out, “it still doesn’t like you back.”

  Donnelly laughs.

  Oscar smiles, “Aw, fuck you, Redford.”

  Farrow’s smile stretches.

  Glad that the Yale boys are having a grand ole time. Seriously, I am. I like when Omega isn’t being torn apart with in-fighting. In the past, the biggest rift came from the Oliveira brothers. Now they’re closer than ever.

  The only giant sore spot is me and Thatcher.

  But it won’t change our team and trust. All seven of us together have always been less dysfunctional than we are functional. We work better than just okay together. Of all the bodyguards I’ve stood beside in the past, this collection of men is the best.

  I never hesitated or second-guessed going to bat for them during our days in Triple Shield. I wouldn’t hesitate or second-guess now.

  Standing up front near the tailor, I tell everyone, “Once Thatcher is back, we’ll need to go over a potential new shakeup, guys.” I sober the room, but I have to return to business. We’re no closer to finding out the mole than we are discovering life on Pluto, but we still have housekeeping issues.

  Baby needs a bodyguard.

  Banks bobs his head, but his brows pinch at me like, you alright?

  I nod to him. Still, my chest is tight.

  I snap my finger to my palm, and I gesture to Farrow. “Is Maximoff excited about the Winter Festival?” It’ll be the first charity event he’s hosting as CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies again.

  “More or less,” Farrow says with the tilt of his head. He starts to smile. “It’s a big deal for him, and if we could all just try not to fuck that up, that’d be great.”

  “He’s looking at you, Donnelly,” Oscar quips.

  “Coulda sworn he was staring at Quinnie.”

  “Me?” Quinn smiles. “I’m the least likely to instigate drama.”

  “Careful what you say, bro.” Oscar says, “Drama’s gonna come bite your ass.”

  Farrow lifts his brows at Quinn. “Didn’t you fight your brother at the Charity Golf Tournament?”

  His face drops. “Alright, I take it back.”

  Donnelly laughs, and I loosely cross my arms. Waiting on you, Thatcher. The tailor starts to measure the length of Oscar’s leg, and another consultant approaches me.

  “Mr. Kitsuwon, you want to go with the Brioni collection for all of them?”

  “Yes. Same color.”

  “Black?”

  I nod, and I hand him my credit card. “Take care of it now, discreetly.”

  Tickets to the Winter Festival sold out in five-minutes, but to reinforce security, the ticket holders are wealthy patrons. Not just the average Joe off the street. Socialites. So Price Kepler informed me that his men will be arriving in tailored Tom Ford suits.

  Some of my guys have been wearing the same Hugo Boss suit for over six years. Dirty, holes in the knees, and scuff marks on the legs—I can’t let SFO arrive looking less than Triple Shield.

  Not with well-to-do gossipmongers there.

  I have a brand to maintain.

  So I sold my streetfighter bike last night. Banks was pissed, especially since it barely covers half the cost of the designer suits. I’m charging the rest.

  “Of course, Mr. Kitsuwon.” The consultant leaves for the register outside the fitting room.

  I breathe in and eye the suits in the wooden cubbies.

  My gaze softens, remembering my dad.

  He’d bring me to his personal tailor, and I’d watch him stand poised in Cesare Attolini, Oxxford, Brioni, and other high-end suit brands. He taught me about the super number of wool, peaked lapels vs notched, and the classic choice of a two-button jacket.

  SFO couldn’t care less about those details. They’re just happy to have a day to unwind with the entire team. Temps guard their clients, and my mic is loose on my collar in case I’m needed.

  “The lil elf knows I’d never ditch him,” Donnelly says about his client. “We’re buds—”

  I give him a look. He’s not supposed to get too cl
ose to Xander.

  “But not buddies,” Donnelly says quickly, seeing me. “We’re just normal bodyguard and client. No cap.”

  Quinn frowns. “No cap?”

  “Means no lie, bro,” Oscar explains.

  I reply to a few emails while I wait for Thatcher. Partially listening as the conversation changes among SFO.

  “The leaks have to be coming from someone in the family, right?” Quinn asks, unscrewing a cap to a water bottle. “I mean, Audrey was responsible for leaking the Hot Santa Video. Anyone talk to her?”

  Oscar has his arms out as the tailor (who signed an NDA) takes wingspan measurements. “How would Audrey Cobalt know half the shit on that website, little bro?”

  Quinn shrugs. “Maybe she’s butt-dialing Jane and listening in on accident.”

  “That’s not happening,” Thatcher suddenly says, coming into the room. Will he look at me as he goes to sit beside his brother?

  That’d be a big overwhelming nope.

  Awesome.

  “Okay, guys,” I begin, wanting to take my mind off Thatcher and Banks and Sulli. Best way to do that is work. I open my mouth, and—

  Knock knock.

  We tense as all seven of our phones sound off.

  “Who’s there?” Oscar jokes.

  “Howie,” Donnelly replies.

  “Howie who?”

  “Howie gonna catch this dick?”

  Oscar takes out his phone. “Throw them big dick bait. Redford attracts big dick energy.”

  “He is big dick energy,” Donnelly says.

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “Oh my God, shut the fuck up,” Farrow says while he’s trying to read the post.

  I try to focus on the website, but something Oscar said is flicking on a light bulb. But not the part about Farrow and big dicks.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.