“You what?” I still can’t believe what Farrow just said.

We’re on one of the sleek couches that surround the glowing pool. Stars shine in the pitch black night, lanterns on the main deck illuminating the yacht. My siblings and cousins are spread out: some reading on chairs, others soaking in the hot tub. Upstairs in the sky lounge, all of our parents are having a “meeting” to discuss Grandmother Calloway’s abrupt departure.

Out of all my siblings and cousins, I have the least contact with our grandmother. That’s my mom’s doing. I understand why, and I love her for protecting me. But I wish I could protect her from hurt. From that pain.

My dad would tell me that it’s not my job. Still, I want the superpower to erase everything my grandmother said. Banish the words from fucking existence.

Maybe that should’ve been my birthday wish. Guess I still have time since it’s not midnight.

July 13^th isn’t over yet.

Despite some bad parts, there is so much good here. And I hang onto every damn piece. Especially the small moments in between.

Like now.

Farrow is slouched against me on the couch, most of his weight anchored off my chest. He’s mindful of my injury but not to the point where it’d frustrate me. His amusement fucking mushrooms. Like he just beat me at some sort of listening competition.

“I heard you,” I refute while I try to raise my right arm vertically. In a stretch. But I still can’t reach all the way up without intense stress on the muscle. “I just need you to say it again so it can sink in.”

He slowly chews mint gum. “I wrote him a letter, wolf scout. You know: paper, pen. The Cobalt way.”

“I got that,” I say. “But why?”

The second we sank down onto the couch together, Farrow admitted that he gave Beckett a letter, but I have no fucking idea the reasons or the contents.

Farrow sits up straighter. Turning more towards me, his inked hand slides along my thigh.

Christ, I like that.

He smiles knowingly. “Because Beckett is the family member who keeps questioning my intentions with you, and normally I’d just say fuck him and move on. But our relationship should bring you closer to your family, not farther away. So I gently explained some things in a manner I thought a Cobalt would appreciate.”

Wow.

He did that.

I breathe in, my chest expanding with something powerful. “Thank you,” I say seriously, lifting my arm at a forty-five degree angle. I glance at his mouth.

His know-it-all smile has returned. “You want me to kiss you?”

“Or maybe I just want to fuck you,” I combat.

He shifts, his gaze falling down me. “If you want to fuck me, you can fuck me later.”

My blood heats. Goddamn. I can never tell if I love or hate flirting. The impatient parts of my brain loathe it, but the rest of me would gladly do this for millenniums with him.

“I said maybe,” I retort.

“I said if,” he says. “Man, your listening skills are worsening.”

I give him a middle finger while my arm ascends to a sixty-degree angle. “Where’s your copy of this fucking letter?”

Now he’s really laughing. “You think I made a copy for you to read?”

“Not for me. Just in general,” I lie.

Yeah, okay, I thought he would’ve made an extra one for me.

Farrow lifts his foot to the couch, balancing his arm on his bent knee. We’ve dried off from a night swim earlier, but he’s still in black bathing suit trunks, and my form-fitting green suit is a boxer-brief cut.

He smiles at me and says, “There’s only one. If you want to read it, you’re going to have to get it from Beckett.”

Janie bounds over to us in a peach tankini, wavy hair knotted in a high bun. “Are we talking about the letter?” she asks, overhearing the end of our conversation. She cups a steaming mug and gracefully plops down on the ottoman, ankles crossed. “Moffy, it was truly beautiful.”

I frown. “You’ve read it?”

“Oui,” she says like it’s nothing.

My desire to find this letter has now escalated to a million.

A buzzing phone slices into our conversation. Farrow finds his vibrating cell on the cushion. I catch the Caller ID on the illuminated screen: Oscar Oliveira.

Farrow clutches the phone without answering. For a long moment. Wavering on picking up the call.

Security is on a separate smaller yacht that cruises in line with ours. And not all of our bodyguards are there. Some stayed back on land in Mykonos. Others take care of our properties in Philly.

But all of SFO are on that yacht, and it’s one short boat ride on the rib to board it.

Farrow hasn’t gone over there once. It’s different now that he’s a concierge doctor and not at Philly General all day. He’s confronted face-to-face with his old life on security a hundred times more.

And he has no radio for that quick hotline into SFO, and he’ll tell you that he didn’t lose anything that really mattered because he has me.

But in reality, he’s lost that part of his life, and I’m not sure he’ll ever get it back.

It hurts thinking about it, and luckily, his ringing phone breaks apart my thoughts.

“You going to answer that?” I ask.

He keeps his forearm on his knee and flips his phone in his hand a few times. “He’s most likely just inviting me to security’s boat.” He makes a choice though and presses speaker. Answering the call.

Music blasts in the background. “Redford!” Oscar yells. “Get your ass over here! Bring the Boyfriend!”

The Boyfriend. I’ve heard Oscar call me that a billion times, and I’m not gonna lie, it still fucking gets to me. In a good way. I’m someone’s boyfriend.

Maybe, in time, that title can be something more. The ring box is in my yacht cabin, but I don’t want to propose on my birthday.

I’m still waiting for the moment.

“You’re on speaker, and I’m relaxing, Oliveira,” Farrow says. “You’re killing my mood.”

Oscar laughs. “Come on. Donnelly and Kitsuwon miss your face, and my little bro is acting like he lost his favorite Golden Retriever.”

“Eh, no,” Farrow says like that’s that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to confront what he lost by being on security’s boat. “You guys can come over here,” I tell Oscar. “Bring SFO.”

Farrow tilts his head at me, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“The parents awake?” Oscar asks. “Most of us have been drinking. We’re off-duty tonight, but five-sixths of us care about making bad impressions.”

“Who’s the one-sixth?” Jane asks curiously, knuckles to her chin as she leans closer to the cell.

“Donnelly,” Farrow tells her.

“They’re not on the main deck,” I tell Oscar. “They’re probably not even going to be out here for the rest of the night.”

“Good enough for all of us,” Oscar says. “See you in fifteen.”

I stand off the couch, swinging my right arm in another stretch.

Farrow tosses aside his phone and watches me.

My feet are close to the pool. “You know I’m better than you at back-flipping,” I banter.

He pops a bubble in his mouth. “Marginally.”

“Colossally,” I rebut.

He’s about to respond, but the sliding glass doors push open. My little brother storms barefoot onto the main deck in sweatpants and an old New Mutants tee.

I solidify.

Some of Xander’s favorite vacations are on the yacht. No pressure to leave the boat, no strangers hounding him, and for the most part, he’s been in good spirits.

The way he approaches me with a darkening scowl—I’m aware that something is vitally wrong.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Janie setting down her coffee and standing off the ottoman. Farrow also rises to his feet.

I turn towards my brother. “You okay, Summers?”

“You tell me,” Xander snaps loudly, his phone gripped in a fist, knuckles whitened.

The chatty girl squad in the hot tub suddenly falls silent. On another set of couches, Eliot, Luna, and Tom are smoking—and their heads turn. Charlie, Beckett, and Sullivan look up from their game of Catan at an outdoor table. And Ben Cobalt stops reading his book on nature conservatories, only two lounge chairs away.

You tell me.

I shake my head once, confused. It’s not like Xander to draw attention to himself, but I’m witnessing so much hurt twisting up his face. And I step forward. “Xander?”

His chest rises and falls heavily. “So you didn’t knock on Easton Mulligan’s door and accuse him of taking my meds?”

Christ. “Xander—”

“Fuck you,” he says. And that rips me open, but he can’t see. Tears gather in his reddened eyes while I build barriers between me and my emotions.

I want to protect him, but I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve needed to protect him from something I did. From my choice, his mistake.

Our mistakes—I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.

“You’re my brother,” Xander says like that word means life itself. He pushes the longer strands of his hair back, and I step one more foot closer.

He grew another inch this summer. We’re the same height now, but I look at him and I just see my fragile little brother. And this is not what I wanted for him.

This is not how I saw things going.

I don’t have a chance to speak yet; he’s still getting it out.

“How could you even…?” His chin quakes. “…why wouldn’t you…” His face is beet-red, and Jane nears us like she’s about to put her arms around him.

Xander points his phone at her, the one in his death-grip. “Don’t.”

She skids to a stop. A couple feet from me.

“I don’t need you two doing that thing you do,” he says in short breaths, “where you act like you’re the big siblings who want to protect us.”

“What you did was wrong,” I say, my throat swollen. “And I am trying to protect you. I can’t change that.”

“I know what I did was wrong!” Xander screams and chokes on his words. “And I hate myself for it. And what are you even trying to protect me from?” He inhales sharply. “Myself? You can’t protect me from myself. It’s up here.” He points to his head. “It’s in here.” He jabs his cell to his chest. “It’s bigger than you or me. And you should have just…” His voice cracks. “…you should have come to me first. Not a kid down the street. Fucking…” He puts his hands on his head and glares at the night sky.

“I’m so sorry, Summers,” I say, my hand outstretched to him. He’s fighting tears that threaten to fall, and it hurts to watch. Hurts to speak, but I control everything for him. He doesn’t need me to scream and sob. “I should have confronted you. I should’ve, but it’s a heavy accusation. And I was fucking afraid. If you were supplying kids with drugs—”

“I stopped,” Xander says, pained. “That’s over.” But he suddenly frowns, head hanging in a weighted thought. “You’re going to tell Dad.” It’s not a question.

“No,” I say. “You said it’s over. I believe you.”

“But what if I don’t believe you,” he says and walks backwards towards the saloon. He grinds down on his teeth and rubs his forearm to his watery eye.

I try to follow.

“No. I can’t—I don’t want to be around you,” he cries. He’s crying.

I nod stiffly. “Alright.” I almost sway back, and Farrow nears me—and I shake my head at him. If he touches me, I will burst open and probably scream or cry or both. He’s the only one that can make me come undone, and I’m not unraveling in front of all the teenagers.

Luna jogs across the deck to reach Xander. Her light brown hair whipping behind her, and she’s still doing the plain outfit thing, no thanks to her asshole boyfriend. But Luna didn’t invite Andrew on the trip. You should know that our dad hates him just as much as me, and he hasn’t even met Andrew yet. Or seen how pushy and undercutting he is.

I met him once and I almost punched him after he told my sister, “You’re so much prettier when you don’t swing your arms when you walk.” Even though she doesn’t see him as much, Luna said that I wasn’t allowed to hang with them anymore. So there’s that fallout. I’m just doing great with my siblings lately.

Perfect big brother.

The best, let me tell you.

I watch Luna hug Xander, and his body shudders against her gangly frame. And then Kinney climbs out of the hot tub in a black one-piece swimsuit. My youngest sister joins Luna and Xander, and they all leave into the main saloon. Glass doors sliding closed behind them.

I blink. Those are my three siblings.

All the Hales.

And I’m left here. I hurt him. I hurt him. I crack my taut neck, pressure on my chest.

“Maximoff,” Farrow breathes.

I turn to face my boyfriend, chatter starting back up around the main deck. “You told me this would happen,” I whisper, rubbing my knuckles. I see how he wants to take my hand in his hand. I see how he wants to bring me to his chest. It hurts even more to not draw closer, to not let him touch me, but I also can’t—not here.

He inhales. “I said it was a bad idea. I didn’t say this would happen.”

I rest my hand on the back of my neck. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” he says with another inhale, and his phone starts ringing. Oscar again.

Before he rejects the call for me, I tell him, “I’m going to find the letter you wrote Beckett.”

He studies my expression, and I try to breathe better, stronger. Seeing that, he nods. “I’ll take this, and we’ll meet back up?”

“Yeah,” I agree.

I think it’s killing him not to kiss me in a short goodbye. He wavers.

“I’m sorry—”

He cuts me off, “No, don’t be. You’re giving me more than enough, wolf scout. I’m here for what you need, and you need privacy.” He lifts his brows. “Later?”

I nod. “Later.” And I exhale even bigger.

Farrow has to redial Oscar since the call rung out, and while he returns to the couch, I pop my knuckles and head to Beckett, Charlie, and Sulli’s table. Game pieces spread out, colorful cards in hand.

A gold dragon-headed cane is propped against the table. Eliot has been swapping out Charlie’s canes every so often with new ones. And whenever I see my cousin, his newest cane looks more ostentatious and bizarre.

Beckett leans back on his chair, cigarette between his lips. I’ve been so goddamn concerned about Beckett, but since he’s not using right now, the most I can do is check in with Charlie. Which is difficult since Charlie ignores me more than half the time. But until Beckett returns to ballet, it has to be enough.

“Hey, Beck,” I say. “Where’s the letter Farrow gave you? I want to read it.” Can’t think of a better pick-me-up.

“Oh yeah, it’s a good fucking letter,” Sulli says with a strong nod, rolling dice.

Jesus. Has everyone really read this letter but me?

“It’s in my cabin. Top dresser.” Beckett taps ash into an ashtray, and very meticulously, he wipes the rim. Charlie watches his twin brother more fixatedly than usual.

“Thanks.”

“I like him, by the way,” Beckett tells me honestly. “Farrow, he’s really good for you.”

My eyes almost grow. Is this letter magical or something?

Charlie says to the table, “Does anyone have any sheep they’d trade for brick?”

“Fuck, you can take all my sheep for wood or wheat,” Sulli says.

I walk away and tune out Charlie’s response. My bare feet pad along the deck, and I slip through the sliding glass doors. Entering the main saloon, this living room area is quiet and dimly lit. I thought I’d find my brother and sisters here, but all three are gone.

I ascend winding steps to the second-floor where there’s a stretch of cabins. In the hall, I slow down at a door, muffled voices filtering through.

“Love you too, Luna,” Xander says, his breath caught short again. A giant part of me wants to go inside that cabin and fix this. But he made it clear that he wanted space, and I think I should give him that.

I pass their door, and then another one at the end of the hall swings open.

Rowin emerges from his cabin.

He’s really the last person I want to run into right now, but I try to be casual; in my head I’m taking solace in the fact that these next few days will be his last with my family.

“Hey, Rowin,” I say, still on course to Beckett’s cabin.

“Hi, Maximoff.”

And I feel his blue eyes travel all over my body: my bare chest, my abs, my arms and legs, my dick. It’s making me more aware that I’m barely covered in a skin-tight bathing suit. And I’m used to eyes pressing on my body. Ogling and gawking, all normal for me. But not from my man’s ex-boyfriend.

I glare. “Can you not do that?” Not only am I fucking uncomfortable, but I can feel just how badly this would pain and enrage Farrow.

Needing to move forward, I don’t wait for Rowin to respond. I just rotate to the door on my right, and I grip the knob to Beckett’s cabin. I turn—it’s locked.

Great.

I suddenly marbleize…

I sense his presence encroaching my space. But my brain shrieks, there’s no way, there’s no damn way this is happening. My brows knit, and I slowly check behind my shoulder.

Rowin slinks up on me, seemingly so rapidly because my reflexes lurch in shock. His intrusive gaze is tearing off my swimsuit, his hands dangerously close. I whip around at the same time that his hands sink on either side of the door.

Trapping me for a tense beat while his mouth tries to near mine—I shove his chest with all my goddamn strength.

His back thumps into the wall, disbelief widening his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I glower, winded and pained like I’m currently running the ultra-marathon on the roughest fucking terrain.

“Come on,” Rowin says like I’m oblivious, and he tucks a piece of his deep auburn hair behind his ear.

My eyes scald, probably bloodshot, and ten tons of brick compound on my chest. “Stay the fuck away from me.” How I’m not slamming my fist in his jaw, I don’t know. Rage is my go-to feeling, but I think…I think I’m in a lot of shock.

His face contorts in indignation. “I like you, and you’re into me—”

“No, I fucking hate you,” I spit out, my skin crawling. I’m about to tell him that his ass is going to be flung off this yacht, but he takes a step forward and I raise a warning hand. “You come near me, and I’ll break both your kneecaps.”

I’m yelling internally, my ribs concaving around my lungs and shrinking my fucking breath.

Farrow—he’s not here. I love him so damn much that I can already feel the pain he’ll feel from this moment. But for some reason, I only wish he were right by my side. Maybe because I know he can carry the weight with me. I know he can bear it.

“Come on,” Rowin repeats. “You and me would fit more than you and him. You’re kind, considerate and sweet, and he’s…” Our heads swerve as a cabin door cracks open.

No.

No.

“Moffy?” Luna peeks her head out, concern and fear wobbling her voice. I’m not sure how much my siblings heard, but I have one mission now: shield them from this doomsday.

“I’m okay. Go back inside.” I move towards her, stoic and unbending. Rowin—I feel him lingering in the hall, closer to me than I fucking like.

But I reach my sister’s cabin, and I notice Kinney and Xander right behind Luna, their eyes huge like saucers. Uncertain of what to do and scared.

“I’m okay,” I say strongly. My eyes have to be bloodshot because they stare at them like it’s the only evidence that I’m not. “I’m okay. You’re all safe, and I’m going to shut this door—”

“No, Moffy!” all three shout like I’m exiting a bomb shelter to face certain death. The intensity of their reaction startles me a bit, and I try to think back on what they could’ve heard:

Can you not do that?

What the fuck are you doing?

Come on.

Stay the fuck away from me.

I like you and you’re into me.

No, I fucking hate you. You come near me, and I’ll break both your kneecaps.

Come on.

Fucking Christ. That’s it, that’s all they could know.

Luna grabs my hand, looking from me to Rowin. He’s in my peripheral, and I don’t acknowledge him or curse him out. Because I’m trying not to frighten my siblings.

I guide her further into the small cabin, a nautical comforter on two single beds. Luna drifts backwards with Xander and Kinney, and I slip further inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.

“I’m not in any danger,” I tell them. “You don’t need to panic. Alright, Kinney. Kinney.” I force out her name; my thirteen-year-old sister has buried her face in her hands. “I’m okay.”

My harsh tone pops up her head, and she scrutinizes me.

“I’m okay,” I repeat.

“Then stay,” Kinney snaps at me, her voice cracking in a brief sob.

I can’t. I need to get Rowin off this fucking yacht. She can tell that I’m planning to go back out, and she wails at me like I’m being reckless with my life and throws a pillow at my face.

“Kinney.” I smack the pillow away. “I’ll be back.”

She gears up to chuck another pillow.

“Stop, Kinney,” Xander cuts in, his cheeks blotchy and tear-streaked. His face is flooding with remorse and pain. “Moffy has been beaten down enough tonight from me, you don’t need to do that too—”

“Summers,” I say with the shake of my head. “You could tell me to rot in hell, and I’d still overwhelming, unconditionally be there for you and love you—there is nothing you can do to push me down. Alright?”

Xander rakes his hand over his face, hot tears pouring out. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I love you, you know I love you, right?”

I didn’t think I needed to hear that, but maybe some part of me did. I breathe more, and I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “In every universe.”

I wrap my arms around my brother’s shoulders. Same height, he hooks an arm around mine, his head hung while he rubs his eyes.

He murmurs, “I can’t live without you…”

My eyes try to well, and I whisper, “I love you.” I open my stance for Kinney and Luna. “All three of you.” And our sisters join the hug. My arms envelope my younger siblings, and I can feel them cling onto me.

I breathe and breathe. Knowing they’re safe calms me, and when we all pull back, I glance at the locked door.

Luna tries to hide her face in her white shirt. “Where’s Farrow?”

“I’m about to go get him,” I say. “You three stay here. I’ll be back later.”

They’re not as uneasy. My confidence in this situation helps—the I can handle anything mantra pouring out of me—and they nod me forward.

I exit the cabin and shut the door.

The hall is empty. No Rowin.

New mission: find Farrow and then push Rowin off this yacht.