Ice on the asphalt crunches underneath our soles. We near the curb of the Dairy Queen entrance, and wind whips around us as furiously as I feel.

Farrow and Oscar hover close. The only other two people outside with us. Probably to ensure Charlie and I don’t kill each other.

“She called me!” Charlie yells. “You’re mad at the wrong person!”

“I don’t think I am!” I scream, cold stinging my throat. “You’re the one who could’ve told me. Told us. Told a fucking bodyguard—anyone on Omega should’ve known she’d be here without her own bodyguard.” I shake my head, rage throttling my bones. Screaming at me to drive closer. To shake him.

To make him see.

See how my sister could’ve been hurt. Could’ve been kidnapped, raped or murdered on her journey across the fucking country. Alone.

“You knew she was driving here, and you didn’t tell anyone!” I yell. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouts back, edging closer. Closer, only five feet apart. “I’m the one who kept tabs on her!” He points a finger at his chest. “I’m the one who gave her directions here! I’m the one who made sure she didn’t get lost or drive off the side of the fucking road!”

“Great,” I sneer. “Fucking fantastic, Charlie. If your brothers reached out to me, I would’ve never let them travel without a bodyguard. So thanks for helping out my sister, thanks a lot.”

Charlie looks like he wants to rip off my head.

I want to poke out his eyes with a goddamn serrated knife. I am out for blood. I feel like he knowingly hurt my sister. He’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever known, so why the hell would he risk her life like this? “You have beef with me, fine, but don’t drag my sister into this—”

“I didn’t,” Charlie snaps, and I back off for a single second. Because he looks twenty, his actual age, and his eyes flit in hurt.

That accusation hurt him.

“She called me,” he repeats. “There isn’t an ulterior motive. I’m not sorry that you can’t stand the fact that she didn’t call you. That for the first time in forever, you weren’t the chosen one. Get the fuck over it.”

“Fuck you,” I snap. “This isn’t a pissing contest. It’s about my sister’s safety—”

“She told me not to tell you. How about that?” Charlie retorts.

I’m already shaking my head.

“Of course you don’t believe me.” Wind tosses his golden-brown hair. “She didn’t want you to worry, Moffy. Because that’s what you do.”

I bite down. “But you could’ve still told me.”

“Like you would’ve told me if that had been my siblings. If that had been Eliot or Tom or Ben or Audrey—like you would’ve shared anything with me?”

I gape. “I’ve fucking tried. For years, Charlie, I’ve tried. You never answer, you never reply. You hang up on me, so I stopped. You want me to start filling you in when they call me? I will, I fucking will.”

Charlie grinds his teeth, pain leeching his face.

What is it?

What did I do? I feel like I’m close to an answer that I’ve never seen. Never held. “Charlie—”

“I’m not your wingman or your sidekick. I don’t need you.”

I breathe heavily like we’re running for our lives in the same endless circle. “Then you don’t need me, but being a good brother, a good cousin, even, means protecting the people we love. And what you did could’ve killed her.”

He nods slowly. “Just say it, you coward.”

“You’re a shit cousin.”

Charlie charges me. I let him tackle me to the asphalt. I even let his fist bang into my jaw. Then I return the blow. We’re all anger and fists and unspoken pasts and pain.

I don’t see clear until hands wedge underneath my armpits and thrust me backwards. I spit a wad of blood onto the ice.

Charlie’s cheekbone swells, and Oscar seizes him around the waist. Restraining my cousin.

Regret gnaws at me. From behind me, Farrow wraps his bicep around my collarbone, the embrace protective and calming.

Oscar looks between Charlie and me. “You two get that out of your systems? The moment we step onto that bus, it’s a no-fighting zone.”

We’re quiet.

“Maximoff,” Farrow says, his even-keeled heartbeat thumps against my back. Soothing me, and I take these deep breaths that ache with regret.

“We’re good,” I mutter, but a for now hangs in the air. Because even with fists and fleeting hugs and half-hearted apologies—our discord never seems to end.

* * *

We return to the bus, and Charlie darts for the bathroom. Beckett springs up from the couch and follows. Door slams, and an ornament attached to the ceiling thuds to the floor.

Jane, Sulli, and Luna are on one couch beneath a giant fleece blanket. Watching Babes in Toyland on the screen. I meet Janie’s big blue eyes that say calm down. Be nice.

I’ll try not to be a hardass.

Akara’s voice escalates from the privacy of the second lounge. “No, you can’t talk your way out of this! There’s no defending it!” Donnelly, Quinn, and Thatcher must be in there, and I’m guessing they’re on the phone with J.P., Luna’s bodyguard who fucked up.

Farrow and Oscar glance at each other.

“I’m not going back there. I’ve had enough drama.” Oscar camps out on the driver’s seat and slides the door shut, blocking out the first lounge. Bus is still parked.

“You need ice?” Farrow asks me.

“No.” I crack a reddened knuckle, and we both sit on the available couch. So close together, my thigh presses against his thigh.

Luna gawks at my bloody lip. “I didn’t think you’d fight with him.”

“It’s fine.” I rake a hand through my thick hair. “What’s not cool is that you ditched your bodyguard. You know how unsafe that is? Paparazzi could’ve run you off the road, you could’ve been hurt—”

“I was safe,” she says quickly. “No paparazzi tailed me, and I traded my Kia for that used Jetta. I had a plan. A solid A-plus plan. And J.P. would’ve snitched on me to Mom and Dad. They both would’ve said no, and I wanted to be…here with all of you.”

She sniffs, eyes watering.

“Did you call Mom and Dad?” I ask and stand up.

She nods. “Dad wants you to call him.”

Alright.

I near and bend down to hug my sister. I squeeze tight, and she squeezes back tighter. “I’m glad you’re safe, Luna. I love you.”

Her tears wet my shoulder.

I kiss the top of her head, and when I back up, Jane gives Luna a side-hug. “We’re lucky to have you here. This bus was missing some Luna love.”

“Totally,” Sulli agrees and passes the cookie bag to Luna.

“Watch out,” I say, “those are disgusting.”

At that, Luna basically shoves the whole cookie in her mouth and mumbles, “Cool, pot cookies.”

“Wait, what?” My mouth falls.

Farrow rises.

Color drains in Jane’s cheeks. “Merde.”

Sulli’s green eyes grow to saucers. “Huh?”

Luna chews, crumbs fall out of her lips. “You guys don’t taste the weed?”

Farrow snatches the cookie bag as she goes to grab a second one. Thank you. He sniffs the cookie and then yells, “Donnelly!”

Back door cracks open, and Donnelly slips out, shutting it behind him. “What? Beckett?” He walks past the bunks.

“He’s fine,” Farrow snaps. “Did you bring pot cookies on the bus?”

Donnelly relaxes. “Yeah, some girl was selling them at that last rest stop. They’re good, right?”

Mystery solved. I’m high.

Fucking A.

Jane leans forward to look at Donnelly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You didn’t know?” Donnelly frowns. “They’re not mild. They taste like—”

“Okay, these three,” Farrow says and points to me, Jane, and Sulli, “have never smoked weed. Let alone eaten edibles. They don’t know what that shit tastes like.”

Sulli can’t pick up her dropped jaw. “I thought it was organic.”

Donnelly looks around for his client. “Beckett would’ve tasted the weed.”

Wow. So I just learned my younger cousin has smoked pot before.

And so has my little sister.

Awesome…facts. I rub my dry, scratchy eyes. But sarcasm aside, I’m glad I know.

“He didn’t eat any,” Jane tells Donnelly.

Sulli has her fingers to her lips. Her deep contemplation face at play. “When will we feel…the effects?” she asks.

“I dunno.” Donnelly shrugs and leaves for the back like nothing happened.

“Probably soon,” Farrow answers, and he’s staring right at me. Assessing. Kind of smiling. He’s always smiling, come on. Am I going to be paranoid? Will I just fall asleep? My stomach keeps tossing. Maybe I’ll puke and be done with this—or I won’t feel anything. I’m immune to pot.

The pot killer.

That didn’t sound right. I laugh. Oh Christ…why am I laughing? I hone in on Farrow, and he has a hand to his mouth.

“What?” I lower his hand that hides full-blown amusement.

“You’re so pure.”

I let out a dry laugh. “You’re so funny.”

He runs his tongue over his lip piercing. “I wasn’t that funny.”

I blink and blink. “Thank you for reminding me that you’re a kill-joy.”

“I only kill your joy, wolf scout. I leave everyone else’s alone.”

“Thank you twice over, then,” I say, sarcastic, and I nod a few times. He nods as well, his smile growing and I’m trying damn hard not to smile back—my phone rings. Interrupting whatever that was. Flirting? Head-nod flirting isn’t a thing.

I’m not trying to make it one either. It’s weird.

I’m weird.

Caller ID: DAD.

Alright, I’m high for the first time. And I can without a doubt say that I’m not prepared for anything right now. I haven’t had a long conversation with my dad since the lake house. I can’t even tell you how we left things.

It was like we placed a semi-colon or an ellipsis on the end of a sentence. To be continued. Without an idea of when or where.

Answer the call, a voice whispers somewhere.

I know I’m really high because I listen to that fucking weird-ass voice. And I accept the call.