I don’t wait for him to reach us. Meeting Farrow halfway, our arms wrap around one another. We kiss briefly and then his lips find my ear. “Where is she?” he asks.
Pulling away, I tell him, “At the bar.”
His brows rise.
“It’s not you,” I say. “She thinks she’s being stood up.”
On our way to the booth, I give him a brief rundown of Holly. He keeps nodding, but he has a faraway look. This time I’m not sure if it’s because he missed so much already or because of what held him up at the hospital.
But I’m not going to pry for details. When he’s ready to share, he’ll tell me.
Still, it hurts watching something eat at him.
We both slide into the booth, and while Farrow unlaces his black boot, he spots the screen with everyone’s middle names.
“The Princess of Death didn’t try to curse you for that one, Oliveira?”
Oscar fills up a pint for Farrow. “Not afraid of Kinney Hale when I have a client who actually never yawns or gets tired. Alright, if anyone wants to be scared of someone they should fear Charlie. And he’s the only one who can beat me at chess.”
I cling onto the fact that Oscar isn’t afraid to talk about my family in front of me. He doesn’t falter or hesitate or look my way for permission.
Being treated more like a friend—it’s a good feeling.
But I catch Farrow glancing skeptically at Oscar, and my boyfriend deserts his shoelaces. Leaning forward with an elbow to the table, he motions to Oscar. “I need to ask you something. Like why you lied to me?”
I curve my arm over Farrow’s shoulders, the stress not too bad on my muscle. And I remember how Oscar has been telling Farrow that he doesn’t have a close relationship with Charlie, his client. That Charlie tells him next-to-nothing. But if that were true, then Oscar would be in the dark about Beckett doing coke.
For me, bodyguards keeping information close to the chest is nothing new. For Farrow, one of his closest friends has been lying to him for possibly years.
Oscar checks over his shoulder. Tom is out of earshot. Five lanes down, he reorganizes the bowling balls into a rainbow pattern on the rack. Kinney is sitting at the bar. Chatting with the bartender, she tries to convince him to whip up a gothic drink.
Off Oscar’s furtiveness, Jack senses that this is about to be serious and private. “I’m going to film Kinney,” Jack tells us and then exits our area.
Oscar looks between me and Farrow. “You know about Beckett,” he states.
“We do,” Farrow nods. “And man, I didn’t need to know the details from you. I understand why you wouldn’t share. But I’m confused why you went through the whole charade. I wouldn’t have pried if you said you couldn’t tell me. Instead, you led me to believe that Charlie has no relationship with you. Why do that?”
His gaze swings from Farrow, to me, and then back to Farrow. Oscar slides his arm across the back of the booth. “What’s the difference, Redford?” He shrugs. “He’s still not gushing details. He just gives me more than he has in the past.”
“Why wouldn’t you just say that then?” Farrow questions, confused more than anything. “You used to boast about progress when Charlie told you about a flight two fucking days in advance of takeoff instead of an hour before.”
Oscar drums the booth. “Because…knowing more than I should…it just makes it harder for me to brush you off.”
“Okay,” Farrow says easily, piling cheese on a cracker. “I’ll accept that. But I do want to know your reasoning behind the charade.” He pops the cracker in his mouth. “Your cunning ass owes me that at least.”
I notice how Farrow leans back into my arm that’s around him. Getting comfortable in my embrace. Before he catches me staring—because he’s a literal heartbeat from looking over with a rising smile that says you like that—I focus on Oscar.
He digs into a basket of baked chips. “You know media and fans want even the smallest fact from Charlie? Like how the guy brushes his teeth, when he takes a piss. All because he’s the enigmatic one in the press. So I position myself as a bodyguard that isn’t told shit, and then people won’t even ask me a single thing.” He crunches on a chip. “It’s not like it started that way, and Charlie is still slowly trusting me. Tomorrow, he could try to ditch my ass and fly off to Hong Kong.”
Farrow nods understandingly, and he takes a swig from his pint.
I glance at my sister, checking on her briefly to see if she’s okay, before I look back at Oscar. “Does Donnelly know?” I wonder.
Oscar picks up his beer. “It’d be a little difficult to keep that from him, considering.”
“You’re around each other all the time,” I say into a nod. It makes sense since Beckett and Charlie live together. Their bodyguards would have to be close, too. And I glance at Farrow enough to ask, “Does that make you the third wheel?”
Farrow almost laughs. “I’m better than that, wolf scout.” His smile stretches while he stares right into me. “Plus, I’ve got the guy.”
Yeah, I try hard not to smile back at that. Critical failure.
Oscar slow-claps and then cranes his neck past us to glance at the bar. “What do we know about Highland?”
Farrow sets down his beer glass. “Straight.”
Oscar reaches for a pretzel bite. “We sure?”
“You have a crush on him?” I ask.
Oscar chokes on his food and smacks his chest a couple times. Farrow is laughing, but I’m not sure if it’s at me or Oscar.
“What’d I say?” My brows furrow.
“Crush.” Oscar shoots me a look. “Bro, do I look like your thirteen-year-old sister?”
“I don’t know, Oliveira,” Farrow says easily. “You could pull off goth.” Farrow runs his fingers up the back of my neck. It feels really good and distracts me from the fact that I’m not always great at fitting into their easy banter.
Tom drops a bowling ball a few lanes away and the clatter distracts us.
Great. I’m about to rise, but Oscar slips out of the booth first. “I’m going to go help your cousin not break a toe,” he tells me. I think in part to give me some alone time with Farrow, who appears at ease, but heaviness sits behind his eyes that I’m pretty sure Oscar can see as well as I can.
After Oscar walks down the lanes, I turn to face Farrow. He tugs off his boot and puts on the bowling shoe. He looks back at me, and I know something’s wrong.
“You want to talk about it?” I have to ask.
His chest falls, but he shakes his head. “Not today, wolf scout.”
I nod and practice some patience.
“You.” Kinney’s voice pitches. “You were late.” My little sister approaches with a goblet of purple liquid and a cinnamon stick.
“That looks disgusting,” I tell her.
“It tastes like hell and the bottom of my soul,” she says, slurping a large sip from the straw and then setting an epic glare onto Farrow.
I shoot her a warning look to go easy on him.
Farrow finishes tying his bowling shoes. “Next time I’ll be the first one here, Kinney.”
“There won’t be a next time. Your membership has been—”
“Kinney,” I say forcefully. “You want to be mad at someone, I’m right here.”
She shifts her glare to me.
“No,” Farrow says, leaning back casually. “If she wants to kick me out, let her kick me out.”
Hurt flashes in her eyes and then she shakes it off by staring up at the ceiling. Like she’s annoyed. She’s not. She just wants this day to go better than it has.
And I really want this Holly girl’s number so I can fix this.
“But Kinney,” Farrow says. “If you do kick me out, I’ll still show up with my boyfriend.”
She slides into the booth next to him, her li
ps pressed in a line. As though she gives no fucks, but she’s almost smiling. “Fine,” she deadpans. “Membership reinstated.”
My shoulders loosen a bit, and I push the basket of chips towards Kinney. Just as she goes to grab a handful, her phone rings.
“Is that Holly?” I ask.
She checks her phone. “No.” But she’s not frowning in disappointment. Kinney hoists the phone, preparing for FaceTime. “Hey,” she greets.
“Is she there?” Audrey Cobalt asks, her whimsical voice on the line.
Kinney shakes her head. “MIA. I can’t text her for a fourth time. It’d be desperate.”
“I disagree,” Audrey replies. “Desperation is just another word for madly devoted. You should try again. Fifth and sixth times are the charm, they say.”
Kinney smiles and then flashes the screen to Farrow and me.
Red hair, pale freckled skin, and a smile that could charm just about anyone stares back at me. Her lavish pink room looks like it was made for a princess.
You know Audrey Virginia Cobalt as the thirteen-year-old hopeless romantic. In her spare time, she reads adult romance novels and narrates all the “blush-worthy” parts on her Instagram. You think she talks like she’s been factory-made from a Jane Austen novel, and you salivate for any photo she takes with her big sister Jane. You wonder what it would be like to grow up as the youngest with five Cobalt brothers, but she rarely tells you.
I know her as my little cousin, the baby in the entire Hale, Meadows, Cobalt brood. The girl who bakes cookies for her crushes that are far out of her league. Who falls madly in love with the idea of love more than the actual reality. She’s fiercely loyal to her friends and just as fierce to her family.
Fair Warning: you fuck with the baby of the family and everyone will come after you.
Over FaceTime, she waves. “Hi, Moffy. Hi, Farrow.”
“Hey, Audrey,” I say, watching her eyes slowly widen at the sight of Oscar several bowling lanes down.
“OhmyOhmy, KinneyKinney. Don’t let him see my face.” She buries herself in a pillow, and Kinney rotates the camera back to herself.