Page 12 of #Moonstruck

“Mom never wanted us to touch the principal. She always supported us off the interest. But that facility costs so much that I didn’t have a choice.” We had maxed out Mom’s long-term disability and her health insurance about two years after the accident.

“How long do we have?”

Fitz rubbed the dark stubble along his jawline. “A little less than a month. We should probably get the house ready to put on the market.”

We wouldn’t have to do much. We lived in a really desirable location. It was only a five-minute walk to one of the most famous beaches in the world. Which meant that even if the entire house was repeatedly flooded, festered with termites, and declared an annexed protectorate of the Cockroach Kingdom, we would still get millions of dollars.

But how long would that last? Our mom was only forty-eight years old. She would hopefully be around for a long time.

I racked my brain, trying to think of solutions. We didn’t have anything of real value except the house. “Maybe we can bring Mom home, and we can take care of her.”

“She needs round-the-clock medical supervision, Maisy. None of us are qualified to do that. She’s also much happier there than she was here.”

“What about government assistance?” Now that we were officially superpoor.

“I don’t want Mom to end up in a government-run facility. Not if we can prevent it.”

He was right. Angie had told me horror stories about state-owned institutions. Fitz was always right.

“Earlier—was there something you wanted to ask me?”

Now was not the time to mention my missing cell phone, when my brother was already drowning in financial woes. “Do Cole and Parker know?”

“They know. They’re not happy about it, either.”

I tried not to get upset. Of course I was the last to know. My brothers thought it was their job to protect me from everything in the world, including bad news.

“Don’t worry, Maisy. Things will work out.” He leaned over and patted the top of my hand. “I’m going to turn in. Good night.”

“Night,” I mumbled, chewing on the end of my hair. It was something I did when I got really stressed.

This was the worst thing that had happened to us since the night of Mom’s accident.

This house allowed us to live together while we pursued our dreams of making it big as a band. It made it so we could work menial jobs that freed us up to practice and perform. Now what would happen? We’d probably all go our separate ways. Fitz would most likely marry his on-again, off-again highly religious girlfriend and start his own family. Cole had talked a lot about moving to New York, wanting to meet his biological mother’s relatives. Parker would probably get an STD and die without me around to remind him to get annual physicals.

People would say it was past time for us to move on with our lives. I was almost twenty-two years old. I should have been living on my own. With an actual career, like Angie.

I should stop pretending this band thing really had a chance of happening.

In a daze, I went back to my room and closed the door behind me. I absolutely had to find my phone now. I’d seen for myself that there was no money to replace it. I pulled up the phone-finder app on my computer. It took forever to start up and pinpoint the location.

I’d expected to see a glowing dot at the location of my house. Instead, my phone was in Calabasas.

Which was an extremely upscale, ridiculously expensive place to live.

Why was my cell phone in Calabasas?

I sorted through my memories, trying to figure out when I could last remember having my phone. I hadn’t used it when I’d visited my mom. In fact, the last time I had it was ...

When Diego took a picture of me, Ryan, and Angie.

Diego had my phone.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Now I had to contact him and get it back.

Since this wasn’t my first rodeo, I knew what I needed to do. I ran into Cole’s room and quietly grabbed his phone. I texted my number.

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