Page 137 of Sinful Like Us
“We can shovel them out,” Beckett says like this is just another thick snowfall in Philly. He looks to Moffy. “You’ve shoveled out two-feet of snow before. This is easy for you, and I’ll help.”
SFO goes more rigid.
Maximoff cracks a knuckle. “It’s not just the cars, Beck.”
“Roads aren’t plowed,” I tell my brother.
Akara nods. “We have no way to reach the airport, and even if we do, the planes are probably grounded.”
“Probably.” Beckett blinks a terrible ton. “So no one knows for sure?”
I step closer, only a couple feet from him. “The phone lines are down. No one has service, not even to check the internet. But before we lost cable, Akara saw local news. They’re calling this abig freeze, and they suggest residents and winter visitors wait out the cold front and ration provisions.”
As soon as I say the word “ration,” his entire face falls. Beckett steeples his fingers on the bridge of his nose and the corners of his tightened eyes.
I wince just seeing him wince. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe softly. “But we’ll make the best out of this…” I trail off as he shakes his head once.
Silently and kindly telling me to shut up.
I do.
Akara pushes his hair back, and the black strands fall back forward. “Look, I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but no one can leave the house until the roads clear. It’s just too dangerous.”
Beckett drops his fingers and his pain is on me. “You told meoneweek.”
I take a tight breath, the heat of eight pairs of eyes bearing down on me. Most of them are consoling, the only ones that pierce and shred are my brother’s.
Suddenly, Thatcher comes up to my side, and I stare up at him like my archangel has swooped in to defend me. “Respectfully, Jane didn’t know we would be snowed-in.”
Beckett pinches his eyes, as though that’ll change our fate. “She knew there could be a chance.”
“A slim possibility,” I say quietly. “If we could foresee the future, we wouldn’t have brought you here.”
“Bullshit,” Beckett says smoothly and takes his duffel off his shoulder. “I’dstillbe here, sis. I have a hard time believing you wouldn’t love a week to turn into two weeks, three weeks—however long you think it’ll take for me to kick a problem that I don’t have.”
Thatcher almost touches me. His fingers lightly brush against mine, and I ache for his comfort. A hand in my hand.
He can’t.
Not while he’s pretending to be Banks. Tony or O’Malley could walk in, and the thought of the twin switch extending beyond the one-week plan…is harrowing.
My body ices over. I want to tell my brother,I wouldn’t love a week to be longer, but possibly, he’s right. Of course I’m glad he won’t touch cocaine for another day.
“Janie isn’t the only one that dragged you here,” Maximoff says as he comes closer. “Don’t just blame her for that.”
Beckett rubs a hand down his face. “Trust me, I’m not feeling that kind towards you either. She’s just in my line of sight.” He shakes his head, upset. Frustrated. Rightfully angry. “I’m leaving in three hours.”
I wince. “Beckett, you can’t. We’ve just discussed this. The roads—”
“I don’t care.” He massages his tensed hands. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t freak. We’ll figure this out, man,” Donnelly says consolingly while seated on a hard-shell suitcase.
Beckett glances at his ex-bodyguard, then cuts his yellow-green eyes to the scuffed floorboards. Their exchange only seems to flood more grief into my brother. He straps his duffel back to his chest. “Three hours, and I’m gone.”
“How do you plan on going home?” Oscar wonders. “This isn’t Oz. You can’t click your heels.”
“Helicopter,” Beckett says tightly.
