on his right arm. "You really rock the ink, Mr. Flynn. I can see it runs in the family."
He laughs. "You know I prefer Gabe, Luna."
"Right. Gabe. It looks good on you. That's all," she says.
I shoot her a what the fuck look.
She ignores it. "Oliver made dinner."
"We made it," I say.
"Thank you. Both of you." Dad takes a seat at the table. Motions for me to follow.
I do.
He eyes the glasses on the table. Water. Plus the carafe. He looks at me for a moment, but he doesn't say anything. "This smells great." He picks up his fork. "Shall we?"
"Yeah. Right." Luna nods. She shifts in her seat. Uncomfortable.
I guess this is weird. Sure, Luna's here all the time. But not by herself. Not with Daisy hundreds of miles away.
"I haven't seen much of you, Luna. Is school keeping you busy?" he asks.
"Yeah. It's a lot. My chem class is moving really fast. And the ones in the humanities"—she sticks her tongue out—"why is there so much reading? I don't know how people can say math is hard then read three hundred pages on European History like it's nothing."
He lets out an easy chuckle. "Those textbooks can be dry."
She nods. Goes quiet as she takes a bite. Then she lets out a small groan. That fuck this is good groan.
It's about the food, I know. But my head goes other places.
He asks about dinner. How we made it. She launches into an explanation. Then they're talking about Daisy's favorite TV show, makeup, fashion, all sorts of shit that isn't in my wheelhouse.
Her posture softens. Her tension fades.
By the time she's finished with dinner, her smile is warm. "Are you sure it's okay for me to stay?"
Dad nods of course. "I'll have to talk to your parents. To make sure they know you’re safe."
In an instant, the ease disappears. She shakes it off. "Of course. They… uh… they're separating."
Fuck.
"That's why I don't want to be there," she says.
"I'm sorry, Luna." Guilt streaks Dad's expression. "I won't give you the lecture about how it's not you. I'll just say… I'm sure they love you and want you to be okay."
"Yeah. I'm sure. I just… can't really look at Mom right now. Allison. She's the one… it's, uh… do you mind if I go up to Daisy's room? I'll text. Make sure it's okay with her."
"You can take the spare," he says. "It's fine."
"You sure?" She looks to me. "And it's okay with Oliver?"
He doesn't let me answer. "Yes. It will be good for Oliver. To have company. In fact, we need to talk." He offers her a sincere smile. "Make yourself at home. I'll bring towels and blankets in a little while."
"Sure, yeah." She offers him a weak smile, then she moves away from the table.
Dad waits until she's all the way up the stairs to speak. "Are you going to say it? Or should I?"
Chapter Four
Oliver
Are you going to say it or should I?
Which of my fuckups does he want to discuss? I never know with Dad.
The drinking? The screwing? Some other sin I need to confess?
He places his hands on the table. Looks me in the eyes. Adopts a paternal tone. "You've barely left your room."
Since when does he care about that? "Okay."
"Are you talking to anyone?"
"I'm going to the court-appointed therapy."
"No, Oliver. Are you seeing your friends?"
No. My friends know me as the guy who brings a bottle to every occasion. Who fixes every drink. How am I supposed to hang out with them as the sober buzzkill? "I'm working a lot."
He studies me carefully. "It could be a good idea. To have someone around."
"A babysitter?"
"A friend."
I swallow hard. Yeah, in theory, a friendly roomie is a good idea. But in practice?
I already want to fuck Luna.
Having her across the hall—
Not helping me keep my dick in my pants.
Like he can read my mind, he asks, "Will it be a problem?"
"No." I can control myself. Even if it's hard.
"She likes you," he says.
"We're friends."
He doesn't buy it, but he doesn't press the issue. "I know it's not fair to remind you of that. With your sister dating your best friend."
It's not. I should complain. I should tell him to fuck off with the hypocrisy. But what good will that do? "Do you have a point?"
"I'm proud of you, for trying. But you're not going to make it if you white-knuckle your way through it."
That's his opinion. "It's been four weeks. I've made it so far."