“Little skates. Big hearts.”
I scroll further.
A reel of her at the cat rescue, lining up bowls for a dozen fluffy kittens.
A slow-motion shot of her and Celeste spinning together in the living room.
A carousel from the day at the dance competition, Celeste mid-leap, Luna clapping from the wings.
My jaw clenches.
She’s still her. Even if the clip was real. Even if she said something shitty once.
She’s still the girl who brings eggs to her mom in bed and makes smiley faces on toast. The one who calls me on my shit and hoodwinked me into falling in love with cats.
It’s more media bullshit. Twisting things out of context. Spinning a simple story out of one heavily edited clip to chase likes. It feels like I’ve brought nothing but disappointment and chaos into her life. Social media has its issues, but her space has always been a positive one. But look what bringing a Whitaker into her circle has already done? I’m no good for her, and I’m not sure I deserve the forgiveness Cece told me to ask for.
I stay in the kitchen long after Cece has gotten up and moved on. The room has dimmed as the sun dips below the horizon. Bluebeard’s tail flicks against the table, a slow, steady metronome of judgment. He’s sitting like some ancient monk, paws tucked beneath him, amber eyes fixed on mine like he knows everything I’m thinking and is unimpressed.
“You too?” I murmur.
He blinks.
I scrub my hands down my face, dragging the tension out of my jaw, my neck, my shoulders. Anywhere it will come loose. But it doesn’t help. The panic isn’t slamming down on me like a massive wave now. It’s a low tide of dread, rising slowly in the background, waiting for the next crash.
I glance at my phone again.
No messages from Luna.
The room feels colder now, like someone opened a window in the dead of winter, but I know it’s just me.
Bluebeard finally moves. Pads across the table like it’s his runway, then hops into my lap without warning. His weight settles against my thighs, warm and steady.
I hesitate before reaching for him. Then I scratch the spot behind his ears, and he leans into it like he’s been waiting for me to come to my senses all day.”
“You’re gonna make me soft, dude,” I mutter.
He purrs.
I look back at Luna’s profile. The thumbnail of her helping that kid lace her skates plays on a loop. She’s laughing, but not for the camera. It’s the kind of laugh that sneaks up on you, the one that slips out when you’re not looking. The genuine kind.
My chest tightens.
I don’t deserve her. She volunteers her time to a bunch of rescue cats and cries at dance recitals and stands up to her own fear on a daily basis just to keep her family afloat?
What have I ever done to be worthy of her love?
Bluebeard shifts, nudging his head under my chin. No judgement there. I let him stay. A warm, comforting presence in the midst of my turmoil.
Chapter 31
Fame Misconduct
Luna
I’vemadeitthroughworse mornings. Like the time I skated on a rolled ankle during regionals because our trainer was out with food poisoning and the backup never showed. Or the time Celeste injured her knee and couldn’t dance for three months.
But this?
