Lovers Like Us (Like Us, #2)

by Krista Ritchie

Dear World, how many times have you seen Captain America jump into an ocean and throw a pity party of one? I’m asking for a friend. Sincerely, just a human.

His satisfied smile stretches from cheek-to-cheek. Somewhere in some alternate universe, I’m a philosopher writing dissertations on that fucking smile. And its sheer effect on me.

You know Beckett Joyce Cobalt as a principal dancer of an elite ballet company in New York City. His tattoos and extracurricular activities cause a stir for tabloids. But they also fill seats for shows. You call him the bad boy of ballet and he doesn’t bother proving you wrong. I know him as my twenty-year-old hard-working, extraordinarily talented cousin, the most calm and the least dramatic of the Cobalt Empire. He has no room for bullshit, and he’ll be the first to say you smell full of it. If he weren’t Charlie’s fraternal twin, maybe we’d find common ground. But if there really are sides in my family, Beckett will never be on mine. Fair Warning: if you fuck with Beckett, I won’t hesitate to team up with Charlie and rip you limb-from-limb.

Oscar spreads out two hands to demonstrate the range. “There’s the likable asshole over here.” He waves his left hand before lifting up his right. “Then there’s the abusive motherfucker that deserves to eat cow shit.” “And die,” Donnelly adds. “Painfully,” Farrow finishes.

“Mom was crying,” Beckett tells his sister, “and you know, Mom. She says she only sheds tears for the ones she loves. She really felt like shit for not believing you.” “Good,” Jane snaps. Beckett continues, “She also told Dad they needed to cut out their hearts for the betrayal and gift each to you in a glass jar.” Jane tries not to smile. “Encore mieux.” Even better.

I pull up the hood to my green Patagonia jacket. He wears a similar style but a darker shade of green. Right now, I don’t give a fuck. The media isn’t around to write up articles about our similarities, but even if they were, I don’t care anymore. Compared to what else is on my plate, it’s insignificant. I don’t care if you know how much I love him. How much he means to me. How much he influenced and shaped me. I am who I am, and I’m not changing. I can’t change for anyone. Not even for my own dad.

I’m rigid and cold. “You know what I think?” I take a tight breath, my gaze hardening. “I think the Hales are a line of dominos, and when my mom or dad falls, my siblings topple with them.” Ryke doesn’t refute. I nod a few times. “And I already pushed them down. I’m never doing it again.” “That’s your fucking choice, but I’m telling you that I’ll keep your dad and your mom standing.

“The thing about addiction is that it changes you,” he tells me. “You don’t care about the people you love. All compassion and kindness dissolve in the face of your own wants and needs.”

My dad has always been candid with me, but this is different. How he’s speaking—it feels like he’s reaching to a place he rarely touches and he’s splitting himself open. He’s fallible. Imperfect. He’s been telling me that since I was little, but my dad had always been a superhero in my eyes. He’s so human. It hurts.

I wish that doomsday could’ve been avoided altogether, but if it had to happen, at least I have parents that love me enough to be there for me.

“You think I care about the company? You could drive my business into the ground, bud, and as long as you’re breathing and alive and happy, I wouldn’t care.”

Once I find the words, I tell him, “I wouldn’t trade you for any other dad. No bullshit.”

I follow his gaze that drifts down the ridge. Someone bundled in gray faux fur hikes towards the hut, and as my dad relaxes more and more, I know it can only be one person. I climb out of the water. Cold bites every inch of exposed flesh. I shiver and quickly put on my pants, shirt, jacket—the works. I bet they know what I’m about to do. No one protests as I leave and run down the slope, snow past my calves. I skid on a patch of ice but keep my balance. Wind slaps my face, and right as I round one corner, I startle the gangly, fur-clad figure. “OhmyGod!” she shrieks, wide-eyed, and then catches her breath as she realizes it’s just me. “Hey, Mom.” I lean down and wrap my arms around her bony shoulders, hugging her tight. “I’m sorry.”

Apparently the younger girls—Audrey Cobalt, Winona Meadows, and my sister Kinney—protested about not being able to join the tour. They made a PowerPoint presentation, and when our parents said no, they locked themselves in a lake house bedroom.

Mouths inches away, I breathe, “Bite me.” He kisses me hard and then nips my lip, fuck yes⁠— “Separate!” We do, and Farrow fits his earpiece in with the shake of his head. “If he does this the entire trip, I’m going to strangle him.”

Donnelly ignores his client and motions his bottle to Maximoff. “The Hale Curse. If there’s a Hale in the room: what could go wrong, will go wrong to the Hale. Statistically proven.”

I never thought a lot about chemistry or how his unperturbed energy would be compatible with my strong-wired, but something about Farrow just drives me nuts. My pulse pounds harder than my broken nose throbs. Every damn time I’m with him, it feels like the first time we’re together. He’s inched under my skin, into my blood stream, definitely my brain—I’ve been a fucking goner since I was sixteen. And I still haven’t fully accepted this fact. That someone in my life is here for me. Because they love me. A romantic love. Not family, not solely friendship. It still seems unbelievable.

Yeah, he left to get us breakfast. My internal alarms blare in warning. I have rules. Safety measures. Protocols. Don’t look in love. Don’t act like I’m semi-obsessed with someone off-screen. Don’t appear fucking interested in the six-foot-three maverick who’s about to bring me breakfast in bed. You can’t know about Farrow Redford Keene.

I stand off the table and really laugh at a thought. “I love when our clients think we’re oblivious to what’s happening.” Our job description: watch them. Donnelly checks himself out in a full-length mirror. “They must think we’re plannin’ tea parties and brushing each other’s hair.” While I toss my empty bowl in a nearby trashcan, he adds to me, “Maximoff is looking over here for the third time.” “Fifth,” I correct and fix my earring. “It’s like he likes me, he really likes me.” I turn and purposefully catch my boyfriend staring. I raise my brows at him. He tries to hold a scowl.

I remember what Jane said about most people “crushing” on Maximoff. I can believe it. He’s such a man’s man. People either admire him, want to be him, or want to fuck him. And I never forget that out of everyone, he fell in love with me.

I never even dreamed about falling in love until I fell in love with him.

I asked the Ouija board if you suck and the ghost told me yes. – Kinney She’s still pissed that she’s not allowed on tour. I text back: I love you more than the ghost hates me.

“You can hate me for two days, Maximoff, but I’ll love you for a thousand more.”

“Sullivan, is there anyone that you look up to like a brother since you only have a sister?” “Yeah,” Sulli says easily and cranes her neck and waves at me. “Hey, Moffy.” “Hey, Sul,” I say in the mic. I think it’s easier for her to speak to me than the crowds. She keeps eye contact with me. “I know you didn’t talk much about me on We Are Calloway because I asked you not to. I kind of wanted to be…anonymous, or as anonymous as I could be, but…” She shrugs. “You’re my big brother. We went to hundreds of swim meets together, and fuck, we got busted shins and elbows from skateboarding…and you were always there. You still are.”

“My question is for Maximoff. Who do you like better: Ryke Meadows or Loren Hale?” Jane sends me a quick glance like I’ll take over if you need me. In the past year, that question would’ve put my thoughts in a grinder. But I’m not pummeled backwards anymore. “I love them both,” I say, my tone easygoing. “At the risk of sounding cliché, I wouldn’t be who I am without my dad and my uncle.” I’m aware that there are hundreds of phone-cameras filming me, and I can almost feel my dad back in Philly smiling. Happy that I’m finally embracing the truth publicly. “My dad is amazing, loving, funny and protective,” I tell the audience, “and I got to love a dad who was sober because he has a brother who’s kind, compassionate, strong and unfaltering. I honestly can’t imagine not having either of them.”

He glowers. 2% amused, 98% irritated. I’m a 100% satisfied, and we unconsciously near. Our boots scuff the dirt and moss.

We spend an insane amount of time together, but whenever I’m around Maximoff, I only want him to draw closer, and I think, another minute, another hour. And then those minutes turn to days and hours to weeks, and before I even blink, I’m consumed. Hook, line, and sinker. He has me.

You know Eliot Alice Cobalt as the king of drama. Literally, he’s starred in local plays from William Shakespeare to Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams, and he’s already signed to a theatre company for the next two years. He often films himself and posts humorous soliloquies about a lamp or toothbrush, and he’s not afraid to be uninhabited and wild. I know him as my passionate eighteen-year-old cousin who thrives in chaos. Who, 9 times out of 10, will light a napkin on fire if I’m at dinner with him. Who loves stories but struggles with reading. Can’t make sense of street signs or restaurant menus. Can barely pick apart a single sentence. Who used to ask Jane, his brothers, and me to read books out loud. Hardbacks pile high in his bedroom, and for fun, he writes plays using a voice-app. He’s dyslexic, and a fucking brilliant, soulful actor who can make an audience cry with a few words. Fair Warning: even with all the mayhem he brings, I love this guy, and I’ll drive a sword straight in your gut if you fuck with him.

At a café breakfast while we waited for Lily in the bathroom, Lo told me, “I woke up this morning, and I went, goddamn, I’m an adult. It still blows my mind that I lived this long, and Lil and I somehow managed to gift the world those four dorks.” He stared lovingly at his teenage children, a few tables away.

Lo pops up on screen. A ten-foot Christmas tree decorated in garland and gold bows twinkle, and a towering cardboard cutout of a twenty-something Connor Cobalt stands behind him, a Santa hat on and scarf around its neck. In December, that cutout is shifted through the lake house every morning. A tradition for their families. People have Elf on the Shelf. Maximoff has a six-foot-four replica of his uncle.

“I kept thinking my brother would end up with someone boring, annoying, or high-maintenance. Someone I’d hate. Kinney, Xander, and I talked about it all the time, but Moffy actually fell for someone cool.”

Never in my life did I think I could experience this. A man to call a boyfriend. A man to dance with in a crowd. To wake up to. To go to bed with. To love. And be loved. But here he is.

“The other day, Luna asked me if you were my sidekick or if I was yours.” “What’d you say?” We kiss gently, moving closer. Legs threading. Unable to back away. “That there’s no Robin to a Batman, and I said we’d probably be two Batmans—she cut me off and said, no.” Maximoff laughs, his eyes carrying more love than I can express. “She said I was moral to a fault and you can be impulsive, headstrong. We’re fucking different but we’re still two superheroes who’d die for each other. In any era, any alternate universe. Like Captain America and the Winter Soldier.”

Sulli is lost for words, but then she starts with, “You didn’t have to⁠—” “I didn’t,” Jack says and then nods to Akara. “When he found out I was coming by, he told me to pick up the order.” Correction, Akara Kitsuwon beat us to it. Sulli looks overwhelmed. “Thanks, Kits.” He shrugs again, his lips inching up. Then he glances at Jack. “Her mom has a theory that cake fixes everything.”

Our parents just announced a second wedding in April to renew their vows. The media published the story like American royalty just declared the biggest ceremony of the year. It made so many headlines that paparazzi raced back to Philly. Like ants returning to their mud hill. And about five hours ago, we lost the last van that’d been trailing our tour bus. My mom and dad—they did that for Security Force Omega. Knowing a wedding announcement would reroute the media’s attention. And seeing the look on the bodyguards’ faces when the roads cleared…it made me immeasurably proud to call them my parents.

“My parents are…” I lick my dry lips, trying to step on the right word. I think about how people see the Hales. Fragile, breakable, humans—a row of dominos that topple with one blow. But that row of dominos always uprights again. And again. Again. Strong. My parents are strong, I remember, but it’s a kind of strength that appears after raw vulnerability. Like a scar after a wound.

I kick some gravel. “You could always ask your new bodyguard to help you out.” I start smiling. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Jane snorts. “Oh yes, in your life, bodyguard duties include giving head.” She narrows her eyes at the dark road. “God, could you even imagine? What would I say? Hello Mr. Moretti, I’m in need of some oral assistance. Would you be so kind to spread my knees?”

This is exactly why I’m fortunate to never be on a Cobalt family getaway. She just turned thirteen in January, and she speaks like she’s fifty. And this is just one Cobalt. When all seven are together, it’s an instant migraine. Stick me with the weirdo Hales any day. Fuck, I actually miss Luna right now.

“Tell me something that isn’t new,” I say. “I love you,” he says deeply. “And when you hurt, I hurt.”

Fuck. I groan against his lips, and he smiles against mine. Someone clears their throat. Behind us. Great. I pull back, but I play as cool as I fucking can and stand straight. This is my townhouse. I live here. We kissed. He grabbed my ass. On the PDA scale, this is minor level. Farrow rests his shoulders on the wood. A lot more naturally at ease than me. But that’s normal. Who saw us? My dad.

We’re all quiet, but Rose hastily unclasps her Chanel purse, her nails painted a matte black. Tabloids call my aunt an “ice queen” but her heart is fucking giant. I saw it as a kid when five-year-old Ben got poison ivy and she told her son she’d bear his pain for him if she could. She whispered in French, made him a hot bath, and sat with him the whole night. And I definitely see her heart now. As she pulls out a pair of heels.

I glance at my family. My mom and dad in a loving embrace: his arms around her waist, her body clung to him. And Ryke picks up Daisy and tosses his wife playfully over his shoulder. So she hangs upside-down, her smile as bright as the sun. Everyone is okay.

“No wait,” my mom says and wipes her sweaty palms on her baggy Avengers Assemble shirt. “So I have something for you too…and just to be clear, I can’t take back anything that I said or did at the Camp-Away. Because Maximoff is my son, and I want to be the kind of mother who’s strong enough to stand up for him and protect him.” She nods resolutely. “I didn’t cower, and I’m proud of that.” You’ve always been that kind of mom, I want to say, but I inhale a tight breath, having no goddamn clue where this is going. But my dad sends me sharp looks to let them talk. So I stay quiet.

My mom practically beams. Her eyes dart from him, to me, back to him. Like she’s fully feeling our relationship as reality. Her smile kind of looks giddy. Like she could root for us. Wave flags for us. Create banners and move mountains for us. That means a fucking ton. My dad is almost there. Maybe. Progress.

Maximoff Hale deserves peace. And love. I’ll always, always fight to give him the things that people rip away, and that’s not changing now, a year from now, five years—forever.

“Maximoff,” I breathe against his mouth. His eyes scream I fucking love you. “Don’t let go,” he orders. “I’m not.” I’m not. “Neither am I,” he assures me. “Good.” And I realize and feel something. I would’ve self-destructed without him. He’s been the prince in knight’s armor. Protecting me.

“What?” Maximoff asks. “Words of wisdom from an unwise man,” I tell him. “Your dad.” Maximoff smiles. “He’s pretty wise for all the hell he’s been through.”

The silver lining to losing my job and cancelling the tour early comes in lavender floral bouquets, tuxes, a hundred closest friends, family, and a garden gazebo today. Spring flowers bloom, and I sit in the front row next to my siblings. Beneath the gazebo, my mom looks effervescent in a lilac dress, beaming at my dad, who wears a black-on-red tux. Both radiate with pure, blissful happiness. I was at their wedding. Just a little kid, and unlike Farrow, my memories have faded and fogged over time. But this, right here, I immortalize. My mom and dad renew their vows in front of all of us, and sure, press and cameramen are here too. But the world seems to still. I swear to everything in this fucking universe—you can actually feel their love. It’s in the air and the silence between their words. The first thing I think is…I love them.

His lips gradually stretch into a smile. So slow it looks like an epic shot in a movie. I’m gone. Completely fucking in love with him.

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”