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“What the fuck did I say?” I have to ask. Farrow is close to laughter. “You told your dad you’re naming your son Batman.” My eyes pop out of my head. “No I didn’t.” He has to be fucking with me. “Yeah, you did,” Farrow smiles wide. “Your dad asked you, what son? And you said the one in the Batmobile.” I blink slowly. “I killed my dad. He’s dead, right? Death by Batman talk.”
My dad’s brows scrunch at me. “Did your mom and I not teach you the art of being a couch potato? Jesus Christ, I’ve truly failed as a parent.”
I need to finish my residency.” And before they ask, I add, “Not for my father, but for me.” I first look at Donnelly. His lips slowly lift, unlit cigarette in his mouth. “We’re getting our Meredith back.” He slow-claps. I smile. “Man, you know I’m a Christina.”
I take out my phone just to ensure it’s nothing serious. But I’m distracted. By you-know-who. Not Voldemort. Someone hotter. Not that I think the villain in the Harry Potter books is even remotely hot—Christ, stop thinking.
I know how much I’m like Ryke Meadows, and I’ve been reaching a place where I can be proud of the similarities. I no longer feel like who I am is a knock against my dad. And I’ve realized something. My dad raised me to be like Ryke. Because he loved his brother more than he loved himself.
Jack trains his camera on Oscar and the lens extends out, zooming in. “Seeing anyone?” “Bro,” Oscar says, putting his beer to his lips. “I’m not doing your show.” Jack smiles. “I say this to everyone, but I really mean it for you, Oscar: you’d look good on TV. And it’s not my show.”
Connor Cobalt, Ryke Meadows, and Loren Hale have already claimed the other side of the wooden table. Three larger-than-life men. Each one had a profound impact on Maximoff, and it’s always clear to me when I speak to them just how great their influence was and still is to this day. Hell, I see them as different sides of my boyfriend: Connor is mental. He taught Maximoff intelligence, emotional restraint and confidence. Lo is emotional, the sarcastic, loving and empathetic pieces of him. And then Ryke is physical, all determination and stubbornness and unshakeable strength.
I follow Lo, step-for-step with him, and I rub my palms together, trying to scrape off the wet sand. We pass Team Cobalt, and their ridiculously large castle. Nine people are building this thing. Lo edges closer and purposefully steps on one of the turrets. Demolishing it flat to the ground. “Cheater!” most of the Cobalts boo and yell. “Loren!” Rose yells above her seven kids. “You’ve reached a new level of low. Ruining the children’s sandcastle.”
Classic
