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“Because no matter how much you love, you’re still a passenger to their life. You have to watch all their bad decisions. You can’t think for them or change them. Just be there for them. And sometimes, it’s not going to be good enough. Sometimes things happen out of your control.” He paused. “Love is pain, and you know what…I feel sorry for anyone who hasn’t met it yet.”
‘The life of the dead is placed on the memories of the living. The love you gave in life keeps people alive beyond their time.’”
Akara is playing with her chocolate brown hair, and he coils a long strand over his upper lip in a fake mustache. Sulli cracks a smile and shoves his chest.
I can almost feel the rain from the crash site. Water kissing my face and how Farrow hovered over me. How he painted a picture of our lives together. Decades, longer—which, for Farrow, means an expanse of time that lasts forever. I could’ve died happy inside that future, and I can’t think of a greater sign than that.
They don’t know us.
“When I love someone,” he says in a rough whisper, “I love them proudly, and you deserve the achingly normal, romantic shit more than anyone. Everything you’ve never had. All the pictures you post, all the videos you do on your own, I want to be in them—and it’d kill me not to give you that. Especially now that we’re public.”
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.”
My blood starts pooling south. I’m agitated and unbelievably hot. Probably because I’m annoyed. Annoyance turns me on. Christ, that’s a weird thought.
We are a publicist’s worst nightmare. Setting fire to our public images out of stubborn love.
My dad raised me to be like Ryke. Because he loved his brother more than he loved himself.
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 should have told you that I’m in love with him. An indescribable kind of love. And I realize now, loving Maximoff entirely means letting his family in. Because the day that I’m the reason there’s tension between him and you is the day I’ve failed him.
boot. “I think we’ve made it to Neverland.” “Neverland,” Farrow repeats, looking me up and down with amusement. His hand descends into the backpack. “Don’t lost boys stay young forever there?” “Yeah.” I loosen my lace, his eyes swimming against my eyes. “That’s too bad then,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. “Because I want to grow old with you.”
you said you wanted an in-your-face, overjoyed kind of love that knocks you backwards.” He takes a beat. “But our love is that and better. Our love is headstrong. It never yields, never dies. And when it knocks you backwards, it pulls you upright again.”
“There’s no one else, Farrow. You’re it. You’re the one, the only one.”
“Dum spiro, spero,” he reads the Cicero quote. His eyes well up again. On a day that rocked us both, he said he loved that quote. It was a quiet moment inside a storm. The memory is as tranquil as the quote itself. While I breathe, I hope.
I watch as my future husband teaches my little brother how to box. He keeps glancing at me, a smile inching across his mouth. He knows how much I love him. How much I love this. And I think about what Farrow once told me. It’s the little things. It really is.
I nod a few times. “It’s a good thing I love your world, wolf scout. And that your world is mine.” That gets to us both.
