Alphas Like Us (Like Us, #3)

by Krista Ritchie

but there are a lot of moments just meant for him. And this is one.

“I want to hold you,” I breathe. His forehead almost touches mine, our lips nearly skimming as he whispers, “You’re holding me.” His husky voice quakes, his hand clutching my jaw. “And my arms are tight around you, and your chest is against my chest.” Tears scald our eyes, and we breathe and breathe, and I whisper, “You know, my heart is in your hand.” His lips are agonizingly close. “I hope not. Because then you’d be dead.” He kisses me before I react. Just one tender kiss, leaving me longing for more.

While I breathe,’” he translates, “‘I hope.’” It overwhelms me. Hope. Him. Love. Pain.

know and he knows that what we share is greater and stronger than whatever the world has to throw at us. We won’t end here.

Farrow subconsciously combs his inked fingers through bleach-white strands which contrast his brown eyebrows. He looks beyond fucking sexy. His Third Eye Blind V-neck molds his muscles and reveals his neck, throat and chest tattoos. Black pants fit snug on his legs and package.

Right now, I need him.

“You told your dad you’re naming your son Batman.”

“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.” I’m dying right now because the one time Farrow and I have spoken about our future like marriage and kids—it was last night. When I was lying beside the wreckage. And we haven’t resurfaced what Farrow told me in the rain.

“Your dad is alive,” Farrow says easily, “but he said your son sounds like a little prick.”

Charlie raps the doorframe with his crutch. Music still booms downstairs, so I’m assuming more family must be hanging out at my townhouse. “Hey,” I say, surprised to see him. But the Charlie Cobalt Disappearing Act has been dying down since the FanCon. “How’s the leg?”

Charlie supports his weight on both crutches and comes closer. His entire right leg is bound in a white cast, and he rolled his sweats to his thigh.

“Swallow a Vicodin, Moffy. There is a list of weak people in our families who’d drown in a craving, and you’re not one of them.”

“But I do understand what it’s like to be a big brother, and your position isn’t enviable.” He angles his head. “If you want to talk it through…” “Okay,” I say, not hesitating. His lips part, shocked.

“Charlie, I wasn’t even thinking that,” I tell him. I’ve always valued his opinion, but sometimes it comes after running through barbed wire and dodging explosives. I’m not always equipped for that kind of obstacle course.

“It’s just a conversation with him, right? He loves you. That’s why he calls you every day. Talk to him. He’ll listen to you. Everyone in this family does.”

“You look bad,” Beckett instantly tells me.

“He looks extraordinarily awful.” “The fucking worst.”

Charlie and Beckett flank the girls. All four staring at me. Sympathetically. Charlie, more so pityingly. I’ve had every teenager, every kid in the family, make me promise that I wouldn’t die on them. These four are the ones that see me less like Captain America and more like an imperfect human. I need them in my world. I can admit that. “I’m alive,” I say with a sharp breath. “Sadly,” Charlie quips. “Charlie,” they all chastise. A pretentiously coy grin plays at his lips. “Only joking.”

“I thanked him for helping Ben, Winona, Charlie, and you in the crash, and then I said if he has anymore exes that you should know about, you deserve full transparency.”

I understand that Beckett is protective because I’m the first to be in a relationship—the

don’t want the names of his other exes, Beckett. If I asked, he’d tell me. Give Farrow a fucking break.” Charlie leans against my dresser. “He said he thanked your boyfriend.” “Great,” I say, “and what did Farrow say in return?” Beckett bends down to plug in the air mattress. “He told me to get the fuck out of his relationship.” “His boyfriend almost fucking died,” Sulli tells Beckett, helping him spread the air mattress out. “You’re lucky he didn’t deck you in the face.” Beckett fiddles with my old outlet. “I’m willing to take a punch for Moffy. And for you and the rest of our family.” Sulli slugs his arm hard, but playful. He pushes her back, smiling.

It’s clear he’s had some conversations with my family while I was asleep. It

makes me feel like I was awake. Like someone grabbed my wheel and steered. Keeping everything upright when I couldn’t move. I feel myself start to smile.

Beckett glances at Charlie. “Remind me to never fall in love.” He grins. “Already in my calendar for the rest of your life.”

“So if you’re going three-fourths Loren Hale right now, I should expect a pretty harsh reaction from him?” Luna asks.

That blue-eyed shameless motherfucker leans on the stove of the cramped kitchen.

“My guy doesn’t know you like I know you,” Donnelly says, bringing up Beckett, his client, who laid into me earlier. “Or else he wouldn’t have said the things he said.”

Donnelly swishes his beer. “Beckett and I look dope together.”

“All of us here—we are Omega. Even if you’re transferred to another client, even if you quit or get fired. We’re the bodyguards on SFO until further notice.”

“We’re still talking about adding Banks to Omega, and it’s likely that’s the way it’ll fall.” No one asks why. Banks and Thatcher are identical twins, and he’s been recognized just as much as Thatcher on the street.

“Don’t you dare move.” “Too late, I’m already doing cartwheels down the stairs.” His voice sounds tight with pain. I rub my mouth. “You’re a terrible liar, wolf scout.” My eyes latch onto Akara, and I mouth, upstairs. He nods, and I tell my boyfriend, “We’ll be there soon.”

“Fuck you.” I smile. “That was the most precious fuck you I’ve ever heard.” He groans, fighting his upturning lips, and he says with more bite and growl, “Fuck you.” I suck in a breath. “Still precious.”

He tries to marbleize his features. Tries to be her strong unshakable big brother. These parts of him are so intrinsically Maximoff Hale that I wouldn’t want him to change. He loves people so overwhelmingly, and he cares. Shit, he cares more than anyone, and when people need him to be their everything, he is always there. But it only makes me want to be there for him. Every time. Every day. Twice as hard. Ten times as much.

“Moffy,” Charlie calls. Our heads turn.

A few pillows prop Charlie’s broken leg, and Donnelly leans over his cast, black Sharpie in hand. He’s sketching the Philly cityscape, and to be honest, I’m surprised that Charlie is letting him. His cast has been blank.

Charlie slips on dark sunglasses. “You look like shit, Moffy. If you’d just—” “I’m not taking a Vicodin,” Maximoff combats and then winces. An icepack slides down his shoulder—I fix it for him since the sports drink occupies his hand. Jane says something to her brother in French, and he raises one hand in surrender.

He’s not upset about Charlie nagging him. He’s physically hurting. More. And more.

“Shotgunning is where you take a hit from me. You don’t need to hold the blunt. Okay?” He’s asking for my permission. Because he’s a good guy. He’ll tell you he’s not, but he is.

And it helps that I trust Farrow with my body. I’d never fucking agree to this without him. “Okay,” Farrow repeats in relief, and he collects a lighter that’s thrown on my bed. I can’t tell from who.

You wouldn’t even believe how much this helps. Just observing Farrow. Because for a fleeting second, I forget I’m in pain, and I’ll take that second, even brief. Christ, I’ll take anything.

“Suck in the smoke, wolf scout,” Farrow tells me. “That’s all you need to do.” With two fingers, he places the blunt between his teeth, burning end in his mouth, the other side sticks out—and he leans over me again.

Farrow has told me how cinematic we are together, and I realize that I didn’t fully get it. Not until now.

me. I thought they’d look surprised. That I’d smoke anything. But like Farrow, they all seem relieved. Happy that I’m not suffering.

But I’m more assured than ever that Janie wouldn’t be able to fill Farrow’s spot in my life. Just like he can’t replace hers. I need them both. I want them both.

Protect your brother, protect your sisters, protect everyone (always). Don’t let Farrow go (I won’t). Marry him. Put a ring on it. What if he’s not into marriage? What if that’s why he rejected his ex’s proposal? But we talked about kids. Twice. Jokingly? No, it was fucking serious. I think. You can have kids without being married.

“Because my natural instinct is to defend you, wolf scout, and I know yours is to defend me, but we’re a target together and we have to take some of these hits.” He stares deeper into me.

And now the world knows that I love Farrow. You know that I’m in love. For real. All I want is to protect him, and all he wants is to protect me. It’s been our motto since the damn start. But Farrow is used to people mocking me, hating me, shitting on me. I’m not used to seeing him beneath a burning spotlight that leaves scars.

Charlie and Beckett watch their sister carefully, but they don’t stand up and join Jane. She unzips her purse and procures her pepper spray canister while marching to the door, guarded by Thatcher.

“Excuse me, Thatcher, but there are people I need to have words with on my best friend’s behalf. Move aside.” Yeah, alright, I’m smiling.

“Mr. Moretti,” she tries again, “I need to go break a few dicks. Can you please step aside?” Her angry face crinkles her nose.