Alphas Like Us (Like Us, #3)

by Krista Ritchie

I catch Farrow swiveling the knob to a radio on his waistband and I ask, “Turning the volume down on them already?”

His lips rise. “They’re being particularly annoying right now.” “Who’s they?” I ask for specific names from SFO. He nearly laughs. “All of them.” He looks deep into me, his eyes smiling with airy light—and I don’t need to ask if he’s happy about rejoining security. There’s nothing more obvious.

He’s only watching me. His smile stretching from cheek-to-cheek like he’s fully aware that I’m in love with this place, this damn moment, him.

“Because I want to grow old with you.”

He’s holding a small wooden box. Farrow lowers his knee to the mossy stone. Is he…? Before I say anything, he cups one side of my face with a protective, affectionate hand, and he tilts his head towards my other cheek, his jaw gliding along my jaw. Until his lips brush softly against my ear. And very deeply, he whispers, “You’ve been my forever guy. You are my forever guy, wolf scout.” His breath warms my skin, and I curve my bicep around his shoulders, staying close. Hanging on. Listening to every intimate word as he continues, “And 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.” I pinch my burning eyes, and his hand tightens on my cheek. I feel his smile rise against my ear, his voice gravel tied in silk as he says, “I promise to give you everything you need and nothing less. Never less. Maximoff…” He draws his head back, just enough for us to look at each other.

He sees, and his own smile stretches wider and wider. He nods a few times, and he whispers, “You want to marry the fuck out of me?” I nod just as assured, just as overcome. “Yeah.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a black ring box. “I want to.”

“Since you beat me to it, does this mean I can’t ask—” “Ask me,” Farrow says strongly, and I hear the unsaid words: there are no rules, Maximoff.

“There’s no one else, Farrow. You’re it. You’re the one, the only one.” His chest rises against my chest, and he nods, knowing. Feeling. And I ask him, “Marry me?” “Yeah,” he says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’ll marry you, wolf scout.”

Off my confusion, he explains, “I’ll wear yours and you’ll wear mine as engagement rings. And then on our wedding day, I’ll take the ring off and finally put it on your finger.” Alright, my brain is obsessed with this plan. Like way too damn much. “Did you just think of this on the spot?” “I’d love to say I did, but no.” He waves me on to open the black box. “It’s something I thought about when I realized we were the same ring size.”

“Oscar and Donnelly.” “Your best friends,” I define.

“You should know, man. It took me a solid millisecond to pick this out.”

“Dum spiro, spero,” he reads the Cicero quote. His eyes well up again.

“Here.” He places the black band in my palm, not wanting to slip a ring on my finger yet. “It’s perfect, wolf scout.” And with another growing smile, he adds, “Especially since you took forever to pick it out.” I grimace. “You can’t know that one-hundred percent,” I contend and slip the black band on my ring finger. “I do know that one-hundred percent,” Farrow says. “Because I know you one-hundred percent.”

Lo is on his right. Ryke on his left. And the three look straight into the camera. Severity in their gazes.

The studio seems to quiet, more people compelled to look at them. Not because of the paternity rumors. Everyone invited here knows that’s bullshit. It’s how striking and domineering they are side-by-side-by-side. And Maximoff doesn’t look confrontational or angry. He looks proud to be standing between his dad and his uncle. And Maximoff—pure, wholehearted Maximoff—can’t even see how Lo and Ryke look even prouder to be next to him.

Oscar says, “Either Kitsuwon is in denial about his feelings for that girl or he’s playing all of us.” “Denial,” most of us say because Akara is adamant that they’re just friends. Not in the excessive way to cover a lie. In a peeved, fuck-off way.

And if I thought the studio quieted when he was with his dad and uncle, then it falls to silence for us. Maximoff isn’t cautious or worried. His lips inch upward. “You’re in my world.” He’s excited about that. 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.

“You are going to be my husband, wolf scout. Let’s hope you’re my favorite.”