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I’m a Hale. Bad shit does happen to my family.”
“Tattooing my name on your ass won’t curse anyone or anything.” “It’s not going on my ass,” Maximoff says strongly, bypassing my light teasing.
“You came first.” Maximoff tries to hide a growing smile. He’s very satiated. “Did I?” “Wow, I really fucked you well—”
His biggest problem isn’t actually being a sex addict, I’ve been realizing. It’s the fear that one day he could become one.
Aristotle says there are three types of friendships. Friends for usefulness. Friends for pleasure. And then there’s true friendship. Friends that do things in pursuit of good for each other. Not for any other reason.”
Aristotle said it best. Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
The court granted Farrow temporary guardianship, and this healthy, beautiful baby boy is a stage 10 clinger. And for some damn reason, he’s clinging to me.
To the baby, he whispers, “Wolf scout thinks you’ll be a swimmer, little man.” I smile.
I don’t know who I’m smiling at anymore. Farrow, or Farrow holding the baby, or just the baby—let’s go with just the baby.
“My mom and dad raised me to fight the demons that they weren’t raised to fight. I’m strong because of my parents, and maybe that’s the point. They broke the cycle, and now I’m here to fight for him.”
“You have me beat, wolf scout. Because my father won’t ever love you the way that your family loves me.”
But I can love Farrow for eternity. Love him with zero hesitation. Love him with no second-thought or condition.
Maximoff Farrow has my name on his body. Somewhere, in another timeline, my sixteen-year-old self is hyperventilating.
he’s eyeing Maximoff with wide doe-eyes. Yeah, yeah, I understand wanting to be in wolf scout’s arms, but come on.
“And for Christ’s sake, don’t eat it on the way.” Walking to the door, he mumbles something about 3/4ths Loren Hale.
“Can she fucking die already.” “Jesus Christ,” I breathe. He flashes me a smile. “Kidding.” “No you weren’t,” I tell him.
He widens his eyes on me. “I forgot a Hufflepuff was in the room. Cover your ears next time.”
Do I burden him in this second? Do I tell him that I need him? That if something happens to him, it will kill me inside?
And when we breach the surface, I’m holding him and he’s holding me—and I feel free.
“Your baby is a blood-relative of mine, and I’m Xander’s bodyguard. Which means that I’m like family. Murdering me is like murdering one of his own.”
“Man, you’ve got Cobalts Never Die tattooed on your knee. Loren Hale isn’t going to think you’re one of us.”
Loren Hale is the Emperor of Petty, and he’s extremely protective of his daughter.
“Where’s your cat anyway? She deep-throat Ben’s cockatiel yet.”
“No, you have to be my baby’s bodyguard. Cover him while I carry him.”
Shocked he brought him here. “What’s that?” I ask. He raises his brows at me. “Our baby.” Our baby.
“He’s our son right now.” Our son.
You’re hurting him. It’s killing me. Please stop. Please.
But more importantly, I want him. The baby that hates me. The one that wails unless he gets a dumb parrot or wolf scout’s attention.
He’s shit on me. Laughed at me. And finds Maximoff to be the most precious human in the world. It’s perfect. The entire thing. And fuck, I really love him.
All of SFO is here, and we’ve always been the hottest fuckers in security.
“Which would you suggest? Top or bottom?” He points between a top and bottom block. Okay, I’m not even sure if Highland knows what he’s saying.
“He forgot already.” He clasps my jaw and whispers against my ear, “You’re mine to take care of, wolf scout.”
I locate Maximoff. The six-foot-two, hot-as-sin American prince.
My dad and I watch my son and my soon-to-be husband. Farrow is video-recording Ripley as he hugs onto Arkham. I want this to last. I want him forever.
Farrow’s smile expands to repulsively attractive levels. “The little man has spoken. You’re boring him to sleep, wolf scout.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, did we forget how he literally thinks the world has been set on flames while you hold him?”
“You’re not coming in, you little bastard. Go find your mom and dad.”
“Who’s in our family, Farrow?”
“Me and you, obviously. Plus, that furball.” I nod towards the Newfoundland. “And Ripley and however many more kids we have in the future. That’s our family.”
“He already wants to make love to my name.” Maximoff growls out and says, “Just kis—”
Ripley wiggles excitedly in my arms and looks up at me like, did you see that? I saw him. I’ve seen him.
After clothing Ripley in shorts and a graphic tee of a surfing dog and embroidered lettering that reads beach boy (he looks cool as shit), I balance my baby on my hip.
“He can’t see your face.” Thatcher crouches down some, and Ripley shrieks. I laugh my ass off. Thatcher actually smiles. “That was the same effect I had on you not that long ago. Like father, like son.”
As though Maximoff Hale is Zeus, godly enough to rain thunder. And I’m just waiting for our son to realize that I wield the lightning.
He smashes his soft cheek to my chest. “Da-da, da-da. Da-da!” He giggles at me. Breath catches in my throat, stunned.
“You’ll live,” Charlie says. “But we can still throw you a funeral to celebrate the death of your common sense.”
She’s an Olympian, and he could’ve qualified. It’s impressive as fuck.
I hope when I grow old and my son grows old, he still turns to me. That he never feels like I won’t or can’t help him, and I feel like I’ve made a mistake somewhere with my own dad.
In trying to not be a burden to my parents, I think I’ve led my dad to believe that I don’t need him. And that Farrow is the only one I really need—the only one who can reach me.
And I hear my dad’s words in the back of my head, thank God. Because when I fuck up agai...
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