Headstrong Like Us (Like Us, #6)

by Krista Ritchie

She elbows Banks in the chest, and he quickly tosses her over his shoulder. Akara cups her face between his hands. “It’s over, Sul.” I’ve never seen Sullivan fight like this. In fact, there’s a time where I distinctly remember Sulli saying she’s “a lover, not a fighter.” “They fucked with my sister,” she says through gritted teeth.

I face my dad. “I need you. Not just right now, not just yesterday—but long after this week, after I’m married. In ten years. Twenty. When you’re an old man, I’m still going to need you.”

My dad clears his throat, then smiles a half-smile at Ripley. “Maybe you two might need to hear this.” His eyes flit to us. “You’re both great fathers. The kind that kids grow up and gush about.” He feigns surprise. “A lot like me.”

Donnelly said, “And my best friend has the ability to make the hottest, smokin’ Maximoff Hale turn into a lovesick puppy dog.”

“If you really know these two men, then you know they’re who you call on when you’re at your lowest. When nothing is going right, you just know they’ll be there. One text, one call, no questions.” Thunder crackles. “They’re two of the most selfless men, and I can’t name two other people who are more perfect for each other. Their tenderness together can breathe life back into a body.”

“You’re the person that my soul has been searching for because my head was too stubborn to do it.”

Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope. I slip the black band on his tattooed finger, and as soon as I finish, Oscar declares, “By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband.” I don’t hear anything else. Farrow’s hand is on the back of my neck. Mine on his, and we unite in a soul-bearing kiss. All around us is clapping and lightning and thunder.

And I’d like to think Plato was right. That in the beginning of time, it was Farrow and me, and we were once whole together. Our souls united. But like all humans, we were split down the middle. Separate halves wandering around this universe. We found each other. And finally, together, we became whole again.

“I fucked up.” “You fucked up,” I repeat, dumbfounded. “How badly are we talking about?” “I asked Highland if I could kiss him.”

He lets out a rough sigh. “I had to give it a shot. He’s hot and he’s stolen three pieces of my wardrobe already.” “Yeah?” I frown. “Yeah, he’s got my bandana, my sweatshirt, and he borrowed my extra belt this morning.”

The only thing that was stopping me was fear. And that’s not a good enough reason to slam on the brakes.

Thank you for giving the guy who has the world all the parts that he’s never seen or felt before.

And timeless. It’s always been the little things.

I whisper to Ripley, “Just between us, I’m okay with you taking his side for the rest of our lives. I would too if I were you. He’s just that good.”