Headstrong Like Us (Like Us, #6)

by Krista Ritchie

Crouching down next to Kinney. “Hey, birthday girl.” “Hey.” She wears a blasé, unconcerned expression while watching Hocus Pocus. Pictures of her goth outfit—laced sleeves, black hat, combat boots, and choker necklace—are already all over the internet. “You want anything to eat?” “The souls of my enemies,” she deadpans. I smile. “I’ll work on that.” I miss being home. She shrugs, turning more towards me. “Then a candy apple. No nuts.”

Teenagers have departed, leaving my parents in full-on PDA-mode. My dad hugs my mom from behind and gives her a wet willy. She squeals. I smile, their love apparent and visceral. If one of the younger kids were in view, they’d say, “Gross.” But I’m just happy that my parents are happy and healthy and together.

I’m picturing the look on my sixteen-year-old face if he knew about this—someone, quick, invent time travel. Just so I can tell my teenage-self about the future where I’m temporarily living in my childhood home with my childhood crush. Who’s now my fiancé. Maybe it’s good that time travel doesn’t exist. I think I’d die.

“You know me better than any guy ever has. You’re my person.” His chest collapses in a breath. “You know I feel the same.”

His love for his family has always been extremely sexy. And I’m going to be honest here: it makes me want to have kids with him. Badly.

“What do you fucking mean?” Ryke asks, wiping sweat off his forehead. “He’s in love with him,” Lo retorts. “Farrow is in love with my son.” It sucker-punches my gut. That he could tell at that point in time. Hell, that he’d even acknowledge this out loud. Lounging next to me on a beanbag, Maximoff slides his hand in mine. “You know Moffy is really fucking in love with him too?” “I had no clue,” he says dryly.

Farrow picks up a Batman action figure, his inked fingers shifting with precision and consideration over the plastic joints and cape. “I’m surprised your dad let little kids play with DC toys.” “Begrudgingly. He always told my mom that they were doing a disservice to future generations by spoiling them with crap.” Farrow smiles. “Sounds like your dad.”

What gets to me more: Maximoff is searching the aquatic center for someone. Eager and expectant. His anticipation of me fists my heart in a warm vice. Maximoff Hale wants me more than even humanly possible, for eternity. That soul-deep, soul-clenching feeling will never grow old.

A magnetic force has been at play between me and him, and I can’t see a scenario where we wouldn’t come together.

My lips lift at a thought: I’m going to be his Winter Soldier. For decades. For life.

I don’t know why. But if Maximoff’s dad is calling me and not his son, then there’s a chance I could’ve found my way onto his shit list again. I wrack my brain, wondering if I left a dirty dish out or misplaced one of his treasured comics.

You should know that I can survive in any universe, but I only want to live in the ones with Farrow Redford Keene.

Our uncle is proficient in computers and stuff like this. He’s hacked me before. I was twelve and gloated that my passwords were too strong for any hacker. Yeah, he proved me wrong.

His love. And he’s my greatest love. The only man I’ve asked to marry me. The only man I’ve wanted to be with for a lifetime. Fuck, he’s my entire world, and I’ve vowed to protect him, even on the days where he says he can protect himself.

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.

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.

This little guy has been in our lives for less than 48-hours, and my family already went overboard. I swear my dad gave us every item in stock. And my Aunt Rose brought over the whole new Calloway Couture Babies summer collection. So currently, this kid has more clothes than me and Farrow combined. My family is a supportive force. They even helped baby-proof the whole house in record time.

Farrow stares harder at the little guy against his chest. “If it were up to Maximoff,” he says to the baby, “your name would be Batman. So you should be crying in his arms.”

“But truth, it’s probably a good thing we don’t name him after Batman. My dad would do the whole ‘I refuse to call your son Batman’ thing and just refer to him as Bat….or Man. Jesus.”

“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.”

“I love you,” I tell him. “And my family loves you.” Farrow leans back slowly, his jaw skimming against my jaw. His eyes are red and welled up. “You have me beat, wolf scout. Because my father won’t ever love you the way that your family loves me.” His voice almost fractures. “Shit.”

So I’m standing here, buck-naked, a millimeter from my childhood-crush-turned-bodyguard-turned-doctor—and I’m staring at my inked handwriting: Maximoff Farrow has my name on his body. Somewhere, in another timeline, my sixteen-year-old self is hyperventilating.

“It’s alright.” I let out a deep breath. “Everyone can eat.” “Good, we thought you were turning into Dad for a second,” Xander says. Luna nods. “Butts in the seat before you eat.” Her impression of our dad is spot on. “No, Kinney, you can’t have wine at the table.” Kinney pours herself a glass of water. “If you want to drink the blood of your enemies, use grape juice.” We’re all smiling. “Lily would definitely be punching Lo’s arm,” Farrow adds, light behind his brown eyes. Fondness drifts around us. We love our parents, and them not being here tonight—when they promised—is like a giant void.

“Where I’m standing, you both have gone through worse.” I look between them. “You have a son who’s tried to commit suicide multiple times. You’ve got a daughter who’s been bullied to hell and back. You’ve got another one who’s so fucking independent, she’s pretending she’s forty-years-old when she’s fourteen. None of that has ever set you back.” “Our kids make us stronger,” my mom says, confidence emboldening every word. “Even when we doubt ourselves during hard times, raising you all brings us the sort of happiness we never thought we deserved.” My dad adds, “Our parents make us weaker.”

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?

“We shouldn’t invite her⁠—” “We’re inviting that old bat,” Farrow says definitively. “Because we won’t let her ruin a fucking thing, and you know I have such few regrets in life—but I’d regret not helping Lily and Lo when we had the chance.”

“What the fuck, Donnelly?” Maximoff pins his glare everywhere but at his sister. “My dad lives here. He eats, sleeps, and breathes in this fucking house.” Luna groans, hands over her eyes. “Yeah, I know.” Donnelly glances from Luna to my fiancé.

These families are powerful, and they have the ability to destroy people. Loren Hale is the Emperor of Petty, and he’s extremely protective of his daughter.

But I have to ask again, “She’s stopped harassing you? It helped?” Ryke nods in confirmation. “Yeah, she did stop,” my dad says. “It’s helped.” Clear as day, appreciation pools in eyes. “You both shouldn’t have had to do that, but I’m selfishly happy you did. Thank you.” We nod, and my dad hugs Farrow. When he embraces me, my dad pats my back for an extended beat, and we hold on longer while he whispers, “I love you, bud, and I’m grateful for you every goddamn day. And I can’t wait to see you marry the man of your dreams.” It’s a phrase that stays with me. Man of your dreams.

I’m trying not to swoon, even as my uncle and dad leave for the shed. To pour out the whiskey in the grass. Ryke lowers the bottle to his side and wraps an arm around my dad. “That was fucking mature of you, little brother.”

He knows that I can carry Ripley, even with a torn, shredded muscle or a hundred broken bones. But Farrow is looking out for my health, my body. For me.

In one second-flat, he playfully bites my bicep next to his inked name, raises a middle finger, and snaps a picture. Four taps on his screen, and he posts the photo to his Instagram. The caption is just the middle finger emoji.

Lily and Daisy keep sending videos of the baby asleep. Snoring. Nothing else. I texted back asking if he ever woke up, and the next message was from Rose Calloway. She sent a video of Ripley screaming at the top of his lungs.

He’s a demon. Certifiable. Congratulations. But you’re lucky that I’ve raised seven gremlins of my own. Lily has raised four. Daisy two. You have nothing to worry about. Have fun tonight, and don’t do anything that my nephew wouldn’t do or I’ll have your head.

“He was a good dog.” My mom tears up, and Aunt Daisy hugs her close. “I still remember the first day Lily brought Ham home,” my dad says to everyone. “It was around Christmas, and you, kids, were obsessed with him, showering him with hugs like he was the Lord and Savior of All Canines.” He laughs. “Jesus, he was such a goof.”

Ripley is somehow awake. And he’s in heaven, giggling and catching onto brown fur as the puppy licks his cheek. That’s when I know we made the right choice. And I feel a lot like my dad. So I find myself next to him near the kitchen doorway. He’s been eating a soft shell chicken taco and watching Luna, Xander, and Kinney play with their new puppies.

“Kinney has Salem. Xander has Erebor. Luna has Orion. And Farrow and I named ours Arkham, after⁠—” “Arkham Asylum.” A location in Gotham City. I wanted to pay homage to my Basset Hound, in some way, and Farrow came up with the name after flipping through some DC comics. My dad blinks like his brain short-circuited. He reanimates and licks hot sauce off his thumb. “He’s now Ham Junior. Sorry not sorry.” He flashes a half-smile.

“For a second,” he whispers, “I imagined that was my mom—and everything went black.” That’s why he walked away. I clutch his sharp cheek. “Your mom is definitely one of a kind.” I smile softly. “Which means Ripley has a really cool grandma.”

The melody instantly pours through me and sweeps us, drawing our gazes together. Staring deeply, not abandoning or deserting the other. We slow dance to Collective Soul’s “You”—and Maximoff will tell you that he’s leading. I’ll tell anyone who cares to know that I am, but the truth is, we’re just one movement, one love.

It got to me at the burial plot, and I almost started crying. My dad hugged me for a while, and I didn’t even question if he was doing well. He felt like my pillar, and I held onto him.

It’s about what he never gave me. Love without reason. And through my actions, my child will know that he’s a top priority to me, for no reason but love.

Kid you not, the baby immediately stops crying like heaven is cracking open and light is beaming through. 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.

I extend an arm over her shoulders, and she hugs me around the waist. For a second, I remember the years I spent protecting Lily. Good days. Better years. But I can’t lie, here and now with her son is my favorite time I’ve ever lived, and I have a feeling she’d be perfectly happy with that.

“I admire you, and I think you’ve raised strong as hell children, just like you are. They’re extremely lucky to have you as a mom.” I get choked up and clear my throat. “You’re my son too,” Lily suddenly professes, tears streaming down her round face. “You know that, right, Farrow? You’re a part of this family forever.” Fuck. I rub the heel of my palm over my cheek, tears slipping out. I swallow an emotional knot, and I just tell her, “I’d really love for you to walk me down the aisle.” Lily nods rapidly. “Yes.” She wipes at her face. “I’d be honored.” I smile through a glassy sheen in my eyes and hug Lily. Quietly, I tell her, “Later tonight, Maximoff is asking Lo to walk him down the aisle.” Lily covers her eyes, overcome. “He’ll love that.”

“They snuck out,” Lo declares, his voice edged. “Do you know how long they’ve been begging us to have their own villa here? Oh but I’m fourteen, Dad. You just need to trust me—what the fuck are you doing?” He cuts himself off when he sees a pack of cigarettes in Garrison’s hands. Garrison blinks. “I’m knitting a sweater.” He puts a cigarette to his lips, and Lo plucks it out and chucks it across the path. “Smoking’s not helping anything,” Lo snaps. “My kid is out who-the-hell-knows-where at one a.m. on an island,” Garrison refutes. “Smoking is helping me.” “Fuck off, both of you,” Ryke swears.

The air deadens around us. My dad looks outright murderous. “You were eighteen…how old did that make him?” “Twenty-four,” Farrow says. Donnelly is dead. I just think about how Luna is only nineteen, and he’s twenty-seven. Maybe it’s a good thing Luna is still hiding her galaxy tattoo.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” As soon as those words leave his mouth he grimaces in realization. “Jesus Christ—you kept this secret to protect me.” “You were in a bad place,” I explain. “Kaden seemed to be helping, and we weren’t going to rip him away from you for some selfish, stupid reason⁠—” “No, that’s exactly why you tell me. For selfish, stupid reasons. Because you’re my kid, and I’m looking out for you. Not the other way around.” My dad takes a deeper breath, hurt coursing between us. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t talk to me or tell me things because you think it’ll send me spiraling. You’re never going to be the reason I relapse.” He’s said those words before, but today they travel through me. Soaking into my bloodstream.

“I’m not going to be why you relapse,” I repeat his words. “That’s what I said.” “So I can tell you something?” “I’d hope you could tell me anything,” he breathes, pain wrenching those words. I glance at Farrow, and his brown eyes carry light and strength. Calmness washes over me. Flows through me, and I breathe stronger. 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.” “Moffy—” “You’re my dad,” I say, choked. “And I don’t want my kids to grow up with you as a memory like I have of my grandfather. I need you here—and I promise that I’ll tell you shit from now on, if you promise you won’t ever see me as someone you can push away. Because I might have other people, but no one in the whole universe—in every fucking universe—could ever replace you from my life.” He pinches his eyes, already tearing up. “Goddammit…”

My eyes burn. “I’m sorry.” I should’ve told him sooner. “No.” He rubs away a tear off his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about, bud.” He glances down at the yawning baby on my chest and touches his tiny, soft fingers. “I didn’t know I needed to hear that from you. But I…” He swallows hard. “It means a lot.” He meets my gaze. “I promise I’m always going to be here for you, and for you.” He eyes Farrow. His mouth curves in a warm smile. “Thanks, Lo.”

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.” We laugh. His smile softens. “Just know that, you’re both the great ones. No matter what happens or how many kids you have or don’t have.” I nod, a sudden pain in my chest. “Yeah.” Farrow clasps a hand on my shoulder. I can practically feel his breath stagger for a beat. My dad backs up and suddenly heads to the exit. What? “Where are you going?” I ask loudly. “To go fire a wet mop.” He saunters out, confidence in every footstep.