Headstrong Like Us (Like Us, #6)

by Krista Ritchie

“You think Ripley is doing okay over there?” I pop a bubble in my mouth and locate our son with the parents, aunts, and uncles. Ryke cradles the sleeping baby, lips parted in breathy snores. They all wanted to spend time with Ripley during the dinner, and thankfully he’s more used to the families. But he has his favorites. Ryke and Lo. It’s clear to me why. They have the most similar energy as Maximoff, and so Ripley is the most comfortable in their arms.

My brain buzzes a million miles a minute. I’m about to marry my childhood crush. Yeah, my brain is trying to ride that thought to the clouds. I’m here. Present moment, me. Marriage material, me. About to see Farrow Redford Keene, me.

“You only have one job, bud.” A trademarked dry smile inches across his lips. “Make it to the altar. And lucky for you, if you pass out, I can just carry you there.” I don’t know—I’m smiling. “You’re joking, but it might actually happen, Dad.” A rare warm look crosses his face. “I felt that way, too. It’ll pass once you see him.”

My dad was joking about carrying me to the altar, but I’m almost a hundred percent relying on him to guide me there. Because I still can’t take my eyes off Farrow. His teasing smile only stretches wider. I never want to forget that smile. Not for as long as I live. Bury me in the ground with these memories. Send me to the underworld with his face engrained in my head. I’d be a happy man.

“Moffy.” My dad’s voice pulls me, and he wraps an arm around my shoulder. I hug him tight, and before I can tell him I love him, he whispers, “You’ve made me so goddamn proud to call you my son.”

“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.” He takes a pause. “I’ve witnessed that firsthand.”

“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’m going to be proudly, uncompromisingly me no matter what the hell I do or where the fuck I go, so I might as well do it in the spotlight. All-in.”

Our eyes crash together, feeling the permanence. What we’ve hoped and desired and would’ve fought years for. It’s met us suddenly, quietly, and powerfully. We’re smiling and breathing. Existing together in this enormous world, and everything stills in a moment, in a second, at complete balance and harmony with him and me and our beautiful son. And this is it. This is our life. Absent of nothing and full of love, of that great, overwhelming something.

You know Ripley Keene Hale as the cute baby to me and Farrow, my bodyguard-turned-husband. You’ve seen Ripley become attached to a yellow pirate parrot and be a little trooper in front of the media, and you love when all three of us are together. You’ve created Tumblr pages and fan accounts dedicated to our family. I know him as my son. He cries when both of his dads leave the room. He hates vegetables but loves most fruit, especially applesauce. When he’s sad, he likes when I rock him to sleep in my arms, and he acts like Farrow isn’t his favorite—but I know he loves him, like epic kind of love. Fair Warning: if you fuck with our son, we’ll wipe you from the face of existence.

My heart is so damn full. “You think Ripley will be more like you or me?” “Both.” He bites on a camelbak spout, lips quirked. “I have a feeling he’ll be headstrong like us.”