Headstrong Like Us (Like Us, #6)

by Krista Ritchie

“I’ve fallen in love with our son, and I don’t know if I can lose him in five days. Five years. Five centuries. Especially knowing Scottie could be a harm to his fucking life. We have to protect him.”

“We’re going to protect our family,” I say easily. “There’s not a reality, or one of your alternate realities, where we wouldn’t.” “Universes,” he corrects.

I scroll through my phone and put on a playlist. Ripley starts to sob as “Far Behind” by Candlebox blasts from the speakers. Come on.

“Thank you, next,” Maximoff says dryly. I cringe. “I can’t believe I know you quoted an Ariana Grande song.” That music is not my favorite.

tuck him close, and Ripley grabs hold of my fingers, interested in the many silver rings. I smile and watch his curiosity.

When Ripley grows bored of my rings, Maximoff places him in the jumper, and to protect his fair skin, I find his diaper bag and put on his sun hat. Too fucking cute.

A perfect arc, and I’m roped in as he swims clean through the length of the pool and pops up at my feet. Damn.

He’s sexy as fuck. He’s smiling like he knows he’s hot.

“You want me to be a Hale?” He goes from arrogant celebrity to flushed schoolboy at the drop of a hat. Red staining his neck. I laugh hard.

“He already wants to make love to my name.” Maximoff growls out and says, “Just kis—” I kiss the fuck out of him.

“You want to practice something?” Maximoff makes a face. “The guy who prepares for nothing?” My smile stretches. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, wolf scout.”

“What are we practicing…?” His voice tapers out, realizing the answer as soon as I take his hand in mine and place my other palm on his lower back. I tell him, “Our first dance as husband and husband.”

“I’m leading,” he says forcefully. “We’ll see, Bossy.”

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.

And I might appear okay with whatever comes in my life, but there is nothing more I’ve wanted than this. Than for a man to love me like Maximoff Hale does.

“That’s the song.” Of course I love Collective Soul and that song, but I almost laugh. “It’s a 90s band.” “I don’t care.” I smile. “Okay.”

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.

“Please don’t tell them we’ve been skinny-dipping.” Vada groans. “My dad’s gonna flip out. He’s so un-cool.” “I know, babe,” Winona says. “Moffy will make sure everything’s okay.”

“To the girl squad being safe.” “To the captain, my captain.” “To the zip ties in the car.” “To Farrow’s med bag.” “To busted earpieces.” “To Maximoff’s paracord bracelet that didn’t come in handy.”

At the end, seriousness returned, and Oscar lifted his beer bottle and said, “Kitsuwon Securities 1 – Triple Shield 0.”

“I know you have a giant, overwhelming thing for my hair this color.” Yeah.

But he has no idea why—no idea that the first time we met, he had black hair and that my brain has tied a neat ribbon around the memory and planted lipstick kisses all over the damn thing.

My whole family is around here, strolling up and down the cobblestone pathways and popping into the shops.

He keeps his brown eyes on me.

I’m practically dusting circa Avengers: Infinity War.”

“You know I’ve been thinking—” “Your favorite thing to do.”

His grin, the one I’m way too attracted to, steals my breath for a second.

He reaches over and takes the olives I deserted, popping them in ...

“It’s the exact opposite, actually.” I feel my smile rise. “And you’re probably going to think this is stupid, but I’ve been thinking how I could be walking down the aisle in four days with a busted lip and a black eye. Instead, I just have some bruising that no one can really see.” I take a deeper breath. “If there really was a Hale Curse, it would’ve been worse.”

“Getting smarter.” He pinches his fingers close together. “By this much.”

Send photos. Ghosts are having more fun than me right now. This text can’t be from my mom. It sounds too much like Kinney,

but the more I’m around Farrow and Ripley, I’m glad I didn’t try.

Putting on a superhero cape for my cousins and siblings isn’t always what my heart wants to do, I’ve realized, and Farrow makes me feel less guilty for choosing to be the human me.

I’m not confused about who I am. I understand my weird existence in this world, and it’s not worth the energy to try and control something that literally cannot be controlled. And I can’t control how you perceive me.

I spot my dad in a nearby sandal shop with my mom.

“Yeah. But if you start a fight, don’t be shocked if I jump in.” He rolls his eyes into a short laugh. “Okay.”

“Please tell me it was a one-second interaction that lasted longer than Dazzler’s cameo in Dark Phoenix.” Jesus. He’s bringing up Dark Phoenix. The one X-Men movie that shall-not-be-named in our household. This is bad.

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.

My dad turns to Farrow. “Did he hurt him?” Farrow stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Like Maximoff said, it wasn’t a great lay.”

his cheekbones razor blades at this point.

“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.”

“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.”

My son. The responsibility I feel for him is immeasurable, and I’ve tried all my life to take that responsibility off my parents. To unburden them.

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 again, Moffy will have Farrow.

Even with Farrow, I still need my parents. I’ve just been so goddamn afraid to burden them.

“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 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.”

“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...