Headstrong Like Us (Like Us, #6)

by Krista Ritchie

“Lily heard some noise, and I came down to make sure Kinney wasn’t trying to communicate with the dead. She has school tomorrow.” He flashes a tight smile. “Didn’t expect to see my son crying—”

“You can cry, bud.” He tries to soften his tone. “You know that?”

He heads towards the fridge, and I can’t mistake the look he slips me. It’s a thank you. For taking care of his son.

My friend is sitting on the ground in the hallway, phone hanging limply in his hand. Elbows resting on his bent knees where his jeans are worn and ripped. Donnelly’s eyes are bloodshot, but I can’t discern if he’s been crying or if he’s just angry.

Internally, I’m smiling, my love for Maximoff mounting in a time where I really need to feel that good thing.

“There has to be something we can do.” He hates waiting. It’s like being stuck in an agonizing limbo, unable to solve a crisis. Unable to help.

Maximoff was right when he told his dad that we can handle it. We can handle a lot of shit together, for a lot of people, but it’ll always be important to check in with each other. Above all else.

“So I’m just sitting here thinking, fuck, I’m glad I’m gay.” Maximoff exhales deeper. “Because you’ve never had to worry about accidentally getting a girl pregnant.”

“I don’t have to stress about it anymore.” A soft smile pulls at his lips. Another reminder that we’re in this for life together. Happiness flits briefly from his mouth to his eyes before he nods,

I’m struggling with the idea of him being around you.” I tilt my head back and forth. “That’s funny because I’m struggling with the idea of him being around you.”

I’ve never considered putting anyone else above Maximoff. I choose him 100% of the time.

I want to choose Maximoff now.

He’s not an idiot. He knows, if the test came back negative, they would have told him over the phone.

Donnelly leans against a bookshelf, a few steps back from us. I think he might be hoping this can all go away if he disappears in the shadows.

Blood drains from Donnelly’s face, and he glances at me. “They have to stay. Farrow is my legal counsel.” My brows spike. “Man—” “Legal advisor.” “Better.”

I know him well enough to see what’s ahead. “You want guardianship,” I say aloud, letting the reality into the air.

“I don’t know.” Honest to God, he looks terrified. “I thought you knew everything,” I joke. His smile flickers in and out. “Don’t worry, I still know more than you, wolf scout.” I inhale deeper. “I’m not worried.” “Yeah?” He nods. “Yeah.”

“But he needs someone to be there for him. All-in for him. And I can do that. That’s the way I see it.” All-in for him.

I was an accident that surprised them at a shitty time in their lives, and they needed a lot of fucking support. Most came from family, and they provided this unconditional, pure love. Giving that to someone else feels right.

“This is fast, even for me. If you’re not behind this, if this is going to ruin us, then you need to tell me.” “Nothing is going to ruin us,” I say immediately. No hesitation. I don’t believe for a second this could. Farrow puts his fist to his mouth in thought. “You’re twenty-three.” “My mom was twenty-three when she had me.”

“Say something, please,” Farrow whispers. I can’t fight this pressure on my chest anymore. “It’s fast,” I say softly, my throat closing. “Probably too fast for me.”

“But I need you to choose this.” He shakes his head. “I can’t if you’re not ready.”

“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.”

“You don’t even hesitate for Donnelly. It’s just something you need to do for him, and I get that. Because if it were Janie, I’d need to do it too. And you wouldn’t stop me.”

“I don’t want to.” I reach for his hand. His thumb glides over the wedding band on my finger. His ring. Still on me. Waiting for him.

“I don’t love life-altering change,” I remind him. “It freaks me the hell out, but there’s not a single person I would rather do this with than you.”

“Good.” He nods. “Because I couldn’t do this without you.” That hits me. Because he’s older—and I don’t know, he acts like he can do a lot o...

“I’m going to become the guardian.” Donnelly shakes his head with force. “No, I can’t ask you.” “You don’t have to.”

His face cracks, and Farrow steps closer to put his arms around him just as Donnelly breaks down, bringing his own shirt up to cover his face.

Aristotle said it best. Friendship is a single soul dwell...

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.

Farrow tried, and the baby acted like we chucked him into monster-infested waters. He doesn’t know it yet, but unless you fuck with my family, you’re pretty much safe from being shark bait.

And it’s hard not to smile when I’m holding this little soft thing that smells like baby powder and citrus, even after washing him with fragrance-free Hale Co. baby soap.

The baby curls his tiny fists against my bare chest. Settling down.

I rub his back. I can’t imagine what he’s been through the first four-months of life. It’s honestly a miracle that he’s not rejecting both of us. Just one of us.

But he’s a full-fledged distraction to my brain that loves how he’s doing absolutely nothing.

I drink in his shirtless torso: gorgeous gray-scale tattoos sprawled across his body and the colorful sparrows and swallows throughout. I skim higher, to his barbell nipple piercing. Higher, to his growing smile.

“You want a picture?” “Of the wall, sure.”

“He’s been here less than 48-hours, and you’ve already been peed and spit up on. There’s only one more box to tick off, man, and I don’t know if you can handle projectile poop.” “I can handle some baby shit,” Farrow says, his eyes narrowing on my smile. “You’re loving this.”

He’s terrified of not being in my arms. It doesn’t matter if I pass him over to Farrow or place him in the crib. His reaction is the same. Titanic tears and banshee wails.

As soon as he’s in my fiancé’s arms, he expels the highest, mightiest cry. Jesus.

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.

Farrow cups the back of the baby’s head. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers to him.

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.

My family is a supportive force. They even helped baby-proof the whole house in record time.

and I trust that if my fiancé knows something, he’ll tell me.

Farrow raises his brows at him. “You’re a little hellion, aren’t you?” His mouth curves up, despite the baby nailing our eardrums.