Headstrong Like Us (Like Us, #6)

by Krista Ritchie

“Yeah, I know.” 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.”

Farrow could take it personally that the baby hasn’t immediately warmed up to him, but instead he sees this as a challenge. Getting the kid to love him.

“Joke’s on you,” I tell Farrow. “Batman is a cool name.” Farrow is grinning at me, a heartbeat away from calling me a dork.

“Fuck off.” I do not care about cursing in front of children. Not when I grew up with an uncle who said fuck every other word.

“You’re okay,” I tell him. “Farrow has you.” He’s bawling. Farrow narrows his

“Just you wait, little man. I’m going to make you love me.” It’s weird hearing those words out loud.

“I think Oscar bought it for him.” I heard through the family group chat grapevine that bodyguards were adding gifts to the baby supply haul. Farrow rolls his eyes. “Oliveira.”

He sniffles, and his tears just…stop. Farrow goes still. I do too. And then Ripley’s bottom lip starts quivering. “No, no,” I say strongly. “You’re fine. You’re okay.” He sobs softly, but it’s not a full-blown wail anymore.

“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.”

Being less like a Hale and more like a Meadows—it doesn’t mean I love my sisters and brother and mom and dad any less. It’s okay if you don’t believe me. I don’t need to convince you anymore.

I'M SO PROUD

I find myself lingering. Watching the baby sleep for a beat longer than I mean to.

And he’s assessing me too damn much.

“You have that ‘I can handle anything’ face.” “It’s my best looking face, huh?” I use his toothpaste.

I guess I just really want his family to love him. Love that doesn’t hesitate or take a second-thought. It shouldn’t be that hard.

Farrow is staring so deep into me, with admiration and love, that my heart skips a beat.

I want him to be nothing so when he does shit like this, I feel nothing.” His jaw tics, pain in his face.

“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.”

He’s nothing, Maximoff. You and your family are something.”

I’m accepting what Farrow has already accepted.

But I can love Farrow for eternity. Love him with zero hesitation. Love him with no second-thought or condition.

Because my brain is doing a double-take, side-step, and back-flip at the sight of my new tattoo. Black script is inked across my bicep. It still jars me that I have a tattoo.

And it’s not just his name. It’s his handwriting. Farrow drew on my bicep with marker, and the way his eyes flitted up to me and down to the movement of his hand as he scrawled on my skin—that stays with me.

He wrote out Farrow in smooth, cool script, and underneath the “w”—a little off to the side—he drew a small heart. And inside the heart, he wrote a tiny, M + F And yeah, I got that tattooed too. Thanks to Donnelly, who permanently inked everything that was written in marker.

“You’re drooling,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. He beats me to the shower and opens the door. “A...

“You do come before me 9 times out of 10.”

He has a new tattoo. When he finished writing on my bicep, he held the marker out to me. “Pick a spot.” That’s right. He wanted me to pick the tattoo location. On his body. Between all the other art that bleeds into his skin.

My name fit perfectly among the inked mast of the pirate ship and a red sparrow.

Maximoff Farrow has my name on his body.

“My name looks good on you.” Fuck me. I seize his wrist, pulling him into the shower. “Mine looks better on you.” Water rains down our bare bodies, soaking our hair.

“Farrow.” I growl in fucking frustration. His lip quirks. “Calm down, wolf scout. You’ll have my mouth around your cock in a second.”

“You don’t need to create a sex spreadsheet. Even though it’d be entertaining as fuck.” His rising smile loosens my stringent posture.

And I obsess over something else: Farrow being able to tell when I’m not ready. When I’m super-glued inside my head and he needs to pull me out again. It’s a better obsession.

and Farrow stops. “Relax for me.”

Farrow relaxes, scrubbing shampoo through his hair. Tonight is a big night—what we have planned. But instead of obsessing, I’m taking in these simple, little moments with him. Showering with my fiancé. Washing our hair. Painfully normal.

“You don’t have to act so repulsed by me, you know,” I whisper to the little man. “You’re giving wolf scout way too much ammunition.”

Last time he was in Maximoff’s arms, he was giggling and smiling this goofy baby smile. It was cute as hell.

Not going to lie though, it sucks watching him sob and not being able to soothe him. I’m a doctor. Healing is kind of my thing. His tears almost entice me to pass him off to Maximoff.

My gut gnaws at me to stay alert, so I can protect the Hales.

See, all the Hales usually have family dinner every night, and they’re supposed to be home by 6:30 p.m. or else Lo blows up their phone with calls and texts. Mostly to annoy the hell out of them.

Maximoff has been cooking for the past couple of hours, wanting this to be memorable. Meatloaf is one of Luna, Xander, and Kinney’s favorite meals.

He’s on-duty, and protecting the famous ones is why we’re in this field.

“Does the little dude have an off switch?” “He’s a baby, not an electrical appliance.” “Looks the same to me.”

He stares at me with utter bemusement. Like I’m some alien, and he’s waiting for his wolf scout to bring him to Earth. What he doesn’t realize yet: Maximoff is the one living on another planet.

But sure, if Ripley wants to rocket to Mars and grow a potato farm, Maximoff will be the first pilot to volunteer. And this little man would have to chin up because I’d be right there with them.

Donnelly grins. “You’re happy?” I lift my gaze with a smile and nod. “Deadass?”...

In the meantime, Maximoff and I agreed that this kid needs parents. We’re not his best friends. We’re not cool uncles. We have to be fathers. And I’ll love him, even if he leaves tomorrow.

“Just thinking how nuts you are. You took in a white trash baby and now you want white trash as your best man.”

The corner of my mouth hikes. “Is that a yes?” “Fuck yes.” Donnelly smirks more. “You asking Oscar too or what?” “To be a groomsman.” I nod. “But I only have one best man.”

It had to be Donnelly. Only Donnelly.

As much as Oscar means to me, he has a brother and a sister. Donnelly has no one, and he’s willing to take scraps and share. And fuck, I just didn’t want him to have to share this.