“No shit.” I’ve never been into no-strings attached situations. It works for some people, but definitely not for me. I like having a boyfriend.
And I love being in a relationship with Maximoff.
Oscar outstretches his hand to the counters. “I can’t even find one person to toast me a fucking piece of bread, and your guy is buying you IHOP on steroids.”
“I’ll butter your bread, man,” Donnelly jokes.
I let out a laugh.
“Toast, Donnelly.” Oscar grins. “You can go butter Redford’s bread.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep me out of the 9 p.m. comedy routine. It’s not worth the dollar admission.”
They laugh.
Oscar squeezes my shoulder. “That’s right. Redford is taken.”
“For life.” Donnelly smirks, and their words crash into me with some kind of power. There won’t be a single year, a single month or day or minute where Maximoff and I aren’t together. I’ll have him as a partner for as long as we’re alive, and fuck, it overwhelms me.
I wipe my eye that wells up.
Oscar smiles at me, and I smile into a soft laugh. Yeah, to be honest, I didn’t know if I would find a love like this, but I wanted that pure, unshakable thing. And of course I want that someday for my friends.
Donnelly pops a buffet lid. “Bacon.” He shuts the lid with a clink and opens more. “Eggs benedict. Muffins. Oh shit, we’ve got some fancy pancakes.”
Oscar and I are grinning, and we head to the counters. A “fancy pancake” to Donnelly apparently includes fruit and crumbled nuts.
We grab plates and silverware, not waiting for other people to arrive since this is a casual, relaxed affair. Anyone can come and go as they please. Plus, we’re all used to eating when we can in case we’re pulled away.
Radios are still attached to our waistbands. Even my earpiece is still in my ear, the volume higher than usual.
We’re vigilant and attuned to the fact that the new company is understaffed. Being off-duty for my birthday means “green temps” are on our clients. Except I drew the lucky straw, and Banks Moretti is on Maximoff’s detail right now.
It was the best birthday present Akara could’ve given me.
I pile piping hot scrambled eggs, bacon, and oatmeal on my plate. Plus, mixed fruit and a banana.
We settle at a booth: Oscar and Donnelly on one side, and across from them, I stretch my legs out on the seat. Leaning against the window, blinds shut, and I shake a Vitamin-C powdered mix into a water bottle.
I was with Maximoff at the aquatic center earlier, but I had a med call. Strep outbreak at the Cobalt Estate. Audrey and Ben are now both on antibiotics. I’ve built up a rock-solid immune system from all my rounds at the hospital, but I still like taking some precautions.
“Best bacon.” Oscar crunches into a strip.
“Nah, the biscuits are better.” Donnelly licks jelly off his thumb.
I look between them and nerves clench my muscles. Shit, this is a weird feeling. I grind the back of my molars and shake my water bottle. I don’t get nervous that often.
See, I didn’t need to think long about who I want as my best man. Who’s going to stand beside me while I marry Maximoff. It’s a simple decision. Easy even.
The problem: asking Oscar and Donnelly to be my groomsmen and telling one of them that he’s above the other for this event.
In a way, it’s outwardly admitting how much they both mean to me. I’ve never made some big dramatic deal out of our friendship. And I’m not sure how much it’ll bruise one of them knowing they’re not my best man.
I don’t want to hurt either of them.
I open my mouth.
Bang!
I sit up off the window. It sounded like hands or knees just smacked into the glass.
Oscar and Donnelly eagle-eye the window too, and I pry down a blind with my fingertip. Peering out, teenagers pound their fists on the tinted glass. They can’t really see inside, even if we can see out.
“FARROW!” they wail. “FARRROOWWW!”
I release the blind, and we return to breakfast for dinner. But the air is tense as we eat.
“It’s going to get worse, Redford,” Oscar says, eyeing the door and then me. He cuts his eggs benedict with a fork and knife. “We Are Calloway hasn’t even aired yet.”
The first episode broadcasts on the premium cable channel tonight. We’re planning to watch the docuseries here, and I hope Maximoff can make it to Superheroes & Scones before it begins.
I’ve seen most of the footage I’m in. Cleared the clips with production. But fuck, it’ll be strange to be on TV alongside the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts.
I dig into the scrambled eggs. “I don’t mind the screaming fans.” They’ve always been a part of Maximoff’s world, and if I couldn’t handle that shit, we wouldn’t be as good as we are together.
Oscar and Donnelly share a look.
I wash my eggs down with a swig of water. “What?” I frown.
Oscar reaches for the salt and peppershaker. “Donnelly told me you were offered to be on the cover of Out Loud Magazine, and you rejected it.”
I glance at Donnelly. “Man, that wasn’t that important to share.”
He swigs orange juice. “I’m a straight boy—”
“We’re well aware.”
“So I just thought Oscar might think it’d be important.”
Oscar jumps in. “It is important, Farrow.”
I groan and lean back against the window, abandoning my eggs. “This is why I didn’t tell you. You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.”
“Did you even think about it for more than half-a-second?” Oscar wonders. “Or did you just go with your gut—which obviously said no.”
I wipe my hands on a napkin, heat gathering in my chest.
I love Maximoff, and even after being doxxed and my privacy obliterated, I’m okay with the media attention. There are very few things in my life that have scared the shit out of me—and I’m barreling into one of them.
I tell them, “I don’t want to be a gay icon. And being on the cover of Out Loud or any other gay magazine is one giant fucking step in that direction. I can’t be a spokesperson for the community.”
Being gay has always been a major part of my identity, but it’s not the first, second, or sixth thing I’d lead with when describing myself. It’s a part of me. Not all of me. And these magazines and the public, they’ll hang onto that one piece until it’s all they know. All they see. I don’t want it to happen. I’m more than my sexuality.
“No one’s asking you to speak for an entire community,” Oscar tells me. “You just continue being you, and that would do a lot for a lot of guys.”
“Okay, but I can do that without being on a cover of a magazine.”
Oscar nods. “Sure.” He seasons his eggs, and I know that sure is the worst kind of sures. It’s like you’re right, Farrow but you’re also so fucking wrong.
I roll my eyes halfway around the store.
Mid-chew, Donnelly says, “You’re already my gay icon.” He throws up a hand gesture that means love you.
I toss my balled napkin at his face.
Donnelly smirks and chucks a handful of blueberries at me and Oscar. I dodge them, and we have a mini food fight.
Once that dies down, I ask, “How’s the new apartments?”
Akara rented out new places for SFO. Oscar has his own studio in New York. Donnelly, Quinn, Banks, and Akara live in a two-bedroom flat in Philly. And Thatcher is still rooming with Jane back at the Cobalt Estate.
“Fucking amazing,” Oscar says. “I already sent Kitsuwon a gift basket.”
“Literally?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I might have eaten all the cookies out of it. He didn’t notice.”
Donnelly and I laugh, and our laughter suddenly submerges under loud, caustic shrieks.
“Fiancé’s here,” Oscar says.
My mouth curves upward, and soon, a force of nature ente
rs like he’s Atlas bracing a world on his shoulders.
And when his eyes meet mine, his muscles begin to loosen. His chest rises in a breath that I can almost feel expand my lungs.
I smile more. “Look what the wind threw up.”
His eyes redden. He remembers saying that to me. Years ago in this store. The first day I became his bodyguard.
Maximoff clears a ball in his throat. “I could’ve sworn I heard that before from someone way hotter and smarter.”
“Sounds like your fan fiction.” I lean back against the window. “Need help jogging your memory?”
“No,” he says with firm confidence.
Damn.
I give him a once-over, and he’s about to come over but our attention veers to Banks. The six-foot-seven bodyguard edges back to the door he just locked.
“Moretti, you’re not staying?” I ask.
Maximoff frowns, not knowing this either.
“Can’t.” Banks sticks a toothpick in his mouth. “Akara wants me to pick up Sulli and drive her here. Between Maximoff and her, I’m getting used to the smell of chlorine.”
“You can grab a plate before you go,” Maximoff says.
Banks wavers. “I gotta push out.” He nods to me. “Happy birthday, man.”
I nod back in thanks, and after he leaves, I draw back my legs and Maximoff takes a seat beside me. His hair is damp and gray tee molds his abs.
I crunch up to him and clasp his jaw, his skin smooth from a close shave.
We kiss, and I break from his lips to nod towards the buffet trays. “We need to go over the definition of low-key.”
He smiles. “You like it?”
My eyes caress his eyes before I lean to the side, my jaw brushing against his jaw. And I whisper against his ear, “Love it.” I kiss him again. Emotion blisters my lungs.
I’m about to lean back, but Maximoff fists my black V-neck. “Wait, man.” His voice is a low whisper.
My legs are tented over his lap. I search his strong gaze for worry or fear or any fucking thing, but he’s not that readable right now. “You okay, Maximoff?”
“Yeah.” He rests his forearm on my kneecaps and whispers, “Did you ask them?” He must’ve expected to walk into a best man celebration. He already asked Jane yesterday to be his best woman. There were tears and hugs and lots of French. He wasted zero time, and clearly, I’m dragging my feet on this.
Oscar and Donnelly are chatting about the best bachelor party locations. So they’re definitely not eavesdropping.
“Did I ask them,” I repeat and suck in a breath. “Not yet.”
Wrinkles line his forehead. “Christ, really. Aren’t you the one who invented the Band-Aid method?”
I shake my head with a smile. “Did not invent that, no.” I prop my elbow on his shoulder, our mouths a breath apart. “This is harder than I anticipated.”
He stares at my lips. “Nothing’s hard for you.” His brows knit. “Except”—his eyes fall to my cock—“you know, whenever you’re around me.”
I raise my brows. “Because I carry a constant hard-on throughout the entire day.”
“So you’re admitting it.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I said, smartass.” I lean back, and he fists my shirt again, drawing me nearer. I smile and slide my plate of breakfast closer to Maximoff.
“But seriously, Farrow…” His voices drifts off for a second. He watches my hands as I fuck around and slide raspberries on my fingertips.
I almost laugh. He’s too easy.
He glares, but he’s grinding back a smile. “Fuck.” He rolls his stiff neck, then whispers to me, “I didn’t realize that this would be a big deal for you.”
“I’m trying not to make my friendships complicated.” I stare at him and suck a raspberry off my fingertip. “I like uncomplicated.”
He’s hooked to my movements. But he manages to say strongly, “I’m complicated. You like me.”
“I love you,” I correct him and eat the raspberry off my pinky.
He nods.
“It’s just hard,” I say again. Maximoff is right. He’s a complicated guy living in a complicated world, and I enjoy every chaotic, high-speed second. I don’t understand why I’m nervous to complicate my friendships.
But I’m sure one of his favorite philosophers is telling him the answer. He stares into me. “I can help you.”
I know you can. But it’s not just ripping the Band-Aid. It’s what comes after. So I whisper, “Another time. Later.”
He nods again, his steadfast demeanor a comfort.
“Hale,” Oscar calls. “Vegas?”
Donnelly pipes in, “Yea or nay?”
Regardless of who’s the best man, all the guys on SFO want to plan my bachelor party together.
I stay close to Maximoff, his hand in mine, and with his free hand, Maximoff grabs a piece of bacon off my plate. “You guys can do Vegas for Farrow’s bachelor party. But mine has to be better suited for my family that’s under-twenty-one.”
“No Vegas then.” Oscar tosses that out. “We all want both parties in the same city.”
Maximoff looks between us. “Jesus, you guys are that worried about the temps?”
“They’re green,” I remind him.
“They’re bound to make some motherfucking mistakes in the beginning.” Oscar eats egg and biscuit off his fork as the door blows open.
A trail of famous ones and bodyguards fill the store. Jack Highland, the exec producer of the docuseries, greets Akara with a bro-hug. I catch Oscar eyeing Jack in a way that concerns me, as his friend.
He turns forward, eyes on me.
I give him a look. “Be careful.” Jack has said he’s straight, and there’s no faster way to a broken heart than crushing on a straight, unattainable guy. If Oscar wants to go that route, he knows I’ll be here for him, but fuck, I hope he doesn’t test that.
Oscar nods several times. “I know, Redford.”
Quicksilver & Tattoos—that’s what the production team titled Episode 1 of the new season. Eh, it’s fine. Could be better; they could’ve gone with Wolf Scout & Yale Asshole.
Maximoff would’ve liked that more.
Everyone hangs out in the loft of Superheroes & Scones with plates of breakfast foods, eyes pinned to the mounted televisions. I remember the interviews I had and film dates. It was fun spending that time with Maximoff, and it actually felt good to share my side of the story that the media has warped.
My friends don’t get that same chance.
Most of the footage is from May before the car crash. When we just started to date in public. Maximoff’s dad and uncle are running through a wooded state park for exercise.
They slow.
And Lo stakes a sharp look up at the sky. “There’s something wrong with me.”
His words suction oxygen out of the loft.
“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.
Ryke outstretches his arms. “Then what’s the fucking problem, Lo? There’s nothing wrong with you—”
“There is. I’m telling you there is,” Lo sneers with a frustrated groan. “You know what I thought when I realized my son and his boyfriend love each other? I thought, thank God. Because when I fuck up again, Moffy will have Farrow. It took me a full five goddamn minutes to even think, wow, I’m happy that my son found love. You know what that makes me?”
Human.
Maximoff stands up, our hands breaking apart. He’s brick-walled. I rise to my feet, and I follow him down the spiraled staircase to the first floor. No one in the loft is speaking, so I hear the TV
clearly behind us.
“You’re not a selfish bastard, Lo.”
Maximoff has a powerful stride, but I’m step-for-step with him. We reach the bar counter, buffet trays half-emptied and lids crooked on the bacon and eggs.
“You want to talk about it?” I perch a knee on a stool while he goes behind the counter and pours a glass of orange juice.
He takes a strong swing before setting the glass down. And then he asks, “Is there something wrong with me?”
It almost pummels me back. “I don’t follow.”
Maximoff stares up at the ceiling, and I see his dad in him. But he’s not glaring like he’s in emotional turmoil. He carries this raw strength that says, I can survive anything.
His eyes meet mine. “Should I be angry at my dad? Because I’m not even close to anger. I just keep thinking about how I want to tell him, it’s okay. You’re right, I have Farrow, and there are two of us if the world caves in.”
I slide my hand over his on the counter. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You sound like a guy who has a great dad, and you love him.” I pause though, our eyes not detaching. I run my tongue over my lip piercing in the silence.
His brows furrow. “Just say it, Farrow.”
“Your dad is an addict. It makes sense that when he feels less of a responsibility towards his son, it gives him an out to drink.” I straighten up. “I’m just saying that it might not be smart to tell him that we’re able to take care of everything, even if we can.”
Maximoff stares off, contemplating this. “Yeah, maybe.”
I let go of his hand to comb my fingers through my hair. The movement draws his attention back to me, and I tell him, “The docuseries is strange in that we’re able to see parts of your family that normally we wouldn’t even know about. Shit, that footage was months ago.”
“Do you regret signing on to be filmed?” His concern has veered to me.
It’s cute.
“Not for a second,” I say easily.
His lip starts to lift.
“Moffy?”
Our heads turn.
Jane nears him, and more people start descending the twisting staircase. The episode must’ve ended.
“Can we talk?” Jane fiddles with her fingers. “It shouldn’t take too long.” She seems nervous.
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