And I’m not always one-hundred percent sure about Sean’s angle, but it’s clear that he wants access and connections to wealth and privilege. My theory: who better to hook on drugs than the young, rich, reckless, and bored?
“Burning down the townhouse is nowhere near his agenda,” I tell him flat-out.
“Yeah.” He exhales. “You’re probably right.” He watches me try to soothe Ripley as I rub his back in circles.
I give Donnelly a sweep. “Are you okay with this entire thing?”
A smirk edges across his mouth. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one with the baby.”
I heard from Quinn that Donnelly was sleepwalking last night. And I know he doesn’t sleep-walk that often. “I just hope you don’t feel guilty about this situation. It was my decision, and shit, I’m happy how this turned out.” I flash a playful smile at Ripley.
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?” He asks if I’m serious.
“Yeah.” But I try not to look too far past tomorrow. Further down the road are questions I can’t answer and the type of uncertainty that’s not fun to walk.
How long until Ripley’s birth dad is released from prison? How long until Scottie takes the baby? How long until his mom shows up and decides she wants her son again?
One week?
One month?
A year or two years?
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.
“You got somethin’ for me then?” Donnelly wonders.
I said I did at the start of this conversation. And I reach into my back pocket, and I pass him a Philly Aquatic Center business card.
Flipping it, Donnelly reads the question scribbled on the back.
He stares at the words for a long quiet beat. Not much silences Paul Donnelly.
“Shocked?” I smile.
Donnelly glances up. “Just thinking how nuts you are. You took in a white trash baby and now you want white trash as your best man.”
He never says white trash like he’s ashamed. He’s unashamed about almost everything. He just says it like it’s a fact. A statement. So I don’t need to assuage his feelings that aren’t hurt. But make no mistake: I’ve cold-cocked fuckers for calling him white trash as a dig.
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.”
That rocks him back. “What?” His eyes redden, more overwhelmed. “Really?”
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.
“Yeah.” I smile and stick a piece of gum in my mouth. “You’re an infection I can’t rid.”
He laughs and rubs his eye. “You should call a doctor. Get that taken care of.”
I chew slowly, still smiling. “I am a doctor.”
“You must not be very good then, man.”
I laugh hard, and I shake my head. We both know I never tried to get rid of him. I never wanted to. I had no siblings too, and for whatever reason, he chose to hang around me. For over a decade.
And when I get married, I want him by my side.
The air is light and easy-going until Donnelly asks, “When are you gonna tell Oscar?” His brows pinch.
Shit.
Nerves roil my stomach. Yeah, I’ve been nervous about Oscar’s reaction. More now. Because if Donnelly thinks he’ll be upset, then I might be fucked.
I run a hand through my hair. “Sometime soon. Just let me tell him.”
Donnelly nods, and the baby wails. I retrieve the stuffed parrot from my back pocket, and Ripley quiets a little bit once it’s in his grip.
Donnelly adjusts his backpack. “I’d hug you but you’re wearing a hug-blocker.”
I grin, and our heads turn as Maximoff walks into the foyer like a jock swimmer crashing a rebel hideout under schoolyard bleachers.
“You come to assist Farrow with his daddy duties?” Donnelly banters.
Shit, I’m smiling at Maximoff. He sometimes looks like a deer caught in the headlights when my friends rib him.
“You need me?” Maximoff asks me seriously.
It reels me in hard. “Later, I will.”
He tries to subdue his smile, and then he notices the business card Donnelly slips in his backpack. “That happened just now?” He gestures to the card.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna be the best best man there ever could be.” Donnelly squeezes me around the shoulders in a side-hug. Careful of the baby strapped to me.
Maximoff radiates the happiness that I’m feeling, and my smile grows. He asks Donnelly, “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“Nah, busy tonight.”
I know he’s mentioned not wanting to get too close to Xander. The last time he became a buddy-guard, it didn’t end well.
We say our goodbyes, and the door closes behind Donnelly.
Maximoff nods a few times. “So that went well, huh?”
I suck in a breath. “There’s still Oscar.”
“He loves Donnelly, too. I bet he’ll be fine with it.”
I nod. “We’ll see.”
Ripley drops the yellow parrot. He wiggles in the sling, fussy, and he’s eyeing Maximoff with wide doe-eyes. Yeah, yeah, I understand wanting to be in wolf scout’s arms, but come on.
Maximoff isn’t grinning though, or rubbing in the fact that Ripley is literally begging for him. He’s staring off at the front door, like he’s waiting for someone to barge through.
“Kinney is in a security vehicle in the driveway,” I tell him. “She should be inside soon.”
He takes a breath. A short one.
That’s not who he’s worried about.
His parents aren’t home yet. If they miss this dinner tonight, it will crush Maximoff. I want to brace him for that reality, but he’s been so hell-bent on uplifting their strength. They’ll get through this soon, he’s been saying.
If you ask me…
I’m just not so sure they will.
16
MAXIMOFF HALE
I check the time again.
There’s only so long that I can stall this dinner. Xander hovers around the kitchen island, eyeing and salivating over the giant bowl of mashed potatoes. My sixteen-year-old brother is minutes away from just digging his hand into the food.
“Do we really have to wait for Mom and Dad?” Xander asks, opening a silverware drawer.
I’m filling up a bottle with formula, and I easily reach over and shut the drawer before he can grab a spoon.
His mouth is agape.
“Yeah, we have to wait. They shouldn’t be much longer.” I have faith they’ll get here tonight. I texted my mom and reminded her about the importance of this dinner. She said they’d both make it. I screw the cap on the bottle and glance tensely at the oven clock.
They’ll be here.
At the breakfast table, Farrow cradles the chubby-cheeked baby and murmurs in his ear. Helping him relax. I hang onto the sight for an extra second or five. He’s a good dad—I knew he would be.
Farrow is patient. Chill, even with shrill piercing cries. Protective and so goddamn carin
g. He cared about Ripley before he was even in our arms.
I pass Farrow the bottle, our fingers brushing, eyes fastening, and my chest rises as this moment takes hold and settles in. We’re raising a child together.
Our child?
Are we allowed to call him ours…? I don’t know, but Christ, a strong feeling burrows into my body.
Luna sits across from Farrow and slurps an energy drink as she says, “We may be waiting for a solid century then. Buckle up for the hunger.”
Xander groans and reopens the drawer. My brother is fast, grabbing a spoon.
I head back. “Summers—”
“One bite.” Xander tries to lean for the bowl, but I block him. “Come on, Moffy. It smells so good. Take it as a compliment.”
I glance to Farrow. Conflicted on what I should do. Ripley is more content in his hands, sucking on the bottle that Farrow props to his lips.
“We could start dinner,” Farrow suggests. “I don’t think Lily would mind if she misses a few minutes.”
“Yes, thank you.” Xander waves a hand at my fiancé. “Moffy, you should always listen to Farrow.”
I narrow my eyes at my little brother. “Let’s not go that far.”
Farrow’s smile spreads gradually and enormously. Reaching cheek-to-cheek.
Iconic.
To be clear, that’s not my assessment. Iconic is what the media and fans have been calling his know-it-all smile.
In my brain, that smile is more iconic for aggravating me.
“Take the food to the table,” I tell Xander. “And for Christ’s sake, don’t eat it on the way.”
Walking to the door, he mumbles something about 3/4ths Loren Hale. Sometimes I am like my dad, and that notion usually warms me. But right now, any mention of him reminds me that he’s not here. My muscles constrict.
I’m more rigid than five minutes ago.
Ripley locks eyes with me and pries his mouth off the bottle. He blubbers like he wants to say, come hold me. He squirms against Farrow’s chest, reaching out for me.
I stay still.
My heart clenches. I don’t fully get why he’s still so attached to me over everyone. And especially over Farrow.
Between the two of us, I’m stiff. Unbending. Not that comfortable to embrace. Whereas Farrow exudes the kind of serenity you want to crawl into. His hands are strong but so careful, wielding power with responsibility and extreme care.
“You don’t want me, Rip,” I tell him and then gesture to Farrow. “He’s the one with all the nutrients you need to grow big and strong.”
Ripley scrunches his nose like I spoke a bad word. He makes a face at Farrow like, explain this nonsense to me. He even babbles a confused noise.
We all laugh.
Farrow tilts the bottle towards the baby, and Ripley takes the bait, drinking more.
Luna glances between us. “So you’re going to tell the public about him?”
The media hasn’t asked questions about Ripley because no one knows he exists. But that’s going to change. Soon.
“We’re not going to hide him,” I tell my sister.
I can’t imagine a universe where we keep this baby a secret. Yeah, the media will hound him. But if Farrow and I are going to be raising Ripley for a while, this unconventional life is all he’ll know. And he’ll have to get used to it. Like I did.
Like Luna did.
Like all my siblings and cousins did.
We made it through alright, and so can he.
“The world gets the truth,” Farrow says. “Or part of it.”
For privacy reasons, we plan on not mentioning the birth parents or Donnelly’s involvement. Basics—they get basics, and that has to be enough.
Luna leans closer to the baby. “Don’t worry, Ripley. Take it from your Auntie Luna, most of the things people say online are just garbage. You only need to listen to this right here.” She puts a finger to his heart.
Farrow and I share a look.
Not that long ago, I had a serious talk with Luna, and I told Farrow about it.
Luna and I—we were in her teenage bedroom, which is one of the coolest places in the house. Hands down. It’s like being transported into space. Rotating light boxes cast stars and planets on the glitter-green walls, and shimmery fabrics hang from the ceiling.
We sat on a fuzzy rug against the wood bedframe, her laptop half-opened with an in-progress fanfic. She yanked at the strings of her Thrashers hoodie. “It’s not like I hadn’t heard it before.”
She meant people calling her a sex addict.
My jaw hardened. And I nodded, neck stiff. I remembered all the hecklers who tried to incite me by calling my sister a sex addict. “Bet she puts out twice as much as your mom. Is she a little sex addict too?”
Memories still burned in my eyes and skull.
They would provoke, and I’d launch a fist in their face.
I’m not proud of that.
But she’s my sister. I’m her big brother, and if anyone comes for her with ill-intent, they have to get through me.
“This doesn’t feel different to you?” I asked since the rumors are in tabloids and posted online. On a much larger scale than usual.
Luna stared faraway. “People suck. They always suck. I just…I kind of hate that I can’t kiss whoever I want at a club without starting rumors.” She looked up at me. “Paparazzi have always pressured us to talk about sex. You get it worse now that you’re with Farrow. Just yesterday, a camera guy asked me whether I thought you were a top or bottom.”
I glared at the wall, face hot. “Jesus Christ.”
“Uh-huh, nothing’s off-limits.” She picked at her cuticles. “When we were younger, they liked how cute we were, then they liked our teenage fuck-ups, and now they eat up our sex lives. And it used to be easier ignoring them and rumors, because I wasn’t having sex. But now…” Her amber eyes met my green. “Do you ever think, what if they’re right? What if I could become addicted to sex, and they just see it before I do?”
I didn’t blink.
I wanted to be confident for Luna. If she asked me that same thing a year ago, I would’ve been assured and definite about my answer.
I’m in total control of my sex life. I’m not afraid of being a sex addict.
Things changed, and I’m in a relationship and I’ve completely trusted another person with my body. To the point where…the doubt is real and so is the fear. And I hate being that unsure about something so cataclysmic.
“I’ve thought about it,” I admitted to my sister. “But I think the important thing is to not let the media influence what goes on in your head.” Easier said than done. I knew that. But I reminded Luna, “You know who you are better than anyone. The media’s version of us isn’t totally accurate. It’s warped.”
Luna searched my face for strength. “I shouldn’t worry?”
I thought about what Farrow told me. The advice I’ve been struggling to follow. “Don’t obsess, do what you feel like, but be safe—and by that, I mean safe sex.”
She bit at her thumbnail and smiled. “I got that, Moffy. Condoms, birth control, galactic aluminum penetrative protectors.”
I winced. “God, that sounds painful.”
“It’s for the titanium species.” She pointed her toe at the fanfic on her laptop.
I couldn’t help but smile. “Do they eat metal too?” We chatted a while about her writing, and before I left, I stood up and put a loving hand on her head. “Have you talked to Mom about the sex addiction stuff?”
“Uh-uh, no.” She shut her laptop. “I would normally, but this isn’t…me asking about general sex addiction stuff. I don’t want her to feel bad knowing that I’m worrying about it. It’s easier just asking you.”
I nodded, understanding. “I love you, sis.”
Luna smiled. “Love you to planet Thebula and back.”
In the kitchen, right now, hearing my sister give advice to Ripley about listening to his heart—that’s a good thing.
&nb
sp; Farrow and I are smiling too.
“Holy shit, are we going to eat?!” My brother shouts from the dining room.
“Hunger distress call,” Luna sing-songs and picks up the salad bowl, along with her energy drink. “We’re on our way!” She skips out of the kitchen.
Farrow gives me a look. “See, nothing to worry about.” He stands up with the baby in his arms. Still feeding Ripley. He’s really good at that. Annoyingly better than me, but if he asks, I’m the best. In the world.
I feign confusion. “Was I worried?”
His brows rise. “Yeah, you were. And we both just heard your sister imparting some strong-as-shit wisdom on the baby.” His shoulder brushes mine as he passes me for the dining room. Lips beside my ear, he adds, “You need to be okay with the other thing.”
The other thing?
He stares more intently. “They may not make it.”
My stomach twists, and I just shake my head. “They’ll be here.”
Farrow’s gaze softens. “You prepare yourself for everything, but you’re not going to prepare yourself for this?”
I don’t know how. Because if my mom and dad are no-shows, it means they’re doing worse than I believed. It means they’re breaking, and I’d rather not doubt them now.
I’d rather just face it if it comes.
“They’ll be here,” I say again.
We enter the dimly lit dining room in silence, and I make a detour as Farrow settles at the table across from Luna.
At the base of the staircase, I scream up, “KINNEY!”
I slide out my phone and check for any missed group chat messages. I read a couple texts from my cousins.
Our mom is freaking the fuck out – Eliot
We might actually see her die and resurrect as a ghost – Tom
Aunt Rose received her invitation in the mail, and she’s not happy about the dress code.
All white.
I can’t remember the last time my aunt wore anything other than black and deep, dark hues. Kinney’s also been giving me shit about it, but I warned her that if she showed up in black, she’d have to wait until she’s eighty before I invite her to a bar with me.
I click into the second group text.
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