Headstrong Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  I glance at him. He’s all solid ice on the outside. Unable to crack. “I’m never going to understand,” I say to him.

  “No, you won’t,” he says into a nod.

  Because I wasn’t raised by someone like that. Manipulative. I can’t imagine my parents ever guilt-tripping me into thinking that I owed them anything.

  My mom and dad bolster my accomplishments as my own. Never make me feel indebted to them. In any way. And I’ll never understand just how difficult it must be for my mom to untwist the vines that’ve snaked around her for decades. From birth.

  I think about short-term. Just about this summer leading up to Capri. Today is the last day of April, and we still have a couple months to go before the wedding. That’s two more months of Grandmother Calloway hassling my mom and dad.

  Kicking them down.

  Making them feel like shit.

  But I can take that stress away.

  I know I can.

  I’m in control of the guest list. Farrow and I—we’re the ones who didn’t extend an invite to her in the first place. We created this massive doomsday, and I can end it right now.

  “If it’s easier,” I say, “we can go ahead and invite her—”

  “Maximoff.” My dad stakes me with the worst glare. “Did the first five seconds of this conversation apparate from your mind? Because I know you’re not blatantly ignoring what I told you.”

  “Dad—”

  “You can’t fix this.” His tone is stern, tensed. “You can’t change anything. Like your mom said, we’re dealing with your grandmother.”

  “Are you going to relapse over this?” I ask.

  His eyes go wide. “Have you forgotten everything I ever told you?”

  I don’t know—that fucking hurts. “What?”

  “I’m always going to be an addict,” he says. “I’m going to relapse one day—”

  “I know that!” The room is a swirl of colors. I lose focus to the pain pulsing at every nerve-ending in my body. “You’ve told me that over and over. A thousand goddamn times.” He’s been sober for over twenty years. Twenty years. “But if you relapse, and I could have done something…”

  My dad pulls away from my mom. Just to cross the room, and his hands rest on my shoulders. He’s searching my narrowed eyes, as though he’s hunting for the pain. Because I don’t cry.

  I can’t.

  “Listen to me,” he says. “You are not responsible for me, Moffy. If something happens to me, it’s going to be because of me. Do you get that?”

  I’m so cold.

  I can’t even shake my head.

  Do I burden him in this second? Do I tell him that I need him? That if something happens to him, it will kill me inside?

  He continues, “There’s nothing you can do. You are a helpless bystander. You need to accept that. Please.” He touches my sharpened jaw.

  I want to cry.

  But I can’t.

  He’s preparing me for a future I don’t want. I reject. He ends with, “You’ve gotta talk to my brother.” He leaves my side. “Promise me, you’ll talk to Ryke.”

  Does Uncle Ryke know this pain?

  Probably.

  Even after agreeing and leaving the office, I still want to invite my grandmother. I want to seize the easy fix. But they don’t want me to. And I’m left with no solutions. Only to watch the car crash in front of me.

  But I’m still the same guy.

  Looking at the same metal walls.

  And I’m ready to beat at them until my fists are bloody.

  By the time I reenter the dining room, my siblings and Farrow are playing Uno, and glancing at the baby monitor, I see Ripley is still fast asleep upstairs in his crib.

  “You want dealt in, Moffy?” Luna asks. “We can start over.”

  Xander makes room for me, sliding his chair closer to Kinney, and she’s about to toss her cards into the pile for a re-shuffle.

  “No, that’s okay. Maybe later.” I collect a few dirtied plates.

  Farrow gives me the slowest once-over ever, and I feel his concern all over me.

  “Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” I ask.

  “No,” Kinney says flatly.

  Xander shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

  “Uh-uh.” Luna picks up a card. “Thanks, though.”

  They focus on the game, and Kinney drills a glare into Xander when he throws down a skip card. Back to the regular scheduled programming.

  Except my eyes are raw, searing appendages, and my body is an iron-vice. And I’m looking for the exit sign.

  The relief. The breath. The love, and Farrow is suddenly following me into the kitchen.

  He’s excused himself from the card game, and Luna keeps an eye on the baby monitor.

  The door bangs closed behind us, and Farrow pries the dirty dishes out of my grasp. His protective eyes just cradling my reddened gaze. “Guess what, wolf scout?”

  “What?” I watch him set the plates in the sink.

  He starts to walk backwards towards the patio door, his smile growing. “I’m faster than you.”

  I’m already trying to keep up with him. Trekking towards Farrow at a stronger pace. “In what universe?” I combat.

  “Ours.” We slip outside into the cool spring night, and we share this knowing, bellowing look. A silent countdown: three, two, one—and we bolt.

  I race Farrow. Step-for-step, our powerful legs pumping, and we’re running towards the shimmering blue pool. Water glowing with a single light, and his hand—his hand finds mine before we jump.

  We plummet into the brisk water fully-clothed.

  Weight is ripping off my chest, and the air I need, I can’t reach above the surface. I stay submerged, and Farrow swims closer. He nods me on.

  Knowing what I need, and I scream, the anguished sound dying in the pool. Heaviness barrels out of me, and I’m honestly crying.

  Tears lost in the water.

  Fuck.

  His inked hands pull me into his chest, black shirt gliding with his lithe movements. I grip onto his shoulder, and our arms strengthen around each other.

  I can’t breathe under water, but more oxygen has never flooded my lungs than now. And when we breach the surface, I’m holding him and he’s holding me—and I feel free.

  We drift in the water towards the diving board. Not letting go, still embracing, and he pushes some of my wet hair back. Backyard crickets chirp, adding to the serene quiet.

  It feels close to summer.

  We swim beneath the board. But we both grasp the edge above us, so we’re not killing our legs treading water.

  Droplets drip down our jaws, and our lips meet, tender with deep affection. My pulse pounds, and when our kiss breaks, Farrow asks, “Better?” His voice is gravel tied in silk, melting over me.

  “Yeah.” I wipe water off my face and skim his lips, his jaw, his eyes. “It was something we did.”

  He frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “My mom and dad are dealing with my grandmother’s bullshit. She’s angry that we didn’t invite her to the wedding, and she’s been hounding them.”

  His eyes roll around the universe and back. “That fucking old bat.” His jaw muscle twitches, but his gaze somehow softens on me. “You want to invite her.” He knows me.

  “Not if you don’t want her to be there.” I can’t do that to Farrow. “I don’t blame you if you’d rather my grandmother stay a whole continent away.”

  Farrow nods a few times, his hand on my waist under the water. “I just want this to be clear between us. You do know that she wants you to marry a girl?”

  “Yeah.” I adjust my clutch on the diving board. Moving closer to him. Our legs thread, and he keeps nodding.

  Our chests rise and fall in deep breaths.

  “And you know she wishes Jane and Thatcher were getting married before us because they’re straight?”

  “Crystal clear, yeah.” I nod.

  He nods back. “And she’s not dying
to attend the wedding out of love for you and me. She’s a blue-blooded elitist who’s convulsing at being left out of the social event of the year.”

  My eyes are on fire. “We shouldn’t invite her—”

  “We’re inviting that old bat,” Farrow says definitively. “Because we won’t let her ruin a fucking thing, and you know I have such few regrets in life—but I’d regret not helping Lily and Lo when we had the chance.”

  I inhale a strong breath.

  There was a pretty humongous chance he’d disagree with me. He could’ve easily said, this is a bad idea, wolf scout. Maybe it still is one.

  Or maybe it’s the right path. The right thing.

  All I know now is that we’re jumping headfirst together.

  17

  FARROW KEENE

  A week passes, and you’d think Ripley would’ve fallen in love with me by now. With all my doting, who wouldn’t? But he’s as stubborn as Maximoff and me.

  “Where’d Ripley go?” I playfully cover a hand over my eyes.

  He wails in a scream.

  I uncover them. “There he is.” Crying in his crib. I tickle his stomach and he reconsiders a second shriek.

  Sitting on the Spider-Man twin bed, Maximoff peers over the top of his laptop. Computer balancing on his bent knees. “Hey, he stopped.”

  “He’s about to fall asleep.” I know what’s to come. And true enough, Ripley’s eyes flutter closed, tired as fuck. He basically screams himself into exhaustion.

  Maximoff grimaces. “I hate when he does that.”

  I grab my watch from the dresser. To calm my fiancé’s nerves, I always end up checking Ripley’s vitals. “You book the tickets?” I wonder.

  “Yep. Our bachelor parties are set.” He shuts the laptop, his focus swerving to the door. He has this faraway look.

  Same one he’s had since the conversation with his parents a week ago. We called Grandmother Calloway on the phone together. Short, brief, and to the point: she’s coming to the wedding.

  It’s not such a shot to the heart.

  I like that we’re taking action. And I wanted to do this for Maximoff, not just for Lily and Lo. He has this intrinsic need to protect his family, and he can’t live knowing he didn’t try. Fuck, he would be a shell, and I crave to give him everything that makes him whole.

  “Your parents seem like they’re doing better,” I tell him. “They’re showing up to dinners.”

  “Yeah…” Doubt lingers in his voice. Doubt that had never been there before.

  I reach into the crib. “I liked you better when you were their biggest cheerleader.” I place my finger on the crease of Ripley’s little elbow, feeling the thump of his pulse.

  Maximoff rolls out his tense neck. “I still believe in them. I do.” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

  Glancing at my watch, I count the number of beats for thirty-seconds. And then I observe Ripley’s breaths for another thirty.

  Maximoff scrutinizes me. “Is he okay?”

  “Healthy and alive.” I look up at him. “If you believe in your parents, then you should believe they’ll be less stressed now that your grandmother can stop complaining.”

  He scrunches his face. “Where’d you mine all that profound wisdom?”

  I point to my chest. “Yale undergrad. Yale med school.” I point to him. “Harvard Dro—”

  “We know. The world knows. Thank you for the second nickname.”

  I grin, and I decide to mention other shit that we’re dealing with. “You need to stop dragging your feet about the move.”

  We’ve been in this house for over a month. Maximoff was siding on Team New York, but ever since last week’s family dinner, he’s brushed off Luna, Sulli, and Jane whenever they surface buying a place.

  As much as I love Lily and Lo and the Hale siblings, it’s better for us if we have more privacy. And for Ripley to have more stability. I don’t want this kid to become used to this house only to be ripped away.

  “I’m not dragging my feet,” he says strongly. “It’s just bad timing, man.”

  Maximoff.

  I try to soften my gaze. His parents are addicts. There’ll always be bad timing. But Maximoff’s heart is cast in gold, and all he can see is the path to helping his parents.

  I love him because he believes those paths exist.

  “They’ll be okay when we leave.” I can’t believe I’m the one instilling the faith. Shit, I did not see this role-reversal.

  Maximoff nods, then sneezes. He pulls a new Eagles hoodie over his head.

  “You cold?” I frown and leave the crib.

  “You upset?” Maximoff smiles. “Your presence can’t even heat me up.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, smartass. It’s fucking hot as shit in this room.” I round to the thermostat. Sure enough, it’s really warm. I’m only wearing a black tank.

  He noticeable shivers.

  “I’m taking your temp.” I head to the door. Away from him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Luna’s room. I left my med bag there.”

  Maximoff scrambles to get off the bed. “Wait, why the fuck is it in Luna’s room?”

  I realize he’s about to follow me, so I grab the baby monitor on our way out and a pack of gum. “Patient-Doctor confidentiality, wolf scout.”

  Worry crests his eyes.

  I give him a look and slip a piece of gum in my mouth. “Just ask her yourself.”

  “Never thought of that.” His sarcasm is thick.

  “That’s why I’m here.” I smile wider and I push my tongue against the inside of my mouth.

  He looks very agitated, somewhat hot and bothered, and ten times less concerned. Mission achieved.

  Since I’m fucking with him, Maximoff knows that Luna’s “malady” must not be a big deal. Or else I’d act more serious.

  She thought she was stung by a yellow jacket. See, she went to one of Sulli’s sport climbs out in the middle of fuck-knows-where.

  But it wasn’t a yellow jacket sting. It was a scorpion. Not life-threatening, and it wasn’t severe. Just mild swelling, which has already subsided.

  Maximoff knocks on her bedroom door.

  “Hey, Luna,” I call. “I left my med kit in there.”

  “You can come in!”

  Maximoff opens the door, and glaring fluorescent light pierces my eyes. A harsh spotlight shines down on a foldout table. Where Luna lies sideways in only a white tee and green thong. She’s careful not to move.

  Donnelly glances up at me, a tattoo gun in his black-gloved hand.

  My first thought is, Maximoff.

  Cheekbones sharp, his forest-greens are fixed on the sparkling fabrics hanging from the ceiling. Avoiding looking at his partially naked sister. “Luna.”

  “Sorry, Moffy! I didn’t know you were with Farrow.”

  I kick the door shut behind me.

  Maximoff lowers his daggered gaze on Donnelly. “You have my sister in a thong on a table in her bedroom—”

  “Moffy!” Luna interjects, face bright red.

  Donnelly lifts the tattoo gun higher. “It’s for a tattoo, man.”

  “No shit,” I say casually as I cross the room and inspect the design.

  He was in the middle of an extremely intricate galaxy tattoo that begins at her hip and cascades down the side of her ass, thigh, and stops above her knee. “Shit, this line work is insane.” His main tattoo style consists of bolder outlines. But these are perfectly straight and curved ballpoint-pen fine-lines.

  He smirks. “You’re not the only one with good hands.”

  “What the fuck, Donnelly?” Maximoff pins his glare everywhere but at his sister. “My dad lives here. He eats, sleeps, and breathes in this fucking house.”

  Luna groans, hands over her eyes.

  “Yeah, I know.” Donnelly glances from Luna to my fiancé.

  Maximoff is looking at me like I’m not registering the enormity of the situation. I am, but I’m not as hotheaded as
him. Not unless he’s on the chopping block, then I’m easier to set off.

  “Could be worse, wolf scout.” I grab my med bag off a star-painted trunk.

  “How?”

  “We could’ve walked in on them doing other shit together.”

  “Noooo,” Luna says slowly. “Me and Donnelly—that was a one-time experiment.”

  Donnelly elbows his slipping reading glasses up his face. I chew my gum and try to decipher his feelings, but it’s hard. He’s not really a heart-on-the-sleeve type of guy when it comes to girls.

  Unpopular opinion time: I don’t hate them together.

  But this is also way too fucking complicated. Which is why Maximoff is a six-foot-two G.I. Joe.

  “Dad’s going to see this tattoo,” Maximoff tells his sister, his voice firm, “and he’ll know Donnelly inked it and saw you half-naked.”

  “I can do what I want with my body,” Luna tells him. “Mom already said she’d calm Dad down if I got another tattoo.”

  Med bag strapped on my shoulder, I come back to the door where Maximoff stands rigid, and he asks me, “How big is the tattoo?”

  I’m not lying to him. “It’s a leg piece.”

  His brows bunch in confusion.

  I smile. So pure. “It starts here.” I touch the side of his hip. “And goes here.” I drag my hand down the side of his ass, crouching as I descend his thigh and stop above his knee.

  He fights between his affection for me, and my hands, and the overprotective big brother mode he’s in.

  “Great,” Maximoff says.

  I stand back up as Luna speaks. “I’ve been planning this tattoo for a long time. Donnelly worked on the sketch for weeks.”

  I raise my brows at Donnelly.

  He tells me, “She wanted fine-line black and white so she could color it in with marker whenever.” He widens his eyes at me, and I read that look.

  He’s basically tattooing the outline for a permanent coloring book. It can help with anxiety.

  Now it makes sense why Donnelly would risk tattooing her again when Lo went ape-shit the last time he found out.

  “Okay, but Maximoff isn’t wrong. Her dad is going to kill you.” Donnelly is going to get himself into so much trouble, and if Oscar or I can’t bail him out, then he’s fucked.