Headstrong Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  Can I see pictures?

  Did she love me?

  I asked him what my mom was like only a few times. My father said she was intelligent, a good baker, methodical and practical—I had a hard time ever asking him again. I couldn’t make sense of what I felt. His happiness as he described her brought on jealousy that I hated to meet. And as he listed qualities and told stories, I just saw what he valued in my mom. I didn’t like the idea that his perspective would completely shade mine.

  Mostly, I enjoyed seeing pictures. Any of her and me.

  On the phone, Sergeant Collins gives me a street address in South Philly and says it was in the alley behind the Quickie-Mart. “It was an OD,” he explains further. “Meth.”

  I rub my lips, my piercing cold. “What does this mean for the guardianship?” I ask and eye Maximoff.

  He still has his back turned to me, and he’s pushed aside the drapes. City lights twinkle in the black night.

  “Um…” It sounds like Sergeant Collins is shuffling paper around. “It says here that the birth father is still alive and hasn’t relinquished his rights. As far as I know, nothing should change. But a social worker will be in contact with you to give you more information.”

  “Thanks.” After a few more words, we hang up.

  Maximoff slowly rotates to face me, eyes reddened. He leans his stiff shoulders on the windowpane. Arms still crossed. Ready to fight the world. “I didn’t want it to be like this.” His voice is choked. “And I know he’ll be okay because you were okay, but it doesn’t make it any less hard.” He searches my eyes. “What are you thinking?”

  I tap my phone against my palm, weighing how I should say this. “If I tear emotion out of this, I know there’s less of a chance Ripley will leave us. We only have to deal with Scottie. It actually makes this situation easier on a permanent guardianship level, but man, I’m still processing.” My nose flares. “She died.”

  Fuck, my chest is tight.

  I rub the corner of my eye, a tear rolling. I didn’t have to know her to care.

  Maximoff abandons the window and comes closer.

  “I understand what it’s like to lose a mom,” I tell him. “I didn’t want that for him either.” I was hoping we’d find Tina, and she’d have some kind of relationship with her son. More than I had, and now he has no chance.

  Maximoff wraps his arms around my waist. “At least he has you.”

  “And you,” I add.

  Silence bleeds in the air before Maximoff fills the quiet. “For a second,” he whispers, “I imagined that was my mom—and everything went black.” That’s why he walked away.

  I clutch his sharp cheek. “Your mom is definitely one of a kind.” I smile softly. “Which means Ripley has a really cool grandma.”

  Maximoff stares faraway. Almost haunted.

  “Where’d you go?” I wonder.

  He blinks a few times, shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

  I feel like it might have something to do with the guardianship. He’s moral and good, and unlike me, he won’t bring up our positions in Ripley’s life right after we just learned about Tina’s death.

  I don’t push it. Instead, I just take his hand and we return to bed.

  31

  FARROW KEENE

  The next morning, Maximoff wastes no time visiting his favorite place in the new penthouse. Early light bathes the private rooftop terrace, home to a sparkling blue pool, greenhouse garden, and gray stone patio.

  I shut the terrace door and see Maximoff walking in the shallow end of the pool, his arm wrapped tight around Ripley’s waist. The baby tries to kick his legs in the water, and my lip begins to hike up, then falter.

  See, we haven’t talked about the phone call last night. I was pulled away a few hours ago, and now that I’m back, I pry the earpiece out of my ear.

  Maximoff’s brows crinkle at my black workout shorts, glistening shirtless chest, and sweaty hair. “I thought you had a security meeting at Studio 9. Not a boxing match.”

  “It’s called multitasking.” I take a seat near them at the edge of the pool. “I can work out and be debriefed about wedding security for three fucking hours.”

  “How’d that go?” Maximoff asks seriously.

  “Nothing to worry about.” I tilt my head. “Except I was repeatedly told that I’m ‘off-duty’ the entire time in Capri.” It’s a little frustrating. I’m fine with taking a backseat during parts where I’d rather be less vigilant, but we’re going to be in Italy a week before the ceremony. I’d rather be the one protecting Maximoff while we’re at the airport and sightseeing along the coast.

  He’s smiling like he beat me at something.

  “What?” I detach the radio from my waistband, but I can’t look away from him.

  “Now you know how it feels to be the prince who wants to be the knight.”

  I roll my eyes, and I can’t say he’s wrong. But I’m not about to tell him he’s right. “More like I’m the knight who has to be a prince.”

  He licks his lips to hide a smile.

  He likes that.

  I grin, and he’s a second from telling me to shut up, but our fluffy brown puppy skids across wet stone, about to spring into the pool.

  He slides to a halt at the edge. Scared.

  “It’s just water, furball,” I say easily.

  Arkham tries again, then stops himself. He scuttles backwards, then steps forward, then back.

  A laugh rumbles out of me. “Looks like we have another overthinker in the family.” I glance back at Maxiomff, and he’s spaced out. About what, I’m not sure. “Case in point…” My voice fades. I just want to pick his brain.

  “Huh?” He blinks and focuses more on Ripley whose smile brightens in a high-pitched laugh. “Baby’s first swim,” Maximoff says.

  “And look at that, he doesn’t hate it.” I slip my legs into the cool water.

  He keeps concentration, ensuring Ripley is safe, and he only glances up to ask, “Are you jealous? He might be a natural swimmer. Not a…” He makes a show of trying to think hard. “What is it that you’re good at again?”

  I splash water at him. Droplets land on Ripley’s forehead. He squeals in delight. My smile is fucking killing my face. “Your papa deserves to be splashed. Doesn’t he?”

  Ripley leans his head backwards, attempting to peer up at his dad. But Maximoff uses the opportunity to do a turn in the pool, letting our son get used to the whirling movement.

  Our son. His first swim. Our future. Everything is weighing on me more than I prefer. More than I like. I want to broach the topic, but I’m actually fucking nervous.

  My pulse accelerates, and I glance around the terrace and wrap a mic cord around the radio. “You think Sulli will use the pool more or keep climbing?” I’m hoping if she decides to ascend a rock today, it’ll at least be an hour from now.

  Enough time to where I won’t need to throw a raincheck at Maximoff.

  “Right now, I’d say climb,” he answers. “She’s still trying to beat her dad’s speed-climb times, and she’s too competitive to give up.” He walks closer and Ripley grabs hold of the pool ledge near my thigh. Maximoff supports Ripley’s entire tiny body, and I brush our son’s wet, light-brown hair off his forehead.

  Maximoff looks at me. “Want to get in?”

  “In a little bit,” I say. “I like watching you.” I force down the rock in my esophagus. “We need to talk.”

  “About last night?”

  “Yeah.” My eyes stay on him.

  He swallows hard. “A minute ago, when Arkham got scared of the water, you said ‘we have another overthinker in the family’. In the family…That family is me and you, right?”

  Slight hurt creases my face, just knowing he’s questioning this. “Wow, did you bump your head on the diving board?”

  “I just need to hear it from you, man.”

  “Yes,” I emphasize. “That brown bear is our overthinking puppy who’s afraid of the pool
. And he’s a part of our family.”

  He nods strongly. “Who’s in our family, Farrow?”

  I see more of where he’s going. I comb a hand through my hair and set aside my radio. “Me and you, obviously. Plus, that furball.” I nod towards the Newfoundland. “And Ripley and however many more kids we have in the future. That’s our family.”

  “For how long?” Maximoff questions. “Because I can’t ignore the fact that Scottie only has five years left of his sentence, and there’s a possibility he could be released earlier on parole and take Ripley. And I keep thinking that a Newfoundland has a life expectancy of around ten years, and we could lose Ripley before we lose a fucking dog.”

  “Ripley isn’t dying.”

  Our baby makes a fart noise with his lips, and we break into soft smiles, despite the sinking feeling in my gut.

  Maximoff rubs the black tungsten band on his ring finger, and I glance at the gray titanium wedding band on mine. We’ll be taking these off soon, only to slip them on each other, and I’m making unbreakable vows to him in Capri.

  I’ve already vowed to love and protect him long before we even proposed. Shit, if I could’ve, I would’ve been at his side earlier. Before I even became a bodyguard.

  But that’s not where our paths slammed together and converged.

  Our eyes meet again.

  He lowers his voice. “Scottie could do anything with him. Move to another state, file-restraining orders against us, extort us—who the fuck knows. He has all the power once he’s out, and it could be like Ripley doesn’t even exist anymore. And I know you’re going to tell me, you can’t dwell on that and just focus on the good now and the present moment with him—”

  “I’m not,” I cut him off, this conversation burning holes in my body.

  His brows scrunch. “What?”

  “I’m not telling you to block out the future, wolf scout. You’re right, I don’t do this—I don’t dwell on shit I can’t control, but I haven’t been able to stop lately. And I don’t care that I can’t because even through the fucking pain, I’d rather envision a future where he exists with us.”

  Maximoff inhales. “I want that future too.” His eyes redden. “I’ve fallen in love with our son, and I don’t know if I can lose him in five days. Five years. Five centuries. Especially knowing Scottie could be a harm to his fucking life. We have to protect him.”

  “We’re going to protect our family,” I say easily. “There’s not a reality, or one of your alternate realities, where we wouldn’t.”

  “Universes,” he corrects.

  I smile. “Whatever.” I splash some water at his waist, the air lighter.

  I’ve always been shit at preventing storms. Better at handling a crisis once it comes. But I don’t just want to mitigate the loss and hurt once it’s arrived. Not with this.

  I might need his survival gear. A life raft and flare, and I’m sure he’ll pack ten extra. That’s just what Wolf Scouts do.

  While Ripley lets go of the ledge and tries to float (Maximoff helping), I scroll through my phone and put on a playlist.

  Ripley starts to sob as “Far Behind” by Candlebox blasts from the speakers.

  Come on.

  I give Maximoff a look. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  He has a smug smile. “Sorry, man, but a baby even recognizes how awful your music taste is.”

  “Laugh now, but this might be the song for our first dance.”

  “No.” He winces. “Christ, just pour gasoline in my veins and light me on fire.”

  I scroll through the playlist. “That would kill you and I’m not marrying a corpse—”

  He tries to steal my phone.

  I hold the cell above his head and press a song with my thumb. Ripley blubbers in confusion, not sure how he feels about this one. “When you’re older,” I tell him, “you’re going to love 90s rock and then together we can give your papa a lot of shit.”

  “You’ll need the backup.” Maximoff smiles. “Your come-backs could use an assist.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s on fucking fire today, and he grabs my wrist to lower the phone. Just to see the song and artist. “You like this one?” I ask him.

  “I hate it,” he says seriously. “What kind of band is named Butthole Surfers?”

  I laugh. “The cool band that’s named Butthole Surfers.”

  “Thank you, next,” Maximoff says dryly.

  I cringe. “I can’t believe I know you quoted an Ariana Grande song.” That music is not my favorite. I play another song off the list: “Steal My Sunshine” by LEN.

  Maximoff hoists our baby boy out of the pool and sets his bottom on the stone beside me. I tuck him close, and Ripley grabs hold of my fingers, interested in the many silver rings.

  I smile and watch his curiosity.

  Maximoff climbs out of the pool. Water dripping down, and I glance back while he drags the jumper closer. When Ripley grows bored of my rings, Maximoff places him in the jumper, and to protect his fair skin, I find his diaper bag and put on his sun hat.

  Too fucking cute.

  I smile, and he bounces excitedly while Arkham wags his tail, happy that the little man is on the stone patio with him.

  Returning to the edge, I stick my legs back into the pool.

  And then Maximoff takes a running start and dives into the deep end. A perfect arc, and I’m roped in as he swims clean through the length of the pool and pops up at my feet.

  Damn.

  Water drips off his hair and he rests his arms on my thighs. He’s sexy as fuck.

  He’s smiling like he knows he’s hot.

  And I crave to knock his ego down a few pegs.

  So I ask, “You want me to be a Hale?”

  He goes from arrogant celebrity to flushed schoolboy at the drop of a hat. Red staining his neck.

  I laugh hard.

  He groans, wiping water off his face, and he collects himself fast. “Last names? Yeah, I think we should just go with something solid like Wayne or Stark. Then we’re one step closer to owning a bat cave or a fucking tower in the city.”

  I know he’s joking. But I have to ask. “Do you want to pick out a new name?”

  His brows scrunch. “What?”

  “That’s an option,” I say. “Picking out an entirely new surname for ourselves.” Even speaking about it, I don’t love the idea. Because Maximoff’s pride for his family runs deep, and I’d hate to just walk away from that name like it means nothing.

  “Is that what you want?” Maximoff frowns.

  “No. You?”

  “No.” Maximoff lets out a breath and traces the inked dagger along my abs, then clasps my waist and yanks me into the pool.

  I splash down and rest my elbows on the edge. Leaning back and not going under. We’re at more equal height. I’m about to speak, but he beats me to it.

  “You’ve thought more about this than me?”

  “Probably.” I’ve thought a lot about the details involved with marriage. “I’ve never seen myself with a hyphenated name, but I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with. And I’ll be honest, I’m not too attached to Keene. I’d be okay giving it up.”

  Maximoff looks crestfallen at those last words.

  My eyes brush over his features. I didn’t expect that to happen. We’re both competitive, and I thought he’d love the idea of “winning” by choosing Hale over Keene.

  “He likes my last name,” I tease a little.

  He sighs. “It’s not that.” He rakes a hand over his hair, pushing wet strands back. “I just like the idea that I get to have a part of you.” He exhales a frustrated breath. “And I know that sounds stupid because it’s just a name and I do have you without it—”

  “It’s not stupid,” I interject, my hand running up his back. “I feel the same. I want that too.” I rest an arm on his shoulder.

  He holds my waist. “So how does that work if we both don’t want hyphenated names, but we want to be a Keene and a Hale?”

&nbs
p; I tip my head. “Well, you don’t have a middle name. I could have two of those.” Air fills my lungs; the morning sun warm on our skin, and Maximoff naturally basks in the heat like this is his element, his world, his features striking. Glowing. And I say out loud, “Maximoff Keene Hale.”

  His pink lips start to lift.

  “You like that?”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah.” Affection flows around us. “Farrow Redford Keene Hale. It’s a mouthful.” And yet, he’s biting the corner of his lip, trying to contain a love-struck smile.

  “He already wants to make love to my name.”

  Maximoff growls out and says, “Just kis—”

  I kiss the fuck out of him. Our hands all over each other, pulling closer, clutching and loving, and he kisses me just as passionately and ravenously. Water cooling off the heat.

  I draw back. “Come on.” I climb out of the pool. “Let’s practice.”

  He’s already hiking onto the stone patio too effortlessly and about the same time as me, and I catch him around the waist. We’re dripping water, the sun drying us off.

  “You want to practice something?” Maximoff makes a face. “The guy who prepares for nothing?”

  My smile stretches. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, wolf scout.”

  He licks his lips, interested, and we check on our baby. A robin pads across the wet patio, and Ripley laughs brightly at the bird.

  Arkham shuffles back, unsure about the other animal.

  Ripley loves being outside. He cries less in the sun.

  “What are we practicing…?” His voice tapers out, realizing the answer as soon as I take his hand in mine and place my other palm on his lower back.

  I tell him, “Our first dance as husband and husband.”

  He looks overwhelmed. “Alright.” He nods. “Let’s practice.”

  Music still blasts out of my phone’s speakers. We’ve danced together plenty of times before, but this’ll be different, more memorable.

  “I’m leading,” he says forcefully.

  “We’ll see, Bossy.”

  He’s smiling, his other hand on my shoulder, and our chests are so close that I feel the heat of the sun on his tanned skin. As soon as our bare feet move along the wet stone, one song ends and another begins.