It’s embarrassing.
I take a bite of pizza, watching Farrow adjust Ripley’s dark-tinted sunglasses and hat that protects his fair skin. Surprisingly, Ripley has grown used to the constant camera flashes fast. I thought it’d take a decade for him not to fuss whenever a stranger screams his name.
A decade.
God, my stomach clenches thinking he might not be with us that long. My dad and uncles think there’s a likelihood Scottie will be released from prison earlier than expected. They keep warning me that litigation will be hard, and if we fight for Ripley publicly, it’ll be harder.
I think they’re afraid of an outcome where we go to court for parental rights…and we lose. It’s possible, and it’d crush me.
Pizza goes down like a lump in my throat. I gulp more water. We just got done sightseeing and swimming, and my hair is still damp from the sea.
My whole family is around here, strolling up and down the cobblestone pathways and popping into the shops.
Hunger struck me and Farrow, so we dipped away to grab a bite.
He keeps his brown eyes on me. “How are the ribs today?” His voice is rough, deep but also silky soft.
I wipe my mouth with a cloth napkin. “Crushed into smithereens. I’m practically dusting circa Avengers: Infinity War.”
Farrow raises his brows. “I’m not even embarrassed that I got that reference, but that was a serious question.” His concern washes through me.
“They’re just sore.” I walked away from the fight with a few bruises and minor pavement burn after I stumbled once. Nothing that serious. I pick off black olives from another slice. “You know I’ve been thinking—”
“Your favorite thing to do.” His grin, the one I’m way too attracted to, steals my breath for a second. He reaches over and takes the olives I deserted, popping them in his mouth one by one. “Keep going,” he says between a bite.
I lick my dry lips. “You know the Hale Curse?”
Farrow blinks, almost annoyed. “If you’re going to say that what happened at the coves means you’re cursed—”
“I’m not,” I cut him off.
He looks me over, interested. “I’m listening.”
“It’s the exact opposite, actually.” I feel my smile rise. “And you’re probably going to think this is stupid, but I’ve been thinking how I could be walking down the aisle in four days with a busted lip and a black eye. Instead, I just have some bruising that no one can really see.” I take a deeper breath. “If there really was a Hale Curse, it would’ve been worse.”
Farrow smiles more. “Getting smarter.” He pinches his fingers close together. “By this much.”
I flip him off, and paparazzi shout questions that I tune out. Banks tells them firmly to stay back.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Send photos. Ghosts are having more fun than me right now. – Mom
This text can’t be from my mom. It sounds too much like Kinney, and I know my mom left her cell with the girls in case of emergencies.
My little sister and the younger girls have been grounded in Capri. They’re on lockdown at the villa without TV and internet.
And their wiped cellphones are forever collecting salt-water grime on a seaside cliff. The girls were bummed that I didn’t repel, but the more I’m around Farrow and Ripley, I’m glad I didn’t try.
Putting on a superhero cape for my cousins and siblings isn’t always what my heart wants to do, I’ve realized, and Farrow makes me feel less guilty for choosing to be the human me.
I reply back: miss you, Kinney. See you later
And then I check social media.
I’m trending.
Earlier today, paparazzi must’ve taken photos of me climbing shirtless out of the sea. Deep green and purple bruises along my ribs are noticeable. Public reaction is predictable. People speculate that I’m angry at Farrow, at my dad, at my uncle—picking any person they think most culpable.
It’s not real, and I don’t care about the rumors or lies.
I’m not confused about who I am. I understand my weird existence in this world, and it’s not worth the energy to try and control something that literally cannot be controlled. And I can’t control how you perceive me.
“What’s going on?” Farrow asks.
I slide my cell back into my pocket. “The normal bullshit. Paparazzi posted the photos of me in my swim trunks. Hashtag Maximoff Brawl is trending.” I’m more worried this’ll dig under Farrow’s skin. “You’re okay?”
After swallowing pizza crust, he says, “Man, I’m not looking at internet trolls. I’m fine.” His lip quirks in another bite of pizza, but the smile vanishes once his gaze diverts over my shoulder.
I swivel in my chair to follow his eyes.
Kaden Simmons is sitting on the edge of a rushing stone fountain, scrolling through his phone. I spot my dad in a nearby sandal shop with my mom.
“Hey,” Farrow says, tugging my attention back to him. “I’m thinking about going to talk to Kaden, but if it bothers you, I won’t.”
My stomach does a weird somersault, nosedive. “What do you have to say to that guy?”
“I just want to ask him a few questions.” Farrow swigs some water. “I know very little about him, other than a background check, and if he’s sticking around, for my own peace of mind, I just need to know more.”
I get that.
A lot.
“Will you tell me what you ask and what he says?”
He tilts his head back and forth. “Yes. Unless you realize you don’t want the answer, then no.”
“Pass Rip over,” I say, no hesitation.
“You sure?” Farrow wonders.
“Yeah. But if you start a fight, don’t be shocked if I jump in.”
He rolls his eyes into a short laugh. “Okay.”
I take Ripley, and Farrow slides back his seat, stands, and pushes the chair in. He’s relaxed as he ambles towards my dad’s therapist. I have a good view, and I almost wish I had a superpower to see the future. Just to know for certain what happens next.
40
FARROW KEENE
I’m basically “on-duty” while “off-duty” and I click my mic and alert the temps, “No one follow me.” I don’t need a bodyguard if I’m alone, even if a few cameramen hop after me.
Banks stays to protect Maximoff, and as I pass him, a petite old woman approaches and starts speaking in Italian like he can understand.
The Moretti brothers have been mistaken as locals all week, and it doesn’t help that some of the guys on SFE keep asking them to translate. I’ve had to hear the Morettis say “I don’t speak Italian” and “Italian-American slang isn’t the same thing” too many times for my sanity. But it’s even worse for them, and the aggravation wrinkles Banks’ forehead.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, ma’am,” he says, frustrated.
I side-step around him and focus on my destination.
Kaden Simmons.
See, I missed Nate. I missed Rowin. I missed the signs that told me their intentions were shit, and my gut already says to be cautious around Kaden. Hell, he would’ve been out of Maximoff’s stratosphere a long time ago, had I not chosen to protect Maximoff’s dad first.
That’s not happening anymore.
I’m done.
And I need to figure out where Kaden lands in the shitty person spectrum.
Sitting leisurely on the fountain edge, he’s dressed in a sweater-vest during the height of summer. But he hasn’t even broken a sweat. He digs a spoon in a cup of strawberry gelato and stands when he sees me approaching.
A Canon almost hits my face, paparazzi closing in.
I’m about to tell a cameraman to back the fuck up, but in a split-second, he whirls around and bolts towards a shop. Only a handful of people can elicit that kind of reaction. And I quickly notice it’s because all the famous parents are together and browsing the shoe store.
Lily & Lo, Ryke & Daisy, Connor & Rose—they’re
more famous than their children, and subsequently me. And I’m good with that.
I seize the sudden privacy and turn back to Kaden. “I don’t think we’ve actually met.” I hold out my hand, trying not to come in hot. “I’m Farrow.”
“Kaden.” He shakes my hand. “I’m looking forward to your wedding, and so you know, I’d have introduced myself earlier, but it’s not really my place. I’m letting Loren make those introductions.”
Sounds sincere, but my guards are still up. “Look,” I say. “I’m not one to really judge conflicts of interest, but I have to ask. When you took the job as Lo’s therapist, did you hesitate or think maybe it wasn’t a good idea?”
Kaden takes a casual bite of his gelato. “I assume you’re talking about the fact that I slept with Maximoff.”
Acid churns in my stomach. I’m typically not a petty person, but I’d love to throw his frozen dessert in the fountain behind him.
“Yeah, that’d be the conflict of interest.”
“As far as I know, Maximoff has had a lot of one-night stands,” Kaden says like we’re talking about the weather.
I’m not helping. I feel like I came in too casual, and I want to course correct. “As far as you know…” I repeat those words.
“From the online articles,” Kaden clarifies. “And what he told me that night. What I’m trying to say is that it’d be difficult to avoid running into one of Maximoff’s one-night stands. I don’t really see it as a conflict if it’s a common occurrence.”
My muscles flex, enraged. I want to lay him on the ground. Badly. But I have one more question.
“Do you remember your night with him?” I wonder.
Kaden blinks. “Why would you want to know that?” He looks towards Maximoff, and I step to the side, blocking his view.
“I just want to know if it was memorable for you.” My pulse thumps harder.
“I don’t want to make you feel bad…you’re engaged to him,” he says warily. “But it was a great night.”
He either doesn’t remember what happened, or he really believes that it was a good time. I don’t know which one is worse.
My ears ring. “You’re not serious.”
He winces. “Like I said, I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”
I swing.
My fist lands into his cheek, and the guy tumbles back, tripping on his feet and falling into the fountain with a loud splash. He doesn’t drop his gelato.
“Farrow!” Maximoff is running towards me, his earlier promise pulsing in my head. If you start a fight, don’t be shocked if I jump in.
Luckily, his threat is basically nonexistent with our baby in his arms.
He slows to my side. “Are you alright, man?”
I open my mouth, but Lo storms over with heated amber eyes. “What the fuck is going on?” He looks from me to his therapist, who’s busy picking himself out of the fountain. A couple of cameramen help him and bombard the guy with a million questions.
“Lo,” I start, ready to placate him. But I can’t really say anything because I’m not going to lie, and I’m not about to divulge Maximoff’s sex life to his dad. Especially not without his consent.
“Dad,” Maximoff cuts in. “Can we talk to you in private?”
My head swings to him, my lips parting, and Maximoff meets my confusion. What is he doing?
41
MAXIMOFF HALE
My dad, Farrow, and I head to the back of the shoe shop, the smell of leather pungent and permeating around us. Ripley is content and comfortable in a gray sling across my chest.
Bodyguards are posted at the entrances of the shop. No one in or out, and we pay the store, in case we’re warding off potential customers. I’m not okay with a local business losing money.
I’m in the dark.
I have zero idea what the fuck Kaden said to Farrow, but I know he’ll tell me later, if I ask.
Right now, I don’t need that information to do what has to be done. I won’t let Farrow be the bad guy, and that’s exactly what’ll happen if my dad has one-fourth of the picture.
I might not be able to control what you think of me or Farrow—but this is different, my family is different. My dad deserves to see the full image.
I have to tell him about Kaden.
Maybe we should’ve done this from the start. Maybe we were wrong to think we can handle everything and we’re supposed to bear it all. Because I know I can’t bear this anymore, and I won’t let Farrow carry the weight either.
“We’re in private,” my dad says, his face cinched in utter confusion. His deadly gaze darts between Farrow and me. “One of you better explain to me why my therapist looks like a wet mop.”
“I know him,” I say firmly, not hesitating this time. “I met him back when I was eighteen.”
My dad blinks. “Excuse me?” His face sharpens. “I couldn’t have heard you right. Because my son would have definitely mentioned that he knew my new therapist.”
“Dad—”
“Please tell me you ran into each other on the street five years ago,” he says swiftly. “Please tell it was a one-second interaction that lasted longer than Dazzler’s cameo in Dark Phoenix.”
Jesus. He’s bringing up Dark Phoenix. The one X-Men movie that shall-not-be-named in our household. This is bad. My dad spins to Farrow for answers, but I’m not letting Farrow explain this.
“I slept with him,” I say clearly, deeply, my pulse a heavy drum.
He chokes on a breath. “Recently?”
“No,” Farrow and I say hotly in unison.
“When I was eighteen,” I clarify, fuck. I rest a hand on my burning neck. “I had sex with him. It was a one-night stand.”
The air deadens around us. My dad looks outright murderous. “You were eighteen…how old did that make him?”
“Twenty-four,” Farrow says.
Donnelly is dead. I just think about how Luna is only nineteen, and he’s twenty-seven. Maybe it’s a good thing Luna is still hiding her galaxy tattoo.
My dad nails a glare at a rack of leather loafers.
I need to be honest, so I tell him, “I don’t want to go into the details, but he wasn’t a great lay.”
His eyes veer back to me. “Did he hurt you?”
Fucking Christ. You know what I’m not doing? I’m not telling my dad this was my first anal experience and how fucking awkward it was.
Face on fire, I say, “Not…not really.”
My dad turns to Farrow. “Did he hurt him?”
Farrow stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Like Maximoff said, it wasn’t a great lay.”
My dad bears down hard on his teeth, his cheekbones razor blades at this point. His amber gaze lands back on me. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” As soon as those words leave his mouth he grimaces in realization. “Jesus Christ—you kept this secret to protect me.”
“You were in a bad place,” I explain. “Kaden seemed to be helping, and we weren’t going to rip him away from you for some selfish, stupid reason—”
“No, that’s exactly why you tell me. For selfish, stupid reasons. Because you’re my kid, and I’m looking out for you. Not the other way around.” My dad takes a deeper breath, hurt coursing between us. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t talk to me or tell me things because you think it’ll send me spiraling. You’re never going to be the reason I relapse.” He’s said those words before, but today they travel through me. Soaking into my bloodstream.
My eyes fall to Ripley, the little guy against my chest.
My son.
The responsibility I feel for him is immeasurable, and I’ve tried all my life to take that responsibility off my parents. To unburden them.
I hope when I grow old and my son grows old, he still turns to me. That he never feels like I won’t or can’t help him, and I feel like I’ve made a mistake somewhere with my own dad.
In trying to not be a burden to my parents, I think I’ve led my dad to believe that I don’t need him. And that
Farrow is the only one I really need—the only one who can reach me.
And I hear my dad’s words in the back of my head, thank God. Because when I fuck up again, Moffy will have Farrow.
I can’t keep acting like I can carry everything. Like I don’t need his help. Even with Farrow, I still need my parents. I’ve just been so goddamn afraid to burden them.
“I’m not going to be why you relapse,” I repeat his words.
“That’s what I said.”
“So I can tell you something?”
“I’d hope you could tell me anything,” he breathes, pain wrenching those words.
I glance at Farrow, and his brown eyes carry light and strength. Calmness washes over me. Flows through me, and I breathe stronger.
I face my dad. “I need you. Not just right now, not just yesterday—but long after this week, after I’m married. In ten years. Twenty. When you’re an old man, I’m still going to need you.”
“Moffy—”
“You’re my dad,” I say, choked. “And I don’t want my kids to grow up with you as a memory like I have of my grandfather. I need you here—and I promise that I’ll tell you shit from now on, if you promise you won’t ever see me as someone you can push away. Because I might have other people, but no one in the whole universe—in every fucking universe—could ever replace you from my life.”
He pinches his eyes, already tearing up. “Goddammit…” He takes a minute, inhaling a sharp breath. “I didn’t…” He shakes his head and drops his hand. Looking up at me, I can see the unsaid words.
He didn’t know I felt that way.
My eyes burn. “I’m sorry.” I should’ve told him sooner.
“No.” He rubs away a tear off his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about, bud.” He glances down at the yawning baby on my chest and touches his tiny, soft fingers. “I didn’t know I needed to hear that from you. But I…” He swallows hard. “It means a lot.” He meets my gaze. “I promise I’m always going to be here for you, and for you.” He eyes Farrow.
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