His mouth curves in a warm smile. “Thanks, Lo.”
My dad clears his throat, then smiles a half-smile at Ripley. “Maybe you two might need to hear this.” His eyes flit to us. “You’re both great fathers. The kind that kids grow up and gush about.” He feigns surprise. “A lot like me.”
We laugh.
His smile softens. “Just know that, you’re both the great ones. No matter what happens or how many kids you have or don’t have.”
I nod, a sudden pain in my chest. “Yeah.”
Farrow clasps a hand on my shoulder. I can practically feel his breath stagger for a beat.
My dad backs up and suddenly heads to the exit.
What? “Where are you going?” I ask loudly.
“To go fire a wet mop.” He saunters out, confidence in every footstep.
42
FARROW KEENE
1 day until the wedding
“Back up!” I yell like a threat, shooting brief, scathing glares at the aggressive sea of cameramen. Media shove and push to be closer to the parked car. Where we’re being dropped off outside a fine-dining restaurant for our rehearsal dinner.
I’m standing on the road, right against the compact navy-blue car, and I block paparazzi from Maximoff. He opens the rear door and bends over to unbuckle Ripley from the car seat.
I thrive in unruly, strange chaos. And all of SFO might be off-duty tonight, but I know I can protect my groom and our son without a radio or team behind me.
If I had any doubt, I wouldn’t put them in this situation.
Extra security is currently fighting through these idiots who ram each other and act like Maximoff and I are a main headliner at Coachella.
Maximoff yells something back at me. His voice buried beneath shrill questions, “look heres!” and the sound of clicking camera flashes.
“What?!” I shout at him, dipping my head slightly towards the opened door. I keep an eye on the shoving masses.
“You still have the earplugs?” Maximoff asks. “I gave them to you this morning.”
I dig into my pocket, and I notice Ripley cupping his hands over his ears. He’s not crying or in distress. Just glancing expectantly between me and Maximoff like, what’s happening next? Trusting us wherever we go, wherever we take him.
I’d smile, but the pandemonium is at an all-time high.
Ripley babbles incoherently while I pass earplugs to Maximoff. I nod to our baby boy. “That’s right, little trooper. Your papa’s about to silence all these noisy fuckers for you.”
He beams, especially as Maximoff fits in the earplugs.
A cameraman trips, about to crash into Maximoff’s ass, and I push him. “Back up!”
“I didn’t mean to!” he shouts, panicked.
I skim the crowds, and a younger guy tries to fit his expensive equipment over the door. To peer down at Maximoff and Ripley.
I thrust a hand with warning force at his chest.
“I have Rip,” Maximoff tells me, holding our son against his body.
Shutting the door, I lean close to whisper, “Stay with me. I have to go first.”
“Alright.” He’s not arguing.
The best way to protect Ripley is for us to be in a single-file line, with our son shielded between his chest and my back.
Maximoff pushes against paparazzi with his forearm while I lead. Forcing through the cameras and creating a pathway. It’s all fine and well. Until a hand reaches out for Ripley, and I see this idiot’s crazed, media-fueled eyes, looking to stoke havoc.
His hand is descending on Ripley’s head.
He’s innocently unaware. He’s a baby.
He’s my baby.
I lose my shit.
I catch this fucker’s wrist and twist. Hard, beyond a warning. I feel the bone split and crack in my iron-grip.
He drops the camera, his pained cry smothered by other media yelling, “MAXIMOFF, LOOK HERE! FARROW, LOOK HERE!”
I don’t stop. Or look.
We keep moving towards the restaurant.
Maximoff has a firm clutch around Ripley and shoves off more paparazzi, his forest-green eyes like daggers. He’s strong, forcing men away like a bodyguard would. Still, I glance back at him, sweeping him. And honestly, he’s checking on me just as hardcore.
Along the road, the rest of the famous ones are parking and pushing through this madness.
And behind me, I hear, “You broke his arm!”
“Sue him!” cameramen tell their colleague. “You can sue him!”
Sue me.
I really couldn’t care less.
Because no malicious hands are ever touching our son.
Only the wedding party and close relatives and friends are invited to the rehearsal dinner, leaving the occasion mostly private. Which is why we decided on doing toasts tonight.
Best man and best woman speeches already left everyone in laughter and tears.
Jane’s was perfectly her: sentimental and long as fuck, and I didn’t expect her to say much about me. But a lot was spent on how she loved me as a person and how she adored me with her best friend.
Her words, “Life with Farrow is better than life without Farrow.” I don’t know if anyone besides Maximoff has ever expressed those feelings about me out loud before. Not like that. It choked me up. She’s already done so much for us, for the wedding.
Even the restaurant she found for tonight is unreal.
Lemon trees canopy an array of circular candle-lit tables, the sweet fragrance permeating as everyone eats and listens to the toasts. It’s been relaxed and casual. Guests amble around and visit tables to chat with different friends and family throughout the night.
Donnelly’s speech was hilarious as shit. He told a few anecdotes about our time at Yale. Like the night we never slept, looking for a 24/7 diner in New Haven that sold peach cobbler. How we finally found one at 8 a.m. after walking six miles. Our phones died and we hitchhiked back to campus.
Simple days.
Easy times.
We still have those, only they’re now shared with Maximoff too, and Donnelly made him turn fire-engine red. I was fucking rolling.
Donnelly said, “And my best friend has the ability to make the hottest, smokin’ Maximoff Hale turn into a lovesick puppy dog.”
Maximoff shook his head vigorously and mouthed, “No.” Everyone laughed, and Maximoff was fighting a smile the entire fucking time.
In between toasts, I head to the teenagers’ table where Maximoff has been standing, chatting with his cousins and siblings.
I sidle next to him, and his arm subconsciously slides across my shoulders. It’s cute.
“So you’re not sleeping in different rooms tonight?” Xander asks his brother, then eyes me. “I thought you’re supposed to separate the night before the wedding.”
“No hanky-panky,” Winona says, wagging her brows.
I run my tongue over my bottom lip, feeling my smile rise. “You want to take this one, wolf scout?”
He looks at his family. “Farrow doesn’t like rules.”
I roll my eyes. He’s not wrong, but in case he’s changed his mind, I ask, “You want to separate tonight?”
“No way.” That was quick.
My smile stretches, and his arm drops so he can hold my hand. “I’m stealing Farrow away, but I’ll see you all later.”
They say bye to us, and we walk closer to a corner table, chairs empty as its occupants visit other people.
I eye the table, then Maximoff. “You stole me away to be alone with me.”
“No,” he says firmly. “It’s just nice over here.” He crosses his arms, then uncrosses to gesture to himself. “And you have a better view of me, which I know you love.”
“Sure.” I can’t stop smiling. I haven’t been able to all night.
A great feeling: Kaden isn’t here. He was fired. So there’s no chance of accidentally running into him. And Maximoff did ask for a play-by-play of what he said before I punched him.
&nb
sp; I rehashed the conversation, and it was hard seeing the hurt flash in Maximoff’s eyes. His anger and frustration, I expected. I held him for a while.
The rehearsal dinner has been lighter. And as we’re in the quiet corner, I watch his eyes descend to my fingers. I’m peeling foil off a piece of gum, and he spaces out for a second.
Where’d you go? I wave a hand.
He blinks into hard focus.
I smile and put gum in my mouth. “Dreaming of your lips around my cock?”
“Your hands,” Maximoff says under his breath in tender want and hot affection. “On me.”
“Yeah?” I sweep him, my blood cranking up. “On your ass.”
“My ass, my face, my cock.” He’s unabashed, his eyes on mine in desire that swells my veins. “Everywhere.”
Damn. Many facets of our relationship are rock solid, and our physical attraction is definitely among them. A candle that can’t flame out.
“Okay.”
“But not tonight,” Maximoff says. “Let’s wait for…you know.”
I raise my brows. He either can’t say the words or he just wants to hear me say them. “You want your husband to touch you?”
His chest collapses in an aching breath.
I laugh. “Too easy.”
“You’re the one who’s hard, man.”
I suck in a breath. “Not yet, but nice effort.”
He almost glances at my cock, and he growls, irritated. I watch him scan the tables, trying to ignore me. It lasts a millisecond. “You think Ripley is doing okay over there?”
I pop a bubble in my mouth and locate our son with the parents, aunts, and uncles. Ryke cradles the sleeping baby, lips parted in breathy snores.
They all wanted to spend time with Ripley during the dinner, and thankfully he’s more used to the families. But he has his favorites.
Ryke and Lo.
It’s clear to me why. They have the most similar energy as Maximoff, and so Ripley is the most comfortable in their arms.
“He’s good; he’s sleeping…” My voice tapers out as I eagle-eye an old woman, a strand of pearls at her wrinkled throat. “Shit.” I chew gum slower and watch Grandmother Calloway play tug-of-war with a microphone Jack is holding.
Maximoff sees. “Fuck.”
We push away from our spot. About to approach and resolve that shit, but Donnelly, Jane, and Thatcher cut us off.
“We have this handled,” Jane assures. “Just go enjoy yourselves.”
Maximoff’s brows knit. “Is she trying to make a toast?”
“She’s been trying the past five minutes,” Donnelly admits.
Jane is wide-eyed like he revealed shit he shouldn’t have.
“Paul,” Thatcher snaps.
I jump in. “Are we surprised?” I say with arched brows. “The old bat loves being the center of attention.”
Maximoff’s jaw slowly falls. “Wait, my mom is going over there.” He animates like someone stuck a hot poker to his spine, about to charge forward and stop his mom.
“Hold on,” I tell him, noticing Lily trekking forward. No fear in her stance. Determination lifts her shoulders and chin.
Maximoff is cemented beside me, watching too, and the entire venue falls hushed as Lily faces her mom underneath the lemon trees.
“I need to speak to you privately,” Lily says with confidence.
Everyone can hear.
Grandmother Calloway still has her claws on the microphone. Jack isn’t letting go. He’s the MVP tonight.
“Another time, I’m in the middle of something—”
“I wasn’t asking,” Lily interjects. “Either you speak with me privately or you’ll need to leave the wedding.”
She huffs. “It’s early still—”
“The wedding,” Lily emphasizes. “Meaning, you won’t be in attendance tomorrow.”
My lip rises. Looks like there’s another MVP.
Grandmother Calloway releases her grip of the microphone and assesses her daughter with a curled lip. “What is this about? If you have grievances with me, this isn’t the place, Li—”
“You’re not the authority here. This is my son’s wedding.” Her eyes glass with anger, with emotion. “You can go. Go.” Lily points at the door.
“Fine.” She sneers lowly, “I don’t deserve to be treated this way.” At this, she flings her purse off the chair and onto her shoulder. Extra security leads her out.
Lily exhales a big breath and turns, her glassy gaze meeting mine and her son’s. An apology almost fills her eyes, but it fades.
Because I start clapping with deep pride.
Maximoff joins in, and others do too, the sound growing. She walks over to us, being led by applause from all directions.
We hug Lily together.
There are reasons why Maximoff says his parents are the strongest people he knows. Why he believes in them endlessly and faithfully.
Every time they’re kicked down, they crawl to a stance and fight towards courage. And I’m lucky as hell that I can call them my family.
Back for the night at the villa, stars glitter in the sky, and Maximoff opens the terrace doors while I rest Ripley down in his crib.
I glance over my shoulder, feeling Maximoff eyeing me. “What are you thinking?” I ask.
“This time tomorrow night you’re going to be my husband,” he says. “And it’s strange because I’ve already felt like you are.”
My lips lift. “It’s not official until tomorrow.” I sweep him from head to toe. “You nervous?”
He wavers, like he’s contemplating being sarcastic, and then he says, “A bit. I just want everything to go well for you.”
“There’s no way it could go bad, wolf scout.”
He nods assuredly. “Yeah, I know.” He gives me the same once-over. “You nervous?”
He didn’t dodge the question, so I don’t either. “Yeah, but only because I don’t want it to go too fast.” It feels like we’ve waited years for tomorrow to arrive and also just a single day. But I don’t think about what’s ahead yet. I stay in the present, one last unmarried night with him.
43
FARROW KEENE
The Wedding Day
Today is the day. July 9th. The last day that I’m just Farrow Redford Keene. The first day of many that I can call Maximoff my husband.
And I still can’t believe that day is now.
“You look like fucking fire,” Donnelly says, grinning as he watches me tuck a black button-down into expensive black slacks. Top buttons are undone, showing off the half-skull tattoo on my sternum.
I feel recklessly invincible.
Powered by a stubborn, unshakable love that I ache to meet head-on.
Excitement wrings the air, the energy infectious while my grooms party gets ready in Donnelly’s villa.
I haven’t seen Maximoff since early this morning. My lip lifts, knowing the next time we lock eyes, we’ll be walking down the aisle. Fuck, I crave to rest my gaze against his gaze, and we’ve barely been apart.
Oscar digs into a bag of Cheetos. “The Groom might drop to his knees at the altar.”
I skirt over that, more concentrated on the location of Oscar’s hand. “You do know you’re wearing white?”
Oscar is dressed in the groomsmen attire: white button-down and casual white slacks. Groomswomen could either wear white jumpsuits or summer dresses.
He licks bright-orange dust off his thumb. “Aware. But I’m also a snack expert. I wouldn’t recommend this for anyone else.” He looks to our friend. “That means you, Donnelly.”
He smirks and waves a hand down his body. “I’m not risking all of this for a fuckin’ Cheeto.” They banter back and forth.
My smile stretches, and facing a full-length, carved-wood mirror, I fix a few out-of-place strands of black hair.
Thatcher picks a box of cigars off the bed.
Alpha sent those.
He inspects the card, reading silently. But I remember what it says.
For the Maverick,
Congrats on tying the knot. We’re wishing you a lifetime of happiness with your husband, and we also look forward to working with you alongside Kitsuwon Securities. Have a smoke on us.
- Security Force Alpha
I can’t read Thatcher that well. “Surprised, Moretti?” I ask him.
“No.” He places the card back. “You?”
I tilt my head. “Yeah, a little bit.” I check my jaw for razor-bumps. I look hot. “For as many side-eyes as they gave me for being with a client, I would’ve thought they’d send me a lump of coal.” Glancing back, I catch his serious gaze.
“You worked with a lot of men on Alpha for three years,” Thatcher tells me. “You might’ve been a pain in their ass, but you’ve always been an asset.”
I’m positive Thatcher sees me as an asset too. It’s why he wanted me “all-in” with security. I still couldn’t care less what Alpha thinks of me. I don’t live for that type of validation, but I like knowing Thatcher and I are more understanding of each other.
And I smile, because I know I’m not just valuable to him on a security level. But on a human level, we have something there too.
Luna exits the bathroom in a white jumpsuit and throws up a Spock salute. We all compliment her look: the subtle glitter under her eyes and tops of her cheeks.
She smiles at my attire. “Moffy’s gonna faint.”
I laugh. “I’ll catch him.”
Luna is beaming with real fucking happiness, and her eyes well like this is also a dream. Me joining her family. Yeah, I feel that too. We hug, and afterwards, she inspects Alpha’s present, sniffing a cigar.
Our heads turn as terrace doors bang against the wall. A cool breeze gusts inside, sheer drapes blowing wildly. The cloudy sky isn’t that ominous to me.
Oscar peers outside. “The storm might pass over.”
I shrug. “I really don’t give a shit.”
Rain or shine, I’m still marrying the love of my life today.
Donnelly glances down at his cell. “Jane’s asking if you need anything.”
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