Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

“Yeah.” Oscar expels a heavier breath. “He said, thanks, but I’m straight.”

I cringe.

“Don’t even say it,” Oscar tells me.

I’m going to say it. “I told you not to fall for a straight boy.”

He lets out a rough sigh. “I had to give it a shot. He’s hot and he’s stolen three pieces of my wardrobe already.”

“Yeah?” I frown.

“Yeah, he’s got my bandana, my sweatshirt, and he borrowed my extra belt this morning.” He shakes his head. “You bet your ass when I can stare the guy in the eyes again, I’m collecting all that shit.” He touches his chest. “I could land just about anyone. I’m a ten, and I can’t keep doing this.” He’s frustrated.

“It’ll be okay,” I tell him.

Donnelly hops off the balcony and picks up the plate off the armrest. “Cake?” he offers to Oscar.

We laugh.

Oscar takes his plate back, eats a bite and eases against the lounge chair.

Donnelly checks over his shoulder. “Guess what I heard in the bathroom?” He has a shit-eating grin.

“Gossip,” Oscar guesses.

“Some type of bullshit,” I chime in.

“Yes and maybe.” He smirks at me. “I heard Tom Cobalt talking to Eliot about how you saved him in the bathroom at the bachelor party. And I don’t think he knew I came in, ‘cause he told his brother, Remember when I had a crush on Farrow growing up?”

I choke on a laugh. “No.”

“Yeah, Tom had a crush on you.”

I make a slight cringe-face. Not sure what I feel.

Oscar bursts out laughing. “Your face, Redford.”

“I know I’m hot, but what?” I never noticed Tom Cobalt having a thing for me, but that’s most likely because I tend to not pick up underage crushing.

Shit, Oscar and Donnelly don’t even know that Maximoff had a sixteen-year-old crush on me, and I find that teenage crush cute as fuck. Mostly because he hates when I mention it.

“Guys look up to you,” Oscar tells me. “You can’t be that surprised.”

I cross my arm loosely, his words reminding me of something, and I fall more serious. “I got another offer to be on the cover for Out Loud Magazine.”

He licks icing off his thumb. “How’d you turn them down this time?”

“I didn’t,” I say easily. “I’m taking the offer.”

Surprise parts his lips. “Really?”

Donnelly grins beside me.

“Yeah.” I nod strongly. “And I told Maximoff that I want to air the wedding on the docuseries.”

He was already ready and willing. I was the only one holding back.

The world will see us walk down the aisle and say our vows in the rain. No blurry drone images or shit sound quality. The public will have the full, real deal.

Oscar is stunned silent.

I smile.

The most freeing feeling is being able to live my life authentically and proudly. With no fucking compromise.

Stepping into this bright spotlight has been gradual. Starting from the moment I became a bodyguard, to dating Maximoff and being doxxed, to then joining the docuseries, and now all of a sudden, I wanted to step out of the light.

It’s honestly made me more uncomfortable to shy away. Maximoff constantly runs towards his fears, and I’d rather Ripley see me racing into them at full-speed too. No skirting around or pulling into shadows.

“You’re not joking?” Oscar asks, just to be sure.

My smile stretches. “I’m going to be proudly, uncompromisingly me no matter what the hell I do or where the fuck I go, so I might as well do it in the spotlight. All-in.”

The only thing that was stopping me was fear. And that’s not a good enough reason to slam on the brakes.

The world already sees Maximoff and me as the “it” couple, and if people want us to be the “it” gay couple, needing to see me on magazine covers and our wedding on TV, then I’ll embrace that entirely. Underneath the brightest light in the world.

With no fucking compromise.

Oscar nods to me, pride in his eyes.

I nod back.

Seriousness recedes, and he tells me, “We should lay off Tom. If I was his age and didn’t know your personality flaws consisted of the inability to share food and assholishness, I might’ve had a partial crush on you too.”

Donnelly laughs.

I smile. “I’ve, for sure, given you granola bars that I’ve packed for myself, Oliveira. Remind me not to next time.”

Oscar grins. “Already forgotten to remind you.” His gaze veers. “Husband’s coming over.”

Sure enough, Maximoff ambles his way to us, carrying our sleeping baby in his arms. Ripley snores against his chest. “Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt—”

“You’re not,” I tell him.

He nods, then looks down. “Rip is out, and my parents are headed back to the villas. They’re going to take him so he can get some sleep.”

It’s time to say goodbye to our son, and it’s still never that easy. Not even when I know I’ll see the little man again tomorrow.