Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

I excuse myself and jog over to the neck-tattooed maverick. “Hey,” I nod.

He’s digging in a diaper bag, a strand of bleach-white hair in his eyes. His pierced brows lift to me, but his hands keep moving. “Nice to see you made it here. Jane thought you might get lost through the mansion.”

“I did,” I admit.

Farrow’s smile stretches into a laugh. “No shit?”

I bounce my head, then smack his chest as he rises. “Thanks, by the way.” I pause. “For being there for him.”

Farrow filled in as best man. He stood next to my brother. He handed him the ring.

I add, “And I know Charlie and Beckett were up there too, but that’s not the same as having a friend. It meant a lot to me that my brother wasn’t alone.”

Farrow’s smile softens. “Anytime.”

“Hey, Farrow!” Loren Hale calls from afar, who has Ripley in his arms. They must need something in the diaper bag, so I nod goodbye to Farrow and dip out.

I end up on the edge of the dance floor where my four-foot-eleven Grandma Carol sips on a glass of brandy and shimmies left and right to Sinatra. “Banks!” she exclaims as soon as I approach, and I bend down and kiss her rosy-red cheek.

“My boys are all together.” She cups my face as I’m bent down. “Oh, don’t youse look so handsome.”

I’ve never seen eyes that smile as brightly as hers. None of us would’ve made it without her in our lives.

I stand up fully. “You look more beautiful than I look handsome, Grandma.”

She waves her hand like I’m full of shit. “Let’s dance. Youse hear that?”

Sinatra. “Andrea Bocelli?”

My mom snorts, coming up to us, “You go to Yellowstone and come back a smartass.”

“Hey, Ma,” I greet, and my grandma is still grinning as I spin her again. With my hand still in Grandma Carol’s, I kiss my mom’s cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She doesn’t even glance down at her black sequined pantsuit. She’s just smiling at me like she knows I’ve been through the ringer and need all the love I can get. “Banksy. We missed you.” She reaches up and cups my cheek. “Don’t get into any more trouble. Not without your brother.”

Trouble.

I laugh. “I thought we were the good sons.”

“Still are. Always will be.” She kisses her fingers to reach up to place them on my cheek.

The women who raised me are my world.

I dance with my mom, with my grandma, and I look around for Sulli—but I can’t see her. Not even as my mom’s wife, Nicola, sneaks up behind her. They laugh and kiss, and my grandma asks me, “When’s your turn to find that special someone, Banks?”

“Yeah,” Nicola chimes in, “any lucky girls recently?”

Sulli.

Can’t say that. Can’t even say if it’ll last past tomorrow.

Before I find an answer, my mom adds with a smile, “Or any lucky guys.”

She’s trying to be inclusive, just in case. I try to crack another smile, but it flickers fast. “You three are trouble when you’re all together. You know that?”

They grin, and my grandma passes around her brandy as they dance.

Right when I turn my head, I finally spot Sulli.

She just now detaches from the chatty girl squad, and she’s heading to her parents.

50

SULLIVAN MEADOWS

Under the twinkling fairy lights, my mom and dad linger next to a chocolate fountain. Goldilocks sits cutely at my mom’s feet with a bow around her collar, tail wagging. With my mom and dad’s parental eyes on me, I’m pretty fucking positive they’ve been staring at me since I arrived.

They wanted to give me a moment with Jane, and my appreciation is second-chair to my urgency to see them. To talk to them. Especially since all the younger girls trapped me into rehashing the story in grave detail.

I’m not a good fucking storyteller.

Kinney even said, “Blah,” at the end.

That was my review.

Blah.

My trip to Yellowstone was not blah. It was…it is…

I inhale deeply.

Maybe there are no words. Maybe it’s just a feeling. Maybe it’s always just been an inexplicable feeling.

As soon as I near, my mom wraps her arms around me. I know everyone says Aunt Lily gives the best hugs, but in my biased opinion, nothing beats hugs from my mom. Secure and warm and full of unyielding love.

“My peanut butter cupcake.” She kisses the top of my head, a couple inches taller than me in her heels. “I’m so, so happy you’re home. And you’re safe—”

She cuts herself off to pull back and check my face. Dirt and scrapes exist, but the scratch from the cougar attack is hidden underneath my shirt. Her green eyes are the same bright color as mine and they carry years of wisdom, risks, and explorations.

“I’m sorry, I smell,” I say.

“You smell like adventure.” She wags her brows.

I laugh and rub my running nose with my sleeve. “So I smell like royal shit.”