Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

He may be at the lake house out of support, but the seeds of our relationship are still rotted. They have been since that night on the yacht. Nothing good can grow overnight.

And Jane said that Sulli talked about the moments where I’d been there for her. Like the time when she thought she broke her foot on a desert hike. I carried her in a piggyback for eight miles, and I kept trying to calm her. Saying she was a kickass human being and strong. I gave her my canteen early on, and her tears soaked my shirt. She kept telling me her swim career was over, and for Sulli, swim was synonymous with life.

Even at twelve.

I was fifteen, and I remember how when we reached the end of the primitive trail, her parents found us. Uncle Ryke and Aunt Daisy immediately drove their daughter to the ER, and I felt responsible for Sulli getting hurt.

For eight miles, I wished that’d been my foot.

I keep shaking my head, and I grip the counter. “Everything I’ve ever done,” I tell Farrow, “it wasn’t to cash in for a favor later. I never thought I’d be in a position where my younger cousins feel obligated to put their careers and lives on hold.” For Jane.

For me.

Fuck. “We’re the ones who’ve protected them,” I explain to him. “We even used to take their phones and block numbers of porn producers who had called us. Just so they wouldn’t be able to fucking reach them.”

Farrow shuts the binder. “Look at me.”

I can barely rotate my taut shoulders. I want to open the fucking binder and reread everything. Again.

“Maximoff—”

“I get it. I’m overthinking.” I’m white-knuckling the counter, and finally, I look at my boyfriend.

His eyes carry complete understanding. And somehow he still looks like he’d love to undo my tight-laces. “I’d be irritated, too, if my younger cousins decided to pay it forward when I didn’t want to be paid. But it’s happening, and you have to deal.”

I nod, my neck stiff. I want to be the kind of guy who can thank them, but I’m not there yet. I recognize the power in family, in that willingness and sacrifice, but just having this conversation, I feel like I failed Sulli and Beckett and even Charlie.

I reopen the binder. I circled the date December 14th a billion times. The start date. It’s soon.

“What are you thinking?” Farrow asks.

“None of us will be here for Christmas.” My family normally stays at the lake house for Christmas—a pretty secure place—and our personal bodyguards are allowed to leave and spend the holiday with their families. “I’m thinking about how you and the rest of SFO will feel—”

“We don’t care,” Farrow cuts me off.

I frown. “You sure?”

He smiles. “Man, most of us are in our late twenties. No kids, no spouses, no other obligations. We’re fine to spend holidays where our work takes us.” He lifts his spoon to his mouth. “We know what we signed up for.”

I nod again. My little brother turns fifteen on Christmas day. I’ll miss his birthday, and I don’t want to hurt him. I think it might.

Me being in a serious relationship—it’s new to my family. Cousins and siblings have been blowing up my group chats since they found out I’m dating a bodyguard.

Kinney texted that I’m uninvited to her funeral until I go on a double date with her and her future girlfriend. Luna keeps sending me confetti and thumbs-up emojis. But Xander…

He hasn’t said anything at all.

Maybe my little brother is thinking back to the hickey on my neck. And how I could’ve confessed the truth then. Maybe he thinks we’re not as close as he believed we were. Maybe he’s questioning everything.

I tried calling him multiple times today, and he never answered. I’d rather eat a bowl of nails than be out of touch with my brother. So I’m hoping I can reach him soon.

All the thoughts about my relationship sidetrack me. I crack a knuckle. “How is this going to be…for us?” I ask Farrow.

He cocks his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot—”

“No shit.”

I almost smile. And he notices. Fuuck.

Farrow stares at me like I blew him. Way too satisfied.

I pull my face, brows scrunched. Scowling. “Like I was saying,” I tell him, “how am I going to survive being on a bus with you for four months. Plus my family, plus SFO, and again, you. Sounds like hell.”

His mouth upturns. “Sounds like fun.”

“My hell is your fun,” I realize.

“Wow.” Farrow grins. “When you put it that way, I love it more.”

I give him two middle fingers, but his hand slides around my waist. We draw closer. His chest against my chest, my bicep instinctively curves around his shoulders. We’re almost eye-level, almost exactly the same height.

In the past thirty minutes, I’ve thought about every small moment.

The private hours I spend with Farrow. Every drive in Philly. Nights where we’re alone in my bedroom. The morning wakeup calls where we whisper about stupid ordinary shit.

It’ll all change slightly, and he may like change—but I don’t know what our relationship looks like when we start moving pieces. And I’d be lying if I said the unknown didn’t scare me a bit.

Farrow breathes, “We’re going to be…” His voice trails off, his fingers touching his earpiece. “Those fuckers.”

We detach, and before I ask, he tells me, “SFO knew about the tour before I did. Come on.” He heads into the hall with his bowl of eggs.

I follow him, my stride lengthier than his. Easily, I catch up to his side.

We’re step-for-step.

He’s not running. He’s not alarmed. Farrow eats and walks, looking more unconcerned than concerned, and his tattooed fingers comb through his hair.

“You’re still in hot water with SFO?” I question.

“I’m always in hot water.” Farrow eats a spoonful. “It’s where I do my best work.” The sexiest smile inches up his mouth.

Fuck me.

We turn a corner, and as soon as I open the door to the study, I spot three bodyguards. Lounging on dark leather furniture. Ceiling-high bookshelves landscape the forest-green walls.

Their heads automatically swing in our direction.

And Thatcher, Oscar, and Donnelly are only looking at me. Appraising me like I’ve intruded into an exclusive Bodyguards Only Club and I’m not allowed inside.

3

MAXIMOFF HALE

By now, you know that the security team is both strangely elusive to me and close like family. Thanks to Farrow, I see glimpses of how security works and how they actually perceive us: the Hales, Cobalts, and Meadows.

Since I’m a celebrity and a client, I probably would’ve excused myself and let them work out whatever they need to alone. But they’re now aware that I?

??m Farrow’s boyfriend, and these aren’t just his coworkers.

They’re the closest guys in his life. His friends. And if he’s all-in on my world, I think I should be all-in on his.

So I’m staying.

I approach Thatcher Moretti. “When’d you get here?” I ask.

In my peripheral, Farrow nears Donnelly on the couch and lightly kicks his ankle, both speaking under their breaths. Donnelly gestures with his head at me. So they’re talking about me.

If only I had bionic hearing.

Thatcher stands, five inches taller than me. “I drove in about four hours ago.”

We shake hands. I’m sure to most people a six-foot-seven, unshaven Italian-American man with a perpetually stern gaze would be intimidating.

For me, he’s not even close.

Thatcher used to protect my little brother, and talking to him in the past, the topics never diverged from security. He’s as professional as they come and also the biggest thorn in Farrow’s side.

Now he’s a secondary bodyguard to Jane and unofficial chaperone to me and Farrow. A small price to pay to keep Farrow as my 24/7 bodyguard. If the public finds out that I’m dating a bodyguard, it could cause all of SFO to become famous by association.

That can’t happen, and Thatcher said he’d ensure it doesn’t.

“Thanks for voting to keep Farrow as my bodyguard,” I tell Thatcher. “It meant a lot.”

He nods. “I was voting for what you’d want. Personal grievances aside, I’m here for you and your family.”

It reminds me that he wasn’t the only vote. “Where’s Akara?”

“Out for a run with Sulli.” Thatcher twists a knob on his radio. “Last night, Akara and I agreed we’re going to share the lead position in Omega. If you need to inform security about anything, it’s still Akara, Price, and me you should contact.”

The Tri-Force is still intact then.

I bet it’s all the same to Farrow since he’s not a rule-follower anyway.

“Hey, Moffy—” Donnelly is cut off by Farrow’s hand over his mouth.

“Excuse Donnelly,” Farrow says to me, really at ease. He sits on the armrest of the couch. And his bowl of eggs skillfully balances on his thigh. “He has an undiagnosed condition called verbo-emesis.”