Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

Oscar stacks mini-bottles of liquor on the desk, and Thatcher talks to Akara about being in contact with ground security.

I turn to Farrow. “Four hours longer here?”

“Looks like six more.” He chews his gum and observes the street with me. It’s more congested than five minutes ago.

Security wanted us all in one room together just in case a doomsday happened and paparazzi or fans found their way inside the hotel.

I crack my knuckles. “There has to be vending down the hall. I can get some drinks…” I trail off at a loud knock.

We all quiet.

Thatcher is closest. He peers in the peephole, then unlocks and opens the door to a dazzling smile, jock-build, a duffel strapped across a broad chest, and a pastry box in hand.

“Beautiful people,” Jack Highland greets as he enters. “Twenty-minute shopping spree and a five-mile walk later, I’ve made it.”

Finally.

I near and clasp his hand. We draw in and pat each other’s shoulders. “Thanks for coming.”

Jack smiles brighter. “Looking forward to it.”

He means the FanCon. I invited him on tour with us. The last Q&A derailed after a fight between Charlie and me. We needed a better moderator. Someone we could trust.

Jack was the only name on the list.

Throughout years of time—while he’s been an exec producer on We Are Calloway—I’ve talked about painful memories, spilled secrets to him, and at last minute, I told Jack, don’t air it.

None have ever leaked.

Since he plans to sleep on the tour bus, I decided to share the secret about me and Farrow. The first thing he said after I told him I’m in a real relationship was you deserve it. I don’t know. It fucking got to me.

Jack slings the duffel on a bed. “I thought you’d need some toothbrushes, deodorant, some extra clothes, and food.”

Oscar stands up. “You’re now my favorite person, Highland.” He unzips the duffel and finds a bag of Doritos. Janie helps unearth the clothes and toiletries for everyone.

Jack swerves, searching. “Where’s Sulli?”

“Here.” Sulli is doing push-ups between the two beds. She rises to her feet and twists her dark hair in a high bun. “What’s up?”

His smile radiates. “Come here for a sec.”

Akara casts a narrowed look at Jack. The you hurt her, you’re dead threat unmistakable.

Sulli approaches Jack, our attention super-glued to them, and he lowers the pastry box.

She smiles. “God, if you bought donuts, I could seriously fucking kiss you.”

Akara makes a face at Sulli. “Your first kiss for donuts?”

“Uh, yeah,” she says like he’s being weird. “Not for payment, but donuts are happiness. Now dry cereal on a donut, that’s heaven.”

Jack grins. “It’s better than donuts.”

Sulli snorts. “No fucking way.” She pauses. “Is it a waffle? Because that’s a close second, then pancakes.”

“You’re off,” Akara says.

Sulli swings her head to her bodyguard. “You know what it is?”

He shrugs.

She breaks into a smile. “Okay, now I have to see.” She flips open the pastry box, her eyes lit. When she tilts the box a bit more, I catch sight of two-dozen turquoise cupcakes, iced together to form a wave.

“Happy 20th Birthday,” Jack tells her.

It’s February 4th. Our indoor waterpark plan to celebrate Sulli’s birthday pretty much died hours ago. To salvage the day, Jane has been trying to get a cake delivered.

But Jack Highland beat us to it.

Sulli is lost for words, but then she starts with, “You didn’t have to—”

“I didn’t,” Jack says and then nods to Akara. “When he found out I was coming by, he told me to pick up the order.”

Correction, Akara Kitsuwon beat us to it.

Sulli looks overwhelmed. “Thanks, Kits.”

He shrugs again, his lips inching up. Then he glances at Jack. “Her mom has a theory that cake fixes everything.”

Sulli lingers on Akara for a long moment, then plucks a cupcake out of the box. “Right on fucking time.”

Jane has already unloaded all the supplies, but I don’t see any drinks. Charlie has walked the hall a few times, so it shouldn’t be a problem for me. As long as I’m fast.

34

MAXIMOFF HALE

An ice machine rumbles in the vending enclave. I crave to run, to swim, to feel something other than confined, hollowed out or empty.

I smack the side of a black-and-gold Fizzle machine that won’t spit out a Fizz Life.

“Move, wolf scout.”

My pulse skips. Reminding me I’m alive. Breathing. Human. I look over my shoulder.

A six-foot-three, tattooed know-it-all comes up behind me. His brows raise and lower in a wave.

I feign confusion. “Who are you again?”

Farrow kicks the machine. A can drops. “Your boyfriend.” He collects the soda from the dispenser and tosses the silver aluminum can to me. “Want to talk about it?”

Yes, a million fucking times yes. The can is cold in my grip. I want to express how I feel, but I’m not used to articulating any of this out loud. My guards scream no, my heart pleads yes.

And I end up saying, “You want a drink?”

He chews his gum slowly, our eyes not detaching. “Yeah.”

I go to take out my wallet.

“I’m buying my own,” he says casually, fishing out a couple bills from his leather wallet. “I can tell you something I’ve never shared with anyone.”

“I don’t want to force you—”

“I want to, Maximoff,” he says with the tilt of his head. Trying to assess my reaction.

My muscles start to unbind. “What about?”

He smiles and then talks while he feeds money into the machine. “My second week of rotations in the ER. It was a bad night, understaffed, and the only attending available was an ass. At one point, there was just him, a first-year intern, two nurses, and me. And a teenage girl comes in with a stab wound to the heart.” Farrow presses the regular Fizz button. “There was no time to rush her to the OR, and the doctor decides on an emergency thoracotomy.”

The machine dispenses a gold can.

He grabs the soda and then faces me. “I knew the girl had a two-percent chance of living, and so I hung onto the excitement of seeing a thoracotomy. It made it easier when the attending cracked her chest open…” Farrow shifts his weight, his nose flaring. But he keeps eye contact with me.

I listen closely. He’s never talked about any hard days during rotations before. Not like this.

He pops the tab of his soda. “The doctor sliced open the pericardial sac. It’s a thin sac around the heart. A lot of congealed blood poured out, and the first-year bailed.”

My brows knot. “He just left?”

“To puke,” Farrow says. “The rest of us tried to remove the blood out of the sac while the attending sewed the cut.” He pauses. “She died, and it wasn’t the first time I watched someone die in the hospital. But it was the first time an attending turned to me, said close her, speak to the parents and walked away.” Farrow winces at the memory. “That son of a bitch. I hadn’t even taken the retractors out of her chest when her mom…”

His chest collapses, shaking his head.

My stomach overturns. “That would’ve gutted me.”

His brows lift slowly. “It crushed me.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “The curse of having a photographic memory, I can’t get rid of her face or her wail.”

“Jesus,” I breathe. And I draw towards him.

He leans back on the Fizzle machine, but his lips inch up at me coming closer. He takes a swig of soda. “That’s the story that no one ever got but you.”

I appreciate it more than he’ll probably ever know. “Why me?”

“You’re a good listener,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. “And I have a thing for you.”

r /> I lick my lips and feel my fucking smile.

“Just so you know,” he says huskily, “the thing you have for me is ten times bigger.”

I try to glare, but it’s difficult. “I have a tiny, fragmented thing for you. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome, wolf scout.” He smiles into another swig.

I think I can speak. Find the words. Grab them. Say them. I breathe. “I’m afraid for my brother. I’m afraid this’ll happen again with a worse outcome, and I just want him to be okay.” I swallow. “What’s also getting to me is that today—it’ll stay with Kinney for the rest of her fucking life.” I crack my neck from side-to-side, my bones stiff.

“What about you?” Farrow asks, and off my confusion, he says, “It’ll stay with you too.”