Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

We veer towards the water. He keeps walking, and I follow step-for-step beside him. I sink on the damper sand, and water rushes over the inked nautical wheels on my feet.

I glance back at Lo.

He’s quiet. And the more we walk casually along the beach, the more distance we put between the sandcastles and ourselves. Lo’s bodyguard follows us, but he’s too far back to eavesdrop.

As the water rushes forward, I lightly splash with my foot. I’m trying to wrack my mind for any possible topic.

Nate, Maximoff’s stalker—but that was so long ago.

The photo leak.

Maximoff’s physical therapy.

Rowin, which happened just yesterday. Fuck, if it’s about him…

I comb my hand through my hair. “Is this about Rowin?” I just go ahead and ask. “Because the guy I’d known would’ve never done that to Maximoff. If I had any idea…” I trail off, because I’m still pissed and upset about it. It’s fresh, and my throat tries to swell closed.

Truth is, I would never be with a guy who was capable of what Rowin did.

Never.

Not for a day. Definitely not for two fucking years. Yet, I was with him for that long, and it disgusts the fuck out of me.

Lo looks at me with this soul-cutting empathy, his care and understanding usually reserved for family or the broken, fragile people he meets. “This isn’t about Rowin, but how are you?” he asks genuinely. “I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

I frown, taken aback. This is a side of Lo that I haven’t seen in a while. At least not towards me. “I’m pissed,” I say, being honest. I shake my head a few times, and I run my tongue over my molars.

“I hope you’re not blaming yourself,” Lo tells me. “It’s not your fault.”

I nod strongly. I didn’t need to hear those words to believe them, but for Lo to even say them to me—when his son is the one who was in the crossfire—it sits with me for a while. It stings my eyes.

Warm water laps over our feet. I almost smile at a sudden thought. “Maximoff says I have an immunity against remorse.”

Lo snorts. “Jesus. He’s so much like Lily…and my brother.” He laughs lightly, but the sound fades when he looks back at me. “You’re one of those people who say they have no regrets? I hate those people.”

Shit, I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I’m one of those people. Or…” I tilt my head from side to side. “I try to be.”

Lo contemplates this silently, and then he slows to a stop, an abandoned umbrella and beach chair nearby. And behind us, everyone is a speck in the distance, the sandcastles shapeless.

He faces me, and I see what most people do. Sharpness. From his defined cheekbones to the sentiments wielded in his amber eyes. Fuck, he’s not a soft man. I imagine it’d feel more comfortable to stare down the pointed end of a sword.

“What I wanted to ask…” Lo glares up at the sky, piecing together his words before saying, “How are you and your dad?”

I let out a short breath. Not excited about where this could potentially be headed. Lo sees the kindness in my father, and I see it too. But… “We’re on speaking terms, but there’s not much there, Lo. It’s not like you and Maximoff. It’s never going to be like that.”

His brows cinch. “Maybe in time, you and him—you’ll patch things up.” A swell of water gushes against our ankles. “Things could get better. I know your father, and he’s a good man.”

I smile wearily. “Lo…” I take a breath. “Good men can be bad fathers.” It’s what I’ve always known. What I’ve always felt.

There’s nothing to salvage or recreate. It’s nonexistent. And I don’t yearn for it. I don’t have it. I don’t want it. And that’s okay.

His face almost twists, letting this sink in. He looks pained for me. “I’m sorry. I wish it weren’t like that.”

“Can’t say the same,” I say easily. “And look, I don’t wish my old man ill will. It is what it is.”

He looks out at the blue sea before turning back to me. “I wanted to ask you something, Farrow.”

It hits me that he didn’t bring me out here to talk about my father. “Okay…” I could lie and say that I’m not nervous, but this is Maximoff Hale’s dad. A huge cog in his entire world. And this uncertainty isn’t that much fun.

And then he asks, “Would you like your job back on security?”

My pulse shoots to my throat. I must’ve heard him wrong. I shake my head. “I don’t follow.”

“Your old job,” he reiterates. “Do you want it back?”

I let out a short laugh. “Okay, right.” I don’t even let myself get roped into the idea. But I find myself glancing back towards the three families and security. If I strain my ears, I can basically hear Donnelly rooting on the Cobalt Empire.

“I get that I’m a sarcastic bastard,” Lo says, pulling my attention back. “But I’m serious.”

I comb another hand through my hair, shaking my head only once. “I love being a concierge doctor to your family. I don’t want that to change.”

“You can do both,” he says those words and it’s like someone has offered me something that makes no sense. Like golden eggs and fairytale bullshit.

“I can’t do both,” I say slowly. “That’s…” Impossible. It’s fucking impossible. But he’s looking at me like I’m the one who’s wrong.

“Your Uncle Trip called me an hour ago,” Lo says, blocking sunlight with his palm. “He’s returning from his sabbatical. We’ll have more hands. You’ll always be on-call for the med team, and when there isn’t an emergency, you can be on Maximoff’s detail. Another bodyguard on SFO will fill in for you when you’re pulled away.” He tilts his head. “So there’s still the question if you want to be on security at all. You can say no.”

What the hell…?

I’m processing…slowly. Security has been the missing piece. The gaping hole. And I didn’t want to ask for it back because I didn’t think I could. There’s no scenario in my head where anyone would allow me to split time between security and medicine.

I accepted what I could not fucking change, and now he’s telling me I can have both.

He’s giving me both?

I shake my head, overwhelmed. I turn my gaze away, my eyes welling. Choked up. He’s giving me both.

“Why?” I ask him. “Why offer me this?”

I don’t understand.

Lo stares up at the sky again, and when his sharp-edged gaze falls to me, he says, “Because I was raised by a bad man who was also a bad father.” He pauses. “And despite whatever feelings I have about it, my son thinks I’m good, and every day I try to prove him right.” He stares into me like he’s reaching into the bottom of a pool. “You want this. I think you do. And I want to give it to you.”

I rub my mouth, trying to collect myself. “So I’ll be…”

“You’ll be his bodyguard again.”

Truth. I never thought I’d hear those words. Because to me, it’s more than just a job. It’s so much more.

“Thank you,” I say, my eyes glassing.

His do, too. “Take care of my son,” he tells me.

I make that promise.

And then he adds, “My son will take care of you.”

I rub my eyes and nod. Feeling those words well up inside of me.

38

MAXIMOFF HALE

There’ll never be a perfect moment to propose.

I

t’s what I’ve been thinking about. How today I could face a family emergency, a media fallout, the most bizarre random happening and doomsday—Christ, the man on the moon could come down and try to fuck this up for all I know. But that’s okay if he does.

Because this doesn’t need to be perfect.

Farrow Redford Keene fell in love with the imperfect me. The human me. And whatever happens today, before or after, it’ll probably, most likely be imperfectly human.

At the island of Kythira, we sightsee in the quaint village Mylopotamos, and Farrow and I separate from the family to hike one of the most stunning trails.

Lush plane trees shade a path littered with stone ruins of old watermills. Passing blue-green waterfall after blue-green waterfall, the rushing sound calms the air.

Farrow ducks beneath a branch in his way, not in mine. My durable backpack is strapped to his back, his Yale V-neck suctioning to his chest in the summer heat. And me—I’m carrying a whole lot of nothing. Giving my shoulders a break for once.

I catch Farrow swiveling the knob to a radio on his waistband and I ask, “Turning the volume down on them already?”

His lips rise. “They’re being particularly annoying right now.”

“Who’s they?” I ask for specific names from SFO.

He nearly laughs. “All of them.” He looks deep into me, his eyes smiling with airy light—and I don’t need to ask if he’s happy about rejoining security. There’s nothing more obvious.

Farrow reaches out, and our hands seem to draw together on instinct. It’s the most natural, simple thing: his hand in my hand while we hike a trail. But it means something to me.

Coming up to a lagoon, we slow to a stop. I’ve seen a lot of breathtaking views in my life, but what we reach is fucking majestic. An azure waterfall plunges into a crystal clear, bottomless pool. Mossy stones isolate the oasis, and light dances between the leaves of a sweeping plane tree overhead. Glittering the swimming pond.