Tangled Like Us (Like Us 4)

I take the water and nod in thanks.

“What helps you?” Farrow asks me, vague. We’ve been vague about PTSD.

“Water on my face should be enough.” I unscrew the bottle. “You said yours is triggered by rain?”

He kicks back against the closed fridge. “Yeah, but it’s been better.” He pauses. “Is yours frequent?”

“No.” I swig the water, coolness rushing down my throat. “I haven’t had a nightmare in a while.”

“It kicked your ass awake?”

I meet his eyes. “Like a hammer to the skull.”

He nods a few times.

We exchange this look that reaches into me. Acknowledgement. An I understand you and I’m here. Something that I’ve never shared with Farrow face-to-face.

SFO is a brotherhood. More than any other force.

After hurting him, I’ve wanted to be deserving of it. Can’t say that I am, can’t say that I’ll ever be—but I won’t retreat.

I hold his gaze. “I stuck a fucking thorn in your side.”

“No, you were the thorn,” he says matter-of-factly. “And being honest, I didn’t know what Jane saw in you. I didn’t think you’d ever break a rule to give her what she wants and needs, and the fact that you did—it makes you someone I don’t mind hanging around.”

I nod slowly, realizing this fucking whole time, he would’ve appreciated me breaking the “don’t fuck your client” rule. For Jane.

I cap the water bottle, my eyes narrowed at the reality. With the looming breakup, it’ll all reverse. Like I never broke the rule to begin with.

Farrow checks the oven clock. “And you broke her little 3 a.m. get-the-fuck-out rule.”

“Accidental. ” I set the water bottle on the counter. “Don’t go buying me a fucking round.”

“Man, you don’t have to worry that I will.” He pushes away from the fridge. “I only buy rounds for broken hearts.”

I open my mouth to speak—a crash thunders from upstairs. Shaking the kitchen. Like a body just hit the ground. We don’t wait for the vibrating to stop.

We bolt. As fast as our fucking feet can carry us. Concern detonating a strong force inside of me. Fear hyper-focuses me. Four souls upstairs. Jane, Sulli, Luna, Maximoff.

Jane.

Jane.

We don’t call out to them.

In case someone broke in without setting off the alarms, we can’t yell their fucking names and give our positions away. We’re already risking being heard as we race up the old stairs. I’m out in front of Farrow.

Adrenaline pitching my pulse. Her name is a scream caged inside me.

Maximoff is running down the stairs from the attic. Towards the second-floor. Where the girls are.

We come up to the landing, just as Jane’s door opens and she steps out, cautious. “Thatcher?” Her eyes widen, scared for her cousins.

I act fast. Clutching her waist, I pull Jane further out of the room. Behind my back, and Farrow goes straight to Luna and Sulli’s door. He kicks it open.

“Whoa, fuck ,” Sulli curses from inside.

By her surprised tone, I can already tell this is a false alarm. But we need to check her room regardless.

Protocol: Jane can’t come in until it’s all-clear . Neither can Maximoff.

It’s hard to leave her. My chest knots. “Wait here until I call you,” I tell her strictly. She’s safe.

“I will—”

Our heads turn as Sulli suddenly fills the doorway, yanking earbuds out, drenched in sweat. “Uh, guys…is this about the fucking bang because that was me. I’m so fucking sorry.” She wipes her forehead with her toned bicep. “I was doing deadlifts and dropped the bar too hard. Luna slept through the noise, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“It’s okay,” Maximoff says.

Jane lets out a deeper breath. “We’re just glad you’re safe.” Her gaze pins back to me, and our eyes lock. Thoughts and feelings tumble between us. But we’re quiet. Even with Maximoff and Farrow knowing our secret, Luna and Sulli are still in the dark. It’s a reminder that we still have to be careful. Can’t get too comfortable.

But she is right—at least everyone is safe.

Especially her.

41

JANE COBALT

I knew I’d be nervous when this day finally came. But I didn’t know I’d have a swarm of caterpillars crawling around my stomach. So naturally, I called in reinforcements.

“Oooh, I like this one.” Aunt Daisy playfully waves a cheetah print vest.

“Or this one.” Aunt Lily scoots out from the bottom of my closet with a tulle mint-green skirt.

And ladies and gentlemen, behind me is a sword, a cannon blast, a shoulder to cry on, a stroke of hope—my mom.

In a form-fitting black dress, long matte black nails, and dark rouge lipstick, Rose Calloway Cobalt stands pin-straight, her posture stiff and rigid. And cold. But she wields such deep love for me in her piercing yellow-green eyes.

I watch her through my vanity mirror. She curls my hair. Methodical and slow, but she snaps the curling iron at her sisters. “Don’t confuse her.”

It is all very confusing.

I’m about to meet Thatcher’s entire family. His mom, stepmom, cousins, uncles, and aunts. The only person missing in action will be his dad.

Pressure is a creature I know good and well, but I find myself caring about how his family perceives me, most of all.

I glance between the skirt and vest. “I like them both, really. They’d look perfectly un-matching together.” Which is what I love best.

“Wow, we’re like stylists,” Daisy says, giving Lily a silly grin and wagging her brows.

Lily takes a sip from a can of Diet Fizz. “Must be why I’m wearing…” She has to look down to remember what she’s dressed in today. “Leggings and…” She frowns as she inspects the Spider-Man T-shirt. “Uh, I think this is Lo’s? Everything gets mixed up in the wash.”

“So true.” Daisy plucks a cat-ear headband off my mirror and places it atop her head. Blonde hair chopped bluntly a little below her shoulders. She smiles at me, radiant like the sun.

My cheeks always hurt when I’m around all of them. But I’ve smiled far less today. Pressure keeps sinking my stomach.

My mom finishes my hair. “You’re done, gremlin.”

All three women turn to look at me as I stand and approach my closet door’s full-length mirror.

Brown waves cascade on my collarbones, frizz successfully combatted. More presentable for a meet-the-parents dinner. This is my best foot forward.

I untie my cotton robe, a little hot all of a sudden. “What if I’m so awfully verbose and I annoy them?”

My mom snaps a glare at me through the mirror. “You’re not too verbose. You’re words are an asset.” She speaks like it’s written in stone and blood and all indelible things. “And if they don’t like you, then that says more about them than you.”

I love that she doesn’t tell me they will love me and give me a false sense of confidence. She lays battle armor on my shoulders.

Sometimes I feel as though I’m the daughter of Joan of Arc. Ready for war.

I try to take a breath. Another insecurity rises. “What if they hate me?” A good portion of the world does, and I catch all three sisters glancing cautiously at each other.

I spin on my heels. “I recognize that I’m only fake dating Thatcher—it’s not serious between us.” Do I sound defensive?

My eyes bug.

I keep going. “We will break up soon. We will. It is in the stars.” My collarbones protrude, my eyes burn. “But his family is special to him, and he’s my bodyguard. I’d rather them not hate me.”

“If they judge you that harshly after one meal, you don’t want to be loved by them,” my mom retorts.

Lily nods repeatedly. “What Rose said.”

Daisy looks at my mom. “Didn’t you throw wine on your mother-in-law’s blouse when you first met her?”

My lips rise, rememb

ering this story.

My mom sighs at the memory, then flips her hair off her shoulder. “And I prevailed.”

“See,” Daisy smiles at me. “You could throw wine on someone, and all could end miraculously.”

I breathe in their encouragements the best I can.

“How are you doing with the fake dating thing?” Lily asks. All of them thought the ploy was a good idea.

I remember the notes he’s been leaving me, and I smile. “It’s worked rather well.”

My mom crosses her arms. “Security told me it’s dispelled some potential stalkers.”

“It has.”

Only a handful remain. Thatcher and the rest of security are taking care of them.

“So it was worth it then?” Daisy asks, adjusting the cat ears. “Fake dating your bodyguard?”

I picture all the nights we’ve spent together. “Yes, I’d say so.” I sound more morose than I intend.

Lily frowns deeply. “You know, you don’t have to go meet his family. If it’d be easier, you could just come up with an excuse.”

“Like a cold or 24-hour flu,” Daisy offers.

That thought sends a wave of knives into my stomach. “Why would that be easier?” I take the skirt and vest from their hands.

“Because,” my mom says icily, “you’re going to be lying to them. All of them.”