Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

I add, “We’ll get it fixed, Kinney.”

“Without watching any of it,” she demands.

“Of course.”

“Cross your heart.”

I make an X over my heart.

She waits for Farrow to do the same, and I don’t know…it makes me smile.

He draws an X across his chest.

She softens, somewhat. “Thanks.” We hug her, and then we leave. Fast. The staircase is wide enough that we’re step-for-step and not fighting to lead the way. Not until the family Basset Hound slowly trots up the stairs. Huffing and puffing.

“You okay, Gotham?” My floppy-eared dog just plops like putty on a middle step. He pants with this goofy dog smile. I crouch down, pat his belly, then continue on.

As we pass, I can’t mistake Farrow assessing Gotham. I don’t want to ask if anything’s wrong. I grew up with that dog, and I’m aware that he’s old and slowing down.

But some things I just wish could last forever.

When Farrow and I enter the garage hand-in-hand, I see Jane pacing tensely back and forth, a strawberry-shaped purse thwacking her wide hip. My ribs constrict around my lungs.

And then Thatcher Moretti uncrosses his arms and catches her around the waist. He draws my best friend to his chest, and I relax, just seeing her ease against him. Her arms wrapping around his muscular six-foot-seven build.

Thank God.

Thank God, she’s okay. Thank God, she’s happy. Thank God, she found love in him and that he treats her like the most beautiful human on the planet. Janie deserves nothing less.

Only two cars are parked in the garage. Jane and Thatcher are towards the back near six slumped bicycles.

“What’s going on?” We near them, and I ask to be sure, “Are you two okay?”

“Yes, yes.” Jane turns towards us. “We’re both fine.”

We come to a stop a couple feet from them, and Farrow and Thatcher are speaking with their damn eyes. I get that it’s a security thing: the eye look. But it’s frustrating when this isn’t a security issue.

“Can I not be in the dark here?” I ask them, feeling like I’m a hundred steps behind all three.

“I’m just as lost, wolf scout.” He holds my gaze. “If I knew anything, I’d definitely tell you.”

I nod stiffly, warmth flooding my body, and I slide my arm around his shoulders. We look ahead at the two people who have answers.

“Janie?”

She steeples her fingers to her lips. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Great.

Jane being at a loss for words is never a good thing.

I mortar brick upon brick. Stone upon stone, my face stoic and shoulders squared. Prepared for an apocalypse. Come at me. “We can handle it. The four of us.”

“I agree, wholeheartedly, but I think…this might be more complicated, old chap.”

Farrow looks between them. “Just spit it out.”

Standing behind Jane, Thatcher weaves an arm across her collarbones, and she leans back into his chest. I’m surprised when Thatcher is the one who speaks first. “Lily walked in on us having sex.”

What?

“Lily?” Farrow repeats.

“My mom?” I say tightly, heat burrowing into my lungs. “What the fuck?” We couldn’t have heard them right.

Jane winces. “It’s karma. Coming to reap its ugly head at me for walking in on both of you in Scotland.”

Farrow holds up a hand. “Before we talk about karma, back up.”

I shake my head, confusion scrunching my brows. “How?” How the hell could my mom walk in on them in bed together?

It makes no damn sense.

Jane clears her throat. “We…we were having sex in the limo.”

My eyes grow. “Your dad’s limo?”

Where she was born.

She flushes. “Oui. His limo. It was a spontaneous…situation.”

Farrow buckles forward in laughter, amusement filling his eyes. Mostly looking at Thatcher. And strangely, the air lightens.

Thatcher’s lip begins to hoist.

“You had sex in your future father-in-law’s limo.” Farrow holds a stitch in his side, beyond entertained. “Man, you’re making it harder and harder for me to keep calling you a hall monitor.”

Jane and I stare between them. Her curiosity piquing, and I’m pretty much just as interested in the current status of their friendship. Jesus, it’s weird even calling them friends when Farrow considered Thatcher a human hernia sent to pester the living hell out of him.

Thatcher fixes his earpiece. “There’s more room in a limo to fuck than the back of a cramped sedan.”

Farrow grins. “Can’t argue with that.”

I’m glad that Janie feels comfortable and safe to have sex in a car, but it’s seriously not the point I’m hung up on. “How would my mom see you two?”

My words are oxygen-vacuuming apparently.

Jane looks up at me. “The limo was parked on the street outside my parent’s house. The windows are tinted, so Aunt Lily couldn’t see in. But we could see her coming, and she knocked frantically on the door and kept calling for my dad. She thought he was inside.” She pauses, face twisting in hurt.