For Nate, he means.
I edge forward on the coffee table, my knees touching his knees. “Anything that happened in the attic, it’s my word against his.”
“So none of that,” he realizes, staring off for a beat.
“Yeah.” I sweep his sharpened cheekbones. I wonder if he wanted to charge Nate for raising a knife at my face. I study his features, and I’m certain that he did. Damn. It’s cute that he cares about me, but I care more about him. “There’s a stalking and harassment law in Pennsylvania,” I tell Maximoff. “It’s a first degree misdemeanor.”
Maximoff contemplates this. “What is that, a year jail time maximum?”
“Or even less. He could just be fined a grand.” I place the mirror aside. “But either way, he’ll be slapped with a restraining order.”
Security can now legally detain this fucker if he comes within distance of Maximoff. Even if Nate isn’t behind bars for long or at all, we still obtained the ability to protect Maximoff in a greater way.
This is a victory, any way I turn it.
Maximoff must sense this because his shoulders lower. I put a hand on his knee, and he leans forward a fraction. He licks his lips, something biting at him, and he just lets it out, “What does this mean about your father?”
I was wrong about him, but I can’t budge off one point. “He’s still the same pretentious asshole that quit on you,” I tell him. “Nothing’s changed.”
Maximoff thinks for a second and then shakes his head. “He’s not the one who harassed me. So something’s changed.”
His words catapult me back to a memory, the one with his dad at a café. Where he watched his children and spoke honestly.
“Parenting never gets easier. Not when you love them, and you need to be hard on them, but you’re afraid to break them. And you think you’re doing everything right as a parent because you know what’s wrong, but still, it’s inevitable. We’ll fail. We always do.”
Back then, Lo had no reason to share that with me. He hadn’t made any mistakes with his children yet, as far as I was aware. But my father had made one with me.
And Lo knew I was fighting with him. I wonder if all that time he was speaking to me about my father. Reminding me that he loves me. He’s never been abusive or malicious. He’s just doing what he feels is right, even if it’s wrong.
I shouldn’t villainize him or think he’s willing to fuck me over. Hell, I believed he was capable of murdering Maximoff.
I shake my head repeatedly, and I almost laugh.
“What?” Maximoff asks.
“Words of wisdom from an unwise man,” I tell him. “Your dad.”
Maximoff smiles. “He’s pretty wise for all the hell he’s been through.”
I smile just seeing his. “You’re not too bad yourself, Harvard Dropout.”
He gives me a look. “Christ, call the fucking Coast Guard. Farrow Keene just complimented my intelligence.”
I suck in a breath. “Well now I’m questioning everything because there’s no reason to call the Coast Guard, wolf scout. We’re on land.”
Maximoff feigns confusion. “You sure I haven’t drowned you yet?”
I laugh, and our eyes dance over each other as I whisper, “Trust me, I’m very much alive with you.”
47
MAXIMOFF HALE
The silver lining to losing my job and cancelling the tour early comes in lavender floral bouquets, tuxes, a hundred closest friends, family, and a garden gazebo today.
Spring flowers bloom, and I sit in the front row next to my siblings. Beneath the gazebo, my mom looks effervescent in a lilac dress, beaming at my dad, who wears a black-on-red tux. Both radiate with pure, blissful happiness.
I was at their wedding. Just a little kid, and unlike Farrow, my memories have faded and fogged over time. But this, right here, I immortalize.
My mom and dad renew their vows in front of all of us, and sure, press and cameramen are here too. But the world seems to still.
I swear to everything in this fucking universe—you can actually feel their love. It’s in the air and the silence between their words.
The first thing I think is…I love them.
The second thing pauses me cold.
I want that.
It aches in me. To be able to stand up and declare my love in front of millions of people.
Proudly.
I turn my head and spot the line of security. All dressed in well-fitted, expensive suits. No ties. I find Farrow no problem.
Standing between Akara and Oscar, he cups his hands in front of him, his black hair swept-back. His winged neck tattoo and inked swords on his throat visible from his button-down. His earpiece fit in, the cord runs to the mic on his collar.
And in a split-fucking-second, he catches me staring. I have trouble looking away. I glance at my parents, then back to him, to my parents, then him.
His lips gradually stretch into a smile. So slow it looks like an epic shot in a movie.
I’m gone.
Completely fucking in love with him.
After the short ceremony ends, the garden is transformed into a sparkling after-party. Light bulbs are strung across oak posts, and wooden circular tables landscape the greenest grass. A taco bar and five different kinds of cake line the overflowing food table, but I’m not near the tacos or even sitting.
I’m on the makeshift dance floor, facing a DJ stand, and every single one of my cousins and siblings surrounds me.
Press isn’t invited, but a few drones have flown across the starry night sky.
We jump to house music, the bass pumping, and Jane clutches her little sister’s hand. Audrey’s red hair flies as they bounce together. And I spot my little brother.
Xander stands still in the pit. I jump to him, and he cringes like this sucks. I’m not fucking deterred. I clutch his shoulders and shake them to the rhythm.
All my sisters and my brother can dance goddamn well. Jesus, I’ve seen him breakdance in our living room a thousand times before.
His smile wants to peek. I lift his arms and clap his hands, then I let go and clap mine.
Xander continues with the beat, more heartily.
I mess his brown hair and shout so he can hear, “Looking good, Summers!”
Xander laughs and nods to the song.
Eliot Cobalt jumps past me in a black masquerade mask, and he sticks out his tongue. I smile, and not long after, the song switches to a Fleetwood Mac playlist.
“Meadows!” everyone howls since my family listens more to house music.
Sulli and I do the sprinkler dance. Jane sidles up and joins the easy motion, and then Sulli shouts, “Shopping cart!” We all change movements, and our siblings one-by-one begin the shopping cart dance with us.
Now onto the lawnmower, then the running man.
Luna is the best. By far.
When the song shifts to a slower ballad, everyone belts out the words. Beckett twirls a not-very-rhythmic Sulli, and Charlie flings an arm over Jane’s shoulder, swaying to the beat.
I think about how four months on the road brought my family together. How the five of us can dance in a close circle and not feel light-years apart.
I don’t know what my future holds with the state of H.M.C. Philanthropies, but Charlie, Jane, Beckett, and Sulli said they’d do anything to help save the charity.
I thought I’d want to protest and tell them I got it handled. Maybe I will at some point, but right then, I just nodded. This time, their helping-hands don’t feel so much like failure on my part. I don’t overthink or read into the deeper meaning. I’m grateful that they love me. I love them, and it’s as simple as that.
I think about Lao Tzu, a Chinese philosopher who said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
My head turns, and I think about the someone who I love deeply. Moments fly past my mind in Technicolor, every second I’ve spent with Farrow. Vivid. And overwhelming.
My chest s
wells, and I glance at Janie.
She smiles bright, knowing who I’m thinking about. “Go get him, old chap.”
So I leave the dance floor in search of a colossal know-it-all. My shoes sink into grass, and I wave briskly at my grandparents who call my name.
I undo my bowtie, passing wooden tables and wicker chairs.
Easily, I see him. Farrow chats with Oscar at the garden entrance. Where tall hedges form an opening, and cedar stools and barrel tabletops scatter the area.
As soon as I approach, their conversation still continues, but their attention zeroes in on me.
Farrow’s eyes descend my body in a hot once-over.
My brain sputters like a fourth-grader. Whatever I fucking planned to say just evacuates. Great.
Before I find any words, Oscar flashes a circular pin at me. Black with rainbow block letters that spell out: Rainbow Brigade.
“Your sister recruited us into her little club.” Oscar attaches his pin to his button-down.
“Officially,” Farrow adds with the raise of his brows.
“And she called me a troll,” Oscar tells me.
My lips almost lift. Kinney already gave Tom and me a pin this morning. “She does that,” I say and watch his gaze drift to the taco bar and cake.
“Extra security is here,” Farrow reminds him.
“Then I’m out for a cake break.” Oscar puts a hand on Farrow’s shoulder. “See you, Redford.” Then mine. “Hale.”
Farrow balances his boot on the rung of a stool, his piercings glinting in the warm light. I rest my forearm on the barrel tabletop. Trying to be casual, nonchalant.
He notices, and his smile keeps expanding. “Man, if you have something to say—”
“I heard that you retook the Hogwarts House sorting quiz.” Jesus Christ. I couldn’t have made a stranger digression from what I actually want to say. I end up crossing my arms.
Farrow tilts his head, eyeing me up and down. “Luna wanted me to. She didn’t think I was Gryffindor.”
Apparently, he got Ravenclaw this time around. My mom freaked, and she’s been ordering him some Ravenclaw scarves to add to the Gryffindor paraphernalia she bought him years ago.