They’re all letting Maximoff and me be together, and if we fuck up, it could potentially cost their careers. Fuck, I owe all of them, and I also say, “We’ll be careful.”
Maximoff looks to each guy. “Thank you,” he says so powerfully that the kitchen goes quiet. Many of the guys nod to him.
Then the floorboards squeak in the silence, and we all turn our heads.
Sulli waves, and Maximoff starts to smile at his cousin’s presence. “Security meeting over?” she asks. “We thought we’d help you all with breakfast.”
“We?” Maximoff asks.
Beckett Cobalt slips into view. Darker and curlier hair than his fraternal twin brother Charlie, and his right arm tattoos are visible in a black muscle shirt. People call him the bad boy of ballet.
Before Maximoff speaks, Jane swoops into the kitchen wearing kitten-print pajamas.
“Sis.” Beckett hugs his sister, and then to the right of their embrace, Charlie Cobalt saunters forward, yellow-green eyes only on Maximoff. I stand on guard, but Maximoff steps forward, his face solidified to marble.
“What are you doing here?” he asks Charlie.
Charlie never breaks eye contact. “Being a cousin who didn’t doubt you.”
Jane tears up behind him, and Beckett kisses the top of her head.
Maximoff nods repeatedly, and he extends a hand to Charlie. His cousin clasps his hand and they go in for a hug.
People start moving around, exchanging hugs and hellos—the five Omega bodyguards and their five clients haven’t all been alone together like this in a long time. Definitely not since I’ve been on SFO.
Then everyone meanders around the kitchen, catching up and helping cook. I stand next to Maximoff and untwist a loaf of bread.
“More bacon,” Oscar tells me as he eats all the bacon I just cooked. Donnelly already opens the freezer to grab meat and a bag of frozen biscuits. He hands them to Beckett.
Quinn has another carton of eggs and starts to help Maximoff crack them into his bowl. Sulli and Akara pull out dishes from the cabinets while Charlie and Jane chatter in French, making coffee together.
We could’ve detonated the security team and his family, and like a strike of perfect lightning, we’ve brought all ten of us closer together.
And I have the guy.
I have the guy. I extend my arm around his muscular waist, and he leans some of his weight against my side. Relaxing. I begin to smile wider and wider.
44
MAXIMOFF HALE
I HIKE one of my favorite mountain trails with Farrow. Not far from the lake house. Wind whistles through the towering fir and maple trees and rocky peaks. The last autumn leaves falling.
Nature has nothing on Farrow. I’m highly distracted. Jet-black pieces of his hair brush his lashes. His backpack buckled across his hard chest like mine. Biceps bulging in his black long-sleeve shirt.
Mainly, it’s how, as we trek up the steep incline, he lengthens his pace. And we’re step-for-step the whole time. Neither one of us falling behind.
I think about that a lot.
I think about how he called me pure of heart.
I think about how it’ll take time for my family to see him as anything other than my bodyguard, but me and him—we’ve seen each other as more from the beginning.
I think about how he’s helped me over a wall that I had never tried to climb.
I think about you.
And how I’ve been afraid to disappoint you. Maybe I still will, maybe I already have—but it’d take so much more than a wrong turn or a human mistake to ever disappoint him.
I think about how there’s only one person I crave to wake up to and see before I go to sleep. The agitating know-it-all who loves to irritate the fuck out of me.
I think about him.
So when we reach a clearing on a ridge—overlooking a vast backdrop of mountains and bright blue horizon—I forget the fucking view. And I just face Farrow.
He bites the plastic waterspout from his camelbak, smiling. “Seen the view a hundred times already?” The longer he stares into my gaze, the more he sees the emotion barreling out of me. His chest rises in a deeper breath.
“I need to tell you something,” I say.
He edges closer. Our hands brush and then clasp together strongly. Gazes never dropping.
Christ, let me say this right. “In hindsight, I realize that I was envisioning a kind of person I’d want to be with for more than a day, long-term. You know, something…” fuck. I gesture in the air for the word.
“Lasting?”
“Yeah.” Lasting.
Something indestructible.
“I hoped for someone who wasn’t afraid to put me in my place, someone who made me feel human. I hoped for someone who could be strong so I could be vulnerable, but still never make me feel weak or less than. I hoped for trust and understanding and an innate love of my family. And I realized, Farrow…”
His hand slides up my neck to my jaw, his welling eyes already caressing mine.
“I realized,” I breathe, “that I was always hoping and wishing for you.” Say the words. “I’m in love with you, and I’m the lucky one here.”
He laughs into the most heartfelt smile I’ve seen. Both of his tattooed hands hold my face. Our chests drawn together, and he whispers, “You beat me to it.”
He loves me. My face is just pure goddamn happiness. “Well, you can’t be first at everything. So one guy always tells me.”
“One guy,” Farrow repeats.
“Some damn guy,” I rephrase, my hand rising up the back of his neck.
“The guy you love,” Farrow teases. Then he licks his bottom lip, and his mouth veers to my ear. Holding my head still, he whispers, deep and protective, “I love you too.”