Sulli faces me and Maximoff more. “Did either of you know?”
I shake my head with arched brows. “No, this wasn’t my business.”
“No clue,” Maximoff says, his forest-greens narrowed in alert.
Banks pulls away from Akara and bites down on a toothpick. “I was informed.”
“Just him,” Akara adds quickly.
Her mouth falls. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that he asked you to stop flirting with me? Especially when we don’t flirt, we’ve never flirted!” She gesticulates wildly and slams a hand against the bamboo window frame. “Fuck, cum-shit fuckfuckfuck.” She jerks her hand to her chest and cradles her palm.
Banks swears in Italian, and Akara speaks fast on comms, ordering a temp to bring over a first-aid kit. They both try to approach, and she backs up.
I see blood.
That’s my bigger cue.
I move forward. Not a surprise, Maximoff is beside me. “Are you okay?” he asks his cousin. “Sulli?”
She grips her wrist to her chest. Glaring at Akara.
I reach out. “Hey, let me see your hand, Sulli.”
She absentmindedly shows me her palm, more focused on the emotional hurt she’s feeling. “Why couldn’t you tell me, Kits?”
“He’s your boyfriend.” Akara is watching me assess her injury. “He came to me in confidence, so I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t going to fuck up your first relationship.”
She didn’t sprain her wrist. Blood pools out of a puncture wound, right in the center of her palm. I look up at the bamboo window frame and see a nail.
Not good.
Maximoff notices too. “Did it go all the way through her hand?”
“No, but it’s deep.” And needs cleaned. “Is there a sealed water bottle nearby?”
“Yeah, I’ll get it.”
I’m about to ask Sulli her pain level, but she snaps back at Akara, “He was my boyfriend. Do you honestly think I’ll stay with him after this? He cost me a fucking friendship—and I don’t have many of those to lose!” She speaks with her hands and accidentally tears her wrist out of my grasp.
I seize her wrist, holding tighter.
“And fuck you for keeping this from me, Kits,” Sulli continues on. “I had to learn from a phone call because he’s pissed you’re here and not him.”
Maximoff uncaps a water bottle for me, and I wash blood off her palm. She doesn’t even wince. Which could boil down to three things:
1. She has a high-pain tolerance.
2. Alcohol is masking the pain.
3. Or she’s too upset about her friendship and boyfriend issues to notice the sting.
“I was doing my job,” Akara retorts, hurt in his eyes. “I can’t apologize for that, Sul.”
“You said we were friends! You just said it two seconds ago! A friend…a friend would’ve fucking told me.” Her face twists.
I can imagine this is a double-dose of pain for Sulli since she’s been on the outs with Beckett.
Akara comes closer. “You are my friend. But you’re my client first.”
Sulli shoves his chest with the unharmed hand.
“Heyheyhey.” Banks steps between them. Sulli is all hurt anger, and I can’t tell how much is alcohol-fueled—but she pushes at Banks’ chest. He’s a fucking rock wall, unmoving.
Banks leans down and his lips brush her ear, hand on the crook of her neck. He whispers to Sulli. Her chest rises and falls heavily, but she seems to calm at whatever he says. Her eyes are latched on Akara, then drift up at Banks, then back to Akara.
I don’t pretend to understand that shit. I just do my job. Maximoff pops open a first-aid kit that a bodyguard just passed him, and I take gloves and bandages out.
Her tetanus shot is up-to-date. Knowledge I wouldn’t have if I weren’t part of the med team.
Minor medical emergencies like this, I’m more than happy I’m a concierge doctor to these families. I can help Sulli more efficiently and quickly.
She eases a lot more and cringes at her hand, blood starting to bubble up from the wound again. “Will that need stitches?”
“Maybe a couple.” I snap on gloves. “Ten minutes and I’ll reassess. How’s the pain from one to ten? Ten being the worst.”
Sulli shrugs. “Fuck…a two, I guess.”
Okay. I bet alcohol is numbing the pain.
Maximoff wears hardened concern. “Do you need a water? I can get you something.”
“Yeah…sure.” Her face is bright red, realizing how many men are actually helping and surrounding her right now. Temps have converged, and Donnelly, Quinn, and more Epsilon bodyguards hover close by.
Banks unscrews a water and puts the bottle in her good hand.
Akara is on comms, trying to coordinate a car in case they need to leave early. Once I finish bandaging the wound, I step back to give her air.
I snap off my gloves, and I spot Oscar and his client breaching the VIP area for a split-second. And then they disappear back into the crowds. Moving towards the bar.
I need to talk to him.
I hate leaving Maximoff, but this is a secure area. He’ll be fine for a few minutes. And he’s intensely concentrated on Sulli right now, not wanting to leave her with a barricade of bodyguards and no family.
I touch his waist and whisper, “I’ll be back in ten.”
He nods, and he does a double-take, just to add, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
My mouth curves up. I want to say that Maximoff wouldn’t do one-fourth of the shit I’d do. But he’s the one always chasing after me. To keep up with me. To be stronger. Faster. Smarter.
Yet, I know he wouldn’t do what I’m about to, but that’s exactly why I want to run this extra mile. For him.
I trail far behind Oscar and Charlie, but I don’t lose sight. And I follow them in the men’s bathroom. Shutting the door behind me.
Oscar is careened back against one of three empty stalls and watches me silently. He’s back on unofficial duty like the rest of SFO. Even guys who drank more than me feel like they can do a better job than the temps.
But I’m not here for my friend.
I need to talk to Charlie.
He’s leaning over a sink and scrubbing lipstick off his forearm. Someone’s phone number.
“Give us a minute?” I ask Oscar.
“Charlie?” Oscar has to ask.
Charlie glances from me to his bodyguard. “It’s fine.”
Oscar kicks off the stall and passes me, but I still register the look he sends. The one that says, watch yourself. Like I’m willfully standing alone with an unpredictable lion, but also, he’s warning me not to hurt him.
Noted.
“You okay?” I ask Charlie and unpocket a pack of cigarettes.
“Peachy,” he deadpans. “But I doubt you asked Oscar to leave just to discuss my feelings.” He tugs a couple paper towels from the dispenser and faces me, wiping his hands. “So? Is this about Scotland?”
I put a cigarette between my lips. “I wasn’t going to start there, but sure, if that’s where you want to go first, we can talk about Scotland.”
Charlie balls up the damp paper towels and scrutinizes my tattoos and black clothing: my boots, belt, and black button-down tucked into black slacks. “You realize I threw a book at Moffy in Scotland. I didn’t put a gun to his head.”
I hold a lighter to the cigarette. “You keep pulling a metaphorical trigger, man. It is like a gun.” I take a drag and blow smoke to the side. “You can act like you don’t understand, but we both know you’re smarter than that.”
Charlie glances down, dirtied toilet paper stuck to wet tile, then back up at me. “I do understand.” He lets out a bitter breath. “If I hadn’t been stuck in that house, he wouldn’t have been in my line of sight.”
“He wasn’t just in your line of sight; he was with me.” Embers eat paper, cigarette burning between my fingers. “He was asleep against my shoulder, and that bothered you.”
A laugh dies
in his chest. He shakes his head, then pins his eyes to the mirror. To himself.
“You’re jealous of his relationship.” My voice is matter-of-fact. I’ve guessed this about Charlie more than once.
Charlie cringes. “Moffy, of all people, is the one who grew up never wanting a relationship. So is it aggravating seeing him in love? Yes.” He pulls at his sandy-brown hair. “If you want my permission to intervene, you can save him all you want.”
“I don’t need your permission to save my husband.”
Technically, we’re not married yet, but I don’t give a flying fuck right now.
And I also tell Charlie, “He would let you murder him if it made you feel better. You understand that, right?” My muscles are on fire.
Charlie sighs out a knotted breath. “Sounds like Maximoff is too self-sacrificing to me. You should probably talk to him about that.”
“How about you don’t beat him down anymore?” Territorial heat simmers my blood, but I stay relatively at ease and suck on a cigarette.
His eyes redden. “I’m trying. It’s not as easy as counting one, two, three.” He snaps his fingers, then tosses the wadded paper towels in a trashcan.
I roll my eyes and blow smoke at the floor.
“It might be hard to believe, Farrow,” Charlie says, “but I don’t want to hurt him. I need Moffy.”
“As a punching bag?”
He cocks his head. “Well…I can’t blame you for drawing that conclusion, but no. All of our families wouldn’t function without him. And despite how annoying his position in the families is—I need him to fill that position. It’s not one I want.” He takes another breath before saying, “I don’t want to be him.”
I tap ash into the sink. “That’s more of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Charlie adds the pieces startlingly fast. “The move to New York.”
“Yeah. Are you planning on sticking around?” I wonder. “Because that’s what Maximoff and Jane think.”
He un-tucks his wrinkled white button-down from his black slacks. “I never promised that.”
I raise my brows. “You implied it somewhere along the way, Charlie. They believe you’re going to be around. That it’s going to be like the good old high school days.”
“How is it my fault that they have the wrong expectations?”
Oh my God. “Because you set them. You are responsible for that.” I shake my head at him. “Are you planning to stay or aren’t you?”
“I’m not staying.” Charlie slouches on the counter. “I’m just facilitating the inevitable. If my brothers need help, Maximoff will pick up the pieces like he always does, and he’ll do a better job than I can.”
I snuff the cigarette on the sink. “No, see, you have it wrong. Your brothers don’t need Maximoff. They need you.”
“They can’t have me,” Charlie says, voice caged.
“I’m telling you right now, Maximoff is not going to move to New York. Your sister is not moving to New York.”
Charlie wears mock surprise. “You’re forcing them to stay in Philly?” He tilts his head. “Sounds controlling.”
Controlling.
My muscles flex. He’s trying to set me off, but I stare him down. “I’m not going to act like I have you all figured out, because I don’t. But I know Maximoff. And he will make this easy for you. He will take all the weight off your shoulders, so you can go jet-set to wherever for however long, and he won’t mind.”
“I know.”
“But you have it wrong, Charlie,” I repeat again. “Because Maximoff isn’t your replacement. You’re two different people, and you’ll be leaving your brothers. They will notice your absence. You didn’t stick around for them. You didn’t try. Beckett needs you. Eliot needs you. Tom needs you. In another year, Ben might be in New York and need you too. Man, don’t bail on them because you think Maximoff can do it better. Or because he enjoys it more or any other fucking reason you’re telling yourself. Because at the end of the day, you’ll look back and wish it were you.”
Really, I’d like to just grab him, shake him and yell at him to grow the fuck up.
But he’d just get pissed, and I need him to understand that he’s worth more.
Charlie looks me over, but before he can answer, the door swings open, and Tom and Eliot slip inside, laughing about something.
“Whoa, Farrow.” Eliot sees me, then Charlie. “Brother.” He grins. “Communal bathroom chitchat with the groom?” He tries to sling an arm over Charlie, but his older brother skillfully spins out of the embrace.
“You missed it,” Charlie says smoothly.
“I’ll take a play by play then,” Eliot quips. “Was there humor? If not, then I’ll pass.”
Charlie smiles.
I’m going to max-out fast on Cobalt banter, and I’m about to leave but as Tom goes to the urinal, people I’ve never seen before enter the bathroom. Three thirty-something guys use the toilet stalls, two others linger near the urinals, stumbling as they stand.
I’m hawkeyed. These dipshits are one glance away from watching Tom piss.
I block their view. “What are you looking at?”
He snickers. “You know.” He tries to stumble around me, aimed for Tom, and I capture his arm. He tries to fight me.
He’s swatting at my face, and his friend yells at him to stop.
Easily, I wrench his arm behind his back and shove him up against the sink. I touch my mic. “Oscar.” That’s all it takes. He’s right outside, and the bathroom door whips open.
He assesses. “I have him, Redford.” He takes my place and nods to me. “Go find the Groom. I heard he was looking for you.”
26
FARROW KEENE
Leaving the bathroom, I adjust my earpiece and weave between bodies in the packed bar. If Maximoff were in real trouble, Oscar would’ve been more urgent. He won’t admit it to my face, but my best guess is that my groom just wants to be with me.
I’m trying to find him.
I pass a handful of college-aged girls in summer dresses. One with blond ringlets cuts off my path.
“Uh, hi. You’re Farrow Keene.”
“Yeah.” I glance over her shoulder, surveying the dance pit for Maximoff. I’m hoping he stayed in the makeshift VIP area, but that’d just be too easy.
“And you’re friends with Paul Donnelly, right?” she drones on. “Do you think you could maybe introduce me to him. I’m a huge fan of the Ass-Kicker.” Mention of Donnelly’s nickname from the Hot Santa Video barely draws my attention back to her.
I have places to be. “Paul?” I already sidestep past her. “Never heard of him.”
“What about Quinn?!” her friend yells at my back.
“Oh my God, please tell me you have Quinn’s number!” another girl screams as I leave.
I locate Maximoff. The six-foot-two, hot-as-sin American prince. He dances on the sandy floor with Luna, Kinney, and Xander. Bodyguards circle around them, the barrier intense enough that I know Maximoff is safe.
I start making my way to him.
“Hey, Farrow!” a temp bodyguard yells over the music and steps in front of me. Abruptly. I take a step back to avoid a collision into his chest.
I eye the dermal piercing on his cheek. Shit.
Owen Erickson.
Seeing him is like chugging spoiled milk. I’m just thankful Akara and Thatcher listened to my request. He hasn’t temped for Maximoff since I asked.
Tonight, he’s supposed to be watching over Sulli. Unsuccessfully, since he’s currently wolf-scout-blocking me.
“Move!” I hate having to scream over the fucking music, but the song has heavy bass.
Owen leans close to whisper in my ear. Too close, motherfucker. But I resist pushing him away in case this is about security.
“Do you know when I get my break?” he asks, his voice softer. Heat against my ear makes my skin crawl.
My face pinches in a grimace, and I rock back from him. “How the hell would I know?!�
�� I yell over the bass. “Radio the boss or the Omega lead!” That’s what any temp would’ve done. Not hunt me down to ask this question.
I shoot him a glare because my gut says he’s hitting on me.
He can’t be that stupid.
Owen nods along to the beat of the music. “Yeah, okay!” He goes in to lean again for another whisper-chat. I’m not having it this time. Casually, I push him back with my forearm.
“Personal space!” I’m trying to be chill.
His eyes dip from my lips and then to my eyes. “When’s your break?!”
My brows jump. “You’re done, man! Get out of my face!” The scenario where he’s hitting on me and not Maximoff is easier to stomach. But it won’t be for Maximoff, and Captain America doesn’t need a broken knuckle tonight.
He shakes his head. “I’m just being friendly!”
“Be friendly somewhere else!” I move quickly, and part of me wants to shoulder check him as I pass. The other part would rather swig lighter fluid than touch him. The latter wins, and I give him a wide perimeter.
Maximoff has stopped dancing, confusion cinching his brows, and my boots sink in the sand as I come towards him.
He’s about to ask, but I beat him to it. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
He drops the topic fast, almost like the thought breezes out of his head. “Hey,” Maximoff greets, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. Pulling me into his body. His green eyes are a little glazed. “Where’ve you been all my life?” He seems a little out of it. Not himself.
Sweat beads up on his forehead, and I brush back some of the damp strands of hair. “You feeling okay, wolf scout?”
“Yeah, man.” He sways to the music, leading me with him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Okay.
Something’s wrong.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Mmmhmm.” He licks his lips, and his fingers slide up the back of my neck, threading through my bleach-white hair. “You’re pretty much the hottest person on Earth. All Earths, really. And I needed you tonight.”
I smell the faint scent of liquor on his breath.
Liquor.
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