Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(108)

They all look to Jane.

Dammit.

“It’s not me,” Jane says stiffly.

My dad gestures to my chest. “Who else would we not approve of? I can’t think of one goddamn name other than your cousin.”

Farrow Redford Keene.

I stare off, haunted. Morality is a demanding beast that asks me, pleads with me, begs me to do the right thing. What’s right anymore? I’m searching for the sword that I need to fall on. I just don’t want to hurt Jane or Farrow in the process.

I can’t hurt him.

I can’t.

Just let it slice through me.

“Maybe it’s not a love affair,” Ryke says. “Are you drinking? Are you having any fucking problems?”

“No,” I say firmly.

“Are you?” Ryke turns on Jane.

“No,” she says adamantly.

“We just want to help,” my mom chimes in, wet tears streaking her cheeks. “If you both would be honest, we can all work this out.” They think we’re lying.

And I am lying.

The truth is standing just outside the door. And I remember what Farrow once said. “You just need to know that I’m going to get banged up and you can’t run and save me, wolf scout. You have to let it happen.” I’m not supposed to protect him. As much as it’s killing me. As much as it’s driving knots in my damn stomach.

We’re supposed to stand side-by-side. And we need to take this hit together.

Go get the truth.

I turn my head.

“Do you sleep in the same bed together?” my dad asks, voice stilted.

I go rigid. The room grows hot.

My head swerves back to him. I’m not burying myself beneath another lie. “Sometimes,” I say. “It’s always platonic.”

My mom sits on the very edge of the trunk. “But you sleep in the same bed,” she says as though she needs extra confirmation. Like she didn’t hear right.

“Yeah.”

My mom touches her chest with two hands. “Your dad and I—we used to sleep in the same bed when we were just friends.”

Oh shit.

I lick my dry lips. “You were attracted to each other. I’m not attracted to Jane.”

“Likewise,” Jane says, shifting in her chair. “I’m not attracted to Moffy.”

“We were also liars,” my dad tells me.

Right now, I am a liar, too. They spot it like blood in the water. They’re sharks. I’m prey. And I’m being ripped open.

My dad keeps eye contact with me, looking broken and pained. “We love you,” he tells me. “We’d love you no matter what. But we can’t help you unless you’re honest with us.”

“I don’t need help,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”

He nods. “I’ve said that one before.” His words practically ice. He gives me his classic, bitter smile. “Congratulations, Maximoff, you got what you wanted. You’re more like me.” His disappointment is a tsunami crashing through my chest.

I stare at my dad. Right in the eyes, and I say the words that I’ve never wanted to utter in my damn life. It takes every ounce of power inside of me to admit this to myself and to him and to the room—and even to you.

And I tell my dad, “I’m not like you.”

I would never hurt people I love with a lie, and that’s what’s happening now. I’m hurting him, my mom, aunts and uncles—and even Jane. I can handle the world’s doubt. That’s commonplace. But I can’t live with theirs.

Go get the truth.

I turn to the door. And I suddenly freeze.

Farrow approaches me. Already inside the cabin, his lips rise like I know.





41





FARROW KEENE





I heard everything from outside, and about midway through I knew what I needed to do. I feel six incredulous, confused gazes sweep my sudden presence. I don’t confront them yet.

Before Maximoff repeatedly asks are you sure you want to do this? I catch his wrist, standing right by his side.

Very softly, I whisper, “Your morality is rubbing off on me.” I feel sick putting Maximoff Hale in a place where he’d be forced to lie to these people.

His family. Who need him.

Who trust him.

Who love him.

He’d be a worse man if he trampled all over them with a lie, and he’s made me a better one because I don’t even hesitate to unleash the truth. I don’t care about the career consequences, and we’re strong enough to survive the blowback. At the end of the road, all I know is that I’m protecting and preserving the very essence of who he is.

And I’d do it five hundred times over.

I nod to Maximoff to go ahead. Tell them.

He fists my shirt and tugs me to his chest. In a swift, pulse-pounding moment, he has two firm hands on my neck, and his mouth meets mine. Not wavering, not second-guessing—his pride for this second and for us lifts his carriage like he’s sky-scraping tall.

He has to feel my lips rising. I can’t restrain a smile. I wouldn’t, even if I was ordered to. Our bodies pull together in a deeper, slower kiss, and I hook my arm around his broad shoulders. His hand slides through my black hair, his desire and hunger urging my mouth open again. Pulsating my veins and heart. All things I’ve felt with Maximoff before.