Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(20)

“What?”

“You’re worried about us, and we’re the people that hurt you. Jesus Christ, it’s strange.”

“You’re my parents—”

“And we fucked up.” He winces and then flashes his iconic half-smile. “Where’s the condemnation and the tantrum and the I hate you so much, Mom and Dad, huh?”

He wanted me to put up a fight and knock him down at least once. I actually think there’s a part of him that felt like he deserved it—and fuck that. “I guess I’d just rather love you than hate you. Sorry,” I say with edge that matches his.

His face scrunches. “When’s the last time you’ve cried?”

I almost shake my head. “Why are you asking that?”

“Concern. I told you it’s okay to cry growing up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. All the time.”

He would say, you can cry, bud. But I must’ve been thirteen the last time I really cried. Someone kept stuffing notes in my locker like your mom sucks a lot of dick with penis doodles. There I was, sobbing into my pillow, and my little brother knocked on my bedroom door. Wanting me to read him a fantasy book.

He was super fucking young, and I remember rubbing my face until all the tears dried. I didn’t want Xander to be afraid of bullies. I realized then that if I showed my cousins and siblings that I couldn’t handle the world—young kids who saw me as a role model, their leader—then they’d never believe they could.

“I was thirteen,” I tell my dad. “There just hasn’t been a lot to cry over since.”

Twigs rustle in my peripheral. I crane my head over my shoulder. Two figures hide poorly behind leafless maple trees. Only about twenty feet away.

85% chance of eavesdropping.

My dad gapes in mock surprise. “Christ Almighty, I wonder who the hell that could be.”

Connor and Ryke emerge and glare at each other, shirking blame for being discovered.

My dad touches his heart. “I had no idea.”

I almost smile. As they dip into the hut, Ryke removes his gloves and stomps snow off his rubber soles. “Cobalt wouldn’t move his ass any higher up the fucking ridge.”

Connor unzips his navy blue jacket. “I lost cell signal. Of course, you wouldn’t understand the importance of needing to be reachable because not many people need to reach you.”

“Fuck off.” Ryke throws a glove at Connor’s face, but without even looking, Connor dodges the glove and it plops in the hot tub.

I grab the soaked glove and toss it back to Ryke. “If I remember correctly, you both were also at Camp Calloway doubting me and Jane.”

Ryke sheds down to his bathing suit. “We were also there trying to fucking protect you—”

“Is an I’m sorry that damn hard?” I ask.

His frown darkens, and he climbs into the hot tub. “I’m fucking sorry.” It sounds sincere, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder. Giving me a side-hug.

Connor places his jacket on a wooden table. “I apologize for hurting you.”

“I accept,” I say, “but Janie’s gonna need more than that.”

Connor nods. “I’m aware. She already asked her mom and me to write a three-thousand word essay on why we love her.” His lips pull upward, admiration for his daughter clear in his eyes.

My dad flashes a dry smile. “That’s what happens when you raise a bunch of geniuses and make your family motto: loyalty to the death.”

Connor grins a billion-dollar grin.

I lie back, but my shoulders won’t unwind. “Isn’t the Cobalt motto, ‘let me play the lion too: I will roar’ and whatever else Eliot says?” My younger cousin always recited that Shakespeare quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and it’s weirdly become the unofficial Cobalt rallying cry.

“We have many mottos,” Connor says and finishes undressing to his blue bathing suit. He joins us in the hot tub, sitting closer to my dad while Ryke stays next to me.

Connor sets his phone in a cup holder, and I remember what I’ve been meaning to tell all three of them.

“I’ve been working with a tech & security company.” I capture their attention. “The engineers are updating all of our electronics and the security team’s to ensure no hacks from any outside sources. Phones, computers—everything will be safer to use. It was supposed to be my Christmas present to everyone, but I’ll roll it out before the tour starts.”

Connor looks marginally impressed. Which is more than he gives most people. He nods repeatedly. “This’ll allow you to text Farrow without fear of a public hack.”

Sudden mention of my boyfriend/bodyguard heavies the air. “Yeah. It’s an added benefit.” I start to unconsciously smile when I imagine us texting like we’re together, for real.

I’ve never had that before.

Connor reads my features. “You like him.”

“I love him,” I correct.

Ryke scratches his unshaven jaw.

“Say it,” I tell him.

“Look, we hired these fucking bodyguards. All of our kids trust them. You lower your guard around them, and it feels fucking wrong for security to take advantage of your vulnerability—”

“I’m an adult,” I remind him for the millionth time. “It was my choice, and it wasn’t fucking easy for me.” I can’t lie to my uncle and say that trust wasn’t a factor. Inherently, I need to trust someone before I can be completely myself with them, and I trusted Farrow. But I also knew him before he was a bodyguard.