Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(30)

He was nineteen.

I was twenty-four, on the very, very cusp of a career change from medicine to security. Even back then, I found myself investing my interest in Maximoff Hale.

I wanted to intervene on his behalf. Fuck, I would’ve loved to pull him out of that fight. But a silent Hale-Cobalt-Meadows declaration always hangs in the air: do not interject in familial arguments.

Even me, the maverick on the security team, hasn’t bent that rule out of shape, but to come to his aid, I’ve wanted to.

Many times.

Maximoff breaks eye contact and fixes a narrowed look on his cousin. “Thanks, Beckett,” he says dryly.

“I didn’t bring it up to be an asshole,” Beckett clarifies. “Farrow should know your medical history.”

Maximoff growls in frustration and tries to roll his head backwards.

I tighten my grip on his jaw, keeping him bent forward. “Don’t move.”

“Just tell me the diagnosis,” Maximoff says, still pinching his nose. “I need facial reconstructive surgery, right? A brain transplant tomorrow? Probably a full-body cast and a coffin fitting?”

I smile while chewing my gum. This guy, man. “You can keep going.”

He glowers. “I’m done.”

“That’s too bad,” I say seriously and slide off the counter, my chest brushing up against his chest. I keep hold of his jaw. “I love watching a Harvard Dropout self-diagnose a nosebleed as a full-body injury.”

He’d flip me off if he could.

My hand descends, and I rub the back of his neck. My other fingers hover by his wrist. “Bleeding looks like it’s slowed.” I draw his hand down so he stops pinching his nose. No blood dripping. That’s good.

“And?” he asks.

“No surgery, no X-rays. You only need ice and pain meds. It’s just a small break.” I’ve seen several minor nose fractures in the ER like his. I take the ice from Beckett. “Keep the ice across the bridge of your nose and be gentle. It’ll help with swelling.”

His shoulders loosen, relaxed at the news. I know what concerns him—and it’s not pain—it’s calling the concierge doctor, scheduling a surgery date, and derailing the meet-and-greet tour where fans, crew, and everyone on the bus are counting on him.

Maximoff splays the ice baggie across the bone, and I wash my hands in the sink.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Sulli says again. “If you want to bail on the ultra marathon, I totally get it.”

Maximoff speaks for three full minutes, assuring Sulli that he can easily still run. The race isn’t soon either, and regardless, they won’t have that much time to train on tour.

Beckett sips his beer and watches me wipe my hands on a towel. Blue and yellow braided “friendship” bracelets are tied loose on his wrists. Identical to the ones on Sulli’s ankles.

He has a question for me. I can tell. “Ask,” I say and toss the towel on the counter.

“Is Maximoff your first relationship?”

“No.”

Maximoff extends his hand. “Beckett, let’s not go here, alright?”

Beckett turns on him. “Have you asked Farrow why his other relationships ended? Did he break up with them or was it the other way around? How many guys has he been in love with—”

“Man,” I cut him off, “no offense, but I’m not in a relationship with you. If Maximoff wants these answers, I’ll tell him, but I’m not holding a public forum.”

Beckett skims the length of me for the fifth time now. “Why not? You have something to hide?”

“Stop, Beck,” Maximoff warns.

Sulli wavers uneasily, disliking confrontation.

“I’m just looking out for you, Moffy,” Beckett says while zeroing in on me. As though I’m prey, but it’d take more than this kid’s skepticism to arch my back and reach for a figurative gun.

I lift my brows and chew my gum casually. He stares harder. My nonchalance is grating on him.

“I appreciate the concern,” Maximoff says, “but I’m highly capable of dealing with my relationship on my own.” His voice is firm and unyielding. All alpha.

My smile stretches, roped in for a second, but as I turn, I realize quickly that Beckett mistakes my reaction for arrogance. Like I’m toting a win over his head and smirking, Maximoff took my side, not yours.

Not the case.

Not the truth.

“I don’t play under the table,” Beckett says to me, “so I’m putting this out in the open.” He mimics me, raising his brows. “I don’t trust you—”

“You don’t trust me because you don’t know me—”

“Whatever the case,” Beckett says.

And I spot Akara in my peripheral, lingering. He whispers to Sulli, and she nods before slipping out.

Beckett continues, “If you betray my cousin, all seven Cobalts will destroy you far worse than you could ever hurt him.”

“Fair enough,” I say, more so acknowledging Akara who motions me out of the bathroom. As I leave into the first lounge, Maximoff shuts the door and starts talking privately with Beckett.

Most of SFO are spread out on the gray couches, eavesdropping. Oscar stands and whispers to me, “They haven’t dealt with siblings or cousins in serious relationships. You’re the first.”