Lovers Like Us (Like Us #2)(78)

I smiled. “True.” But I tried to find a memory where my father looked at me the way that Loren Hale looked at his kids.

Medicine was supposed to bring me closer to family, but I’d never felt the strength of one until I joined security. Shit, I could feel how deep and connected Lily and Lo were to their kids. It doesn’t surprise me how empathetic Maximoff is when he has parents like that.

On the tour bus, Maximoff digests his dad’s words slowly. “So…” he says. “You want Luna to stay?”

“Do I want her to stay? Hell no,” Lo tells him. “But when she talked to me and your mom, she said she felt internally ‘trapped’—like she couldn’t breathe, and she just needed to get out.”

Fame is a motherfucker. Stifling. And Luna is flighty, restless. With that combination, I’m not that shocked she’d try to leave Philly if the opportunity appeared. And it did with this tour.

I unwrap a piece of gum, and Maximoff lies back on the couch, his legs outstretched over my lap. Phone on his chest. He fixates on the blinking lights.

I wave a hand in front of his face. Come on, wolf scout.

“Huh?” He rubs his eyes.

“Can we FaceTime?” Lo asks, concern in his voice.

“I’m alright.” He licks his lips. “So let me get this straight. Luna is staying here?” He tries to sit up, but he just falls back down.

I restrain a laugh and pop gum in my mouth. He flips me off.

“We’re hoping a short experience away from home will make her feel better,” Lo explains. “One month on the bus, then we’re flying her back to finish homeschooling. And she’s agreed to see a therapist again.” He pauses. “You can say no, Moffy. It’s a lot to handle, and if you’re too stressed—”

“No,” he says quickly. “I mean…no I’m not too stressed, and yes, I want her here. I can take care of Luna, I promise.” Maximoff pinches his eyes. His head is spinning.

“I know you will, bud,” he says strongly. “Hold on.” He hangs up too fast for Maximoff to protest, and then calls back for FaceTime.

“Fuck,” Maximoff groans.

I grab his forearm and pull him to a sitting position. His shoulder against my shoulder, and the phone falls to my lap.

“Do I look like I’m high, honestly?” Maximoff asks me.

I chew my gum, studying his reddened eyes, his ashen cheeks. He’s Maximoff Hale, the chance that anyone—his family or security—would think he’s high would be slim to none.

But truly, he looks 5% high and 95% close to puking.

“You look sick,” I tell him.

“I can go with that.” He angles the phone towards his face. Keeping me out of the frame, and then he answers FaceTime.

Lo pops up on screen. A ten-foot Christmas tree decorated in garland and gold bows twinkle, and a towering cardboard cutout of a twenty-something Connor Cobalt stands behind him, a Santa hat on and scarf around its neck.

In December, that cutout is shifted through the lake house every morning. A tradition for their families. People have Elf on the Shelf. Maximoff has a six-foot-four replica of his uncle.

Lo’s brows cinch. “What happened?” He’s talking about Maximoff’s busted lip.

His eyes widen. Paranoid.

My mouth stretches. Maximoff. I squeeze his knee. Speak, man.

He blinks rapidly a few times. “I’m high.”

Shit.

“What?” Lo laughs. “You’re kidding.”

Maximoff cringes. “I’m not. I ate an edible and it tasted like shit.” He rubs his face. “I can take care of Luna. This isn’t a reflection of the tour…she’s not around drugs or anything. I promise.”

“I trust you,” he says confidently. “Your lip?”

“Fight with Charlie. It’s nothing.”

He winces. “I wish you two would just—”

“So does everyone,” Maximoff cuts him off, and he stares at one spot on the floor. Breathing through his nose, pale. We’re encroaching 98% close to puking here.

I put a hand on his back. Guiding him up. When he stands, he’s more in control. “I’ll be back,” he says, dropping the phone. He leaves for the bathroom.

Just as I reach for the phone, Lo says, “Farrow?”

Either he knows I’ve been here or it’s a shot in the dark. Whatever the case, I decide to answer. Let’s see what he has to say.

I flip the camera towards my face, and I take a seat, elbows to my knees. Hunched forward. Casual. I fix my earring that keeps loosening.

His amber eyes dagger me, but I didn’t expect anything softer. “Maximoff isn’t in earshot?”

“Right,” I say.

“I need to know something.” He’s walking around, chatter and voices echoing throughout the lake house, and then he slips into a bathroom. Quiet, more private, and he asks me, “How long have you wanted to be with him?”

I take out my earring to adjust the backing. “Since I realized he wanted to be with me and not just sleep with me.”

He takes a seat on the edge of a tub. “When was that? Before or after you were hired to security?”

“Way after, Lo.” I fit my earring back in. “Around the time I became his bodyguard.”