Page 77 of Headstrong Like Us
I grin, and our heads turn as Maximoff walks into the foyer like a jock swimmer crashing a rebel hideout under schoolyard bleachers.
“You come to assist Farrow with his daddy duties?” Donnelly banters.
Shit, I’m smiling at Maximoff. He sometimes looks like a deer caught in the headlights when my friends rib him.
“You need me?” Maximoff asks me seriously.
It reels me in hard. “Later, I will.”
He tries to subdue his smile, and then he notices the business card Donnelly slips in his backpack. “That happened just now?” He gestures to the card.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna be thebestbest man there ever could be.” Donnelly squeezes me around the shoulders in a side-hug. Careful of the baby strapped to me.
Maximoff radiates the happiness that I’m feeling, and my smile grows. He asks Donnelly, “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“Nah, busy tonight.”
I know he’s mentioned not wanting to get too close to Xander. The last time he became a buddy-guard, it didn’t end well.
We say our goodbyes, and the door closes behind Donnelly.
Maximoff nods a few times. “So that went well, huh?”
I suck in a breath. “There’s still Oscar.”
“He loves Donnelly, too. I bet he’ll be fine with it.”
I nod. “We’ll see.”
Ripley drops the yellow parrot. He wiggles in the sling, fussy, and he’s eyeing Maximoff with wide doe-eyes. Yeah, yeah, I understand wanting to be in wolf scout’s arms, butcome on.
Maximoff isn’t grinning though, or rubbing in the fact that Ripley is literallybeggingfor him. He’s staring off at the front door, like he’s waiting for someone to barge through.
“Kinney is in a security vehicle in the driveway,” I tell him. “She should be inside soon.”
He takes a breath. A short one.
That’s not who he’s worried about.
His parents aren’t home yet. If they miss this dinner tonight, it will crush Maximoff. I want to brace him for that reality, but he’s been so hell-bent on uplifting their strength.They’ll get through this soon, he’s been saying.
If you ask me…
I’m just not so sure they will.
16
MAXIMOFF HALE
I check the time again.
There’s only so long that I can stall this dinner. Xander hovers around the kitchen island, eyeing and salivating over the giant bowl of mashed potatoes. My sixteen-year-old brother is minutes away from just digging his hand into the food.
“Do we really have to wait for Mom and Dad?” Xander asks, opening a silverware drawer.
I’m filling up a bottle with formula, and I easily reach over and shut the drawer before he can grab a spoon.
His mouth is agape.
