Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I reach the set, my black boots thudding on the hard floor. Our eyes never shift off each other, never deter, and no one tells me to unhook my radio or remove my gun.
I’m where I want to be, need to be, and should be, and there’s nothing that could possibly feel more comfortable, more perfect, than that.
Maximoff and I draw together. Instinctively. Longingly. His chest presses to my chest, and his hand warms my neck. My palm ascends to the back of his head, threading his thick hair between inked fingers. And if I thought the studio quieted when he was with his dad and uncle, then it falls to silence for us.
Maximoff isn’t cautious or worried. His lips inch upward. “You’re in my world.” He’s excited about that.
I nod a few times. “It’s a good thing I love your world, wolf scout. And that your world is mine.” That gets to us both.
Instantly, we bring our mouths together in a scorching, slow-burning kiss. In our embrace, there is no fear or uncertainty. There is only peace and overwhelming pride, and we bask in this second, this simple moment of our beautiful lives.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
MAXIMOFF HALE
The smell of chlorine overpowers the indoor pool. Three-year-old and four-year-old kids with inflatable wings on their arms are blowing bubbles in the water.
I wade in the shallow pool. “Go, go,” I encourage. “Hannah, you’re doing amazing. Really good, everyone.” A metal whistle hangs around my neck, and I take a quick glance at the wall clock.
I blow my whistle. “Alright, that’s it for today,” I tell them. “Everyone did awesome. You all look like Olympians.” I high-five the kids, and Farah slaps my hand three times with a giddy smile.
The kids paddle to the edge of the pool, and I help a straggler onto the cement. Parents start pouring out from the upstairs viewing room. When all the kids are collected, I pull myself out of the pool, water dripping down.
Banks Moretti chills out on a plastic chair beside the door, earpiece in and radio on his waistband. He gives me a nod in greeting, and I wave back. After the Greece trip, he requested to be on my detail. The Moretti brothers have been in contact less ever since Thatcher became Jane’s bodyguard. And with this switch-up, Banks and Thatcher will see each other more. Because I’m around Janie all the time.
I start collecting the inflatables and water wings that the kids left behind. Tossing them into a plastic bin.
When I asked the local aquatic center if I could teach the beginner classes, I expected to be denied. This job—it’s achingly normal. Not something meant for a guy like me.
But they said yes.
So I became certified, and I’m already on my second week here, and I can see another week. Another month. I can see a future where I’m teaching little kids how to swim and build some kind of courage. Face their fears. Jump in and paddle.
Take a breath and float.
I learned how to swim around their age, and I like to think about how a few of these kids could grow up and fall in love with the sport.
Everything about it feels right.
The heavy pool door opens, and the outdoor sunlight illuminates the dimmed space. Farrow slips inside, and the clunk of the closing door echoes inside the aquatic center. Before Farrow sees me, Banks stands up and greets him.
I pull out a chemical kit from the closet, and when I return, Banks is gone.
Farrow attaches his radio to his belt, clips his mic to his V-neck, and fits his earpiece in. He was called in to check up on my little sister. I don’t ask him for details, patient-confidentiality and all that. But Kinney already texted me that she’s bedbound with the flu.
“Back on Maximoff Hale duty,” I tell him. “Your favorite.”
Farrow steps over an orange swim noodle. “You are going to be my husband, wolf scout. Let’s hope you’re my favorite.”
His husband.
His lips lift, knowing what that fucking does to me. Yeah, I’m never going to get over Farrow. And I don’t have to.
In two more strides, we close the distance, and our arms curve around each other. Farrow looks deep into me, and he asks, “What are you thinking, wolf scout?”
I smile.
Dear World, thanks for listening. Love, Maximoff Hale