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)
It hits me that he didn’t bring me out here to talk about my father. “Okay…” I could lie and say that I’m not nervous, but this is Maximoff Hale’s dad. A huge cog in his entire world. And this uncertainty isn’t that much fun.
And then he asks, “Would you like your job back on security?”
My pulse shoots to my throat. I must’ve heard him wrong. I shake my head. “I don’t follow.”
“Your old job,” he reiterates. “Do you want it back?”
I let out a short laugh. “Okay, right.” I don’t even let myself get roped into the idea. But I find myself glancing back towards the three families and security. If I strain my ears, I can basically hear Donnelly rooting on the Cobalt Empire.
“I get that I’m a sarcastic bastard,” Lo says, pulling my attention back. “But I’m serious.”
I comb another hand through my hair, shaking my head only once. “I love being a concierge doctor to your family. I don’t want that to change.”
“You can do both,” he says those words and it’s like someone has offered me something that makes no sense. Like golden eggs and fairytale bullshit.
“I can’t do both,” I say slowly. “That’s…” Impossible. It’s fucking impossible. But he’s looking at me like I’m the one who’s wrong.
“Your Uncle Trip called me an hour ago,” Lo says, blocking sunlight with his palm. “He’s returning from his sabbatical. We’ll have more hands. You’ll always be on-call for the med team, and when there isn’t an emergency, you can be on Maximoff’s detail. Another bodyguard on SFO will fill in for you when you’re pulled away.” He tilts his head. “So there’s still the question if you want to be on security at all. You can say no.”
What the hell…?
I’m processing…slowly. Security has been the missing piece. The gaping hole. And I didn’t want to ask for it back because I didn’t think I could. There’s no scenario in my head where anyone would allow me to split time between security and medicine.
I accepted what I could not fucking change, and now he’s telling me I can have both.
He’s giving me both?
I shake my head, overwhelmed. I turn my gaze away, my eyes welling. Choked up. He’s giving me both.
“Why?” I ask him. “Why offer me this?”
I don’t understand.
Lo stares up at the sky again, and when his sharp-edged gaze falls to me, he says, “Because I was raised by a bad man who was also a bad father.” He pauses. “And despite whatever feelings I have about it, my son thinks I’m good, and every day I try to prove him right.” He stares into me like he’s reaching into the bottom of a pool. “You want this. I think you do. And I want to give it to you.”
I rub my mouth, trying to collect myself. “So I’ll be…”
“You’ll be his bodyguard again.”
Truth. I never thought I’d hear those words. Because to me, it’s more than just a job. It’s so much more.
“Thank you,” I say, my eyes glassing.
His do, too. “Take care of my son,” he tells me.
I make that promise.
And then he adds, “My son will take care of you.”
I rub my eyes and nod. Feeling those words well up inside of me.
38
MAXIMOFF HALE
There’ll never be a perfect moment to propose.
It’s what I’ve been thinking about. How today I could face a family emergency, a media fallout, the most bizarre random happening and doomsday—Christ, the man on the moon could come down and try to fuck this up for all I know. But that’s okay if he does.
Because this doesn’t need to be perfect.
Farrow Redford Keene fell in love with the imperfect me. The human me. And whatever happens today, before or after, it’ll probably, most likely be imperfectly human.
At the island of Kythira, we sightsee in the quaint village Mylopotamos, and Farrow and I separate from the family to hike one of the most stunning trails.
Lush plane trees shade a path littered with stone ruins of old watermills. Passing blue-green waterfall after blue-green waterfall, the rushing sound calms the air.
Farrow ducks beneath a branch in his way, not in mine. My durable backpack is strapped to his back, his Yale V-neck suctioning to his chest in the summer heat. And me—I’m carrying a whole lot of nothing. Giving my shoulders a break for once.
I catch Farrow swiveling the knob to a radio on his waistband and I ask, “Turning the volume down on them already?”
His lips rise. “They’re being particularly annoying right now.”
“Who’s they?” I ask for specific names from SFO.
He nearly laughs. “All of them.” He looks deep into me, his eyes smiling with airy light—and I don’t need to ask if he’s happy about rejoining security. There’s nothing more obvious.
Farrow reaches out, and our hands seem to draw together on instinct. It’s the most natural, simple thing: his hand in my hand while we hike a trail. But it means something to me.