Page 102 of Headstrong Like Us

“We’re coming to get you. Stay put.” He hangs up before I can ask about Ripley.

Another five minutes pass and the mall detonates in excitement. Like mega-watt screeching. My ears ring from the shrill sound of pure shock and glee.

But no one is crawling over the kiosk like ants diving into their hill.

Curiosity shimmers in Jane’s blue eyes. She motions that she wants to stand up.One peek, she mouths to me.

“Jane.” Thatcher’s deep voice is unmistakable. He’s careening over the pretzel warmer. Christ, he’s tall. I’m not that used to being on the ground while he’s towering.

“Oh…” She glances up.

Farrow hops the kiosk, and I stand off the floor, about to reveal myself to the mall and—holy shit.The decibel rises as soon as the sea of fans notices me and Farrow side-by-side. All of our names are being yelled in frenzied elation, and Thatcher is physically blocking bodies from hurdling the kiosk.

I’m not checking out the crowds that long.

My focus zips and zones in on the wiggling five-month-old strapped to Farrow’s chest. Shocked he brought him here. “What’s that?” I ask.

He raises his brows at me. “Our baby.”

Our baby.

My heart bursts. I blink a few times. Wondering if I knocked myself out and I’m in some in-between state. LikeBabes in Toyland—and I’ll wake up in a second.

Any second.

I don’t want to wake up.

“You’re fucking with me,” I say under my breath.

Farrow looks hurt, his lips fall and part, and that fucking crushes my chest. He shakes his head, assesses our chaotic surroundings—I do too, and he steps closer. So I can hear him as he says, “He’sourson right now.”

Our son.

I love him like he’s mine, and he deserves that. He deserves all of what Farrow and I can give him. Even if we have to say goodbye.

I take a breath, not as surprised that he brought Ripley. I realize—really fucking quickly—that this little guy was me.

Twenty-three years ago.

I was attached to my mom in a mall.

In a park.

I can’t stow my kid away and hide him from this strange life. This is going to be hisnormal like it was and is mine.

“Why are you bracing your arm to your abs?” Farrow asks me, his attention cutting a million directions like mine. Jane is on the phone with more security.

“Feels good,” I say tightly.We need to leave.

“Back up!” Thatcher yells, his arm-span shielding us.

Farrow lightly touches my shoulder—fuck.I wince and pull away from him.

“Shit,” he curses, his concern flaring.

Ripley sobs louder than before. Seeing me hurt.

My muscles are flexed, and that just kills my fucking collarbone more. “I’m fine,” I lie through gritted teeth. “We need to leave. Let me carry Rip.”