Page 94 of Headstrong Like Us

I turn to my dad. “You’re okay? I thought Grandmother Calloway stopped harassing you and Mom? We invited her—”

“I asked you not to, Moffy,” he cuts me off. “She shouldn’t even have a crooked old toe on the same soil as your wedding. You both didn’twanther there.”

Farrow comes closer. “We’re fine with it, Lo. She’s harmless to us.”

“Totally invisible,” I add. “And I’m pretty sure security is going to be all over her.”

Security Force Omega is Farrow’s family, and they won’t let the media or untrustworthy guests fuck-up our wedding day.

But I have to ask again, “She’s stopped harassing you? It helped?”

Ryke nods in confirmation.

“Yeah, she did stop,” my dad says. “It’s helped.” Clear as day, appreciation pools in eyes. “You both shouldn’t have had to do that, but I’m selfishly happy you did. Thank you.”

We nod, and my dad hugs Farrow.

When he embraces me, my dad pats my back for an extended beat, and we hold on longer while he whispers, “I love you, bud, and I’m grateful for you every goddamn day. And I can’t wait to see you marry the man of your dreams.”

It’s a phrase that stays with me.

Man of your dreams.

Because for the longest time, I never dreamed about a future where I’d have anything more than one-night stands and bachelorhood.

But God, Farrow is the biggest present daydream and future dream, and if I look back, I know he was a past dream too. I’m trying not toswoon, even as my uncle and dad leave for the shed. To pour out the whiskey in the grass.

Ryke lowers the bottle to his side and wraps an arm around my dad. “That was fucking mature of you, little brother.”

“Maybe my new therapist is rubbing off on me.”

Farrow tenses.

I hold his hand and lower my voice. “Should we tell him before the wedding—about Kaden? Because if we don’t, Kaden will be flying to Capri with my mom’s therapist.”

Farrow rolls his eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

He combs his other hand through his hair. And we watch Ryke dump the alcohol. I’m conflicted, but I think Farrow is a billion times more so. He always puts me first.

“I’m wrestling with this,” he admits to me, his voice a deep whisper.

I turn into his chest, practically eye-level. “What does your gut say?”

“Wait. Don’t jump the gun out of jealousy and territorial shit.”

My mouth does this weird thing.

His eyes brush over my lips. “You’re smiling.”

“Am I?” I smile more. “It’s just…I didn’t realize you were jealous. I just thought you were being protective.”

His mouth stretches upward, his knowing smile confusing me.

“What?” I ask.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been jealous of other dipshits with you or who’ve hit on you, but it’s cute that you think it is.”