Page 68 of Tangled Like Us

“None of that is good,” Quinn says with furrowed brows.

“But it’s better than these unstable motherfuckers, little bro,” Oscar tells him. “The ad lit something in some strange bastards, and now they think they have a chance with Jane. We can rid about sixty-five percent of the could-be stalkers if we nip this early and they think Jane’s taken.”

Farrow pops a bubble in his mouth, and he wraps an arm around Maximoff’s waist, territorial and protective. “Okay, but there are still some hostile fuckers who think they have a shot with Maximoff, and he’s not just dating a bodyguard like Jane would be. He’s a fucking step further and engaged.”

“That’s why it’s not a hundred-percent, Redford. Can’t rid them all.”

“Sixty-five percent success rate,” Akara says. “It’s not bad.”

I lift a finger. “Pardon, but where did that number come from?”

Oscar answers, “Seven years of experience handling a thousand different kinds of motherfuckers.”

“Amen,” Banks nods.

It reminds me that I wasn’t always a part of these serious security meetings. Not until Maximoff and I became closer to SFO. I trust their knowledge and what they’ve been through and dealt with as bodyguards.

I can’t assume that I know best when I actually know very little about what they’ve each experienced.

But I have witnessed the consequences through Maximoff and Farrow.

I lock eyes with Thatcher, his stern expression yet to change shape. To lessen the risk of another Nate situation—I wonder how far he’d be willing to go.

I think being thrown into a media and public wildfire is too great of a sacrifice. “You can’t go through what Farrow has gone through just to protect me,” I tell him. “You’ll be doxxed, and your family in South Philly could be harassed.”

He’s one of the most private people I’ve ever met. More private than even Farrow, and by publicly dating me, he’d expose himself to so many probes from paparazzi, tabloids, and internet fiends without the ability to saynoorstop.

They will dig up his military service.

They will dig up more than he could even think of or imagine.

Akara looks to Thatcher. “The tech team can try to wipe out web searches that pop up your mom’s home address, phone number, all of that. They think it’s how Reddit users found out where Farrow’s stepsister lived.”

Maximoff slides an arm over Farrow’s shoulders.

So there’s a slight ability to circumvent some negative attention to his family. Keeping them safer if we were theoretically publicly together.

It seems like such a dreadfully high risk, but now mostly it’s just on his shoulders and Banks.

“Your life will be fodder for the public. I can’t let you do this for me,” I tell Thatcher. “If you’re considering it at all, that is.” I’m not even sure what he’s leaning towards.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe, Jane,” he says deeply and without falter.

I hear what he just told me:I feel a strong responsibility to you.

I inhale a sharper breath.

Can we do this?

Should we do this?

Am I in the strangest dream?

And do I even want to wake up?

No.

I’d rather see what happens next.Selfishly.This may be the most selfish thing I’ve ever craved.