I missed a recent text from my father. “Shit.”
Med call: 9 a.m. at Birdsboro Quarry. Ryke Meadows & Sullivan Meadows are climbing.
Whenever the Meadows family rock climbs, an on-call doctor goes on-site, and ever since Sulli has moved back home, she’s been speed climbing more with her dad.
It’s pulled me away from Maximoff more than I like, but I go where I’m needed. And I love helping these families.
“What happened?” Maximoff asks, tugging his arms through a green crewneck.
“Med call for rock climbing.” I pull my black slacks to my waist and find my security radio on his dresser. If Banks can’t go on-duty for Maximoff, I might lose my shit on Akara.
Banks Moretti switches out with me every time I have a med call.
Until recently.
I fit in my earpiece and raise my mic cord to my mouth. “Farrow to Akara, I have a med call at 9, and Maximoff has to be at the Philly Aquatic Center at 9:30.”
Akara responds through comms. “Banks is on Sulli’s detail today, so I’ll send a new temp over to Maximoff.”
My jaw tenses, and I comb a hand through my hair. There might be social media upsides to Akara’s new firm, but there are downsides to this fledgling company. We can’t use any of the temp guards from Price’s firm. So we have less manpower when a 24/7 personal bodyguard needs extra security or to go off-duty.
And while Akara is busy with business shit, he’s been hogging Banks and using him for Sulli’s detail. Which leaves Maximoff leftovers in the form of green temps. Who we’re all taking turns training when we’re off-duty.
I click my mic. “The temps can barely tie their fucking shoes right now.” He’d never put one on Sulli.
“That’s the best I have, Farrow.” He sounds apologetic. “Work with me here.”
I lock eyes with Maximoff.
“It’s okay.” He tries to fix pieces of his hair. “I’ll be fine on my own for a couple hours.”
I run my tongue over my molars, pissed. I know he thinks he can protect himself, and that’s exactly what Akara believes too. But Maximoff could easily be in a situation where he needs another set of experienced hands, a trained bodyguard—and if he’s alone…
“My uncle can pick up the med call—”
“No.” Maximoff buttons his jeans. “You’re not bailing on a fucking med call. I’ll just cancel today’s swim class and go with you to the climbing site.”
I attach my radio to my waistband and give him a harder look. “We have a problem, wolf scout, because that’s not happening either.” We’re both stubborn.
Maximoff nears me, his stride unwavering and confident. “It’s two hours. I’ll be fine.” He stares deeply into me, his arm curving around my shoulders.
I hold his gaze. Do your motherfucking job, Farrow. I’m a bodyguard and a doctor. My job keeps flipping between protecting him and protecting his family, and times like this, it kills me to put Maximoff second to anyone.
I love the fuck out of him.
“Just ask Akara for that one temp with the chin dimple,” Maximoff says.
“The butt chin,” I correct.
He smiles. “Chin dimple. He wasn’t that bad last time.”
I nod a few times. Fine. I click my mic. “Maximoff is requesting Butt Chin for duty.” I grin wider as Maximoff glowers.
He blinks. “I’m sorry, man. I totally forgot you have hearing problems.”
I roll my eyes, but honestly, I stare at him with more concern. “If you need me, call me. Don’t do the selfless Wolf Scout thing and suffer alone.”
He nods strongly. “I’ll call you.”
Every fucking time a green temp is assigned to Maximoff’s detail, I feel like I’m throwing a dart in the dark and crossing my fingers it doesn’t impale my fiancé. It’s not a fun place to be, and I’d say we lucked out today since we both made it back to the Hale house for a late lunch.
But something just happened.
“Shit,” I curse, an apple in my right hand while my left steadies Maximoff. He tries to stable me with the same force, same strength, the same exact way. Except my elbow is the only one that just went through plaster and put a fucking hole in the kitchen wall.
Normally this wouldn’t faze me. I don’t give a flying shit if I crash into lamps and ding walls when I’m wrestling Maximoff.
But we’re not in our own place, and I’m not exactly thrilled that I’ve just destroyed the future in-law’s house.
“I can fix it.” Maximoff’s tough forest-green eyes are on the plaster.
My lips rise, his chlorine scent flooding my senses. “That’s cute that you’re pretending to be a repairman.”
“I’m not pretending.” He lets go of my waist. “There should be some stuff in the garage to patch this up.”
It dawns on me. “You’ve put a hole in the wall before?”
“Yeah, and I’m not proud of it.” He walks past the spread of turkey, ham, bread, and vegetables on the island counter. We were in the middle of making sandwiches before we started fucking around.
I rotate my red apple in my hand. “What’s the story there?” I skim him up and down, his muscles flexed and his jaw sharpened. I don’t love seeing him upset.
The longer we live here, the more I’ve been inadvertently digging up pieces of his childhood that haven’t surfaced yet. It’d happen to me if we were at my father’s place, but we’re stuck in his time capsule, not mine.
His Adam’s apple bobs.
I head to Maximoff. “That bad?”
His hand is glued to a doorknob that leads to the garage. “It’s the same old shit. I was fourteen, and I read something on the internet about my mom. I can’t even remember what it was. Maybe a fake rumor about how she was so horny that she cheated on my dad.”
I nod slowly, understanding. “So you were pissed and punched a wall.”
He sighs out a heavy breath. “Like you’ve never punched a fucking wall before.”
Fuck, my smile is killing my face. “He wants to be just like me.”
Maximoff releases his grip of the knob, just to give me two middle fingers, and he stands more against the door.
I’m so close that I place a hand on the wood, right above his broad shoulder. Our eyes latch strongly. More serious in the next beat. “I didn’t put my fist through plaster as a teenager,” I tell him. “I had other shit to hit, like the boxing bag in my room.”
He contemplates this. “In retrospect, I should’ve just jumped in the pool. It was the best de-stresser.”
I picture him cutting lithely through water like he was born to swim, and I smile. “That’s too bad that you want to change the past.”
“Why?”
“Because then you wouldn’t know how to patch a hole in the wall.”
He smiles like he beat me at something. “So I’m the better repairman.”
I lift my brows at him in a wave. “We’ll see.” I bite into the apple and start to reach around his waist for the knob. But his gaze drifts off and his mouth downturns. Where’d you go?