16. Hay Fever From the Attic
DECEMBER 2040
DURING CHAPTER 20 IN NOBODY LIKE US
We listened to "Weight in Gold" by Gallantwhile writing this scene.
Character List:
Maximoff Hale - 25
Bodyguards:
Farrow Hale - 30 Omega (Current Client: Maximoff Hale)
**
MAXIMOFF HALE
DEAR WORLD, don’t let dust mites take me out. Sincerely, a humbled human.
Shirtless, everyone has vacated the attic like my husband yelled “fire” in a crowded room. All he really did was say everyone out. And maybe it’s the intensity in his brown eyes or the way he’s wiping down my arms with a wet wipe that cleared this disaster zone.
“I’m okay. I’m fine,” I tell Farrow for literally the hundredth time. Okay, not literally. But in the sixty seconds he’s been up here, it’s felt like a hundred times.
By the way, he’s looking at me like I’m anything but fine.
I cough into my fist, an itch in my throat.
His eyes narrow.
I rasp out, “I’m fi?—”
“I heard you,” he says, sweeping me head to toe again. “You need a shower and Benadryl.”
I force myself not to scratch my arms. “I need to tell you something first. What happened, what this was about.” I gesture to the attic.
“Okay, but not here.” He’s pushing me around to face the attic stairs. “I’ll even let you lead the way.”
He’ll let me. His firm hands on my biceps are sending signals straight to my cock. “First you want my shirt off, now you want to stare at my ass,” I say while clearing my throat. “It’s almost like you like me.”
“I’d like you more if you weren’t inhaling this shit.”
I’m trying not to think about what the dust is actually doing to my body. Another tickle irritates my windpipe, and my eyes feel like dry cotton balls.
I’m quick about descending the creaky attic ladder. When Farrow drops down, I face him in the hall. “Where are our kids?”
Back when Charlie texted to meet in the attic, I’d left both Cassidy and Ripley with Farrow. So if he’s here, then who has them?
“Downstairs,” Farrow says vaguely.
“Wow, those are some very specific coordinates.”
He’s not amused because I’m also hacking up a lung into my elbow. “They’re with Thatcher. He can take care of them for five minutes. You’re sniffling?—”
“Barely.”
“Okay, smartass. You know the coordinates to the bathroom? Or do I need to carry you there?”
I flip him off with two hands.
His smile appears, and it untenses my muscles.
“I’ll lead the way,” I rasp out, but Farrow walks beside me, just to piss me off, maybe. I don’t know right now, considering he’s in doctor-mode and just trying to help me. And my throat is on fire. “Whatever hay fever is, it’s not that bad.”
That’s what he called my affliction upstairs in the attic. I don’t have Web MD popped up on my phone, so I have no clue how serious it is, but if it’s solved by a shower, then I’m not losing sleep over it.
“It’s bad enough,” Farrow says casually like protecting my health is easily his number one priority.
“I could probably finish unloading the cases of water,” I tell him. “And watch our kids. And?—”
“Whatever other detours you’re thinking about, wolf scout, you can shelve them.”
“You would’ve liked the one that involved your cock.”
He laughs once, his eyes flitting to me. “That’s cute you think you could take me without choking right now.”
I grind my teeth to force down a smile. “Who said I would’ve put you in my mouth?”
Farrow shakes his head, his lips stretching into a wider smile. “You’re something else.”
“Immortal, I know.” I stop mid-hallway to cough into my bicep. “Fuck.”
Farrow drops his trauma bag and digs out a Benadryl. “Here.” He hands me a couple pills and a water bottle.
I wash them down with a large gulp. Our eyes stay latched for a long beat. He’s studying me in a way that makes me feel okay to be vulnerable. Reminding me that it’s easiest with him.
It always has been.
How he stands like he’s a pillar at my side, a person I can lean on, it draws me in for a second. He’s sort of hot. Barely hot. I’m doing my best not to look that attracted to my husband. Mostly because it’s still taking my mind off the itch crawling along my back.
“I will carry you,” Farrow warns.
“Or I could carry you,” I fling back.
“Stop flirting with me and move.”
I grimace. “I wasn’t flirting.”
He laughs into the biggest, most aggravating smile alive.
“I wasn’t,” I profess, walking away from him. “I’d rather die from hay fever than flirt with you right now.” His know-it-all grin sees new horizons, expanding farther and farther.
I groan all the way to our bedroom. Fuck, my eyes. They’re burning. I rub at them. “It’s going to be the quickest shower in the world,” I tell him. “Time me if you need to.”
His brows slowly rise, his smile vanishing while inspecting me. “Do not need to do that.”
“Awesome,” I cough out, then push open the bedroom door and immediately step on a toy truck on the floor. My ankle almost twists, and I let out a long curse before kicking the truck out of the way.
“Shit,” Farrow mutters, his concern doubling, no, tripling on me.
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth. Foot throbs. Eyes puffy. Throat on fire. Am I dying?
“You can barely open your eyes,” Farrow refutes. He’s already passing the bassinet, and I jog into the small en-suite bathroom. Beating him there, mostly so I can wash my eyes out in the sink. Less out of pride.
Foam letters are stuck to the bathtub’s tiled walls, and rubber duckies are on the ledge. Farrow flings open the curtain and starts the shower.
After scooping handfuls of water at my eyes, I stare at myself in the mirror. Shiiit. My eyes are as swollen as they feel.
“Get in the shower,” Farrow urges. “I’ll get you some eyedrops.”
I’m not arguing with him this time, and I quickly shed my pants and boxer-briefs before climbing into the steaming shower. It’ll help more than the wet wipes. Quickly, I lather a washcloth with soap and shower off whatever invisible dust has latched itself to me.
Mostly, I stand underneath the water with my eyes open, trying to flush out the allergens.
With the curtain half-open, I see Farrow move, and I’m worried he’s about to leave.
“Don’t go,” I call out, wiping water out of my face. “Please.”
He leans against the sink. “You said it was about Fizzle.”
Up in the attic, the meeting—I’d been texting Farrow about it. So while I’m in the shower, I take a few minutes to explain the situation. My grandfather’s will. The need for a successor. I glance back at Farrow with burning eyes. “I could take it. I’m the most qualified. I have the most corporate experience.”
He combs a hand through his ash-brown hair and studies my expression. “You didn’t take it?”
“I didn’t,” I confirm. “I don’t want to be CEO of Fizzle. I think about a lot?—”
“We know.” His softer smile makes mine come out.
“Yeah, well, I never thought about that. Fizzle. Me at the helm. It’s not what I’ve ever wanted, Farrow.” But I have thought about being a CEO of more than the philanthropy I created. “Hale Co. is supposed to be my legacy.”
I’ve wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps—despite him wanting me to reroute. At some point, he could still pass it down. But that’s not an option if I choose Fizzle.
Farrow looks me over like he’s proud of me. He even says it, “I’m proud of you, wolf scout.”
Like I did the right thing.
It barrels into me and sears my eyes. I douse them back in the stream of water. “I just hope Charlie will look out for them.”
“For who?”
I explain who’s in contention for the CEO position: Charlie, Eliot, Luna, Xander, and likely Ben, too.
“Damn.”
“Luna might do better than she thinks.”
He agrees, and I shut off the water, then hop out of the shower. He hands me a towel, and I wait for him to check me out—but he’s keeping his eyes level with mine. I have no idea why that’s turning me on more.
Farrow lifts his brows. “Your kiss me, fuck me eyes are cute, but they’re also bloodshot as hell.” He’s still in doctor-mode. He reaches for the eye drops on the counter.
“They’re actually saying fuck you.”
“Sure.”
I bite my bottom lip in thought and stare at his lips. Alright, I am thinking about sex, but with a newborn and an almost-two-year-old now, we usually don’t waste opportunities when we’re alone, even if it’s a quickie.
I towel off my wet hair.
“Feeling better?” he asks, his gaze roaming me like he’s collecting information to put in my medical file.
“Yeah,” I say honestly, tying the towel around my waist, and I think about holding out my hand for the eyedrops. Instead, I let out a deep sigh and say, “Can you just do it?”
His smile is so damn aggravating that I almost walk away.
Almost—because my resolve decays as soon as his hand splays across my jaw and he tilts my head back. My heart hammers hard in my chest.
He’s my husband.
This shouldn’t be such a turn-on.
“Breathe, wolf scout.”
“I’m breathing, thanks for the unnecessary instruction.”
His smile grows obnoxiously wide now. “Okay.”
Okay.
Okay. God, why am I repeating the way he says it in my head? I like the sound of his voice. My thoughts are hostile right now. I groan out, but he’s focused in on holding the eye drops above my face.
One. Two. In each eye. I blink rapidly as the liquid hits my eyeball.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe, and our eyes latch again. His hand slides against my jaw, until he’s cupping the back of my skull. I already grip his neck before we’re colliding into a slow-burning kiss.