9. Plan Z
JANUARY 2039
DURING CHAPTER 36 IN SINFUL LIKE US
We listened to "10,000" by Elliot Root while writing this scene.
Character List:
Maximoff Hale - 23
Beckett Cobalt - 21
Bodyguards:
Thatcher Moretti - 28 Omega (Current Client: Xander Hale)
Farrow Keene - 28 Omega (Current Client: Maximoff Hale)
**
FARROW KEENE
BAD SHIT IS ON the horizon, but I stay in the moment as much as I can, as often as I can. I’d rather not dwell on shit that hasn’t happened yet.
Not today, not tomorrow.
“You know what’s strange?” Maximoff whispers, his posture rigid and guarded. Like he’s that knight in armor.
Wolf scout being a “wolf scout” is still typical and cute, even on serious days. “What?” I lean against the green paisley wall, outside the tower room in Mackintosh House. More relaxed than Maximoff next to me.
“I keep thinking that the weirdest part of being stuck in Scotland isn’t being trapped. It’s how long we’ve gone without paparazzi, fans, hecklers, and headlines. It’s like a noise is missing that I’m used to.”
I’ve been getting acclimated to that “noise” as a bodyguard, then his boyfriend, and now his fiancé. And I whisper back, “You like the lack of noise?”
“Do you?”
He needs me to answer first. Okay. I smile a little bit, and I tilt my head from side-to-side. “No, not exactly. I like chaotic situations.” He knows that. And I still want to be in his messy, chaotic world.
Especially because he’s there.
Maximoff thinks hard, tough eyes planted on the door where Beckett just disappeared into with Charlie; Thatcher and Jane are already inside. “I think I miss the noise,” he tells me under his breath. “I miss Philly, and I think I prefer the kind of chaos back home. Where it’s us against the media and paparazzi. Not this doomsday.” He gestures to the door.
Where bad shit could happen. It’ll end with Maximoff, who’s sober, using cocaine. I’m not happy about it.
My jaw tics, and I pry my earpiece out of my ear. “Drugs are an asshole.”
His muscles stay flexed, but he rests his head back on the wall and watches my inked fingers move.
I smile again, and I splay the mic cord over my shoulder and reach for the radio on my waistband, increasing the volume. Just so he can hear if Thatcher radios me, to tell me that they need Maximoff to go use cocaine.
My smile fades fast.
If I were a deceptive fucker, I’d keep it in my ear and lie about what I hear, to protect him from that “doomsday”.
But that’s never been me.
I want to give Maximoff the truth, even when it hurts. We’re in this shit together.
He hones in on the mic cord over my shoulder, and then his forest-green eyes melt against mine. “Thanks, Farrow.”
“Anytime.” I comb a hand through my hair. His muscles are still strained. There’s not much we can do for Jane, and I’m guessing that’s what’s eating at him. “She’ll be okay.”
She’s not alone. She has Thatcher to lean on in that room. It makes waiting out here easier.
Maximoff checks the time on his cheap olive-green wristwatch. “Beckett won’t let her snort cocaine,” he tells me for the fourteenth time. “He’ll stop Janie and then agree to quit using.”
The first time he told me this—which is essentially “Plan Z”—he sounded firm and final. Now he definitely sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
This Hail Mary for this intervention is a bad idea. I’ve already told him that. I can’t see Beckett giving in that easily. Like I said, drugs are an asshole, and the asshole move is to let his family do shit they would never do.
But fuck…I hope he surprises me.
“She’ll be okay,” I repeat, seeing my breath in the frigid air. We’re on the highest, coldest level of the house, heaters broken.
I cup my hands and blow on my palms. As I bring them to my side, Maximoff grabs my right hand and encases it in both of his hands.
He rubs, warming my skin with friction.
My lips rise. I love this, but I’m about to love it that much more. “So this is how you earned your Fire Making merit badge.”
He groans against a growing smile, then feigns confusion. “Because you were with me in Wolf Scouts and I was rubbing your hand—wait, yeah, I totally remember that now. You were shorter than me, not as smart as me, and when we ran laps, you were two behind me.”
Shit, I’m grinning. “Your teenage fantasies are conceited as fuck.”
He tries not to smile. “Did I say it was a fantasy? I don’t think I did.”
“Okay.” I smile more.
He stops rubbing my palm, and before he lets go, I clasp his hand and thread our fingers. Our arms are touching as we stand side-by-side. My eyes stroke his eyes.
And his gaze just drowns into me, and we’re both more serious in each passing second.
“She’s okay,” I whisper.
Maximoff blinks, his chest taut. He’s used to being a pillar, and I’m the only person he’ll rest against. I want to ease him. To hold him.
Carefully, I slide down the wall, and with my hand in his hand, Maximoff matches my action, sliding down with me. Until we’re both sitting on the floorboards. So close that I rest my forearm across his bent knee.
He unlaces our hands, slowly, and I watch him trace the inked sparrow near my thumb. I focus on the only ring he wears. A black wedding band that one day he’ll slip on my finger.
I’m wearing the one that I’ll slip on his.
It wells up in me. My unwavering, constant love for Maximoff.
He eases more against the wall, and as our eyes meet, he whispers, “You have this weird effect on me.”
“Relaxed?” I smile.
He laces our fingers again. “This is a doomsday scenario; I shouldn’t be sitting on the damn ground.”
I raise my brows. “But you like it here.”
“No. Sort of… maybe.” His eyes scream, love me.
I hold his hand tighter. “Maybe,” I repeat like he’s full of shit.
He shakes out my hand, just so he can slide his strong arm over my shoulders. I keep my forearm on his knee. We’re quiet for half a second, and right when I’m about to speak, voices pitch high from the tower room.
Our heads turn forward.
I strain my ears.
“If you want her to stop, just fucking tell her!” Thatcher yells.
Shit.
Maximoff stiffens, on edge.
I stand off the ground, and he’s quick to follow suit. I wrap an arm around his muscular waist, my pulse trying to ratchet up.
“You tell her!” Beckett shouts.
“I can’t!” Thatcher yells, but whatever he says after that is harder to hear.
A long pause strangles the air.
I barely catch Beckett’s next words. “I’m getting Moffy.” Footsteps squeak along floorboards, nearing the door.
My eyes burn.
Now this shit is digging into me. It’s about to gut me. And I can’t take his spot. I can’t join him in using drugs. He’d want me to be sober and in control so I can take care of him when he feels out of control, and I will be.
But I’m concerned about this entire shit plan. Addiction runs in his family, and he’s going to be paranoid if he crosses that line.
And I can’t see the future.
I don’t know if he’ll crave a second hit of coke after the first, but the fact is that cocaine is extremely fucking addictive after just one use. People constantly chase after that high, and I’m not banking on Beckett stopping Maximoff if he’s not even willing to stop his sister.
Instinct tugs at me to keep him safe.
Keep him safe.
Maximoff blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What’s it like?”
I frown. “I don’t follow.”
“Cocaine. What does it feel like?” He’s packing his survival kit. He wants me to prepare him for this shit.
My esophagus sears like I’m swallowing pain, but we’ve drawn closer. I cup the back of his head, my fingers threading his thick hair. I give him what he needs. “You’ll most likely feel physically numb at first.”
His brows furrow. “Is it like weed?” He accidentally ate a pot cookie during the FanCon tour, so he understands that edible high.
“No.”
His cheekbones sharpen, eyes reddening. “Great, so it’s way better then. Tons of fun, like a goddamn party in my head.”
“Sure.” I sweep him.
He’s scared. And he glances around, like he’s also afraid someone else will see.
I bring him to my chest at the same time that he pulls me into his. Our bodies meld together, his pulse pounding against me.
“I’m not going anywhere, Maximoff.”
His arms strengthen around my shoulders, his palm warming the back of my neck.
I draw back, just enough to clasp his jaw.
We kiss, tender and light.
I can feel his pulse slowing.
He knows it’s not too late to back out, and I know he’ll want to try to help Beckett no matter what.
He’s risking his body for his cousin.
“You still think this is a bad idea?” Maximoff asks seriously.
My brows shoot up. “Yeah. It’s not like it worked the first time.”
Past history: his uncle did the same thing for his dad. Only Loren Hale didn’t stop Ryke Meadows from drinking alcohol.
He let him destroy his sobriety.
Maximoff stares into me. “Can you tell me more? Like how long do you think the high will last?”
The more that he admits to me that he doesn’t know shit about cocaine, the more my ribcage constricts and my heart crushes. “It’ll be?—”
“Banks to Farrow,” Thatcher says over comms, pretending to be his brother on the radio. “Barricade the door. Don’t let Beckett out.”
He’s not calling Maximoff inside, and we’re already standing right outside of the door.
I take a hand off my fiancé to click my mic. “Done.”
We go quiet and listen, not separating. Our arms still around each other. It feels like a few minutes pass, but I’m not looking at the time. We only let out audible breath when Beckett yells, “Stop! Wait, just stop!”
Maximoff shuts his eyes in a long blink. “Jesus.” That wasn’t easy, just standing here listening.
I relax more.
He tries to match me and roll out his shoulders. “Told you he’d stop her.” The air lightens.
I roll my eyes into a short laugh. “Man, take this win. I’m happy to be wrong.”
“Me too.”