Main Bonus #89: Maximoff and Farrow's New Home (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

SONG: We listened to "Hold My Hand" by Sam Burchfield while writing this bonus.

I’VE ALWAYS LOVED CHANGE. I didn’t hate when our penthouse flooded back at the tail-end of March. I didn’t mind packing up our baby and toddler and hundred-and-thirty-pound dog, knowing we were going to need to find permanent residence somewhere.  

Somewhere could be anywhere. I’m sure Maximoff has had some philosophical thought about my lack of commitment to a place and my full commitment to a person.  

That person being him. 

My husband. 

We found a “somewhere” in May. We moved in and already spent the summer in this historic, fully restored townhouse in the Rittenhouse Square area of Philly. It’s near where I first started dating Maximoff, but this is a definite upgrade from the cramped, nine-hundred square foot townhouse that burned down years ago.  

Our home is five-thousand square feet with five floors and a multi-million-dollar price tag.  

It’s not why it’s quickly become my favorite place I’ve ever lived.  

Still, I won’t care if we have to move a year or less down the line for whatever reason. Shit happens. I’m fairly certain if he wanted to live on another continent I’d say yes. Hell, I wouldn’t even ask when. I am so fucking in love with him every night we go to bed and every morning we wake together.  

Like this morning.  

While our kids are still asleep, we manage to hit the gym in our basement next to the garage, do a little more than workout, take a shower together, and try to get shit done before Ripley and Cassidy wake.  

I smile over at him. We’re both standing shirtless at the edge of the bed with damp hair, sorting through a mountain of clean laundry. Maximoff doesn’t notice my lips stretching wider and wider. Because he’s staring off into space.  

I’ve also begun to love when certain things stay exactly the same.  

I fling a pair of boxer-briefs at him.  

He’s pelted in the face and wakes out of his thoughts with a glare.  

I laugh. Irritating the fuck out of him is still a favorite pastime. 

Maximoff throws the clean boxer-briefs on his pile. “Thank you for that, man. The world is also laughing at your bad aim.”  

“My bad aim,” I repeat with another laugh. “Okay, smartass. The world doesn’t care that you have slow reflexes.” 

He struggles to contain a smile. “Still faster than yours.”  

I chuck a pair of socks at him.  

He catches them this time. “Two for two.” 

“One for two, Harvard Dropout.” 

He growls in aggravation, then flips me off. He checks around the bed for Ripley. Remembering our son is still asleep in his bedroom, he gives me a more confident middle finger.  

“Cute,” I say, stacking burp cloths together. “Almost as cute as you dreaming of my cock at seven a.m.”  

“What I wasn’t doing,” he says firmly, but he licks his lips, trying to hide another smile. I watch his tough forest-green eyes linger on my mouth, then drag down my tattooed chest and the drawstring pants hanging low on my waist.  

I rake a hand through my wet hair, the strands my natural ash-brown color, and I run my tongue over the corner of my lip, feeling the cold metal hoop piercing and my smile. I want inside his head. To hear his thoughts. See where they’re traveling. He might be able to tell I’m about to ask.  

Because he says, “I do think about more than just how I’m the greatest lay of your life, Farrow.” 

I nod a few times. “You think about how I’m the greatest lay of yours,” I tease. 

“No.” Maximoff flings the boxer-briefs back at me. I grab it midair, and instead of being pissed off that I beat him at an elementary task, he descends into his brain again.  

Where are you going, wolf scout?  

I frown, then let out a low whistle. “Plato is messing with you before breakfast?”  

He blinks. “So you’re admitting you’re finally jealous?” 

“Of dead philosophers in your head? No.” I skim his rigid build. “Concerned? Maybe a little bit.”  

“Don’t be.” It’s a firm, assured response. One that almost pushes me to drop it. He fixates on my fingers as I fold Cassidy’s wolf scout in training onesie. His lips tic up, and we share a momentary smile. Too momentary. 

I see his eyes glaze. 

Being honest here, I can’t tell if he’s lost in his thoughts again. His obsession with my hands still exists, but I’m a little fucking concerned he’s dwelling on bad shit. 

Nothing about today has felt out of the ordinary yet. I cycle backward to way earlier this morning. When we woke up and worked out on the weight bench together. We had sex, and there are times where he needs to have deeper conversations afterward.  

Just in case this is one of those, I ask, “Are you obsessing over how I took you in the gym?” It’s not every day I fuck him in front of floor-length mirrors. It’s also one of those days where he didn’t wrestle too hard against me for the lead.  

His breath hitches. “Obsess? Me over you?” He makes a face. “That never happens.” 

“Right.” I raise and lower my brows. “Like you haven’t obsessed over me since you were sixteen.” 

“Christ.” He groans. “Every damn chance you get, you bring up that delusion.” 

I let out a laugh. “You mean our reality.” 

He’s smiling. “You wish—” 

“You wish I would forget—” 

“I wish for you,” he suddenly says, and the abrupt honesty takes me aback. If that was his goal, he definitely succeeded. He even doubles-down. “I’ve always wished for you, Farrow.”  

Damn. My chest rises in a deeper breath.  

His eyes travel around my features on a slower, more intimate voyage. Like he’s caressing me instead of pushing. “I don’t want to do any hard days without you.”  

“You don’t have to,” I assure him. 

His tunneling gaze is screaming kiss me, man. Quickly, I ditch Cassidy’s clothes in my clutch. I bridge the distance and slide my hand against the sharpness of his jaw.  

His muscles are flexed, rigid bands, and he’s not loosening. Not even as he grips the back of my skull. “Farrow.” He’s demanding I kiss him.  

I don’t give him what he wants right away. “Is this a hard day?” 

He’s staring at my lips. “Maybe. I don’t know. Tomorrow. It might be.” His shoulders are strict like he’s five seconds from packing a survival kit, raft, and paddles. I assume something changed from our shower until now. Likely a text or email.  

“Breathe,” I insist. 

“Great medical advice. Seeing as how I'd already be dead if I wasn’t breathing.” 

I tip my head at him with a look like he’s a precious smartass. It causes him to grimace into a smile. My thumb strokes his jaw. “Technically, I just said to breathe, not that you weren’t breathing,” I remind him.  

He inhales and exhales through his nose. His fingers clench my hair, and he whispers, “I really love you, Farrow. So goddamn much.”  

This rare, bold vulnerability winds around my ribs and makes it harder for me to breathe. “Maximoff—” 

He kisses me. A forceful, aggressive, passionate kiss that tries to buckle my legs. Fucking hell. I nip his lip while I pull him closer against my chest, blood pumping. “Fuck, Maximoff.” He doesn’t let me up for air. Our tongues wrestle, and I kiss him into the bed. He falls back into the mountain of clothes and brings me down on top of him.  

His skin is warm against my skin, and I feel the way he’s holding on to me. No effort to push me off or pull me under him and take complete charge. He’s clinging. Like he wants my weight on him in a deep hug. My knee digs into the mattress beside his leg, and I prop myself up for a split-second. 

I sweep him. His flexed abs, his eyes screaming, just love me. I feel the way his hand tightens against my neck. He’s trying to drag me back down on top of him, but I resist. My pulse tries to strangely race. I’m processing why he wants this type of affection. “Are you scared?” I ask seriously.  

He shakes his head slowly against a stack of my shirts. “Apprehensive, I think.” He motions to his temple. “I think I’m making it harder by thinking about it.”  

What the fuck is it? I narrow my eyes. “Our kids—” 

“It’s not about them. Or…I’m not going to make it about them. I can’t, Farrow. It’s—” The sound of a baby crying suddenly echoes from the monitor on our dresser.  

Shit. 

Cassidy is awake.  

Maximoff is pushing me off him before I can even move back an inch. Always the force of nature. My lungs burn, and I skate a hand across my mouth, watching as he strides over to the baby monitor like the nursery is on fire and he’s the only one with water.  

“Rip is up too,” he tells me.  

I slide to the edge of the bed. “Wait, wolf scout.” 

“We can talk later. It’s not that important.” He meets my harsh glare and rephrases. “It’s not more important than our children.” 

“Okay, but I know you. You wouldn’t be like this if you weren’t faced with something serious that you want to face with me.” I frown. “But this also feels different.” 

His eyes redden. The love in his gaze shouldn’t hurt.  

I shake my head slowly. “If you tell me you love me one more time, we’re going to be in a fight.” And we don’t get in many of those. 

Maximoff laughs into a loving smile. “I would win that fight, asshole.” The endnote of him loving me is there. It’s all over his face. He adds fast, “I’m not trying to scare you. It’s just a bigger conversation than we have time for right now, and I’m still making sense of it.” 

“Just name it.” I stand off the bed.  

“It’s about Hale Co.”  

That tracks. Last I heard, there was no issues, no speed bumps, but his dad’s company has been at the forefront of our lives this summer. A board member recently stepped down due to health issues, and Loren Hale surprisingly went to Maximoff and said, “If you still want to be a part of Hale Co., the time is now.” 

Maximoff is in charge of the philanthropy arm of the company. He’s wanted to take over Hale Co. for as long as we’ve been together. But Lo has always said no and not yet, citing his son’s age. For Maximoff to be on the board at twenty-six is a big deal, and I assume there must be problems.  

To be honest, this is not the answer I wanted to hear.  

It’d be easier if something were going on with his siblings or cousins that I could help him with.  

Because I can’t really be a part of Hale Co. Not even as a bodyguard. The offices are secure. Once Maximoff is through those doors, I’m just his husband. All I can offer is love and support from afar, and I’m more used to being right next to him. 

“You want Cass or Rip?” he asks me, as if he’s no longer feeling pressure from somewhere else.  

“You pick.” I pull a V-neck black shirt over my head, and before he turns toward the door, I seize his wrist.  

“I’m alright—” 

“One second.” I wrap my arms around him, pulling him against my chest so tightly. His muscles against my muscles, his heart pounding hard against my heart, and he tries to relax. I whisper against his ear, “You aren’t alone, wolf scout. I’ll always be here.” 

I feel his fingers grip my hair for a beat, then he lets go. I kiss his cheek before we separate. His soft smile on me eases some of my own apprehension. I’d normally be hooked on how his eyes are melting in affection against mine, but I have this unsettled feeling that he’s going to be dealing with shit I’m not going to like.  

Maximoff being alone in anything is my least favorite thing.  

I will find a way to be there for him. Even if I can’t be at Hale Co. and involved in corporate bullshit. 

He opens the door, and I pass him in the hall.   

I walk backward to tease, “You going to tell Ripley how much you love me?” 

 “Cassidy,” he says seriously. “You take Rip.” He steals a kiss as he passes me, and I crave to be with him for longer. We raincheck it.   

My lips still sting by the time I reach our son’s bedroom. All yellows and sky blues. The colors of his favorite stuffed animal. A pirate parrot. Pirate ships and treasures of gold are painted on the walls, and his Wolverine comforter is rumpled on his toddler bed.   

With a mop of chestnut-brown hair, Ripley is on the race-track-woven rug and playing with toy cars. Arkham lazily watches from a humongous dog bed.  

“Papa!” He bounces to his feet. “We play cars.” He takes my hand, leading me to his rug.  

“Not yet, little man. We need to brush our teeth, get dressed, and eat breakfast.” 

He crinkles his nose. “Nooooo. We play.” He pouts and crosses his arms very sternly. Where the fuck have I seen that before?  

I smile at our son. If I were a more sentimental fucker, this morning might torpedo me. I’m not fixating on what Maximoff said either and acting like he’s about to face literal hell on earth. He hasn’t given me enough information yet. 

Jumping to conclusions is not my thing.      

“Later, Ripley,” I tell him. “We’re going to wait together, okay?” 

“Okay.” He says with another sad little pout. That pout has worked on me before—Maximoff is indestructible against these—but I manage not to crumble this morning. 

“You want to check on your sister?” I ask him after he’s brushed his teeth and slipped on a Camp Calloway toddler tee with black shorts and a black backwards baseball cap. He’s been adamant about putting on his own pull-ups and shorts and shirt himself all week. 

“Uh-huh.” He jumps off the stool in the bathroom. “Cassie!” he shouts, racing ahead of me to her bedroom. She’s on the second floor with us, and Ripley is on the third.  

“Hold the railing, little man,” I instruct as he bounds for the stairs. The giant furball trots behind me, panting really fucking hard. 

Ripley slows down and grips the railing while he descends. I stay close to him. Once we’re inside Cassidy’s bedroom, Ripley rushes to Maximoff who’s busy changing her diaper. “Hi, Daddy!” He hugs his leg.  

“Hey, Rip. Cool hat.”  

Little tufts of his hair stick out at his forehead. “Thank ew. I help.” He reaches upward, but Maximoff has his hands full.  

I chew a piece of gum. “You want to pick out her outfit?” I ask him. 

Ripley responds with a vigorous nod, then he bounds for her closet. “This!” He holds out a lavender romper with an embroidered lightning bolt.  

“Good choice,” Maximoff says, and we share a smile in love and pride of our son who’s growing up every day. 

I check the weather. It looks like rain soon. “I’ll walk Arkham before it storms.” 

“Me too!” Ripley jumps toward me. “We walk doggy.”  

Maximoff frowns. “You don’t want to eat, Rip?” 

I tell our son, “Daddy can make you applesauce with cinnamon.” 

“Later, Papa,” Ripley says very seriously.  

I shake my head into a smile, chewing my gum slowly and trying not to roll my eyes.  

“What?” Maximoff gives me a confused look.  

I whisper, “I just told him later.” 

He laughs hard at me.  

I pop a bubble in my mouth. “You should see him mimicking your pout.” 

His laugh wheezes out. “I’ve never pouted in my life.” 

“Your mom has said otherwise.” 

“Who?” He has immediate regrets. “Just kidding.” So pure. He lifts Cassidy against his chest. She tucks her cheek to his scarred collarbone.  

“See you in a little bit.” I kiss him goodbye, but if he were telling anyone, I’m positive he’d say that he kissed me first.  

I remind Ripley to not race ahead of me when we walk Arkham. He puts on his own socks, and I help him with his shoes in the foyer.  

Then we’re outside on the stoop. I hold the Newfie’s leash and kick the black door shut, then type in the code to lock it. Ripley squints up at the cloudy sky. “Rain, rain go away,” he sings. “Come again another day.” 

I smile down at him, my heart warming.   

The row of brick townhouses is idyllic. Green leaves blow in the breeze, and the sidewalks are laid with red brick in a chevron-like pattern. Only cars with residential permits are even allowed to park on this street, and you have to be rich as fuck to afford one of these townhouses.  

Ripley waves at the blue door across the street. “Hi, Auntie Janie! Hi, Maevie!”  

Of course we live close to Jane and Thatcher and their daughter, who’s only a month older than Cassidy. I never thought I’d love being this close to the Hall Monitor, but if I ever need extra security in a snap, he’s there for me and I’m there for him.  

But I’m not going to disturb Thatcher for a fifteen-minute dog walk. Just like I wouldn’t call Ripley’s bodyguard for a short outing either.  

It’s unnecessary.  

Especially when I don’t see any paparazzi. Most attention has been on Sullivan Meadows since her baby is only four-months-old and still newsworthy.  

“Good boy,” Ripley tells Arkham when he pauses to sniff a tree trunk. We’re headed toward the park, and Ripley pats Arkham’s brown fur. “Go potty.” 

Arkham is very uninterested.

“That’s not the spot.” I pop my gum. “Let’s keep moving.” 

“We go, doggy,” Ripley says, then hums to himself while we trek forward.   

The sky is darkening, but I stay at Ripley’s pace. When we reach the tree-canopied park, Arkham woofs at a pigeon and scuttles closer to Ripley.  

“It’s okay, doggy. I here.” Ripley pats his side.  

My chest tightens. I see more and more of Maximoff in the child we’re raising. Looks like I might be a sentimental fuck today after all.  

I touch the top of his head, and he beams up at me. “He good doggy.” 

“You’re a good boy too.”  

“You too, Papa.”  

I’m about to respond, but my phone buzzes in my ass pocket. I dig it out and see Oscar calling me. “Oliveira,” I answer while we walk Arkham over to a patch of green grass.  

“Redford,” he greets with a long, deep, graveled yawn.  

I roll my eyes and pull the phone away from my eardrum. “How about you call me after you’ve yawned like a fucking train in a five-mile tunnel?” 

He laughs. “You’re going to thank me later, bro.” 

“Doubtful.” I prop my phone with my shoulder and crouch down to Ripley’s height as he shows me a dandelion he just plucked.  

“This is more of a courtesy call than a catch-up," he says.

I mime blowing at the weed to Ripley, then ask Oscar, “What’s going on?” 

Ripley puckers his lips and blows. The puffy white seeds of the dandelion fly away, and Ripley gasps in awe, like he hasn’t done this five times before with Maximoff.  

I love having kids for these small moments. They’re better when Maximoff is here, but it’s easier to split apart at times when we’re raising an eight-month-old too.  

“I think the Cobalts are planning something tonight, and you might be called in," Oscar tells me.  

I stand up. “They all have bodyguards that aren’t me.” And they’re Epsilon. Even if someone on SFE was sick, I doubt Price would shift me over there before a temp guard. It would be under a rare circumstance and a situation where they’d need more experienced security.  

“I don’t mean as security,” Oscar clarifies. “I just have a funny feeling, Redford.” 

Great. “Does your funny feeling include what shit they might be getting into?” 

“No.” 

I scrape a hand through my hair and readjust my grip on the leash. “I’ll recheck my EMS kit and make sure it’s fully packed." 

“He poop!” Ripley suddenly announces the furball’s business. 

Before Oscar can insert a wise-crack, I tell him goodbye. I use a doggy bag to dispose Arkham’s shit into the trashcan.  

He’s sniffing for another place to piss near the fountain when Ripley tucks close to my leg. He squeezes my pantleg.  

See, I’ve already spotted a cameraman several feet away. He’s short, stocky, and walks briskly toward us. 

“You want me to hold you?” I ask Ripley.  

He shakes his head first, then nods rapidly and raises his arms. I scoop him up with one arm and adjust him up against my side.  

He turns his head away from the camera lens. “I brave,” he says. “I not scared.”  

Something about that hurts. Because he’s not even three yet, and he doesn’t have to be brave all the time. I tell him that on our walk back to the townhouse.  

A rain drop pelts my cheek.  

Ripley giggles when one plops on his nose, and I laugh with him into the townhouse. It dawns on me that the days where smelling rain on asphalt threw me so far back to the car crash and almost losing Maximoff...those days are gone. I can laugh with my son in the rain. It gets to me a little bit.

Inside, Maximoff is on the living room floor where Cassidy in her lightning bolt romper crawls toward colorful wooden building blocks. He’s on the phone, but he has a look like, Everything go okay?  

I nod to him.  

He nods back and continues talking.  

After I make Ripley a bowl of cinnamon applesauce and heat up scrambled eggs and bacon that Maximoff left me, we join them on the floor in the cozy living room. Toys spread out over cushioned interlocking flooring we put down for our kids to play. Comic books and philosophy texts fill the white built-ins over a brick fireplace. Rain patters against the windowpanes, and Ripley tries to feed Cassidy. She’s more interested in my foot, squeezing my big toe.  

Maximoff puts his call on speaker and lets his brother know I can hear.  

“How’s college?” I ask Xander, stabbing some egg.  

“Pretty cool. I mean…it’d be better if I wasn’t taking Greek Mythology.”  

Xander likes history, so this isn’t making sense to me. “I don’t follow.” 

Maximoff winces. “Ben is in that class.” 

Ben, as in Ben Cobalt. “Cold War is persisting?” I ask.  

“I guess,” Xander sighs out. “He just had to sit beside her, and she was sitting beside me. Not that I care.” 

I raise my brows at Maximoff. “Her?” I ask.  

“Harriet Fisher,” Maximoff explains. “They’re all in the same class.” 

That name is very familiar, but I’ve heard it in association to Luna. Before I ask anything, Xander says, “It just feels like Ben is constantly trying to one-up me.” 

“That doesn’t sound like Ben,” Maximoff says.  

“Does anyone know him though, Moffy? He’s been distant. He doesn’t even talk to Winona anymore.” 

Maximoff cracks a couple knuckles, his phone balancing on his thigh. It wasn’t that long ago that Ben moved into the Hell’s Kitchen apartment with his brothers. Charlie told Maximoff and Jane that Ben only brought a duffel bag. Like he did not plan to stay long.  

It’s been concerning for Maximoff, who deeply loves Ben, but he’s trying to let Ben’s brothers handle this since he’s in Philly and they’re the ones in New York.  

“He hasn’t changed that much, Summers,” Maximoff assures his eighteen-year-old brother. “I can’t see any universe where Ben would try to compete with you for a girl.” 

“I don’t even…” Xander groans, and I imagine he’s rubbing his face. “I don’t want to be in a competition with him for anything, man. Being in that class just makes me miss Spence.” He names the girl he lost his virginity to. Xander told me after he told his brother.   

Maximoff and I share a smile.  

I tell him, “You could always transfer to Yale—” 

“And stalk her? Great idea. Do unto her what I don’t want done to myself.” Xander exhales a big breath. “She’s just a friend anyway.” 

“You going out with the Cobalts tonight?” I ask him after a bite of egg.  

“I didn’t even know they were going out.” 

Good. “That’s a no.”  

Maximoff frowns at me, and I mouth, later.  

He nods.  

“Gotta go,” Xander says. “I’m meeting Easton at the dining hall—oh wait, I meant to ask, is it true? Luna said you’re all bailing from the docuseries indefinitely?” 

“Not bailing. More like, a hiatus,” Maximoff says because he’s hated letting down Jack and the rest of production who’ve counted on the docuseries as a consistent job. This wasn’t a quick decision.  

But the docuseries hasn’t come to an end. It still exists with his parents, aunts, and uncles, but Maximoff, Jane, and Sullivan have essentially pulled out and decided to stop being filmed.  

We had a situation this summer, and Thatcher and I pushed our spouses for more privacy to protect the little kids, something that Jane and Maximoff don’t understand because they’ve never had it. But they all finally agreed to see what it’d be like if we all stopped filming, and Sulli is such a team player that she decided if her older cousins were opting out, she would too.  

Luna had already been taking a year off after the assault, and I’m sure that’ll be extended to match Maximoff and Jane. Not to mention, no Cobalt in New York is being filmed this year either because Beckett doesn’t want cameras around Ben.  

“An indefinite hiatus though?” Xander asks.  

“Yeah, indefinite,” Maximoff says, and silence tenses over the phone call.  

Until Xander replies, “Feels like the end of an era.” 

“Or the start of something better, Summers,” Maximoff says, always the glass half-full for his brother. “The docuseries was always Mom and Dad’s thing anyway. We’re building something for ourselves. It doesn’t have to be exactly what they did.”  

It’s what I told him weeks ago. I smile over at him.  

When they say their goodbyes, Maximoff and I watch Cassidy, her hair in little pigtails, begin to crawl toward her blocks, but she glances backward at me. As if she’s not ready to go play alone. Then she crawls up on my lap and whines to be held.  

Setting aside my bowl, I cuddle her against my chest and rub her back. She looks content, happy, and I glance over at Maximoff. If I didn’t believe he was in love with me, then I would be an idiot not to know now. He looks like he could marry me all over again.  

I bet he’s thinking about it.  

Maximoff smiles. “And you didn’t think you’d do well with girls."

I smile back. “I definitely didn’t think she’d be this attached to me. I don’t hate it.” She can take as long as she wants to explore on her own. If she needs to come back to a safe place, I’ll always be here for her. So will Maximoff.  

I never want our kids to feel like I’m only here to talk about work and school and their achievements. I want them to feel like they can sob and cry and express frustrations. They can share their bad days as much as their good ones.  

I didn’t really have that unless it pertained to medicine and goals.  

It’s a slow, easy day. Maximoff doesn’t go into work. Which I find strange, but I don’t press because he’ll tell me eventually. And maybe he needs more time with us today.  

This is my favorite place I’ve ever lived because it’s our home.  

The one I’ve made with him. Just us and our children and dog. It’s what crosses my mind when we tuck our children into bed late at night.  

It’s only when Maximoff and I are alone and crawling into our bed that he finally says, “It’s funny that Xander was talking about competition.” 

“Why?” 

He rests his skull against the headboard. “Because I have competition, man. I just heard this morning that Millard Ellery’s thirty-two-year-old son is vying for the same open board position. It’s not just going to be mine because I’m Loren Hale’s son.”  

“Millard, as in one of the board members?” I ask.  

“Yeah. It’s so fucking complicated, Farrow. There’s so much history with the older men on the board. Some have been alive when my grandfather was running things, and I’m going to be a pawn in this.”  

“So back out.” 

“I can’t back out.” Maximoff stares firmly at me. “This is my legacy, one I’ve dreamed of taking over.” 

Okay. “You could wait.” 

“There might not be a company left for me to take over if I do wait. Millard is part of this faction that haven’t loved all the choices my grandfather and dad have made. They’d prefer Hale Co. not be a family business anymore, and it’s why my dad is actually pushing for me to be on the board. For my family to stay in voting power, it’s crucial that Campbell Ellery isn’t chosen. The guy has all the experience I don’t. I think he’s been working at a private equity firm.” 

I squeeze his constricted shoulder. “You’ve been in leadership positions since you were basically a toddler. They’ll look for face-to-face confidence over a piece of paper.” 

Maximoff stares off at the bed.  

I frown. “Something else is concerning you.” 

“There are a couple board members…maybe three or four who prefer I not diminish the brand.” 

“Okay, I don’t speak corporate bullshit. Translate.” 

“Hale Co. is a baby company. They like when Hales have babies. I have two babies, Farrow. They want to use our kids for commercials and advertising. They’ll call them assets to the brand, and they’ll ask why we just dropped out of the docuseries. And they will say I’m not leveraging the assets like I should be, which will put question marks around me. To even have a chance at being on the board, they have to have faith in me.”  

I grind my molars.  

“You’re pissed,” he says.  

“Not at you.” I cut my harsh gaze away from him. “You’ve been sitting on this all day.” 

“I’ve tried not to think about it. Taking a page out of this know-it-all’s handbook. The chapter titled: Don’t Dwell.” 

I want to smile, but I can’t. “How’d that go for you?” 

“Today was a really good day.” He almost smiles too. “I don’t want this to ruin it now.” 

“It’s not.” I let the facts roll through my head. “I know you were a huge part of Hale Co. as a little kid.”  

“I was, but I know you prefer we keep our kids out of the limelight while they’re this small. I’m going to try to make that happen, Farrow, I promise.” 

“What happens if you lose control of the board?” 

“Then Hale Co. might end with my dad, as far as the Hales go. We’ll all still have our shares in the company, which is a colossal amount of money, but our kids won’t be able to run Hale Co. or grow it. Someone else will.” 

I don’t know if he can live with that. “How long do you have?” 

“I’ll be taking meetings for a couple months, at least. They’ll evaluate me versus Campbell, then take a vote.” He exhales. “It’s just happening really fucking fast. At the beginning of the year, my dad was still adamant I focus on the philanthropy, and now this.” 

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” I reassure him.  

He eases somewhat. “Yeah, I know.” His eyes redden again. “It’s the one damn thing that’s giving me air to breathe. I know whatever happens next, it’ll always end with you beside me.” 

I don’t tease him or aggravate him. Not tonight. I just pull him down the bed with me, so I can wrap my arms around him. He lets me hold him, and it’s honestly how we fall asleep. I feel his body untensing.  

Only to be jolted awake hours later by my phone. “Fuck,” I mutter, patting my sheets. I find my cellphone while Maximoff groans awake.  

“Shit.” I bolt upright at the text from Oscar.  

“What’s wrong?” Maximoff is just as alert as I am.  

“Med emergency.” I find my pants on the ground. “I have to go. Oscar gave me a heads up that one of your cousins might be calling me.” 

“You can’t say who?” 

I shake my head. “Even if I could, I don’t know who’s hurt yet.”  

“What do you know?” 

I bend over to kiss him goodbye. “I’m going to New York.” 

Welcome back to Patreon, Maximoff & Farrow! We love having Marrow return with an update on their lives and whereabouts during Burn Bright. You'll be seeing more of them next month, so it's not over yet! We hoped you enjoyed being back in Farrow's head as much as we did.

That's it for the big February content, but you can expect Fizz Hangout to drop this weekend and for the Suggestion Box for March's Monthly Podcast to be right around the corner. Thank you for being here this month, and we can't wait for all the awesome things in March, including two brand new bonuses!

xoxo Krista & Becca

 “Maximoff & Farrow's New Home" Copyright © 2026 by K.B. Ritchie