Main Bonus #57: Guys Lunch at Cobalt Inc. (Farrow) - Part 2 (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.

READING ORDER: This is a multi-POV bonus scene, and we highly suggest reading them in this order:

1. Thatcher's POV

2. Farrow's POV: Part One 

3. Farrow's POV: Part Two

MUSIC: We listened to "Hand out the Drugs" by Kite (for the beat mostly, not the lyrics) while writing this bonus scene.

MY DAD. I grind on my molars, my insides cramping again and again. “There’s nothing to say, Lo.”

He rubs his lips and grimaces. “You’re really okay working with him?”

I take a long second that feels like a full minute. Words stick to the back of my throat, heavy and acidic. I swallow them down. “How long have you been wanting to ask me about him?”

“Since the goddamn second he didn’t show up for you.” Lo has venom in his eyes, and I’ve never seen him direct it at my father. “I wanted to talk to you at the wedding—Lily said, wait, don’t ruin the happiness. I wanted to bring it up at the lake house—Lily reminded me that it was your honeymoon. And I didn’t want to cause a scene at Lily’s birthday, so I’m bringing this shitty topic to you now. I thought Moffy might tell me not to, so…” He shrugs tightly, never breaking away from my gaze. “I want to talk to your father—”

“Don’t—”

“Why not?” Lo snaps, frustrated. “He needs someone to tell him what he did was fucked up and just wrong. He chose to go to a goddamn medical convention over seeing his son get married—who does that?”

“I appreciate you asking me before calling him and giving him a verbal gut-punch, but Maximoff already did that when we first got his RSVP and saw he wasn’t coming. It is what it is now—and man, I’m over it.”

Lo looks disbelieving. “How?”

I feel sick.

Literal sickness is rising in my throat, and it’s harder to sit here.

“He’s not you,” I tell Lo. “He’s never been you, and the only thing I truly wish is that I never expected more out of him. He’s shown me who he is so many fucking times in my life, and I should’ve known there’d be a chance where he’d prioritize medicine over my wedding.”

During the Cold War with my old man, Lo hoped we’d repair the broken shit and get to a better place.

We did.

After the wedding, it felt like a step sideways. Not necessarily backward. I’ve tried to feel nothing for my father. Not anger, not resentment or sadness.

Nothing.

It's easier to remind people that I feel nothing when hurt starts creeping in. Maybe if I believe it enough, it'll come true. 

The place we’re at—it’s one Lo will never understand. Because he’s the type of father who deeply, unconditionally loves his son, and I’ve never had that.

I will never have that.

“You still want to work with him?” Lo asks seriously. “Because I can’t even stand to look at his face.”

I breathe a measured breath through my nose. “I don’t care if I have to work with him." 

Lo lets out another skeptical noise.

"We’re better colleagues than we are father-and-son. How about that?” My stomach cramps again, and I narrow my eyes on the burger.

Something’s not right.

I push down the nausea to ask Lo, “What are you even hoping to get at with him?”

“Selfishly, I want to know that when all the grandparents are together with our grandson and Edward is around—when I look at his face, it won’t make me want to projectile vomit all over him.”

Don’t talk about vomiting.

I blink hard and blow out a breath.

Lo continues, “If I really am face-to-face with him, I can’t promise I can hold my goddamn tongue, Farrow.”

“Just don’t call him,” I say quickly while I stand. “Sorry, my stomach is fucked.” I make a quick exit out of the office. Ignoring Tony, who’s still at the door, and the heads that pop out of office cubicles, I basically sprint to the nearest bathroom.

I rush into a stall. When I squat, everything I just ate empties out of my stomach and into the bowl. Acid burns my esophagus, and the retching sounds as violent as it feels inside my body. I grip the top of the toilet. Water leaks out of my eyes, and I spit into the bowl a few times before another nauseous wave assaults me.

I throw up again.

It takes minutes before my body calms the fuck down. I spit out saliva, and slowly, I stand and grab the top of the stall door. I’m weak, energy wiped out of me, and my throat is on fire. I fish out my phone. My hand is shaking while I dial a number.

He answers on the second ring. “You already on your way back?”

Maximoff.

“I need you to come pick me up.” My voice is more hoarse than rough.

“What’s wrong?” Hearing the familiar toughened tone to his voice is like stepping into a waterfall on a hot day. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Is that Farrow?” I hear Luna in the background.

“Yeah,” Maximoff tells her and then to me, “Talk to me, man.”

“Food poisoning.” I’m still gripping the top of the stall with one hand. “I’m not dying yet, wolf scout.”

“Never dying,” he corrects.

I smile, knowing he wants me to be immortal, and I muster some energy to whisper, “In your vampire fantasies.”

“Yeah? Never heard of those.” His dry tone is cute.

My lips keep rising, but I just feel spent and the smile fades faster. “Call me when you get here?”

“I will.”

“I love you,” I tell him, and I wait for him to say the words back, but I hear silence. My stomach knots again, but it’s a worse knot. “Maximoff?”

Nothing.

I drop my arm to see my phone screen. It’s black. I pound my thumb on it, and nothing. It died. Shit. I thought I had enough battery to last until we’d leave. And I’d charge it in Thatcher’s Land Rover.

I white-knuckle the top of the stall and just breathe three long breaths. Okay, fine. Today is not my day, and Maximoff is about to be here.

Ripley. I instinctively return to my phone to ask about our son, but again, it’s dead. I pat at my waist and feel for my radio. I spin a knob, static in my ear, until I’m on Omega’s frequency.

I click my mic. “Farrow to Quinn, you’re with Luna at Superheroes & Scones?”

“Yep,” Quinn answers. “Maximoff just went out the door. He's headed your way."

“Where’s Ripley?”

“He left the baby with Luna and Lily. Ripley hasn’t cried yet…oh wait, he let out a little blubber.”

“He’s soothed,” Luna replies loudly, maybe so I can hear. “Blubber is a false alarm!”

“Did you hear that?” Quinn wonders.

“Yeah.”

I’m a little surprised my husband didn’t bring our son along, but it’s probably better that Ripley isn’t in the backseat if he ends up speeding. And I realize Maximoff likely thought about this too.

Don’t speed for me, wolf scout.

“Thanks,” I tell Quinn before I exit the bathroom. A middle-aged man in a suit is washing his hands and minding his own business. Beside him, a twenty-something nosy fucker is eyeing me to death. While I turn on the faucet, he angles his phone near his waist and snaps photos of me.

The middle-aged man leaves.

“We’re in a bathroom,” I snap at the guy. “Don’t take pictures of me.”

“I wasn’t.” His voice pitches high, and quickly, he slips his phone in his pocket. His neck is splotchy red.

I’m not even bothering with asking him to hand over his phone to delete the pictures. Keeping to myself now, I scrub my hands with soap and look at myself in the mirror. I lost most of the color to my face. I’m pallid, and sweat has built up on my forehead.

Once the nosy fucker exits the bathroom, the door swings right back open—but it’s not Maximoff.

Thatcher sets a water bottle on the counter.

“Thanks.” I dry my hands on a paper towel.

“Ryke is sick too. He’s puking in Connor’s private bathroom,” Thatcher says quietly. “We figured out you were the only ones with mushrooms on your burgers. They must've been spoiled.”

“That’ll do it,” I mutter, my voice sounding rougher than usual. And I’m glad I didn’t use Connor’s toilet because I really wanted space from them.

“I didn’t think it’d be about your father,” Thatcher breathes.

“Neither did I,” I say in a resigned tone. “Maximoff is picking me up. You can head out without me whenever you’re ready to go.”

He nods. “See you back at home.”

I nod back to him: my roommate, my co-worker, my friend. These days he’s also starting to feel more like family. Never would’ve predicted that one.

Thatcher is gone.

I’m in the bathroom for likely ten-minutes tops before the door opens again. And Maximoff comes inside with his soulful, tough forest-green eyes. All six-foot-two of him is here with this dorky red Spider-Man tee that’s tight on his biceps and Timberland hiking boots—and there’s spit-up on his jeans.

It should’ve taken him a lot longer to reach me.

Just seeing him overwhelms me for a moment. “You flew,” I choke and drop my head, my eyes glassing and clouding.

“Farrow.” He bridges the distance while I’m resting my ass against the sink counter, and our arms slide around each other.

I cup the back of his head, and his arm is hooked around my neck, keeping me close. His chest bears against my chest, the thump of his heart the most soothing sound. If I could live inside a moment, I’d live inside all the ones with him.

It just feels right.

And then Maximoff whispers deeply, “I am Batman.”

I let out a laugh and lean back to meet his eyes. “What?”

His face reddens, but his jaw locks. He doubles-down and says firmly, “I am Batman.” He glares. “You said I flew.”

I laugh harder and harder, my smile stretching.

“Made you smile,” Maximoff says with one of his own.

Yeah, he did, and fuck, I really love him. I rub at my watering eyes, and he wipes the tear streaks off my jaw.

His concern flares. “What happened, Farrow?”

“Bad day. Just…a lot. Compounding.” I don’t even want to rotate back to the sink or reach for my water. His arm is still around me, and I’m not excited about stepping away from him. However, I do stand up straighter, and the one inch I have on Maximoff might as well be seven inches in his eyes.

He glowers like I’m towering over him.

It makes me smile even more.

“We need to take you to the ER?” he wonders. “You need an IV drip or miracle pill—”

“It’s not that serious.”

“Still, we should get you checked out.” Maximoff zeroes in my pale face with concern. And he presses two fingers to the soft hollow area of my windpipe. My lips rise watching him check my pulse.

“I’m the doctor,” I whisper, “I’d know if I were alive.”

“I’m a better doctor than you.” His face is stone-cold serious.

I roll my eyes into a grin. “Always a—”

“Smartass,” he finishes, our eyes caressing. “Yeah, yeah, everyone has heard it all before.” 

"Mainly just you," I say quietly. "No one else cares if I call you a smartass a billion-and-one times."

He scrutinizes my face again. I'm better now, wolf scout. He drops his fingers. “You’re alive.” He glances at my lips.

“I can’t kiss you.”

“I was going to kiss you—”

“I mean I threw up.” I lift my brows and then I reluctantly turn to the sink, out of his arms. I swish my mouth with water, spit, and then I dig in my pocket for a pack of gum. 

I unwrap a piece and pop it in my mouth, chewing slowly. Something heavy settles on my stomach, and it’s not just a physical illness. The conversation about my dad just bubbles back to the surface. 

“I’ll tell you everything in the car," I say. 

“Can I do anything?” Maximoff asks, coming beside me. His palm slides across my deltoids.

I look over at my husband. “Yeah.” I latch onto his forest-greens that convey what I already feel. “Tell me you love me.”

Confusion furrows his brows. “What…?”

“My phone died. I didn’t hear it.”

Understanding washes over his face. He could act like this is the hardest thing in the world to say. Like those three words live in the dusty crypts inside his soul, but he looks straight into me with only heart and pureness, a look that reminds me of our wedding day.

“I love you, Farrow Redford Keene Hale,” he professes deeply.

It tunnels into me. And I don’t ruin it with a quip. “Thanks, wolf scout,” I breathe, and his eyes flit to my lips. Mine flit to his, and he breaks forward and our hands latch onto one another. I clutch his sharp jaw. He’s holding the back of my head, and our foreheads press together while we tease around the idea of kissing.

I end up kissing his cheek.

He hates that, and he tries to kiss my lips.

I pull back.

“Farrow,” he groans.

“Later,” I whisper, but I feel the tug inside of me. The desire to just kiss the hell out of him, and his hand tightens on me like mine tightens on him. With foreheads touching, we look into one another, and I tell him, “I want to go home with you and our son. I want to take a shower with you and watch a movie in bed with you. Your pick.”

His chest rises against mine. “I can make that happen.”

I smile. “I’m counting on it, wolf scout.”

“I’m your medicine then?” Maximoff begins to grin, satisfied with the fact that he’s “curing” me. He’s not a cure for food poisoning. But the company of the man I love has a way of healing a ruptured moment.

“Something like that,” I breathe.

Happy December! We hope you enjoyed this new bonus scene to kickstart the month. We loveee being back in Farrow's head while he's with his hubby, and Farrow feeling sick and Maximoff "coming to the rescue" is something a bit new. It's a really tender moment.

Thank you all for reading!! More is to come this month, including a poll to vote for the Monthly Podcast.

xoxo Krista & Becca 

“Guys Lunch at Cobalt Inc. (Farrow) - Part 2," Copyright © 2022 by K.B. Ritchie