Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(4)

Shoulda known. He does early morning runs with his brother Ryke sometimes.

Lo stops a couple feet from my face. I’m an inch taller at six-three, but I don’t think height makes much of a difference. He says nothing. Amber eyes serrated, he’s trying to chop me into pieces.

Then he glances down at the two coffees. “One for me?” I go to respond, but he’s faster. “You shouldn’t have.” He grabs the coffee that I’d been drinking.

It was mine.

I didn’t think to get him one.

Pretty sure he knows that.

He smiles a dry half-smile before taking a big swig. That iconic smile in real life (and towards me) is more bitter and less funny than the famous gif. One that I’ve used a hundred times on Fanaticon forums and social media before I became a bodyguard. Even before I knew who Loren Hale was.

“I’m just waiting for Xander, Mr. Hale.” I take my phone out of my back pocket, and by the twitch of his jaw, I sense Mr. Hale pisses him off about as much as sir.

“Lo,” I try.

He glares.

“Loren.”

His daggered eyes stay sharp.

No one said I’m good with parents, but honestly, I think parents just suck more around me. It’s a them thing. Has to be. ‘Cause I think I’m outstanding. Classy. Well, my type of classy.

Ripped jeans, a faded AC/DC tee, a two swipe of a brush hairdo—got that rolled out of bed and perfectly fell into my scuffed boots look.

That kinda classy.

“What should I call you?” I ask.

Probably should have asked this a year ago. Or two.

But I’ve done well skirting around these brief chitchats. Lo likes taking little digs at me. Like he’s embedding rusted screws in my brain. Flooding me with some sort of poison—and if I wanted a good mind-fucking, I’d willingly and gladly go talk to a Cobalt.

Lo’s brows cinch. “Hmm, let me think.” He’s not really thinking. His eyes tighten on me. “How about Xander’s dad?”

Makes sense. That’s all he wants to be towards me. Xander’s dad. I’m no one special to Loren Hale. Never will be.

He keeps making that point.

I’m not too upset about it. I try not to expect anything in life. Especially things I haven’t worked for, and I can’t say I’ve tried hard to earn anything other than Lo’s scorn.

“You going out for a run, Xander’s dad?” I ask lightly.

His gaze drills up and down me like he’s trying to decide if I’m mocking him. I’m not. He lets it go to say, “Yeah. You run, Paul?”

I stopped correcting him on my name a while back. “Yeah, I’ve run before.”

“Where?”

“South Philly, around the block.” With a quick glance, I check my phone.

Be down in a sec, getting dressed now. See u soon. – Xander





I know I’m not taking his little sister Kinney to high school with him today. Her Epsilon bodyguard told me that Kinney left for school earlier and carpooled with Audrey Cobalt.

“How fast are you?” Lo suddenly asks into the sip of the coffee I gave him. (Yeah, he stole it, but I could’ve taken it back. So I gave it to him.)

“I never clocked myself or anything.”

Xander’s dad nods a few times. “I’ll always be fast enough to catch you.” He forces another dry smile.

I think you’re obsessed with me, man.

I swallow the easy reply and then the stairs squeak. Our heads swerve as Xander rushes down in his navy-blue Dalton Academy blazer, white crisp button-down, slacks, and leather loafers. Prep school is another kind of classy.

I’m not looking at Xander’s dad anymore, and I’m trying to pretend tension doesn’t exist.

Avoidance is probably for the best.

Loren Hale wants me to disappear. I don’t censor myself much, but I don’t want to give him a reason to erase me from all of this. All of this isn’t just being a bodyguard. It’s being around his family.

It’s being around Farrow. My best friend is now a certified Hale after he married Maximoff, Lo’s oldest son.

Could Lo just send me so far away that I’d lose everyone I’ve ever cared about? I used to think he couldn’t, but how many times is he gonna warn me before he shoves me through the exit? I’ve been warned too much already.

Xander pats Salem at the base of the staircase while his brown-furred Newfie trails loyally behind him.

Erebor.

I asked Xander what the name meant.

“It’s Sindarin,” he told me. “A language spoken by the Elves in Lord of the Rings.”

“So what’s the translation of Erebor then?”

“Lonely Mountain.”

Xander and the Lonely Mountain are making their way towards us. He tugs at his skinny tie and nods to me and his dad, unaware of the strain between us. Just how I like it.

“For some pep in your step,” I say to Xander, handing over the coffee I bought for him. Got some cash now, and I’m spending it on whatever I want.

“Fuuuck yes.” Xander moans and takes a whiff from the lid. “The best coffee in the world.”

I grin back. I love this little elf. Though, yeah, he’s not little: six-foot-two, more muscle to his lanky build from regularly hitting a punching bag—and he’s seventeen.