“Hey,” I nod to him and then hop up on the kitchen counter. I catch sight of a tiny potted basil plant next to the sink, and my chest tightens.
“You made it,” Lo says, not surprised that I was invited.
I focus back on him. “Yeah.”
He scoops a hunk of chunky salsa. “Was groveling involved to get your ass here?”
“Some.”
“Good.” Lo tosses another chip in his mouth. “I can’t be the only one begging you to show up to birthday parties. As King Connor would say, it’s unseemly.” He tilts his head. “How’s my sister?”
I’m about to tell Lo that Willow is doing great, as far as I know. She never told any of them about how I punched her college friend or the fact that I visited her in London for all of two hours.
Can this stay between us? I asked her. I was ashamed. Still am.
She agreed.
But before I can say anything to Loren, his wife cuts in. “Lo,” Lily says softly, but loud enough to pull his attention.
“Hmm?” He swishes around the salsa with a chip. His other hand is planted on Lily’s leg. She’s still on his back.
Their embrace just makes me ache to hold Willow. My heart physically clenches, and I knock my head back against the cupboard. Come on, Garrison.
“Do you think Connor might be Batman or Superman?”
Lo drops her instantly.
She lands on her ass. “Lo!”
My lip twitches, almost smiling. God, I want to.
There are some things you don’t bring up in front of Loren Hale. DC comic book characters might actually be number one on the list.
He waves a chip at his wife. “There are a goddamn thousand superheroes, and you chose two that I can’t stand?”
“They make the most sense.”
“They make about as much sense as calling Connor the Swamp Thing.”
I almost laugh.
Lily picks herself off the floor. “That’s just silly. Swamp Thing isn’t even close to being Batman and Superman.”
Willow would love this conversation. Comics remind me of her. She’s the only reason I started reading them in the first place, and she still loves superheroes more than me. I’ll tell her about this. It’ll be a light thing after a lot of heavy shit.
Lo’s glare sharpens and intensifies. “Please let me know where I can find my other wife. This one in front of me is a sellout.”
Lily touches her heart and hurt cinches her brows. “I’m not a sellout. I just happen to not be an elitist about the whole Marvel versus DC thing, and I can appreciate all superheroes equally.”
“You think they’re all made equally?” Lo asks passionately. “Do you want to talk Green Lantern? We can talk Green Lantern.”
“Okay, okay,” Lily immediately concedes. “So I have my favorites, just like you.” She’s moved close, fingers in his belt loops, and she gazes up at her husband like the whole conversation is a giant turn-on. Lo wraps his arm around his wife.
I lean forward and grab a couple chips from the bag. Trying not to wish for Willow to be here.
Lo declares, “My best friend is not Batman or Superman.” Best friend. That’d be Connor. It’s weird hearing him say that out loud. Not that I don’t know the fact. But because Connor is my boss. Loren is Willow’s brother. Our connections to one another are too fucking tangled at this point.
“Then what is he?” Lily asks.
“Connor Cobalt,” Lo answers without a pause. “He’s Connor fucking Cobalt, and whatever powers he has, they’re all his own.”
I narrow my eyes, watching their exchange. Connor doesn’t surround himself with people who only blow smoke up his ass, otherwise Ryke Meadows wouldn’t be in this room. But pure admiration comes from Lo.
For me, I remember being a seventeen-year-old kid who vandalized a house. I remember the guy who gave me the handout when I needed it but didn’t deserve it.
I don’t know—Loren Hale is the one who has powers to me.
Lily’s gaze drifts to a Celebrity Crush tabloid on the counter behind Lo, and her smile fades. “What is…” She seizes the tabloid.
I crane my head, trying to read the headline.
[POLL] Which Calloway sister has the cutest baby?
That’s fucked up.
And the poll won’t blow over well with Ryke, Daisy, Connor, or Rose either.
They’re all insanely protective of their kids. Like they should be. Parents should protect all of their children. Not just the ones they like the most.
Shit, if I had a baby right now, I’d be gutted every time their name was in print. I can’t even handle media attention. How could I expect my kid to deal with that?
And why the fuck am I thinking about a baby?
I’m twenty-one.
Willow and I are in the rockiest place we’ve ever stepped foot in. We may not make it to tomorrow. Babies are an unquantifiable part of my relationship. The more I think about the foggy future, my stomach knots.
Pain suddenly flares in my ribs as I focus more on the injury.
So I turn my attention.
Lo rips the tabloid out of Lily’s hands.
“They polled our babies by cuteness,” Lily explains. “They can’t do that.”
Lo’s brows bunch. “They can do whatever they want.”
“I just wish there were some ethical limitations,” Lily says while Lo flips to the right page. Lily tries to stop him, pushing his hands. “Don’t! What if Moffy is ranked the ugliest.” She lowers her voice. “We’ll know and we’ll feel bad and it’ll give him a complex.”
I look around for Maximoff. The three-year-old is playing patty-cake with Jane on the carpet.
“That’s not going to happen,” Lo says. “We have an adorable baby.”
“So do Rose and Daisy.”
“You don’t have to look,” Lo tells Lily.
But I’m positive he can’t help himself. I chew another chip and watch this go down.
I don’t even know what I would do in their position. Maybe burn it. Stop the temptation.
While Lo reads through the article, Lily slides towards me and we chat about movies. I think it’s helping distract her from the tabloid, but I haven’t seen as many films as she’s mentioning. Ever since Willow left, I haven’t had the energy to go to the theater.
After a few minutes, Lo finishes reading the article and drifts back to us with chips and salsa in hand. “Little ‘puff,” he calls out to Lily.
Puff is just in reference to Hufflepuff, her Harry Potter house. Willow made me take the sorting quiz too, and I’m Gryffindor like my girlfriend.
I almost smile remembering how Willow spent an hour explaining our house to me and the history behind it. She said Gryffindors are brave, and I get why she’s meant for this house—she’s the most courageous person I’ve ever met. But I’m not sure I fit the mold. Really, of any house or secret club or thing.
Lo stands behind Lily and rests his chin on her shoulder. His eyes flit to me and then back to her. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” Lily says too fast and spins around to face her husband.
Lo stuffs the chip bag underneath his arm. “Nothing?”
“That’s what I said,” she snaps.
“Christ, when’d you get so sassy?”
Lily crinkles her nose, trying to put on a “tough” face. But she fails. Lo sticks his chip between his teeth, freeing up his hand, and he pinches her nose.
Lily playfully pounds her fist into his arm.
Lo feigns a wince and mumbles, “Ouch, love.” He tilts his head back and the chip falls into his mouth.
Their love is an all-consuming thing when you’re in the room with them, and my all-consuming love is thousands of miles away.
3,539 to be exact.
Why am I even here again?
To watch them flirt. To be the seventh-fucking-wheel.
So I blurt out, “We were talking about Justice League 2.” The movie isn’t coming out
any time soon—the release now up in the air (which Lily and I were discussing)—but the mention of the DC property is enough to receive a Grade A grimace and glare from Loren.
Seeing him drop his own wife on the ground for talking about DC should have probably made me hesitate. But maybe I have a death-sentence.
Murder me.
It’d be easier being dead.
Lo flashes a half-smile. “Why don’t you go talk about that down the street, turn right, approach a mailbox that says Abbey, walk up the driveway, slam the door—goodbye.” He waves curtly.
Bile rises to my throat. If he even knew what walking up to my family’s home means…
But maybe that’s where I deserve to be. Pressure sits heavy on my chest, and I spin an unlit cigarette between my fingers. Ryke would probably shit a brick if I smoked in here, but I could leave.
That’s what Lo wants anyway.
Anger and something worse pounds against me. “You want me to go home?” I snap and then grind down on my teeth.
Home.
Let me go home and break another rib.
Let me go home and give my mom a chance to save me. Only to push me in a snake pit all over again.
Lo holds my gaze. “I want you to not speak about what-shall-not-be-named inside my brother’s house, and if you can’t handle that, then yeah, you can go home.”
“Lo!” Lily chastises in shock, jaw dropped.
Loren pushes her chin up, closing her mouth. He almost smiles. “Lily.” He mock pouts.
She pokes his chest. “You’re not being nice.”
“Because I’m not nice.”
I release a tensed breath. He’s just being a normal, raging asshole. I have to remember that Lo doesn’t know anything about my home. I don’t think he’d poke at this part of my life if he had any idea about what goes on there.
Lily slides her hand to Lo’s cheeks and she’s looking at him with intense fuck me eyes, so I focus elsewhere. The ceiling. The floor. My phone.
No new texts.
Willow’s probably asleep.
I waver between staying here and jumping off the counter and leaving. But even with Lo practically painting neon arrows towards my house, I like it here. My other option is sitting alone in my apartment.
Being alone sounds horrible.
I’ve never enjoyed my own company. It’s mainly why I spent my prep school years with terrible friends because surrounding myself with people (even shitty ones) was better than being left with my own fucking self.
Instantly, I decide to stay. I’ll grab a drink—soda because Ryke doesn’t have alcohol in his house—and maybe eat some cake and then leave.
The cupboards are behind my head, and I reach up for a cup.
“Garrison,” Lo says with enough worry that I turn quickly.
My head smacks into the cupboard. “Shit,” I curse and rub the throbbing spot. Lo stares at me with a strange amount of concern. I don’t get it. “What?”
He asks softly, “Where did those bruises come from?”
Oh…shit.
Shit.
Fuck.
My mouth falls, and I shake my head. I don’t…how did…
God, my hoodie and shirt must have risen when I reached for the cupboard. Fuckfuckfuck.
FUCK!
I dizzy, my head whirling, knowing there’s no hiding this. I haven’t prepared for anyone beyond Willow to know about my home life.
I glance to Lily, the only other person in the kitchen. I have zero sisters, and there’s something soft and kind about Lily. It makes me want to simultaneously open up but also step back, and I don’t know how to handle telling her the truth.
Lo is different.
I guess he reminds me of me. It’s easier to go head-to-head with someone who wants to rip me open than someone who wants to hug me. I don’t want a hug.
His question jackhammers my brain. Pounding and pounding. Where did those bruises come from? I look back to Lo and lean into my usual excuse. “Lacrosse. Drop it.”
Lily suddenly swings her head to the living room. “Oh look—Moffy.” She quickly moves to leave. Lo pinches her shoulder, and they talk under their breaths before she disappears.
It’s obvious she left on purpose. Because of me. Maybe they can tell I’m lying.
I stay seated on the counter, legs hanging off, and Lo slides closer to my spot. His sharp-edged gaze drills in on me.
“Honestly, it’s lacrosse,” I say.
“It’s been Christmas break,” Lo refutes, his tone serrated. “When were you playing lacrosse?” Never. Not since prep school.
Air is hard to intake. Emotion that I hate to confront is compressing my lungs. “I don’t know…I just was…I was.” Lies die in my throat. My mouth dry.
I end up staring at a patch of sunlight on the floor. Hair hangs over my eyes, and I remember that I’m still wearing headphones around my neck. I touch the sides, the familiarity suddenly calming me. “Let me be.”
I’m seconds away from pulling the headphones over my ears like a real dick. Anything to avoid this conversation.
Suddenly, Lo hands me the salsa and then digs a hand in the bag of chips, passing me one.
I stare blankly at him. “What is this?”
I don’t get it. What is he fucking doing? The pressure on my chest has intensified. Smothering me.
“Chips and salsa,” Lo says. “If you don’t like them, we can’t be friends anymore.” He pops one in his mouth.
“We’re friends?” I ask incredulously. A part of me still thinks the invite here was out of pity, and because I’m just Willow’s boyfriend.
“Jesus Christ, do I need to make friendship bracelets for you to believe it?”
“Fuck you,” I snap. Hesitantly, I dip the chip into salsa.
“Don’t be pissy because I’m prettier. It’s just a fact you’re going to have to get used to.”
I swallow the chip and the lump that’s wedged in my throat. “I thought the tall one was supposed to be the prettiest.” If Connor knew I called him the tall one, I don’t think he’d love it. Too generic for the mighty god. That’s why I like doing it though.
Lo starts to smile. “Shh, we don’t like to tell him the truth. It ruins his allure.”
I nod, my shoulders sinking forward. Into myself. Disappear.
Lo sweeps me in this causal way. “So what are your brothers like? You have three, right?”
Easy enough question.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Mitchell, Hunter, and Davis. We’re all two years apart from one another.”
Me: twenty-one.
Them: twenty-three, twenty-five, and twenty-seven.
A long, tense pause strains the air, and I stare at the small scar on the inside of my pointer-finger. When I was nine, Hunter made me fish in the garbage for a Sports Illustrated magazine I threw away. He was pissed because he never got a chance to read it.
I sliced my finger open on a tuna can.
“Which one’s the worst?” Lo asks.
It drives deep into me.
Which one’s the worst. His voice is strict and sharp, sounding protective before he even knows the real issue. But he must sense the problem is with my brothers. I’m sure I mentioned them briefly before, and I couldn’t have said nice things.
I look Lo up and down. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Am I right?” He motions to my ribs. “Did one of your shitty fucking brothers do that?”
My nose flares. My throat swells. I try to swallow again. I barely can. No one but Willow has ever confronted me outright. And it’s like submerging my whole body into ice water. I don’t know how to breathe with this type of pain. I want out. Out. I glance left and right, searching for some sort of escape.
It’s not a physical place I want to be.
Take it away. Take this fucking pain away.
My mouth dries more. “They’re just messing around.” My voice is barely a whisper. But I think he hears because his jaw clenches.
>
Anger flares in his amber eyes.
I don’t know why I defend my brothers or regurgitate my mom and dad’s words. It feels easier to agree with my parents than to say what I know is true.
Silence stretches for an uncomfortable beat and then Lo says, “Can I see it again?”
I glance to the living room.
Everyone sits on couches, most aren’t facing the kitchen, and their attention cements to the little kids. Not aware of our conversation or they’re purposefully giving us privacy.
I rotate back to Lo, and I realize he’s being really patient.
Patience isn’t a quality I’d shelve under his name. That gets me for a second. So I take a breath and grip the bottom of my hoodie.
I lift the black fabric, just enough to reveal the deep purple bruise that spiders up my ribcage. I’d love to say that it looks worse than it feels. But that’d be another lie. Instead of concentrating on my own fucked-up body, I watch Lo.
His cheekbones sharpen. And he looks visibly ill.
Pale.
He skims me quickly, trying to take it all in before I shut him out, and he peers around at my back. I haven’t looked there yet, but I’m betting faint bruises exist from where Davis’s shins connected with my spine.
“Get up.” I hear his voice in my head. Not just from this week. But from so many years. Colliding together. “You’re weak shit.”
“Let me check out your other side,” Lo whispers, tearing me from my own head.
My hands shake as I lift the other side of my hoodie. Fuck. I inhale, and I see another black-and-blue welt along my abdomen. But this one is fading.
“I’m the little brother,” I say, so soft that he tilts his head to hear. “They just pick on me. It’s what older brothers do.”
Stop it.
Stop defending them.
I can’t. I can’t. Why can’t I?
My limbs tremble. I’m shaking harder like an earthquake rumbles beneath me and I can’t stop it.
Lo stares at me, straight-on. His face all sharp lines. “Your ribs are fractured.”
A hot tear rolls down my cheek. “Yeah, I know.” I wipe harshly. Stop crying.
Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2) Page 3