Fearless Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  I glare at SFO to stop staring.

  They drift further away on skates. All of Omega looks concerned. Oscar has an arm around Jack, and his gaze softens on Sulli.

  Oscar is even less amused by The Royal Leaks as they’re sincerely stressing out the people we dedicate our lives to protect.

  In this case, it’s stressing out my girlfriend.

  “Is everyone looking over here?” Sulli asks.

  “No,” Banks lies. “They’re just looking at Akara. He has a fucking booger.”

  Sulli snorts into a laugh.

  I smile, happy to hear that sound, even if it vanishes fast. I whip out my phone and text Connor Cobalt about the recent leak. “I’m telling Connor to look into your new gynecologist. She might’ve broken the NDA.”

  Sulli winces, “Fuck, I should’ve just gone with Farrow as my doctor for the birth control.”

  “We don’t know if she’s the mole. We’re just covering all the bases.” I pocket my phone. “We talked about your period at the penthouse too.”

  “You still think the penthouse is bugged?” Sulli frowns.

  “It’s all-clear,” Banks reminds me.

  We’re missing something.

  I know we are.

  31

  SULLIVAN MEADOWS

  Philadelphia Eagles game. A sea of midnight green packs the football stadium. Second quarter, and the Eagles are tied with the Giants. Football season reminds me of my dad. We’d always go to at least one game together every year, and we shouted expletives and cheers until our voices were hoarse on the ride home.

  Banks says football reminds him of his dad too. They’d throw the ball back and forth when he was a kid.

  Today could be somber with memories since my dad and I aren’t at the best place like we were back then. I know he wants me to choose one guy. He made that fucking crystal when he wouldn’t let both stay at the cottage.

  But romance is in the air. Alleviating bad fucking feelings. Banks bought me a veggie hot dog, and Akara fits a new Eagles hat on my head.

  No strangers in the stands know we’re together, but it’s not that unnatural for Akara to be playful with me in public as just my bodyguard.

  I glance down our row. Jane, Thatcher, Farrow, Maximoff, and their son Ripley are here. The 10-month-old has headphones to block out the noise. I have pics of my mom and dad doing the same thing for me at football games as a baby.

  Seeing Moffy bring his son everywhere reminds me so much of my childhood.

  Again, I try to shake the nostalgia.

  This outing wasn’t my idea. Jane suggested we all take dates to an Eagles game together, after I expressed feeling left out when they cooked pot brownies. (Apparently, they made them for Eliot, who was gifting them to a friend.)

  Jane made sure to include both of my boyfriends. But she still asked me, “How are things going with Banks?” Like she fears I’m seconds from breaking up with him.

  Still, it’s fun being here with my cousins and their husbands. All of our significant others are bodyguards and on-duty. Mics on their shirts, cords running behind their ears to their earpieces. Every now and then, I notice how they scan the crowds more than the field.

  Eagles intercepted!

  I sit forward, attention back on the game.

  Fuck yes!

  Eagles nail a touchdown! We all jump from our seats and hug. I holler and smile, and Banks shouts, “Go Iggles!”

  Akara almost, almost wraps an arm around my shoulders but remembers not to and then throws his arms in the air, clapping over his head.

  “Smooth,” I tell him while we take our seats.

  “The smoothest.”

  Halftime comes, and the jumbotron shows footage of sports fans. Quickly, the footage changes into the dreaded fucking Kiss cam.

  And suddenly, I’m staring at my horrified face on the screen. Green streaks are painted on my cheeks, and the Eagles hat shades my eyes. The camera frames me and Akara.

  His kissable lips are on screen. He runs a hand through his black hair, and girls go, “Aww,” behind me.

  This can’t be fucking happening.

  “Kiss, Kitsulli, Kiss! Kiss, Kitsulli, Kiss!” the chanting begins.

  Akara acts cool, slipping a sweet smile to me. More awws and shouts to kiss him! surround me. If I kiss Akara in public, I’m solidifying my relationship with him and denying the one with Banks. Unless I kiss both of them, but I’m not confirming my relationship on a fucking Kiss cam.

  Some guy is sitting in a camera booth, controlling this outcome, and he’s not dictating the next part of my life.

  “KISS, KITSULLI, KISS! KISS, KITSULLI, KISS!”

  Akara tilts his head and tugs at his mic cord to the camera, showing he’s a bodyguard. Not a boyfriend, but the shouting never stops and the Kiss cam stays on us.

  Maximoff and Jane are trying to wave the camera away.

  The camera zooms in on me and Akara.

  “Fuck,” I curse, seeing my lips mouth the word on screen, no sound. And I’m so fucking awful at being coy because I look to Banks.

  He tries his best not to make eye contact, but the camera zooms out. I’m staring between Banks and Akara, and the sports fans who also happen to be Kitsulli fans—or at least, fans of my family—begin muttering.

  Banks gently elbows me like, go kiss Akara.

  “No,” I whisper to him, realizing the camera is catching me mouthing the word no.

  Banks holds my gaze for a beat.

  I’m not doing that to Banks. The world already loves me and Akara together, and I’m not pushing him deeper into the shadows.

  Banks peels his eyes off mine and does Akara’s maneuver, tugging at his mic cord to show he’s on-duty. A bodyguard, not a love interest.

  I shake my head at the screen and point to Jane on the other side of Thatcher.

  The camera literally goes side-to-side, as though shaking its mechanical head at me.

  Alright.

  You want a Meadows girl on-screen. You’ve got a Meadows girl.

  I flip off the camera with two fingers.

  And like lightning, the footage switches to a more PG-friendly person. “Yeah, take that!” I shout.

  Akara and Banks laugh.

  The Kiss cam hasn’t traveled far. Maximoff and Farrow fill the screen, and the crowds chant, “Kiss, Marrow, Kiss! Kiss, Marrow, Kiss!” And the awws are even louder, especially as they move in together, Farrow’s hand taking Moffy’s jaw, and Moffy gripping the back of Farrow’s skull—they kiss with tender affection.

  Fireworks literally go off in the stadium, lighting up the sky.

  That could’ve been my kiss.

  I dip my hat over my eyes and mourn what could’ve been an epic kiss with Akara and Banks. Yet, the world sucks, and they’ll freak out over a poly relationship.

  Or am I the one who’ll freak out over the world’s reaction?

  My family’s doubt is creeping in like an ugly monster.

  I bite into the rubbery veggie hot dog.

  Knock knock.

  Knock knock.

  Banks and Akara’s phones sound off on either side of me.

  “No,” I groan.

  I peek over at Akara’s phone since he’s faster with a cell.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Sullivan Meadows is no longer on birth control.

  #TodaysLeaks #begonepill #noprotection

  “Oh fuck,” I mumble with a mouthful of wiener.

  The hot dog sticks to the back of my throat. I cough and wash it down with Akara’s Fizz Life. Fuck, I need to stop eating while I read the leaks.

  Akara is angry. He pockets his phone with molten, slow heat, and Banks is grinding his teeth.

  “Is everyone looking at me?” I mutter, dipping my hat further down and sinking in the chair.

  “No,” Banks says unconvincingly, because he sounds frostier.r />
  I’m not embarrassed about my birth control woes. I just feel…exposed. Being on the We Are Calloway docuseries has helped me be more front-facing to the world, but I decide what airs and what ends on the cutting room floor.

  I’ve had no mental or emotional preparation for my personal health to be a world-wide talking point. And so yeah, I’m sinking in my seat.

  Peeking up from my hat, I notice Banks and Akara glancing down at me like they wish they could console me better.

  I also notice Maximoff and Jane whispering and then flashing me concerned eyes. Are they fretting over how I’m shying from these small leaks, while a leak about my relationship with two guys would be so much bigger?

  Sit up, Sulli.

  Scooting upwards, I try to show that I’m fine.

  Utterly fucking fine.

  “You just went off birth control this morning,” Akara whispers to me and Banks. “And we talked about it in the penthouse.”

  I remember how both guys were really supportive when I said I want to take a break from birth control. I hate how it’s fucking with my hormones. Cramps left me immobile some nights, and I’m not thrilled about jumping into another hellish side effect with a new type or brand.

  “Should we try to stop talking about private stuff at the penthouse?” I ask them.

  Akara twists on the cap to the Fizz Life bottle. “That’s easier said than done, and we’re still not positive it’s the penthouse, Sul. At this point, the mole could have way more leaks they’re sitting on too.”

  It’s terrifying to think that the mole could be holding onto the news about me dating two bodyguards and just waiting for the “right” time to leak it.

  The mole is starting to feel like the three fates, passing around a pair of scissors, about to cut the string to my destiny.

  I never really read much Greek mythology, but Beckett likes those tales. I text him my thought. But I doubt he’ll text back. He rarely does after a one-night stand broke her NDA and leaked his texts.

  So I’m not surprised when he calls me.

  “Hey,” I answer over the loud cheering as the football players take the field. Third quarter.

  “Can’t talk long.” Classical music plays in the background, and I almost want to put the phone to Akara’s ear. He always says being at the ballet makes him want to punch something.

  The soundtrack to the Nutcracker being Akara’s fight jam is what makes me smile randomly in the middle of the night.

  “I’ll take short!” I have to shout over the crowd.

  “The fates don’t cut the string for your destiny. When they cut the string, they’re determining your moment of death.”

  The absurdity of it all. I start to laugh, like my body doesn’t know what else to do.

  32

  AKARA KITSUWON

  Knock knock.

  “Son of a bucket.”

  No one is around to hear me censor myself. I slow my motorcycle to a gas station and pull up next to a pump. Pulling off my helmet, I have a phone mic in my ear.

  My Honda CBR1000R already has a full tank, and I drop my feet on either side to the cement. This bike is worth way more than what I paid. I wrecked it a long while back, and when Banks fixed it for me, he removed the fairings and turned it into a street fighter.

  I ride my motorcycle when I can, and I just got back from interviewing a manager for Studio 9. Didn’t like Bart. He seemed too air-headed in person.

  I thought that was going to be the worst part of my day.

  Now I’m popping up the gossip site.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Banks Moretti hates his dad.

  ROYAL LEAK #2: Charlie Cobalt is skilled at the piano.

  #TodaysLeaks #daddydrama #CanWeSayProtégé?

  My expression flatlines like a dead pulse.

  These are two new names on the site. Banks. I breathe in heat even though the air is cold as winter nears. I didn’t want Banks on there.

  I know their relationship is strained, and Banks is more likely to curse out his dad than praise him. But he said he’s making some progress with his dad. They’re texting each other more.

  How will Michael Moretti react to this leaking?

  I tense and try to let go of that so I can concentrate on details.

  Charlie doesn’t live at the penthouse, but he’s been playing piano there. I type these deductions into a note file on my phone.

  Who is the mole?

  Pocketing my phone, I fit on my helmet and ride off. Hurrying to get home to Sulli and Banks.

  33

  BANKS MORETTI

  “What youse doin’ over here pouting for?” a cousin laughs like I’m sulking in a fucking corner after the leak two days ago. It’s Thanksgiving.

  I’m out in the open at Uncle Joe’s row house, a beer in hand. Turkey is in the oven. “Give me a fuckin’ break, Vito,” I say with a hard swig.

  “So you’re not gonna talk to your dad then?”

  “So you’re gonna keep standing there with your foot on your dick?” I shoot back.

  Vito clucks his tongue and waves an angry hand at me. “Ah, vaffangul’.”

  “Yeah, fuck you too, you scustamad’.”

  “Hey, hey, Banksy,” my mom says in surprise at my anger, and Vito, that fucking coward, leaves as soon as a woman approaches.

  “Hey, Ma.” I swig.

  She takes my hand. Hers are rough like mine, from working on cars for longer than I’ve been alive. “Let’s go talk, huh? Come on.”

  I follow my mom into her brother’s bedroom. Small. Smells stuffy and a little like black licorice.

  That’s the smell of anisette, genius.

  Uncle Joe loves drinking anisette, especially around the colder holidays.

  “What’s goin’ on with you?” she asks straight out, arms crossed.

  “Other than me hating Dad?”

  Her gaze softens. “He called me, you know.”

  I frown. “What’d he say?” I sip my beer, tensed.

  “He asked about you—whether you still like hockey. He was thinking of buying tickets to a game for you and him.”

  I stare at the shot glasses on my uncle’s nightstand. “I’ve never liked hockey. That was…” Skylar. I swallow hard, unable to say the name.

  “I know.” She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “I told him as much.”

  “Ma, you shoulda hung up on him if the first thing outta his mouth wasn’t a fucking apology.”

  She gives me a no-nonsense look. “I’ve stopped expecting things from that man a long time ago.” Her eyes drift over my angered expression. “You should talk to him. He’s still your father—”

  “He’s a terrible father—”

  “He’s trying for you.” She rests a hand on my arm. “I know what grudges are like in this family. They eat from your core and hollow something out. Don’t let it get so bad it can’t be filled up again.”

  I think for a second, lifting my beer to my lips. “I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no.”

  She rolls her eyes with a smile and reaches up to touch my jaw. “I love you, Banksy. Don’t be a gabbadost’ like half the men in this family. We have enough of ‘em.”

  I’m not as big of a hardhead as Thatcher, that’s for sure. I glance back at the door. “All the family knows about me hating dad now?” I ask.

  “They already knew.”

  Right.

  I finish off my beer. “Except now I get to hear an earful from my cousins.”

  If it were up to me, I’d be spending Thanksgiving with my girlfriend. But I wasn’t invited.

  Neither was Akara.

  Ryke knew if he left one of us out, Sulli wouldn’t show, and he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with his daughter. She wanted to spend it with us, but this was a good opportunity for them to work things out.

  And even if I wanted, I couldn’t i
nvite Sulli to my uncle’s house. No one knows we’re together, not even my mom.

  She waves a hand like my cousins are full of shit anyway. “Ignore ‘em.”

  For a second, I contemplate telling her about me and Sulli and Akara. “Ma,” I start.

  Knock knock.

  Fuck me sideways and back to fucking hell again. I dig irritably in my pocket.

  “What’s that noise?” she asks.

  “An alert for The Royal Leaks.” I open the website.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Thatcher & Jane are trying to have a baby.

  #TodaysLeaks #GetItOn #oooohbaby

  I smile, liking this one, even if the news should’ve been aired with their permission. I show my mom.

  She gasps into a big grin and pats my chest.

  I wrap an arm over my mom’s shoulders. “Someday soon, you’re gonna be a grandma.”

  “You’re gonna be an uncle.”

  “Uncle Banks.” I nod, liking that for me.

  The door flings open. “Gloria!” my aunt shouts. “Did ya see?!” More shouts of excitement pitch the air behind her. Uplifting my Thanksgiving.

  34

  SULLIVAN MEADOWS

  I peel a green cupcake decorated like an alien head and just sniff the frosting. Contact sugar high. It smells fucking divine. Bet it tastes even better.

  I’m salivating.

  If Winona didn’t recently profess to being so proud of me for still being vegan, I’d deep-throat this birthday cupcake right now.

  I sink deeper on a teal beanbag. In the penthouse’s game room, we pushed aside the pool table to make room for several beanbags and a projector screen.