Fuel the Fire

by Krista Ritchie

  Shakespeare’s words: I would not wish any companion in the world but you.

  Connor’s annotation: Nothing is truer.

  His lips to my ear, he whispers, “‘Hear my soul speak.’” I feel his grin against my cheek.

  Those four words are on this page too. He didn’t highlight them, but he drew an arrow to the line on top of a yellow sticky note.

  It’s beautiful. My favorite play with his real thoughts combined.

  My eyes lift from my book to Loren and Lily. They flip through them keenly, smiles expanding with each new page turned. I notice writing along the margin of the paper instead of sticky notes like mine.

  “Yours is vintage,” Connor explains. “I didn’t want to write on the pages.” He knows me well.

  “Thank you,” I breathe. Right then, Jane tugs on my hair. My head knocks into Connor’s from the sudden momentum. This is a sign.

  He recovers before I do, and he places his hand on my forehead, which took the impact and wells with pain.

  “This is what happens when I say something nice to you,” I tell Connor, the pressure of his hand stopping my forehead from throbbing. “The universe rebels.”

  “You just equated our daughter to the entire universe, and I’m the conceited one?” He laughs once, inspecting the bump on my head. “You’re okay. Do you need ice?”

  “Yes, for your ego.”

  “My ego isn’t bruised. You must’ve really hit your head hard if you think it can be.” He winks. He winks—I huff, glare, and poke him with a finger, hoping my manicured nail digs into him.

  He smiles more. “Yes?”

  “Wait, what the hell did he get you?” Lo’s loud, edged voice cuts into my hot streak, his question directed to his older brother.

  I now just notice the small, leather-bound journal in Ryke’s hands. Ryke really cheated last year. Connor wanted to learn more about everyone by reading our favorites, and Ryke handed him a blank journal—basically saying fuck you in a present.

  I have no idea what Connor did to that journal. No one does but Ryke, and he barely flips through it. “It’s just the same thing I gave him.” Ryke clears his throat some, which means that Connor did write in it—but instead of sharing, he slides the journal into the back of his pants, like one would a handgun.

  “Right where I love my gifts.” Connor smiles.

  Ryke flips him off, putting his middle finger in front of the video camera lens.

  “Your kids are going to love that someday,” Lo says.

  Ryke gives him a look. “What kids?”

  Daisy tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and then stands. “Anyone need coffee refills?” She collects her mug and mine.

  “I’ll come with you,” Lily says, climbing to her feet and carrying Moffy. She disappears into the kitchen with Daisy, leaving me with the three guys.

  Connor passes me the crossword. “C’est à votre tour.” Your turn.

  “Dude,” Ryke snaps at his brother, propping the camera on the armrest. “I’d chuck a fucking pillow at you right now, but I don’t want to hit your kid.”

  “Pillow fighting this early?” Connor banters.

  He can’t slice through the frothing intensity. “I said someday,” Lo retorts. “Don’t get so bent out of shape over it.”

  Ryke rubs his eyes wearily. “Sorry. It’s just everything—the surgery, I don’t fucking know.” He has to be nervous, regardless if the success rate is high or not. Once he comes out of surgery, the waiting game finished, he’ll be better. I have faith that he will be.

  “You’re not dying,” Lo says adamantly. “Okay? You can’t die.”

  “We all die sooner or later,” Connor muses.

  I swat him with the newspaper, which is not as satisfying as poking him with my nail. He simply arches a brow. I scowl and return to the crossword.

  The new word on the paper: Osculate

  I…

  I don’t know this word. I hesitate to reach for my phone and do a quick dictionary search in front of Connor. Osculate. I bet it’s slang for anal or maybe some kinky position that I’ve never heard of before.

  Osculate, my brain repeats the word. Curiosity prevails and I procure my phone, bringing up a dictionary app. Out of my peripheral, Connor wears the most conceited, self-satisfied grin. He knows I’m confused.

  “It better not mean anal,” I say tensely under my breath. I don’t think I’m ready for him to put anything in my ass.

  “You’ll see.”

  I almost recoil at his words. It’s worse than anal sex. What’s worse than that?

  The definition pops on screen: 1. [mathematics] a curve or surface touching another curve or surface, having a common tangent point of contact.

  What?

  2. a kiss

  I freeze. A kiss.

  “The Latin word for kiss is Osculum,” he explains and then kisses the top of Jane’s head, his lips pulling higher, eyes right on me.

  I do something out of the ordinary, unlike me, my heart blazing with fire. When he raises his head, I make the first move and kiss him on the lips, his surprise touching me for a split moment, not long enough for me to waver. His shock vanishes as he nips my lip and then kisses me harder, stronger—

  Jane pulls my hair again, abruptly separating us. I try to remove her grasp and distract her with the lion, my neck heating at Connor’s silence.

  “Say something,” I whisper to him.

  He cups my face, lifting my gaze to his. His thumb strokes my cheek, his eyes soulfully blue. “I know I’ve married the right person when words turn you on as much as they do me.”

  I read deeper into that, as I should.

  Translation: I could only ever be with you, Rose.

  [ 19 ]

  ROSE COBALT

  While I clean the wrapping paper after presents, I notice Lily suspiciously sneak upstairs, cautiously checking over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching her. Somehow she misses my beady, narrowed eyes.

  I’ve been preoccupied this past week staging two scenes with Connor for Celebrity Crush—one of which was Connor kissing me against a brick wall, right outside of Lucky’s Diner.

  We almost never kiss in public, so it was a front-page headline.

  I worry I’ve been out of the loop concerning my sisters. Connor, dressed in khakis and a navy sweater, barely bats an eye as he passes her on the stairs, finished putting Jane in her crib for a nap.

  “That wasn’t weird to you?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t glance back at her. “Your sister is always weird to me,” he says. “She speaks in fragments and uses words like OTP and shipper.” Before my spine arches in defense, he adds, “I like weird. It’s better than normal.”

  I drop the trash bag. “Well I think she’s up to something.” And I plan to find out. I march towards the staircase, realizing that he’s not following. I look back, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He’s acting suspicious too. “Are you joining me?”

  “To investigate your sister based on her weirdness? I don’t think so.”

  I point at him. “You’re going to wish you did.”

  “I sincerely doubt that, darling.”

  I choke on an irritated laugh and then perform a signature hair-flip. I stomp up the stairs, determination fueling my forceful stride. I feel Connor watching me, waiting for me to leave before he does. His caginess puts me on guard. Like I really need two Christmas mysteries.

  I decide to stalk my sister first, trusting Connor more since I’m fucking him and he better believe my vagina will cast out his dick for a hint of betrayal.

  Once I reach the top of the stairs, I immediately spot Lily standing outside my bedroom door, biting her nails.

  She turns her head to the crack of the door and whisper-hisses, “Hurry up.”

  If I had high heels on, she’d hear me. This is a clear case of fate. I’d shove this in Connor’s face, but of course he’s not here. I encroach her space quickly, and she jumps, almost falling against the w
all. She rights herself before she does.

  “Rose!”

  “Who’s in my room? Is it Loren?” I ask, edging past her easily and ramming the door open with my foot. Lily tries to grab onto my arm, but I am a one-woman bulldozer, steamrolling everything in my wake.

  No one is in my room, but someone haphazardly threw my pillows on the bed, my vanity drawer left half-opened. A velvet blanket has been misplaced from the chaise to a nearby ottoman…also not in its proper spot by my Queen Anne chair.

  I beeline for the bathroom.

  “Rose,” Lily calls, struggling to keep up with my vigorous pace. “I need you to take me to the doctor’s. I’m not feeling well.”

  “Nice try, Lily,” I say. I am on the hunt.

  “I told you this would never fucking work! Rose can sniff out a predator a mile away!” Loren shouts from the hallway, which means someone else is in my bathroom…or my closet. I veer towards my closet instead.

  “I’m not a predator,” Lily tells him, drawing away from me and towards her husband.

  “Of course not, love.” His voice softens for my sister.

  I swing open the closet door. Ryke, of all people, is crouched beside my extensive rack of heels, searching behind them. I clear my throat, and he stands, not even trying to hide the fact that he has been digging through my belongings.

  “What are you doing?” I place my hands on my hips.

  He scratches his unshaven jaw. “I was looking for something.”

  My brain circumnavigates to the sex tapes, to the diamond collar. “My sex toys?”

  “Fuck no.” He grimaces, eyeing the exit behind me like he plans to leave without offering me a single answer.

  I lock the door, imprisoning us both, and I even stand guard. “Spill.”

  He saunters forward, only a foot from me, and he tries to reach behind me for the knob. “Move, Rose.”

  “You’re the one who’s been snooping in my personal things.”

  “Is someone going to help me here?!” he calls to his allies on the other side.

  Lily jimmies the knob. “It’s locked!”

  Ryke looks down at me again. He won’t physically push me aside. I’ve never seen him manhandle a woman unless it’s playfully or flirtatiously. This falls in neither category.

  “You give me the truth,” I say, “and I open the door. It’s not so hard, is it?”

  “I was looking for your husband’s cocaine stash,” he says bluntly. “Is that what you wanted to fucking hear?”

  No.

  Shock, from being caught, washes over me before I can shroud a trace of it. The other Celebrity Crush article this week centered on Connor dropping a little baggie of white powder, photographed picking it up. It was powdered sugar, but Walter took a wide shot, the substance up for interpretation.

  Ryke reads my uneasy features. “For fuck’s sake, Rose, are you doing it with him too?”

  “No. And he only did it once,” I lie, spinning on my heels and trying to unlock the door quickly. I fumble with even turning the knob, Ryke putting pressure on me as he hovers close, his stance carrying too much doubt.

  “Are you sure it was just once?” he asks.

  “Yes, I saw him.”

  “What if he has a fucking problem, Rose?”

  I finally free myself from the closet with Ryke. “You’ve all tried it before. He doesn’t need your concern. He’s twenty-six.”

  “I don’t care if he’s fifty-five,” Ryke retorts. “We’re fucking worried. You both are acting unusual—”

  “We are not.” I begin to clean my disorderly room, fixing the pillows so they’re not turned sideways, shutting the crooked nightstand drawer. Lily and Lo linger in the doorway, his hand slipping down her pajama pants.

  I’m not even joking.

  Rooms. There are rooms for these things (and not my room), but when it comes to teasing Lily, Loren rarely cares about the location.

  “You dyed your hair orange for a day,” Ryke says. “That’s not fucking strange to you?”

  “Blonde,” I say. “It was supposed to be blonde.”

  That Celebrity Crush article about my hair was horrendous. They said that I was trying to be like Daisy, grasping at my youth since I’ve had a child. Some people cited it as a mental break. I change my hair color once, and I’m losing my mind. Daisy can change her hair color every other week and she’s expressing herself.

  It’s unjust.

  “Connor went down on you in a fucking parking lot.”

  I stop midway to my curtains that are creased incorrectly. I rotate to face him and our chests collide. I refuse to step back first, and unfortunately, he stands his ground too, his features darkening like what the fuck is going on?

  “And you go down on my littlest, most precious sister on our roof.” I point a finger at his chest, hoping he’ll take one step back. He does not. “I could’ve castrated you for even waving your dick around her, you know. You’re my age.” I bring up old news to thwart the current event.

  His jaw hardens. “Thank you for not castrating me.” I wait for him to say I like fucking your sister just to piss me off, but I forget that he’s not Loren. “And you’re right—it shouldn’t be strange that you’re doing things that the rest of us do or have tried once. I guess none of us thought you two would be so…” His brows pinch, unable to find the word.

  “Wild,” I answer for him.

  “Yeah.”

  I return my course to the curtains. I think I did really well, even without Connor’s assistance. “I thought you don’t read tabloid articles.” I wonder how he read this headline. “And you rarely believe anything inside of them. Unless you really have been in a three-way relationship with Lily and your brother?”

  “Fuck no.” He follows me to the curtains. “Daisy saw the article first, and she asked me if I knew that Connor did cocaine. I asked Loren, who asked Lily, and we were all just confused. Look, I didn’t want to fucking believe it, but some photographs can’t be taken out of context. I couldn’t spin this any other way.”

  “He was picking up drugs for a friend. How about that one, Ryke?” I stop by the window, straightening the chic, light-blue fabric that matches my bedspread.

  “Is that true?”

  “No,” I say, “but you could’ve just asked us.”

  “Addicts lie,” Lily chimes in from the doorway, her face flushed from Loren’s groping. He’s just holding her around the waist now and whispering in her ear.

  I smooth a crease in the curtain. “The only thing Connor is addicted to is his own monstrous ego.” I glance at the window for a brief second, movement outside causing me to do a double take. Is that…? I edge closer until my legs touch the wall.

  “Guys!” Daisy calls, bounding into my bedroom with wet hair. Ryke rotates abruptly, his body tensing, but Daisy is fast approaching, unharmed. She squeezes past Lily and Lo. “After I finished taking a shower,” she exclaims quickly, “I looked out the window and I saw—”

  “What is he doing?” My eyes sear holes through the window. In freshly plowed snow, Connor treks along the street, wearing a black winter coat, a blue-wrapped present in hand.

  Loren knocks into my shoulder, trying to peer down below. “Did he say something to you?” No. Lily worms her way between us, her nose nearly touching the glass. There’s not room for all five of us, not until Ryke lifts Daisy onto his shoulders, his body squished on my right.

  Connor veers towards the gorgeous stone house with manicured hedges and circular driveway. Scott’s house. “He better be gifting Scott rat poison,” I announce. Why wouldn’t he ask me to join him? I recall last time—where I couldn’t bottle my emotions. Where all of us went off the hinges. All of us but him.

  “I bet it’s road kill,” Lo guesses. “Maybe a dead armadillo.” That’s something that Lo would’ve done to frighten Scott.

  I can’t picture Connor mimicking Loren’s actions. I draw another blank. He’s hiking up the driveway to Scott’s front door.

>   Daisy has both palms to the glass. “I bet it’s a fuck you cupcake.”

  Ryke holds her legs affectionately and stares up at her. “Cute, Calloway.”

  Their exchange pulls my mind to that night again, when Scott planted vicious seeds of misery in our heads. “Daisy,” I begin, “did you ever sleep with someone named Trent?” I question how much bullshit Scott was spewing our way.

  Daisy opens her mouth and closes it, uneasy since she’s sitting on Ryke’s shoulders.

  Ryke glowers at me. Their relationship is ultimately the most private of everyone’s in the house. I don’t know how much they tell each other or what they share. “You can’t ask her that, Rose.”

  “She’s my sister,” I refute.

  “And she’s my fucking girlfriend,” he retorts. “You don’t need to know who she’s slept with.” He knows the truth. He knows the truth before me. That’s so backwards.

  Where is the sisterly loyalty? I try to swat away the reality: that we’re all just a little bit closer to our men than we are each other. This was always going to happen, Rose. I know, but I thought we had more time still.

  “It was a really long time ago, and I don’t remember a lot,” Daisy finally answers. “So hey, I figure it barely counts, right?”

  “What do you mean—you don’t remember?” I’m ready to shed my protective armor and fling it on my sister. Loren and Lily have pried their gazes off the window and onto Daisy too. Ryke is the only one who seems caught up.

  “I drank a lot of champagne. It was after a modeling thing. It really doesn’t matter.” She shrugs this off, her gaze drifting back to outside. “Hey, he’s at the house!”

  Her distraction works. Across the street, Connor rings the bell. Seconds pass before Scott opens the door. I can’t discern small details, but I catch Scott’s trademark smile, smug and pompous. After a quick exchange, I expect Connor to shove the present in his chest and leave.

  Instead, Scott swings the door wider, welcoming Connor inside. He nods and disappears within the confines of that house, the door shutting closed.

  “What the hell,” Lo says, stunned.

  “Connor is probably threatening him,” Lily nods a couple times.