Lo squats in front of his brother and waves the Lucky’s bag. “I’m going to toss this out of the goddamn window if you don’t stop.”
Ryke instantly snatches the bag as he stands to his feet.
Lo pats his brother on the shoulder. “Cute socks.”
I laugh into a grin. Ryke has to wear white compression stockings to help with blood flow, but I’m sure his constant trips out of bed help his circulation enough.
“Fuck you,” Ryke says lightly. He sits on the edge of his bed, already scouring the bag’s contents.
Lo takes a seat next to him. “Really though, were you coherent when the doctor said you could damage your spleen and need a second operation?”
Ryke pops a fry in his mouth. “I was coherent, and I also heard him tell me that they didn’t damage any of my fucking organs during surgery.” He pulls out a wad of napkins from the bag. “I can’t hurt my spleen on my own. The surgeons would’ve had to majorly fuck up three days ago, and they didn’t.”
I lean back. “An infection is still entirely possible.”
Lo nods a couple times.
Ryke glares once at me before eating another fry. “I’m fucking fine. I should be out of here tonight—”
“No,” Lo cuts him off with a darkened look. “You’re supposed to be in here for at least six days.” They’ve never been in this role reversal: Ryke being the invalid. Loren being the healthy one. Both aren’t doing well by the switch.
To alleviate the tension (what I do best) I say, “There is a pair of communal handcuffs floating around our house somewhere. I’d be happy to pay it forward and cuff you to your bed.”
Ryke unwraps his Philly cheese steak. “How about—fuck off.”
Well I tried. He’s never been cooperative when subjects circumnavigate around him. He’s just used to dealing with his personal life in private and his weaknesses by himself. I can understand that, but he has people that care about him now.
He’s not alone anymore.
Lo scratches the back of his neck. “You haven’t been running, have you?”
Ryke eats his sandwich, staying quiet.
Lo stares faraway at the ground, shaking his head a few times and cracking his knuckles. Ryke meets my gaze once and I raise my brows at him like you have to talk about it. He can’t shut Lo out, not after all of the strides they’ve made in their relationship.
Ryke takes a swig from his water bottle. “I tried to run once, and the nurses stopped me.”
“Good,” Lo snaps.
Ryke digs deeper in the Lucky’s bag. “Did you forget the mustard?”
Lo turns to me with an expression that I read as what were you saying back in that elevator? Oh wait, you were wrong.
I pass over the mustard inaccuracy. “How exactly did the nurses stop you?” I wonder, trying to picture this act.
“They said stop and I fucking stopped.”
“Did they pat your head and say good boy too?”
Lo laughs.
Ryke glowers.
“What kind of treat did they give you? A belly rub?”
Lo chimes in, “Did that feel good, bro?”
Ryke throws a greasy fry covered in chili at me and then at Loren. It stains my navy sweater. I’m not necessarily happy about it, but I knew it was the risk of teasing him. Ryke is fond of projectiles and food lies in his vicinity.
He checks the closed door over his shoulder, his body tensing in seriousness. “How has Daisy been sleeping at night? I’ve asked her a few times, but she just tells me not to worry.”
Lo looks to me, unsure of how to answer. Daisy has trouble sleeping alone from her PTSD, and the first night, Rose checked on her at three in the morning. All the lights were on in Daisy’s bedroom down in the basement. Rose said that she was wide-awake, alarmed by the smallest noises, so Rose has been sleeping in her bed to keep her company.
Last night, both Lo and I rushed in at two in the morning to her terrified screams. Rose struggled to calm her little sister down, and Daisy was adamant that a man was peering through her window.
We checked, and no one was outside.
“Rose said that Daisy tosses and turns a lot,” I offer this information, wary to give the rest. I think Daisy is part of the reason he wants to leave by tonight. “They’re on their way here, so you’ll see her.”
Ryke looks sick to his stomach. He actually stops eating, his sandwich on his lap. “Could Rose tell how long she slept?”
“Maybe four hours.” Or less. “The more she sees Frederick, the better he’ll be able to discern what type of medication she needs to sleep.”
Ryke nods a couple times, and someone knocks before the door blows open. I expect the girls, but it’s actually two nurses dressed in white scrubs: an older woman with glasses around her neck and a younger, blonde girl—possibly a nursing student.
“What’s all of this now?” the older woman asks, scrutinizing the assortment of greasy food.
“Sustenance,” Lo says with a dry half-smile.
“Right,” the older nurse snorts, still trying to determine whether she should collect the food as contraband.
The young nurse focuses solely on Ryke with a curious gaze that I’ve seen often from fans. She plucks his chart off the end of the bed and flips through the papers. “His digestion has been doing well, no problems with his intestines, so the extra food should be fine.”
“No shit,” Lo jokes to his brother. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this combination gives you the runs.” He gestures to the chili and the cheese steak. Ryke shoves his brother’s arm playfully.
I’m waiting for the older nurse to yell at the student, about confidentiality and not being allowed to share his condition in front of visitors. The older nurse never says a word, pumping up Ryke’s pain meds through the IV.
“Alright, you can keep the food,” the older nurse says. “Maybe we can have you boys sign some things for us too? I have a niece who is obsessed with Princesses of Philly.”
Lo takes control. “No problem,” he says, “the girls will probably be happy to sign stuff too.”
“Really?” Her face lights up. “That’s so sweet of you.”
I almost laugh, but instead cover it with an amiable smile. Sweet isn’t a word I’d use to describe Loren.
The younger nurse sets the chart back at the edge of the bed. “Do you think the show will ever get a second season?”
Before Ryke and Loren say no, I beat them and tell her, “We’re actually considering it.”
Her smile stretches her face, one she can’t contain. I can tell that she’s biting her gums to try. “That’d be really amazing.”
Ryke and Loren look a little pissed and frustrated, understanding that we have to keep a level of mystery. Scott needs to think we’re still mulling over a season two, and sending a definitive no out into the world, even by a small rumor, will make gaining his trust harder for me.
“Before I go, do you need anything else Ryke?” the young nurse asks. “Have you been in pain at all?”
He meets her gaze, and I’ve been around Ryke long enough to read his level of interest in a girl. Since he’s been serious with Daisy, he’s never seemed to think twice about someone else.
“I’m fucking fantastic, which is why I need to get out of here tonight.” He’s not reciprocating anything with her, not even accidentally throwing mixed signals. His thoughts are with his girlfriend.
“You know that’s not possible,” she says. The older nurse passes my chair and then exits, as though she’s been paged somewhere else.
“That’s what I’ve been telling him.” Lo twists his wedding band. It’s an anxious habit, a giveaway that says he’s craving a drink.
Ryke follows my gaze and notices the sign from his brother. He sighs heavily. “I’ll be out of here in two more days then?”
“That’s possible,” she nods. “We just need to keep watching your vitals. If you take it easy but keep walking gently around, you’ll be out of here in no time.”
&
nbsp; Ryke wraps his sandwich back and places it in the bag. “I’ll do that then.” He’s letting go of this fight for his brother. Strangely, his love for Lo may be what helps him stop from getting an infection.
If my mother was alive and could see this, I’d show her it as evidence: love benefiting someone’s health. It’s tangible enough that she might’ve accepted it, as I do now.
When the nurse leaves, Lo says, “She seemed like your type.” I hear the warning in his voice.
Lo can’t read Ryke as well as I can, which is why they need to communicate through words to avoid fighting. That’s not easy for either of them, but thankfully they’ve grown better at expressing themselves to each other.
Ryke sets the bag of food aside on a tray table. “Who?”
“You didn’t notice the blonde nurse?”
“So you think because you’ve seen me date—what three blondes—that’s my thing?” Ryke asks, swaying a little from the pain meds. This is amusing.
I rest my ankle on my thigh, watching my current entertainment for today. “He’s right,” I tell Lo. “I could give you the percentage of women he’s dated according to hair color and the blonde ratio is small. I’d do the math in my head, but honestly, I don’t care enough.”
Ryke rolls his eyes and they somehow land on my neck. “What the fuck is that?”
“I think your species calls it woof woof.”
Lo bursts out laughing.
Ryke is too doped up to join in.
“It’s a hickey,” I say. “And yes, Rose gave it to me. And yes, I forgot to cover it up before I left.”
“So the tabloids caught you?” He shakes his head slowly. “You forgot? You.” He points at me.
Lo snorts with another laugh attached.
“I know it’s incredibly hard to believe.” Because it’s not true. “But I was running late. Time essentially bested me.” Which has happened before. His pain medication may be on my side today.
He seems mildly disbelieving still. “The whole thing is fucking weird.”
Lo nods in agreement. “Didn’t Daisy get caught with a hickey once?”
“But that was…” He’s about to say that was Daisy. This is about Rose and Connor. He grimaces at his own words. It’s not fair to say that Rose can’t do something that other women can, simply because she’s set a precedent for being uptight and high-strung.
Truthfully though, it’s the reality. Once you change your nature, people question.
Ryke let’s it go, resting an arm on his brother’s shoulder. “You know what my type is?” And he wears a drugged smile, his lips slowly lifting. “Daisy Calloway.”
I’ve known that all along.
Some attraction is easier to spot than others. Theirs may be so outwardly apparent, but Rose’s attraction to me and mine with her is faint to most. It’s making these articles more popular for the press to pick up and run.
Ryke’s smile slowly wanes, her name bringing concern for these past few days again. He runs a hand through his thick hair. “I hate being away.”
“Yeah, but shit happens, right?” Lo says. “You have to let her figure out how to deal some nights on her own.” He pauses. “You have two more days here. At least you’re not away for three goddamn months.”
The air thins a little. When Loren went to rehab, he left Lily for three months, around the time where she was struggling with her own addiction.
Ryke stares at the floor. “You know what’s funny,” he says, his voice deep and raw. “When I was looking after Lily while you were away, I gave her such a hard fucking time.” He makes a growling noise. “If anyone did that to Dais…” He shakes his head. “I’m such a fucking asshole.”
Lo puts his hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to the goddamn club.”
“I’ll happily decline my membership,” I tell both of them.
Ryke rolls his eyes and Lo just laughs.
The tension breaks, but in the back of my head, I wonder how long it’ll be until one of my friends finds out what Rose and I have been doing with the media, who it’ll be, and how many voices will begin to complicate our world.
[ 26 ]
ROSE COBALT
I peruse a wall display of dildos and vibrators, my shoulders stiff as I indiscreetly look outside the store windows for the umpteenth time. Take the photograph, Walter. My cell never buzzes in confirmation, so I have to meander around the shelves longer.
I snatch a leather whip off a dominatrix display and twirl it around, feeling a little destructive today. This isn’t my first time in an adult store. In college, I went a few times, when there weren’t cameramen chasing me and the only people who really cared about my business were nosy women in my mother’s social circle.
Online shopping may be more discreet, but I like being informed about my product choices. The employees here know more than I do about sex toys. Growing up, I never had mental blocks at the idea of masturbating, but I always froze at being intimate with someone else.
“Cool…yeah, man. Just give Lily and Lo space. The more you crowd around them, the less likely they are to do it. I’ll talk to them for you, okay?” It sounds nothing like my husband, but yet, that’s his voice. He crests the corner, at the end of my aisle with his cell braced to his ear.
I twirl my whip with a hotter stare. I imagine Scott on the other line with Connor, and little minions with pitchforks dance across my brain. I recognize that Connor is partially putting on this charade for me. He could live with the sex tapes. I’m the one who can’t.
I’m thankful to have someone like Connor, who’d be willing to do whatever it takes so that I don’t have to. I can’t fake it as well as him. If I come into contact with Scott again, I’d maul his face off.
I snap the whip, and it cracks in the air.
Connor’s brow arches, but agitation coats his face at whatever Scott is saying. I can see it surface as he rubs his lips. He plasters on a cheerful, congenial voice. “Golf on Saturday works for me, just don’t go too hard. I haven’t played in a year.” His eyes rise to mine.
I mouth, ew.
He grins. “See you then.” He hangs up.
“What two kings sit on the thrones of England and France at the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities?” I ask him. “You have one minute.” I crack the whip again.
His lips keep lifting upward, his usual arrogance returning. Normally I’d scoff at it, but I do love this part of him, definitely after his fake conversation. I’m happy to see the real sides emerge.
“George III and Louis XVI,” he answers correctly.
“Congratulations, you saved yourself from a 24-hour silent treatment.” I inspect the length of the whip and accidentally glance at the store windows again.
Connor approaches me, his hand slipping to the small of my back. In one sensual, seamless action, he kisses me and nips my bottom lip between his teeth. It would be amazing—if I didn’t descend into my head. I go rigid and spot the cashier watching us from the register, the shelves too low to hide us.
“Relax,” Connor whispers. PDA is hard for me. I understand it’s laughable that I struggle to kiss my husband in public when sex tapes of us are online, but I can block some of that out.
This is right now. Physically all me. Here.
“The store is nearly empty.” He can read my little insecurities. Connor called ahead and asked the manager to clear out the customers in exchange for their store featured in Celebrity Crush tomorrow.
It worked, and we had to take off lunch on a Friday afternoon to avoid suspicion from Ryke, Lily, Loren, and Daisy. Our bodyguards cover the door, so it’s clear that no one will interrupt us.
I toss my silky brown hair off my shoulder and inspect the whip again, a little dazed. “Do you prefer me this way?” I ask him. “Have you always wanted me to be outwardly affectionate?”
Connor tilts my chin, and his deep blue eyes barrel into me with sincerity. “No,” he says. “I love you the way you are. I don’t want to change you, but—”
But it doesn’t completely end for us.
We still plan to bolster the media by acting out. More PDA. More random baggie drops of powdered sugar. It’s been working, keeping the articles focused on our relationship rather than our children.
“I want Jane to have a sister,” I whisper. I’d step outside of my comfort zone a million times over just to give my daughter more in life. This has to work.
Connor draws me to his chest, holding me close. “J’en suis sûr.” I’m sure she will.
His phone buzzes with mine. Walter took the photograph?
Move closer to the rack on the right side. I don’t have a good angle. – WA
Ugh. Connor easily clasps my hand and guides me. All the while I drag the whip across the floor. I’ll buy it, just for dirtying the thing, but in no way is Connor using it on me.
We stop by the giant wall of multicolored dildos and vibrators. Some luxury brands, others much cheaper.
“Find anything you like?” Connor asks, partially serious.
I’ve never been in a sex store with him. “I like this,” I lie, in a cold voice, waving the whip near his ass.
He steals it from me, and I glare.
“That was mine, Richard.”
“And now it’s mine,” he teases. Then he snaps the whip, the crack much louder, echoing like a gunshot. The hairs on my arms rise, my legs turned to gelatin. He carries a whip like he’s the king of the fucking underworld.
“So now you’re a thief,” I refute, having to clear my throat once. He shouldn’t be this attractive in a sex store, and what’s more infuriating—he knows he is.
“If we weren’t married, then yes, I’d be considered a thief.” He turns back to the wall of toys.
I scowl. He always has to one-up me. I’ll beat him, make him uncomfortable for once. Game on. I scan the wall and remove the largest of the dildos, big and fat, also a shade of blue. Its girth alone looks insanely miserable. My vagina quivers in warning like hell no.
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