“My hand,” Connor answers. He takes it off the window and then plants his palm on my shoulder, pushing me. “Down.”
I drop to my knees, realizing the girls need to determine whether or not his face is visible—and I was blocking him. I have no clue what to do with my hands in this situation. My face is near his crotch.
Connor shakes his head at me like I’m his worst pretend lay.
“Dammit,” Rose curses.
Connor grips my hair. “If you can see this, we have an issue.” He tilts my head back, jerking my chin and face up so that my eyes meet his.
“Goddamn you’re aggressive, love.”
“If you want softer, you’re with the wrong man.”
A truth I’ve always known, and I didn’t have to pretend make-out with him to find out.
Lily inhales. “Is Lo giving you a blow job?”
Connor releases his grip, and I cock my head towards the phone in his hand. “A pretend blow job, love.”
“Ohmygod.”
My pretends with Lily are real. They always have been.
I stand up. “Lily Hale,” I say towards the phone. I think about all the things I could say, but I end up with this one, “I love you.”
Her voice is a lot more subdued. “I love you just as much.”
I relax. “Is this the end of our fight?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I should give more pretend blow jobs,” I say to her.
“Ohmygod. Is my face hot?” she asks her older sister.
“Nice nipples, boys,” Daisy says.
Connor picks up his shirt and passes me mine. “They can see through the window,” he states what we all now know.
I put my shirt on. “Can we get someone to tint the windows more?”
“One of my subsidiary companies focuses on tinting,” he reminds me. “I’ll see what they can do.”
“There you go,” I say to the girls on the line. “Connor Cobalt saves the day again.”
In our world, it’s a common ending.
< 27 >
July 2022
The Meadows Cottage
Philadelphia
RYKE MEADOWS
“When does rain stop? What is rain made of?” Sulli lies on a mound of pillows she calls Mermaid Rock and kicks her feet like she’s splashing water. “What if it rains forever? What would happen then?”
At four, she has dark brown hair, wild and long, inquisitive green eyes, and tanned skin from the time we spend outdoors, especially in the fucking summer. Rain thrashes against the windowpanes, and Sulli knows it’s the reason why we aren’t in the backyard.
I’m on the living room floor with my daughter, the two of us awake at an early fucking hour. Around 5:00 a.m. in Philly.
“Rain is water that comes from the fucking clouds,” I say after I eat a big spoonful of cereal, “and too much creates a flood.”
Sullivan doesn’t ask me to define a flood. She places her hands beneath her chin and scrunches her nose at my half-eaten bowl of granola cereal. She spits it out whenever I let her try some—but it’s not the only food she hates.
Vegetables? Fucking never.
Meat? Not yesterday or a fucking year from that.
Fruit? Mostly melons and tangerines.
She only ate a fucking waffle after Daisy put whipped cream and caramel on top.
Sullivan kicks her legs again, dressed in a green mermaid skirt and a tiny bikini top. When I woke, I peeked into her room and found her hastily tugging on her skirt. Like she was running out of fucking time.
“Hey, sweetie.” I bent down and helped pull up her shiny green skirt, and then I fumbled with the strands of the bikini top.
“I’m gonna be late.” She sprinted around me, worry in her eyes.
“Sulli!” I ran after her and muttered, “Fucking A.”
“Mommy! Mommy!” she shouted, swinging her head for any sign of Daisy. “It’s mermaid day!”
I picked her up before she reached the banister. She wiggled against me and outstretched her arms towards the air as though she could fly right to her mom. It nearly broke my fucking heart, but I just remembered, she knows her mom.
She has one.
In some different kind of world, she’d never meet Daisy, and her life wouldn’t contain the same breathtaking light.
I threw Sulli over my shoulder to distract her, brought her back into her room, and plopped her down on her wicker swing. I grabbed hold of the fucking sides so she wouldn’t dash off.
“Mommy’s not fucking back yet,” I reminded Sulli. I told our daughter that she’d be gone for three days. It’s been one.
Her chin trembled. “Why?”
“She’s checking on all the fucking kids at camp.” Daisy isn’t the camp director. She’s the owner, so she’s not there full-time in the summer. But during the two-week and month-long sessions for campers, Daisy will attend their Spirit Days, which are really a kid’s last three days at Camp Calloway. It’s filled with more celebration and activities, including hanging out with Daisy, a world-famous celebrity.
Sulli began crying. “But she’s my fairy godmother…”
Dais and Sulli play dress-up when our daughter wants. If I ever join them, I’m the fucking pirate who says bad words. I didn’t think Sullivan would declare today as mermaid day, but she misses Dais. There’s a gaping hole in our lives when she’s not around.
Sulli blubbers out, “I thought she’d be back. Can you tell her to come home soon? Please, Daddy. Will she come home?”
When Sulli cries, my heart caves. My world fucking caves. I cave.
How do I cheer up my fucking daughter?
Simple.
I became the fairy fucking godmother.
In less than a minute, her tears stopped, she led me to her trunk of trinkets, and she passed me Daisy’s pink tutu outfit and purple paper wand.
It’s what I wear now. I squeezed the fuck into my wife’s leotard, thankful she’s tall or else there would’ve been no way this would’ve worked.
Sulli called me the grumpy fairy, like there are seven of us. Now we’re eating breakfast in the quiet cottage on the living room floor. Sullivan nibbles on a tangerine slice and rattles off more questions.
“What is water made of?”
“Molecules.” I say before eating another spoonful of cereal.
“Why are molecules cold?”
“Ask your fucking uncle.”
“Why does Uncle Connor know everything?”
“Because he’s a fucking know-it-all.” I wipe my mouth with my arm, my brows scrunching as Sulli rolls onto her back.
She peeks beneath the waistband of her mermaid skirt. “Daddy?” Concern spikes her voice. I’m about to scoot closer and pull her off the mound of pillows, but she asks, “Where did my hair go down there?”
Fucking fuck.
Before I changed into this fairy outfit, I thought she’d been staring at the trail of hair that runs from my belly button and disappears beneath the band of my track pants.
“You’re too fucking young to have hair down there.”
She pouts sadly and keeps staring beneath her skirt. “Will it come soon?”
“No.” Fuck no. I’m not ready for her to go from four to fucking puberty yet. I seriously feel like she was just born yesterday. Truth is, I can’t imagine seeing her as anything other than my little girl.
I sip the milk from my bowl, set it aside, and text Dais: how do you feel?
Right when I press send, my phone beeps with an incoming message.
Ryke… – Lo
I cancelled on the gym this morning with my brother and Connor because Sulli was upset. That one text skyrockets my nerves.
What’s wrong? I send it. A second beep.
Groovy :) – Daisy
I’d smile more if my little brother didn’t just send me a random ass text. Third beep.
Can you come to the gym? – Lo
Something’s wrong.
I don’t think twice. I
just act. “Want to go for a fucking ride, Sulli?” I’m already lifting her off the pillows.
Sulli nods rapidly and spits out her tangerine.
I practically storm out the fucking door.
* * *
I only remember I’m in a fucking leotard and tutu when I park my Land Cruiser at the gym. Four cameramen are waiting by the curb.
“Fuck,” I curse, unbuckling. I turn to the backseat, searching for a pair of pants.
Sullivan waits patiently in her car seat, not afraid of the paparazzi because of Daisy’s Shell Time TV game, but she’s not friendly towards them either. Don’t fucking talk to strangers, we’ve repeated to Sulli a thousand fucking times.
Ropes. Carabineers. A fucking climbing helmet but no change of clothes. “Fuck it.” I open my door to intense hollering and camera flashes.
I’m on an ignore and fuck off setting. I open the passenger door and start unbuckling Sulli, her hands pressed over her ears because of this:
“RYKE!”
“TURN AROUND, RYKE!”
“RYKE, RIGHT HERE!! OVER HERE!”
“SULLIVAN! OVER HERE!!”
“LET’S SEE YOU SMILE, SULLIVAN!” More paparazzi start pulling up in the half-filled parking lot.
I lift Sulli out of the seat. I’d like to carry her inside, but she asks softly, “Can I walk, Daddy?” I put her down on her feet, and she takes my hand.
At this point, the pink leotard rides up my fucking ass, but it’s not even on my list of concerns. One cameraman almost cuts in front of us.
“Back the fuck up,” I curse and another cameraman grabs that guy’s shirt, pulling him out of our way.
“He’s new!” someone shouts, disassociating with that other guy.
That’s it. I pick Sulli up in my arms.
“Daddy.” She wiggles to be set down.
“Just until we go in, Sul.” Two seconds later, I’m pushing open the doors. The gym is sort of fucking empty, but everyone still looks towards us. Even if I didn’t wear this costume, I’d still be stared at.
“Wooow.” Sulli gawks at the rows of equipment. From ellipticals to treadmills to stair climbers. She’s never been in a gym like this one before.
Like I promised, I put her down and then guide her towards the weight benches in the back. I find my little brother on one, Connor spotting.
I scan both of them quickly, but they seem…fine.
“Hey!” I shout angrily.
Lo turns his head, wide-eyed with a what the actual fuck expression—his arms give out. My lungs plummet until Connor seizes the bar, right before it can hit Lo’s chest.
I let out a tight fucking breath.
Lo sits up and motions to me, then to himself, then to Sulli, back to me. He bursts into a smile. “Is it my birthday? Because it’s either Halloween or you forgot to tell me you’ve become a part-time ballerina.”
“He’s my grumpy fairy godmother,” Sulli explains, smiling up at me.
“Only one-third accurate,” Connor says, wiping his hands on a towel.
“Two-thirds goddamn classic.” Lo takes a photo of me.
I don’t mind.
“Uncle Connor?” Sulli walks closer to him but then notices a shiny barbell and heads that way. Still, she asks, “Why are molocooles wet?” She forgets how to say molecules, and he doesn’t have to answer because she tries to pick up the fucking barbell.
I’m already pulling her back a foot or two.
She looks at me like can I touch?
I crouch, pick up the weight, and let her look at it. At this, I focus on my little brother. “What’s going on with you?”
“With me?” Lo pockets his phone and uncaps his water bottle. “You’re the one who showed up in a tutu. Were paparazzi still outside?”
“I don’t fucking care.” I don’t care about the tabloids or my costume. I care about my little brother. “What’s wrong? You texted me.” My jaw hardens.
His face falls. “Christ…you ran over here, didn’t you?” Guilt eats at him for a quick second, and he rubs the back of his neck.
“I’d fucking do it again. You okay?”
“Yeah. I just wanted you here, not need. Just want.” He watches Sulli put her ear to the barbell like she does conch shells. “Do I need to start putting SOS in my texts so you can tell when I’m dying?”
I groan, “No. I only need one Lily in my fucking life.”
Connor banters, “SOS I can’t find the remote.”
Lo laughs because that was an actual fucking group text Lily sent when we all lived together. “SOS Ryke has a leotard wedgie.”
“Like father, like daughter,” Connor muses, referring to Sulli’s famous wedgie picture.
I shake my head. “Fuck you and fuck you too.”
Sulli pats the barbell. “Fuck me!”
Fucking fuck.
“Ohh, shit.” Lo winces.
Connor lets nothing pass his features. I rub my temple and say strongly, “Hey, Sulli. Don’t ever say that again. That’s fucking bad.”
It’s hard because I can’t tell when I curse until five seconds later, and even then, I have to think about it. Sullivan frowns, not understanding.
Lo proclaims, “I will go batshit crazy if Luna says that.”
“Not fucking helping.” I run my hand over my face once and then figure this out. “Every time you say bad words, you have to eat another veggie.”
“No.” Her lips downturn. “Daddy…”
I hear my brother whisper to Connor, “He’s a sucker for this.”
“Give him a minute.”
“One vegetable,” I say. “That’s it, sweetie.” It’s my fucking fault she curses, and she acts like I’m subjecting her to criminal punishment.
“Okay,” she says so fucking sadly. I almost tell her never mind, we’ll let this one pass, but then I glance at my brother and he mouths, law, lay it down—and he mimes a gavel.
So I kiss the top of her head and stand up.
Lo starts slow clapping. “Progress.”
Connor joins the slow-clap. “Minimal progress.”
I have to bite my tongue from calling them prick and major prick. “You’re lucky Sulli’s here.”
Connor, who usually pisses all over the word luck, lets it slide this time.
“Damn right,” my little brother says, “or else we would’ve missed this.” Lo never motions to my costume.
His words burrow much deeper than right here and right now.
* * *
Day two without Daisy, and I miss her like fucking crazy. I wake up around 5:00 a.m. again, my blankets not rumpled, not fucking entangled like someone kicked and rolled and turned. The bed never squeaks.
I don’t see her fucking smile or hear Nutty scuttle around while checking each and every door. The white husky stays with Dais at Camp Calloway. The thought slowly hardens my jaw.
I’m jealous of a fucking dog.
I scratch at my disheveled hair, the dark room quiet and fucking lonely.
Truth is, before we had Sulli, Daisy and I could be apart and communicate fine through text, maybe a two-minute phone call here and there—but we never needed to be together at all times like my brother and Lily. I feel the change in us.
No one will ever be like Lily and Lo, but for fuck’s sake—I miss Daisy like I haven’t seen her in a year, and it’s been two fucking days. I rub my face, trying to snap out of it, but I’m certain that once I see Sulli, Daisy’s absence will slam at me all over again.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, I grab my phone off the fucking nightstand. Green paper lanterns sway overhead with the hum of the ceiling fan. I click on my first contact and press FaceTime. So the screen isn’t pitch-black, I flip on fucking lights and then return to my same spot.
Daisy answers on the second ring, and I instantly meet sunny, green eyes amid dimly-lit surroundings. She moves back-and-forth, her hair in a messy fucking bun, and the longer I search her features, the greater her smile expands. Frogs c
roak softly and birds chirp in the fucking background, the sun not yet risen, but wherever she is outside, a lamp must illuminate her.
“Hey there,” she whispers, resting her cheek on her hand, grasping rope?
She’s swinging, I realize.
I picture her alone in the quiet, gentle fucking morning, swinging beside the lake. Racks of kayaks nearby, campers still sleeping while she’s wide awake.
She can’t restrain her smile. “You’ve missed me?”
More than you fucking know. I wear the answer all over my face. “How’d you fucking sleep?” I rest my forearms on my thighs, bent forward as I peer at my phone.
“Mmm,” she practically fucking moans. “The best I’ve had.”
My brows rise, disbelieving that it’s the fucking best ever. “That so, Calloway?”
She laughs, not able to pretend for long. “The best for not being at home with you. I slept for a good six hours. I only woke up a couple times.” Daisy adjusts her phone and chucks something. She rotates the camera. Nutty bounds towards the lake, paws splashing water, and then the husky enthusiastically brings a stick back to Daisy.
My relationship with Dais was never founded on words, so when dead-silence arrives over a call, it’s not tense or strained. It’s fucking peaceful.
I’d rather share the quiet with Daisy than sit in silence alone.
Her swing creaks, and she faces the camera again. Very softly, she says, “I miss you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” She picks at the rope. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, always fucking moving. “Every mountain reminds me of you.”
My lips almost lift. “You’re speaking to fucking mountains now, sweetheart?”
She laughs, which instantly makes me fucking smile. “Only the mountains you’ve touched. Those are my favorites.”
I watch Daisy peruse my features, and the I miss you she spoke about suddenly translates to her eyes. “Anything new? Is Sulli okay?”
“I’ll see if she’s still sleeping. She’ll want to fucking see you.” I stand at this, and I recall yesterday. The gym. The fucking paparazzi. “Have you been online?”
Daisy chucks another stick. “No. Spirit Days are always jam-packed, so I haven’t even been on the internet.” She pauses. “Why did something happen?”
Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) Page 33