Luna starts reading again, and Kinney listens as intently as me. Only one page left and the door flies open.
“Mommy!” Five-year-old Xander races into the bedroom, floppy-eared Gotham hot on his heels. Xander’s smile is more apparent at the lake house than anywhere else. It’s the one safe place void of media attention.
No cameras in his face. No one shouting his name. We like bringing him here, especially when he needs to mentally relax and recuperate.
Xander tugs down his green Power Ranger shirt that rides up. Maybe he forgot what he wanted because he just stands still, smiling, pieces of his brown hair falling over his forehead. Gotham pants beside him.
Before I ask, my oldest son jogs into the bedroom, not out of breath, but smiling too.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi…?” I switch on Lily investigation mode.
Moffy lightly squeezes Xander’s shoulder in affection before tapping his sisters’ heads like bongos. “Luna, Kinney.” Then he pats mine. “Mom. Ready to go?”
“Wha…?”
Luna shuts her journal.
“Waitwaitwait, we have one page left.” I might have whined that. I’m just deeply invested in what happens to Zhola and Dash. It was a devoted whine, a whine that every person in every fandom may understand.
So there.
Luna says robotically, “Later.” She mimes a robot as she stands off the bed. Kinney slides off me and then the mattress before darting to Xander’s side.
I try to dust away the cobwebs of my brain, but confusion still crinkles my nose and brows. Moffy grabs both my hands and pulls me to my feet.
“What’s going on?” I ask my four kids. They’re never this sneaky. Luna has trouble keeping secrets from me; Kinney will rehash her entire day, including the driest details: I walked down the hall. I turned the doorknob. And then I sat on my bed; Xander lied once about doing his homework and two seconds later made a tearful confession; and Maximoff—he likes being treated like a grown-up, like if anyone is doing the sneaking, it’d be all the other little kids. Not him.
“It’s about my bike,” Moffy tells me.
I frown. “What about your bike?”
Moffy jabs his finger towards the door. “I left it on the west bank of the lake.”
How’d he get his bike over there? “Okay…” I trail off, my gaze drifting to the doorway where Loren Hale stands. I’m instantly distracted by him.
Cheekbones that cut like ice. Eyes like liquid scotch. He’s much more than an alcoholic beverage, and he knows it.
Lo flashes his iconic half-smile, and he says, “Never trust a bunch of Hufflepuffs to do a Slytherin’s job.”
Our three youngest kids pipe up at once, shouting about how they haven’t been sorted yet.
“I’m not eleven!” Kinney decrees.
“I’m a Hufflynclawdor,” Luna says.
“We gotta wait, Daddy. It’s too early for that,” Xander exclaims.
Lo cups his ear. “What was that? I can’t hear any of you. I’m immune to huffle-talk.”
They all groan like he’s the corniest dad in the entire universe.
I smile from ear-to-ear, gliding towards my best friend with gangly arms that ache to fit around him. Lo accepts the invitation, pulling me into the warmest, tightest hug.
He feigns a wince at our four children. “Christ, what is that on their faces? They’re smiling, Lil. Make ‘em stop.”
I peek at our kids, all four smiling big, standing in an uneven line. Wearing superhero and pop culture paraphernalia. Lo squeezes me, no longer teasing. He sees each one, each kid, his nostalgia brimming with mine.
Between years of missteps, fuck-ups, and setbacks, something beautiful and pure happened, and we’re viewing every little bit.
“Huh?” Kinney cocks her head at us. “This isn’t part of the—”
Moffy covers her mouth with his hands, crouching behind her.
“Ha!” I point at my kids. “Something is up.”
“I swear, Mom, it’s about my bike,” Moffy lies.
“Lying liar,” I start, but Lo swivels me around.
“Did you call our son a lying liar, Lily Hale?” Lo gives me a look while he guides me into the hallway. Lo is a good and bad distraction. Good: he’s Loren Hale. Bad: I’ve left our kids behind, and I only realize when we’re halfway down the stairs.
“Lo,” I complain, about to turn back.
His hands plant firmly on my shoulders, leading me forward. “This way, love.”
Cobalt boys zip past us to the living room. Most of the lake house chatter originates from the kitchen, everyone probably gearing up for lunch. Kinney and I always eat Pop-Tarts in the late morning as a snack.
“What’d you put them up to?” I question.
He opens the backdoor. “We have to get Moffy’s bike off the west bank.”
My brows scrunch. “That’s a real thing?” I thought for sure he made up a story.
Lo never answers, bending slightly and lifting me on his back. I hook my arms around his collar, legs around his waist. He carries me past the red chairs on the grassy hill, and we head towards the…dock?
“Wait—we’re rowing?” One of our wooden canoes sways in the water.
“I’m paddling, love. You’re sitting and searching for the bicycle.”
My hazy mind only slightly clears when he drops my feet on the dock. “Waitwaitwait,” I say quickly, hands up. The canoe is bound to tip over with me inside of it—I know because I went canoeing with Daisy, and we were in the water in two seconds flat. “This isn’t a Lily and Lo thing. This is a Ryke and Daisy thing.”
Lo glares. “It’s our kid’s bike. That makes it a Lo and Lily thing.”
“Lily and Lo,” I correct.
“If you’re such a smarty-pants, then you should know my older brother doesn’t have a monopoly on recreational activities. We can do them too, Lil.”
“But we usually avoid these types of things, don’t we?”
He pauses for a second, cagey. Knowing I’m right. “What I think? Today is a new goddamn day, and I’m not doing this without you, Lily Hale, so don’t make me.”
I succumb to Loren Hale’s pouty, pleading gaze. “Okay.” It takes me a wobbly few minutes, but we’re in the canoe. It hasn’t tipped over, sunk, or flooded.
Successes.
It’s not so bad. The light breeze on the lake cools the tiring summer heat, and the further Lo paddles from the dock, the quieter our surroundings become. Lush green mountains landscape the vast, rippling water. Calm and slow compared to the hectic bustle of Philly.
Lo sidetracks me more than the rolling mountains. His muscles carve beneath his charcoal crew-neck shirt, his arrowhead necklace flat on his chest. It’s not just his body, though that’s definitely nice—it’s this cutting but loving look in his eyes.
Like he could wipe out a species of ants if they nipped at me. Lo would also be the first to tell you that he’s more bark than bite.
“We could’ve brought another oar,” I realize. “I could’ve helped.”
He reaches out and squeezes my puny bicep. “Huh, I could’ve sworn this is where muscles are supposed to be.”
I slug his arm.
He feigns a wince. “Ouch.”
“My upper-body strength has vastly improved these past few years,” I defend while he resumes paddling.
“That Spider-Man weight is five-pounds, Lil. You haven’t upgraded in the past few years.”
“Because it’s Spider-Man,” I say, “and it’s cool.”
His smile dimples his cheeks.
Before I’m lost to those dimples, a wasp buzzes around us, and I freak out—sliding to the far right of my canoe bench. “Lo! Wasp!” I duck, careful not to swat. I swatted at a bee once, and it fought back and stung my hand.
Lo stands up, the canoe swaying.
We’re going to tip over. “OhmyGod.” I duck again.
Lo sits beside me, and then he stretches out his shirt. “In you go.”
/>
I know what to do. Seeking safety from the wasp, I stick my head beneath the bottom of his shirt, sharing the fabric with him. Right up against his bare chest. I sense Lo swatting the wasp with his oar.
“Is it gone?!” I shout like he can’t hear me. You’re pressed up against him. Of course he can hear. It’s hard to forget where I am. My arms are tight around his waist, the warmth of his bare skin like home.
The canoe steadies as Lo goes still. He peeks down at me, through the collar of his shirt. His genuine smile begins to swell my heart.
“What…?” I breathe, slowly slipping out from beneath the fabric. I glance around, the wasp gone. We drift lazily towards the west bank.
Lo holds me to his chest, our limbs tangled up together. His face is sharp like steel blades built upon years and years of battles lost and won.
“These years…” he starts, and I know this is much more than a wasp. This is more than a bicycle. Whatever this is, it exists in our decades together. “These years have been epic, and not because it was easy—because it wasn’t always—but because you and me, we flew.”
My tears brim, and I see us fly beyond our lowest expectations for ourselves, all the hard parts where our addictions tried to weigh us down.
We flew.
“You made that possible, you have to know that,” Lo says, his voice lowering. “Without you, I just don’t know, Lil.” When his dad died, it’d been his lowest point in years.
“You’ve made it just as possible, Lo. I wouldn’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here,” I repeat the same sentiment. He helps me every day in ways that no one else could. No one else knows. It’s not just sex. It’s every emotion that’s tied to a low, to a really bad day.
I always turn to him like he turns to me, and we’re not enablers. No one says that we shouldn’t be together. No one tells us to split apart. Our souls are still wound together, still wound tight.
“You know what I tell your brother?” I take a deep breath, remembering the conversations I’ve had with Ryke. “I tell him, ‘Lo’s ice in the winter now. He won’t melt.’”
His eyes redden, welling, and he says, “Thanks to you.”
A tear rolls down my cheek. “I think you give me too much credit.” His brother has been a bigger force in his life.
Lo shakes his head vigorously. “Not enough. Never enough.” He rubs his eyes before his tears fall. “Christ. I told myself I wasn’t gonna make this emotional.”
My confusion spikes. “What do you mean…?” There’s no bicycle. My sleuthing skills did not fail me.
Lo digs a hand into his jean’s pocket and reveals a delicate silver chain. A red heart-shaped ruby encircled with diamonds dangles at the end.
The shape, the style—it’s an exact replica of my engagement ring.
“Lo,” I breathe, more tears surging.
He unclips the necklace. “I gave you my heart a long time ago, and I’m not sure I remind you enough that you still have it. All of it.” Lo leans into me and fits the jewelry around my neck.
I start to cry, clutching his waist. In the middle of this quiet lake. They’re snot-nosed tears.
“Lil,” he whispers, wiping my face with his shirt. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I don’t have anything for you.”
He laughs at me.
“It’s not funny,” I cry but that morphs into a tearful laugh that rattles my heart.
Lo kisses my cheek, smiling, and he whispers, “You’ve already given me everything, love.”
And then an electric song full of heavy bass blares across the lake. Side-by-side on the canoe bench, we look out towards the west bank.
Our four kids and floppy-eared basset hound stand on the hillside, a common spot because of the rope swing tied to a maple branch. Moffy raises a set of portable speakers, Bangarang by Skrillex booming. Luna, Xander, and Kinney—they wave out to us and lift up a sign together that reads: we love you!
They were a part of this surprise all along.
I laugh and cry simultaneously again. As we watch our kids, joy coating their faces, childlike wonder in their eyes, I remember every moment I spent with Lo where we said we can’t. Where we said we shouldn’t. Not people like us. This isn’t meant for us.
I realize something. So I tell him.
“I think we finally deserve this.”
Tears spill out of his eyes, and he says, “I believe it, too.”
{ goodbye }
May 2028
The Lake House
Smoky Mountains
LOREN HALE
Move.
Run.
Today will be a good day, fresh air outside the biting morning with my older brother. I just have to crawl out of bed first.
Lily’s limbs intertwine with mine, no beginning or end. I shift only one of her arms, and my soul wrenches like I should be closer, nearer. The desperate need to be with Lily still exists, still lives inside of me.
I lick my lips, another body wedged against me. My three-year-old daughter, dressed in a panda onesie, sprawls partially on my chest. How the hell am I going to move this little adorable thing? Kinney sleeps with her mouth shut. Dried tear tracks line her chubby, round cheeks.
She was scared last night, crying about some goddamn ghost or boogey monster. It was so late; we just let her sleep in our bed.
I sit up now.
Move.
Run.
When I step off the mattress, Lily’s eyes flutter open at the absent extra weight. “What’s…?”
I kiss her nose while her sluggish mind processes the early hour and what I’m doing awake. Then I make a crude gesture with my two fingers and tongue.
She makes a humph noise and slothfully pats my cheek. “You’re such a tease,” she whines.
“I’m also an asshole,” I whisper back with a half-smile. I wasn’t carefully tiptoeing around. I wasn’t that quiet. I selfishly wanted Lily to wake up—so I could hear her voice before I go. So I could kiss her nose and see her brows wrinkle.
Just like they do now.
Christ, she’s adorable.
I put on track pants and my running shoes, and the confusion in her face starts to vanish. “Lo,” she says, eyeing Kinney who turns onto her left side. Lily glances at the clock and then at me. “Bring a light, okay?”
I already grab my handheld light off the dresser.
“Be careful.” She lowers her voice to whisper, “The bears.”
My dry smile crosses my face again. “We’ve had this lake house for over ten years, Lil. You haven’t seen one goddamn bear yet.”
“There could always be a first,” she notes, and our gazes shift to our little girl, who props herself up with a yawn.
“Daddy?” Kinney squints at me.
I don’t go closer. If I do, I’m going to stay. There are some things I need. For them. For me.
Move.
Run.
“Kinney Hale,” I reply, lightness in my cut voice. I never thought it’d be there, but it exists with other unexpected things.
Kinney rubs at her dried tears, and she tells me with certainty, “I’m scared of nothin’ in the…” she yawns tiredly, and Lily scoots closer to Kinney, both sprawled out. They have this whole “be the pancake, act like the pancake” routine—it’s not as cute as rolling Kinney in a blanket burrito, but it’s goddamn close.
I go to leave.
My soul tries to wrench me back. Lily.
Forever Lily.
Her green eyes flit up to mine, and she makes the Spock symbol.
I almost laugh, my smile less dry. I flash the gesture in return, and Kinney tries…but fails. She’s a Hale. So that means one day, someday—she’ll thrive.
Just maybe not today.
I find the strength to exit, but down the darkened hallway, I stop by a bedroom. Door cracked. I’m responsible for four kids. Four lives. Not four shackles. Not four burdens. I want to do right by them like I wanted to do right by Lily. Like I wanted to do rig
ht by my brother.
In a way, my four kids helped free me from self-constraints. Reminding me why I need to get up. Wake up.
Just stand up.
When I check on Xander, it’s not because I’m flooded with paranoia. He’s not okay. He’s going to drink when he’s older. He’s the unhappiest kid in this house.
It’s not true. None of it. He’s okay. He has the same odds as his brother and sisters. He laughs during Power Ranger marathons; he likes piggyback rides and snow cones. He might be painfully shy, but to his siblings, he’ll open up. To us, he’ll open up. To the youngest Cobalt boy rooming with him (his best friend), he’ll open up.
I peek inside Xander’s bedroom, nightlights illuminating the wooden bunk bed. I check on my youngest son because I passed his room. I thought about him. I love him—there’s just nothing more than that.
Ben Cobalt snores lightly on the top bunk. He talks a lot to Xander, and Xander likes that Ben never pressures him to talk back.
I walk further in their room. Xander isn’t alone on the bottom bunk. Pillows and heads on either end—Luna is with him. I squat by the wooden bedframe and nudge Luna’s arm, the green quilt halfway off her shoulder. My eight-year-old daughter stuck washable planet tattoos all over her cheeks.
She looks scrawny. Like so young—younger than her age. I told my brother his girl is aging up and mine is aging down. Connor interjected, “Look at your wives.”
Lily looks younger than her age. Daisy looks older. I didn’t really think about how our daughters might go through the same thing.
Protect this one. Protect them all. Lily said I needed a mantra, so there’s mine.
I nudge Luna again, and she tiredly squints at me. Before I ask, she mumbles, “He was scared.” I look to Xander who sleeps pretty easily.
I say softly in Luna’s ear, “Back to your bed, Luna.”
She stretches out one hand, and I roll her into my arms and kiss either cheek. I lift her up, carrying my daughter to her bed. In her own room. I pull the red and green quilts to her shoulders, tucking her in, and she falls into deeper slumber all over again.
“Night, Luna,” I whisper.
It’s morning. I’m still processing what’s up and down. It’s goddamn early.
Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) Page 63