I’m forever waiting for it to trend.
Connor wears a million-dollar grin as he says, “If there’s not a bruise, you’re not hitting him hard enough.”
Lo feigns surprise. “You like bruises? Jesus Christ, love. I don’t even know you anymore.” And then he cocks his head at Rose. “What about you, Mrs. Cobalt? Did you know this?”
Rose’s yellow-green eyes pierce him, throwing a thousand daggers his way, and then she whips her head to me. I stay strong against the fire inside her gaze. “Tell Loren that I think his jokes are subpar and wouldn’t make a clown laugh.”
I recoil. No way am I stepping between their fight.
Lo spins to Connor and says, “Tell Rose her retorts make me feel sorry for her and that she has horrible taste in company names.”
Connor sips his wine, staring between his best friend and his wife like this is his evening entertainment.
I just don’t want it to escalate. That’s always my number one priority.
“I have great taste,” Rose refutes. If she wasn’t holding Jane, I think she’d spring to her feet by now. “And if you hadn’t noticed, you asked me to be a partner in a subdivision of Hale Co. I can still reject you.”
“We’re not calling the clothing line Blossom Babies,” Lo retorts. “It sounds like we’re dressing Cabbage Patch Dolls.”
They’ve been fighting on the name for the past week, and I’m still alarmed that they’ve agreed to work together at all.
“I’m not calling it Hale Co. Baby Clothes. I’m the designer.”
“You don’t even like babies,” Lo says.
“Then why are you asking for my help, Loren?”
Because he needs Rose. And she actually wants to be a part of this project. For the past week, Rose has sketched infant and toddler clothes, overly excited at the prospect of having a clothing line in a department store again.
He stares at her blankly and then says, “We’ll keep brainstorming.”
Rose sits even straighter like she won a spelling bee. Even though I love Lo dearly and I’m on Team Loren Hale, I am also Team Calloway Sisters and so my smile still exists.
It takes a lot for Ryke and Lo to smile, but I check on Ryke just to see if he’s cheered up a bit.
Wishful thinking, I suppose.
On my left, Ryke stares off into space, his gaze haunted and lips downturned. It’s his birthday, and he’s plagued by too many thoughts. I lean close and whisper, “Ryke.”
It takes him a second to register my voice. When he does, he slowly turns his head.
“Do you want to open presents?” I ask. Usually he tells everyone to buy him climbing gear, but this year, it’s like he forgot it was his birthday. He never mentioned rock climbing or the equipment he needed.
Lo and Connor even had a cardboard cutout of Ryke from his Ziff promotional campaign. Our publicists blamed Ryke’s puke-fest on food poisoning, so the sports drink could live to see the light of day. We were going to play “pin the harness” on Ryke but with his downcast mood, it seemed like a bad idea. I think Lo shoved the cardboard cutout in a closet.
“Maybe later,” Ryke says morosely.
Lo’s jaw tics. “Okay, I can’t take it anymore.” He passes Connor the spatula.
Then Lo faces his brother. Ryke stiffens in his chair, his brows hardening in confusion as he watches Lo. Lo…the guy who used to run away from bullies, who shouted insults until his throat burned, who always fell down in the end—he stands upright with magnetic confidence that pulls us all in.
“You’re not dying today,” Lo tells his brother, pointing adamantly at the ground. “We’re all alive right now, Ryke. Maybe in a year, Dad won’t be around, but it doesn’t mean we’ll stop moving. Out of everyone, you taught me that. Don’t look back. Just go forward, run through quicksand. So pick up your feet, man. For one, it’s your birthday. For another, no one likes to see you this pissy. It’s depressing.”
While Ryke mulls over these words, Lo searches for me, maybe for affirmation or just because. His amber eyes find mine in seconds. And his lips begin to rise.
We’ve been obliterated and we’ve come together whole for the first time. Our lives are meteor showers on rewind. I don’t think we even knew what we’d be once we pieced ourselves back.
Maybe we do belong in space with all the stable, constant stars. We’re just the more destructive, more disastrous chaotic pieces, the comets that head towards earth.
After a long moment, Ryke slowly pushes to his feet. He’s an inch taller than his brother. More brooding. But Lo is more severe.
Stone vs. Ice.
Hardness vs. Sharpness.
For a second, I wonder if they’re about to fight. But then he reaches out and clasps Lo’s hand. Ryke leans in for a bro-hug-pat. And my shoulders lift like I’m soaring. They’ve been to hell and back for each other, and I think they’d both be willing to take a second travel if they had to.
Lo always poked fun at me for having three sisters, with all the extra, added drama. He thought being an only child was easier—better. But I can tell that he wouldn’t trade Ryke.
And now he has a sister of his own. Lo cares for Willow, and he doesn’t hide this fact from anyone. He’s been checking his phone all day for her texts, partly responsible for her while she’s in Philadelphia. Tonight, Emily flew in and she’s eating dinner with her daughter to discuss the future. Whether or not Willow will return to Maine is up to her.
While Ryke and Lo hug, the air is quiet and calm.
Peaceful almost.
And then Daisy suddenly tenses. “Did you hear that?” Her panicked, high-pitched voice pricks my spine.
{ 62 }
LILY CALLOWAY
Daisy cautiously climbs off the table, her collarbones jutted out like she’s holding her breath. And her wide green eyes zero in on the glass sliding door, our entrance to the house.
Ryke and Lo separate, and Ryke’s face floods with concern. “Dais…” Is she hearing things? My face twists. No. My sister is not making things up in her mind. She’s okay.
A violent crash sounds somewhere, like pots and pans or a bookshelf. Clattering to floorboards. I jump in my seat, almost startling Moffy, swaddled on my lap.
Partially, I’m happy that my sister did not make up the noise. It has to be nothing though. We’re all safe here.
“Maybe it was a rat,” I suggest, biting my nails. I drop my hand quickly.
“Don’t even,” Rose glares. Rats. She hates rats. Sadie used to take care of those for her, and now the cat is with Frederick.
“Shh,” Connor says, raising his hand. Everyone silences again. The guys are closest to the backdoor, and their rigid postures put me on edge. If it was nothing, they’d throw out some jokes too.
I blow out a breath and protectively lift Moffy to my chest, Wampa cap securely on his little head. I pat mine. It’s still there. All is well.
“HEY FUCKERS!” A muffled shout rings from up high.
I flinch and gullibly follow the noise to the second-floor window. Two gargoyle horror-masks with horns and pointed teeth stick their heads and arms out, their hands gloved. My heart somersaults and thrashes. They’re in Maximoff’s nursery, is my very first thought.
I have to get Moffy. I take a step towards Lo, and then a baby wails in my arms, reminding me that our son is already safe with me.
“Guess what?!” one calls out. “We’re getting inside the Calloway sisters this September!” Then they snicker and perform pelvic thrusts against the window.
“They’re in the house,” Daisy says in a haunted whisper. Her whole body is frozen, and the terror in her wide-eyed gaze is palpable. My heart is on a nosedive. I’m torn between racing into the house and running scared.
Ryke, Connor, and Lo hesitate to leave us. I can see it as they stand between the door and our bodies, wavering uneasily between the two. Seconds pass as everyone assesses, but I see a black-clothed figure whisking through a hallway, breezing by a window. They’re just
harmless teenagers, I remind myself. It eases the fear in my gut.
I look back at Daisy, to maybe comfort her with this sentiment. That’s not a good idea though. To my little sister, teenagers are not just harmless. They’re worse than cruel.
I’ll hold her hand then. I reach out to be the big sister, the better one that I’ve strived to be.
But Daisy doesn’t notice my outstretched hand. Something bad happens. Her jeans begin to soak at the crotch, the dark spot blooming. Like she…
“I can’t…” she chokes on a breath.
“Hey, hey.” Ryke sprints over to her, scanning her quickly, head-to-toe. And he pulls her into his chest, setting a hand on her head. “I’m here, Dais.” He holds her tightly, forcing her body to his so she can feel protected and safe. Even though she peed her pants, Ryke consoles Daisy the best that he can.
I begin to shake as hysteria strains the air. More and more windows open, and the cackling from the teenagers rattles my defenses. I’m not immune to the fear. It tries to cling to me, and it’s freaking out Moffy, who still cries in my arms. I rock him, and it’s only been maybe a minute.
It feels like a lifetime of uncertainty.
“Lo?” I breathe.
In the pit of my ear, I hear Connor calling the cops. I smell our barbecue burning on the grill. And Rose keeps repeating, “I’m going to strangle them.” Her clutch tightens on a shrieking Jane.
“Lily!” Lo shouts.
He’s holding my cheeks between his warm hands. His body as close to mine as he can be without squishing our son.
I’m scared, I realize. I’m terrified right now. And it’s not a fear for my wellbeing. It’s for Moffy and Lo. “Don’t go,” I say first.
But he’s already telling me, “Lock yourself in Rose’s car and drive to your parent’s house with your sisters.”
“No.” I shake my head fiercely. He left himself out. “Come with me.”
“We have to make sure they don’t escape, Lil,” he says quickly. “This ends tonight.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I’m not leaving you,” I croak.
Lo whispers rapidly, “They’re not going to kill me, love. They’re just teenagers.”
My chin quivers. “That’s what I thought, but the more I think about it…”
“Lily,” he forces my name so I understand. “They’re just like me.”
I can’t say that Lo would’ve never done this. If pushed to a breaking point, he might have. If drunk enough, he most likely would have too. “You’re not like them anymore,” I tell him.
“I was like them,” he amends. “And I’m not scared of a single one. But you are.”
“I’m not,” I refute. “I was never scared of you.”
“Lil,” he smiles weakly. A decision has to be made soon. Before they destroy all of our valuables.
“If you won’t come with me, can I come with you?” I ask, sidestepping every sexual innuendo in favor of fear. “Moffy has toys inside. I can distract him—”
“Okay,” he agrees before I even finish. “But only because they’re just teenagers. Otherwise, you’d be in a car right now, understand?”
I nod. He’s not afraid that they’ll do something to me and Moffy, he’s saying. Or else he wouldn’t even chance this. He clutches my wrist and begins to guide me behind him, shielding my body by keeping me very close to his back.
I glance once over my shoulder, and I notice Rose and Connor following, in a similar line, with Rose behind Connor to protect Jane. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen her walk behind her husband and not beside him.
Ryke and Daisy are the only two that don’t join us. He lifts my petrified sister in his arms, cradling her easily, and he carries her to the garage, where they can drive off in one of the cars. Lo wanted all the girls to flee, like in the horror movies, but reality is a bit different than that. It might seem stupid, but being by his side, not splitting up, sounds right.
Lo grips me hard, maybe worried that I’ll break away. But I want to stay pressed against him as we enter through the sliding door.
When we near, a gargoyle-masked teenager whizzes past with “spirit fingers” and darts upstairs. I almost startle backwards, but Lo pulls me closer to his body.
This ends tonight.
I really, really hope so.
{ 63 }
LOREN HALE
My son’s distressed cries are nails in my eardrums. I can’t stand it. The sound triggers my flight-or-fight response and elevates my pulse. I’m not running away. I want to run towards them. Wherever they’re hiding.
After stepping into the house, I guide Lily to the living room. Jesus fucking Christ—they’ve cut up the couch with a knife, foam poking through the cushions.
“They’re morons,” Connor says, his voice tight.
“Morons with knives,” Rose retorts, her brows pinching in anxiety. She taps her heel repeatedly on the floor.
Someone shouts “BOO!” at the top of the staircase.
Trying to be creepy, they cock their gargoyle head, masked and empty-handed. Police should be here soon. Maybe in a couple minutes. We have no time to block every exit, but if I grab one, he’ll rat out his friends.
“I have this,” I tell them. I can barely meet Lily’s gaze without all of my muscles coiling—a natural instinct to shield her. To ensure that no one will touch her. Or my son. But I have to do this.
As I force myself away from her side, Lily scoots closer to her sister. Bouncing Moffy in her arms. For some reason, I expect Connor to distrust me, to step in. To take control of the situation. But he gives me a single nod and then whispers to Rose in French. He zips Rose’s fur coat, hiding their daughter beneath it.
I attempt to exhale the rock in my chest. It’s nearly impossible. I just head to the banister, the staircase tall and wide, and the teenager towers above me at the top. His red Vans match the ones I wear. I scrutinize his lanky frame, his gray jeans, black crew neck and dark blue gargoyle mask.
With about twenty stairs separating us, the teenager slowly extends his arm and points at me. He thinks he can freak me out.
He can’t. “It’s not going to happen,” I tell him flatly. I’ve never been frightened of horror movies. Never been terrified of the dark. I’ve always considered myself a bigger monster than every creature on Halloween.
In my life, I’ve only ever been in peril when I feel like I’m losing Lily. Mentally, physically, entirely. But these teenagers aren’t going to hurt her or my son tonight.
I’m not even entertaining the idea.
It’s just me and him right now.
He takes two steps down, bridging the gap between us. And then he tilts his head, slowly. The banging and clattering upstairs suddenly dies down. And I realize that his friends have gathered on the top of the staircase behind him. I count five bodies.
One pats their friend’s shoulder and gestures to the hallway, antsy to leave. The friend waves him off and stays put.
“You want to know what I see?” I say, a bitter taste rising in my throat. I want to hate them. But I just can’t. I hate their choices. I hate that they’ve broken into my house and terrified everyone. But I can’t hate them.
“What?” the closest one asks, his voice muffled behind the mask. I can’t tell if he’s Garrison, the one who’s been the most vocal with me. He cranes his neck over his shoulder and whispers something to his friend, his fingers nervously curling into a fist.
I step nearer, my hand skimming the railing as I ascend the staircase. “I see five teenagers who are going to spend a lifetime regretting this night.” As soon as I pick up my pace, they curse and the guy sprints back up the stairs, joining his friends as they rush down the hallway.
I run after them.
“Go, go, go!!” they shout at each other, passing Jane and Moffy’s nursery.
“Head for the back staircase!” another yells, banging into a picture frame on the wall. They have maybe five feet on me.
Before they reach the corne
r of the hall, the closest guy trips over his own two feet, his red shoes, a size too big. I have a minor flashback, of the last time I chased these teenagers down the dimly lit street. He struggles to stand, but I grip his black shirt. As he flails out towards his friends, I yank him back to me, knotting his tee around my fist.
“LET ME GO!” he shouts with more alarm.
His friends hesitate by the corner of the hall. The police sirens are audible in the distance. The cops might even be parking in the driveway.
“I warned you,” I grit. “I told you that we’d press charges this time.”
“We need to go,” one of the other guys says. “I’m not going to jail, man.”
“Neither am I,” another says.
The guy in my clutch thrashes. “DON’T LEAVE ME!” he screams. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME!” Fear trembles his voice, and his so-called friends disappear around the corner, sealing his fate.
He’s shorter than me, thinner. I easily lift him by the waist and carry him towards the staircase, even as he fights against me. “It was a fucking joke!” He keeps repeating, can’t you take a joke?!
My stomach overturns and I pause at the top of the staircase. I firmly grip his wrists behind his back. “That’s funny,” I say dryly. “Really funny. Destroying someone’s shit. Hilarious stuff.” And then I pull off his mask.
My mouth falls some.
The red hair is familiar, one of the guys I met at Superheroes & Scones. But he’s not Garrison. His face is splotched red with anger, and I push him forward so he heads downstairs. When we veer into the living room, my pulse heightens a shot.
I scan Lily, who leans her ass on the couch. Without her jacket, I notice her reddened arm, like she’d been scratching. Dammit, Lil. Nausea churns, but I focus on Moffy in his blue onesie. His glassy eyes seem to connect with mine, and he outstretches his arms, squirming like he’d prefer to be held by me right now. Lily tries to comfort him, refitting his mini-Wampa cap that he smacks off his head. Like Jane, he’s inconsolable.
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