Addicted After All (37 page)

Lo leans closer on his side and taps Maximoff’s little foot in his blue onesie, a lightning bolt on the chest. My heart stops beating for a couple seconds and only starts again when he kicks his little legs. I exhale a breath of relief. He’s alive. All is well.

And then he wails loudly.

Oh no. “He woke up.” I cringe at his shrieks and sit up at the same time as Lo.

Lo gives me a look. “I thought that was the point.” He scoops Maximoff in his arms and pats his bottom as he rocks him. Our son hushes in seconds, his slate-gray eyes closing in a sleep, his little lips parted as he breathes. Lo wags his brows at me. “He loves me.”

I can’t help but smile, and I kiss Lo quickly on the lips. I want to say:
you’re easily lovable, Loren Hale.
But sadly, that’s not true for most people he meets. I fell in love with Lo like a little girl opening her heart to magic. It always seemed surreal until the moment it became true.

Lo checks the clock on the end table. “We should probably feed him.” He climbs off the bed and looks down at me. “
Lil
.”

“What?” I try to restrain my smile, biting my gums. It doesn’t work too well.

“You can’t look at me like that every time I hold him. It’s driving me insane, and I can’t do anything about it for six weeks.” He says I have this “adorable happy glow” that makes him want to straddle me. But I have no sexual urges, for maybe the first time ever. I’m sore down below and the thought of something hard sounds too painful to consider. And thankfully my hormones are even back in check.

I spring off the bed. “I can’t help it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Like Magneto saving mutant-kind without destroying mankind, I know. You’ve told me.”

I point a finger at him. “That is a damn good metaphor and I came up with it all on my own.”

Lo shields our baby’s ears playfully. “No cursing, Lily Martha Calloway.”

I crinkle my nose. “I don’t like my full name.”

“Don’t worry,” he says with that teasing look, “I’m going to make you a Hale soon.”

I want to revel in that fact, but my smile fades by it. I’ve reminded him so many times that it’s okay if it doesn’t happen. He has a lot on his plate, and orchestrating a wedding is too much. I wouldn’t want to cause him more stress. Plus, I fear our parents taking over and turning it into their day again. It’s best to just set weddings aside. Contemplate it in five years’ time when things settle and Maximoff is older.

Neither of us ever suggests eloping. The idea feels like another deceit or lie that we’ve concocted.

“It’s going to happen,” Lo says, his gaze slowly narrowing. He still rocks our son in his arms.

“I know, I know.” I try to drop the subject. “What color eyes do you think he’ll have?” The doctors said that a baby’s eye color changes in their first year, so we’re not one-hundred percent sure on the hue.

While he answers, I lead Lo out the door, and I can feel his body tensing behind me. But he follows me into the hallway regardless.

“Your green ones,” he says. I spin around and peek at our son. His eyelids open as he stretches his arms and he
giggles
when he stares at my eyebrows. Oh my God. He has the cutest dimpled cheeks and little nose. At six pounds, two ounces, he came out a bit small but a lot heart-stoppingly adorable. It sounds cheesy, but it’s my baby. I feel like the cheese-factor rises once you reproduce.

“You melt every time you see him,” Lo tells me. “Here, so you can drool a little longer.”

I gape as he hands Maximoff off to me. “That’s so mean, Loren.”

“I’m only stating the truth, Lily Martha.”

I squint at him, hoping to penetrate him with my glare. Instead he laughs, his smile overtaking his face. I give up. “I think he’ll have green eyes too,” I relent.

Ryke has already professed that they’ll probably be amber like Lo’s. But that was before Maximoff was even born.

With the baby now in my care, we descend the staircase together. As soon as we breach the stainless steel kitchen, I hear noises. I strain my ears.

It sounds like…muffled arguing. But I can’t be sure. Living with Ryke and Daisy, I’ve overheard their distant sex noises and sometimes they sound like full-on fighting. Bodies slamming against things. Stifled yells (of ecstasy). Things of that nature.

I whip my head around the barren kitchen, expecting to find a couple, maybe even humping on the counter.
Not
that I want to catch anyone in the act. Porn. It would be like real porn in my face.

Plus, I’m holding a baby. Someone I feel vitally protective over. Maximoff is allowed to watch porn
never.
Not even when he’s a teenager. Or in college. Nope. No. No. I’m putting my foot down on that one.

The noises suddenly stop.

“Lo,” I say as he scans the room, nothing but sparkly clean granite countertops, leather bar stools and dim lights. “I think we have ghosts in this house.”

His brows shoot up. “Ghosts that fuck?”

I adjust my baby in a one-hand cradle and then punch Lo’s arm. It’s only fair. F-bombs have been banned in the presence of baby ears.

He rolls his eyes. And then something knocks in the pantry, like a can clattering to the floor. I jump, thankfully clutching Maximoff tighter and
not
dropping him.
Dear God, don’t let me drop my baby.
I cannot ever be that startled.

Lo stretches his arm out, keeping both me and our baby away from the pantry. “It’s probably just mice.”

My eyes grow big. “Large, mutant mice.”

And then the pantry door slowly creaks open like something from a horror film. When I see a shirtless Ryke, my nerves plummet to nothingness.

“Or it’s just my horny older brother,” Lo says with a bitter smile.

“We weren’t screwing,” is the first thing Ryke says. His gym shorts are slightly askew, and he lifts them higher on his waist, his hair so disheveled that I can tell a girl ran her fingers through it. His lips are pink and raw like he’s been in one serious make-out session.

I break into a huge grin. This image does not turn me on in any way, shape or form. I love my hormones again.

“I’m sorry,” Lo says dryly as he goes to warm up formula. “Did we interrupt you?”

I strap Maximoff in his navy blue bouncer. I chose what I’m most comfortable with in terms of breastfeeding, listening to Rose’s advice. It’s my choice. And plus, it gives Lo the chance to feed and bond with his son too.

“No,” Ryke growls back, his eyes focusing on me, dark and accusatory. Oh jeez. “Because
someone
made a pact about not having sex for
six fucking weeks.
”

Lo looks too worn-out to even contemplate punching him. I am too. I’m beginning to wonder if everyone’s a lost cause for cursing.

“Were you fighting?” I suddenly fear, worry popping in my head. I do
not
want to be the cause of a Raisy breakup. Nononono. Raisy until the end. The end being death.

“We weren’t fighting.” That comes from Daisy, who finally slips out of the pantry behind Ryke, her neck dotted red like he kissed her for a long, long time.

Even
that
thought doesn’t make me aroused. Ha! Take that. I’m not sure who I’m “taking that” too, but in this moment, I feel invincible.

Daisy fixes the strap of her bra and hops on the barstool, swiveling around to face me in the middle of the kitchen. She wears a crooked, mischievous smile. So they
were
having sex?

“I’m officially confused,” I announce.

“Nothing below her bra or her underwear, thank you for that,” Ryke deadpans. No sex. Definitely no sex.

“It’s not her fault, for the fifteenth time,” Daisy says to him. “I want to do the pact. So stop nagging Lily.”

“Yeah, stop nagging me,” I add and
almost
stick out my tongue. I restrain myself. I’m a mom now. I have to show a level of maturity. I cross my ankles, my feet warm in dinosaur slippers. Those haven’t lost their cool factor since I was seventeen.

Lo would agree.

“Let me fucking complain in peace,” Ryke growls, running a hand through his tousled hair.

Lo sits on the floor beside the bouncer, bottle in hand as he feeds Maximoff.

Daisy gives Ryke a roguish smile, something Lo can’t see on the ground in between the counters. “You know, you can still masturbate.” I’m slightly terrified at the idea that “masturbate” may be my son’s first word.

“Yeah, Ryke,” Lo eggs on. “You can still jerk one out like the rest of us.” Obviously Lo doesn’t share the same concern. Maybe it’s because I’m a sex addict. Right?
Right?

I let it go with a breath. I’m surprised Lo is fueling this conversation at all. A year ago he would have gagged at the mention of Daisy talking about sex or his brother or any combination of the two. How things change.

Ryke nears us and leans on the bar counter beside Daisy. “Not if she cracks first.”

That’s a dirty game. So he was trying to kiss on my little sister and make her beg for sex. It’s low. Also devious. Definitely a solid plan in my book—The Lily Calloway Sexy Times Book that is. It’s only in my head, but it’s very resourceful.

Daisy tries hard not to smile. “I don’t come easily.” Ooh, that was super dirty too.

“Calloway, you’ve only ever come with
me
. I think I know how to get you off.”

“By chocolate cupcakes,” she says with a lopsided grin. Is that a sexual innuendo?

“Sure, sweetheart. Chocolate fucking cupcakes and a nine-inch—”

I plug my ears with my fingers. I did not hear his size! Food. He was still talking about food. I only drop my hands when his lips stop moving. 

“You two are so adorable,” Lo says dryly. “Please return to the pantry.”

Ryke shoots Lo his middle finger, and I’m close enough to punch him in the arm. He doesn’t even sway from the force.

“What was that for?” he complains. “I didn’t even say the f-word.”

“You did it with your finger,” I refute, pointing accusingly at his chest.
Everyone
saw it, not just me. “You can’t teach my week-old son that.”

“He can’t even learn the ABCs yet, Lily. He doesn’t know what this means.” He goes and makes the rude gestures with
both
of his hands now. He’s a horrible influence.

“You just want to be the cool uncle, admit it,” I combat.

“You’re just scared that Moffy is going to like me more than Connor, admit
that
.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Will not.” Though I can’t deny that he’s given Maximoff a cool nickname, one that I wish I’d thought of first.

“Uh-oh.” Daisy goes rigid, her phone in her hand. She slowly hops off the bar stool and sidles next to her boyfriend. Instead of showing me the screen first, she flashes it to him.

He takes the cell from her, and I watch his jaw harden to stone.

{ 36 }

LILY CALLOWAY

“What is it?” My heart palpitates. Bad news? The media? It can’t be a three-way rumor involving Ryke. I had a paternity test a week ago, per our publicist’s advice after lots of pushing. And the results were already announced: Loren Hale is Maximoff’s father.

Ryke glances hesitantly at his brother before he says, “
Celebrity Crush
posted a photo of Daisy and me leaving the grocery store.”

My shoulders slacken.
It’s not about me.
A very selfish thought, I realize. “That’s good, right?” The more they’re shown together, in public, means that people will accept them as a real couple.

Lo rises with Maximoff in his arms. We have this chart for feedings and diaper changes. All very organized. All very Rose Calloway-esque. She helped me chart out daily activities and how much the babies should be drinking. Basically, leveling out all my anxiety into a list. Now I kind of understand her obsession with them. It was like therapy. List-therapy. It’s a thing.

“What’s wrong with the photo?” Lo asks skeptically.

Daisy shifts on her feet and tugs at the hem of her white tee. “We…you know how you guys put us in charge of shopping for the house this week?”

This isn’t about me…is it?

“Spit it out,” Lo snaps. Maximoff detaches from his bottle and begins to wail. Lo’s body tightens even more. “I’m sorry, little guy.” He bounces him a bit, and then he quiets, returning to his bottle.

“Here.” Ryke holds the cellphone up to Lo. I crane over his shoulder to read it. The headline:
Ryke Meadows and Daisy Calloway shopping for baby Cobalt and baby Hale!
There’s an additional zoomed image of the grocery cart, some of the labels visible in the white plastic bags. Diapers. Cereal. Lightning Bolt!. And baby formula.

I don’t understand. It’s not that bad.

I skim down and read the article by Wendy Collins.

Inside sources, close to the Calloway family, tell us that not one but
both
Calloway sisters went for the formula option to feed their babies. The sources say, “Lily and Rose would rather have assistants and their grandmother look after their babies. They don’t want the responsibility. It’s a big reason why they chose formula. Rose and Lily aren’t prepared for motherhood and they know it.”

I stop reading there. None of us even have nannies. It’s too hard to trust someone with something so precious when we’ve been burned before. We all thought it was safer to raise our children without them.

“That’s complete trash,” Lo declares. “Who’s this so-called
inside source
anyway? Samantha Calloway?”

Daisy and I exchange a look, trying to gauge whether our mom could even do that. No…my mom isn’t that self-serving. “What would she get out of it?” Daisy asks.

“Right here…” Lo points at the phone. “
Especially from the grandmother.
Who do you think that is? Connor’s mom is dead. And my mom is five-hundred miles away, not caring about
me
or
any
of this shit.” His harsh tone is like acid, scorching my ears.

It’s been so long since he’s even mentioned his mom. Years, probably. Emily Moore might as well be a figment, a ghost. I haven’t even met her, but when I do think about her, my stomach starts to roil. It’s not a pleasant feeling, and I imagine, for Lo, the sensations are a million times more harrowing.