Addicted After All (38 page)

But maybe he’s buried it so deep down that he doesn’t feel anything anymore. Shut it out and said goodbye. I know when he met her, he closed the door on that part of his life for good.

“If we know anything,” Ryke says, handing Daisy back her cell, “it’s that Connor probably has a million fucking lawyers on this. They basically called his wife a bad mom.”

“Yeah, but they always call
me
a bad mom,” I say. “So the one time they blatantly call Rose a bad mom, everyone is going to throw a tantrum?” My heart sinks.

Ryke extends his arms. “I didn’t say it was right. I’m just saying prepare yourself for that double-edged sword, Calloway. It fucking hurts.” He rocks back like someone is going to punch his arm, but I don’t care about swear words anymore. It seems unimportant.

I appreciate Ryke’s warning, I do. It’s nice being back to these conversations without feeling weird around him, but it’s days like these where I wish none of us were in the spotlight at all. It’s where I wonder how life will be like for Maximoff, famous since birth.

We all lived our adolescence out of the public eye. They’re going to be raised right in it.

{ 37 }

LILY CALLOWAY

Rose’s version of camping is unlike any I have ever known. She hired a person to put up a
teepee
in the backyard, with a fuzzy rug laid out over the grass, complete with plush pillows and a small table for sliders and macaroni and cheese—takeout from a five-star restaurant. Lamps are staked in the ground and Rose has sprayed something that might be magical. Not one mosquito or bug has ventured into our territory.

It’s the perfect setting for our girl’s campout, and I already love it. Being pampered in the outdoors is much better than swatting flies. However, Ryke called it “fake camping” and “over the top” but he shut up when he saw Daisy’s face. She smiled like Rose recreated a scene out of
Hook
for her.

Good thing too, since this is all for Daisy tonight.

She wants to try and sleep away from Ryke, battle her insomnia out here, with us. I’m only two weeks post-pregnancy, so I try to take it easy and lounge into the soft pillows. Rose and I have our baby monitors by our side and all the guys are indoors with Jane and Moffy. I can go one night without hovering.

I think.

I situate my headband that has two purple feathers poking out. I feel like Tiger Lily. All I need is a drum and a cool tribal dance. The headbands were Daisy’s contributions to the girls’ night. I realize that I only brought myself. Which is not really a contribution at all, but oh well.

I wash a bite of mac and cheese down with Fizz Life. “So you’re not going to do anything?” I ask Rose, trying to ingest this bit of information. I’m still stuck on the fact that she has surrendered to the journalists over the baby formula comments.

I should be grateful that there’s no double-edged sword like Ryke mentioned, but I just don’t understand. My sister usually goes on the offensive.

“What am I supposed to do?” Rose asks me. Her deep red feather headband makes her look even fiercer. “Kick and scream and cry?” She rolls her eyes. “I have to choose my battles and honestly, this is a trivial one. If they want to believe that I have a flock of assistants raising my child, then so be it.”

My brows furrow. “Is this like the sex tapes then?” I know she chose to let the lawsuit go to use the publicity to their advantage, but with more and more tapes being revealed, it doesn’t ever seem worth it.

She shoots me a withering glare and I shrink back. Whoa. I feel the icy burn, and it’s not so pleasant.

“I don’t want to talk about the sex tapes,” she says, a hint of pain behind her words.

Oh. I didn’t realize how much they’d been affecting her. She puts on a good front.

“Let’s talk about something else then,” Daisy suggests, crossing her legs. She braids a fringe pillow, her bowl of mac and cheese already empty. “I read a tabloid yesterday that said you looked thin.”

“That’s the magic of black peplum dresses,” Rose says in a wistful voice. “I still need to lose about fifteen pounds before I go back to my original size, but I’m sure my love handles are here to stay.” She glares at the house behind Daisy. “Connor is obsessed with them.”

I instantly smile. It ticks Rose off that Connor adores her curvy hips and butt. But secretly she loves him for it. Yep. After years, I’m beginning to understand these flirty fights a bit better.

I tug at my red Marvel onesie that’s snug around my abdomen. I’m only twenty pounds heavier right now, if that. And my belly is still pooched, but I figure once I have sex again, I’ll burn some calories. “Are you working out?” I ask Rose. My eyes widen at the idea of Rose running miles down the street.

“Just from videos in the
privacy
of my bedroom.” Meaning she does not allow anyone to watch her. Message received. “And I’m doing this for me, not for Connor.” She eats some popcorn from a bowl between us. “How much have you gained?” Her question is directed to Daisy.

“Since when?” she asks.

“Since your lowest weight,” Rose asks, curiosity in her eyes. Ever since Daisy quit modeling, she hasn’t been as hesitant to eat the foods she likes.

“Fifteen pounds,” Daisy says, tucking her platinum blonde hair behind her ear.

“You look beautiful,” Rose tells her in the nicest voice she has.

I nod in agreement. She’s healthier than I’ve seen her in a long time.

“Thanks,” Daisy smiles. “I definitely don’t feel as bony. Ryke says that I have more muscle in my legs again.”

Ryke is a good one. In a lot of ways, he brought Daisy back from a really dark place. I wish that we could’ve been there for her, but Rose and I were dealing with our pregnancies. And my addiction. I had no idea…

“Don’t cry,” Daisy says sweetly, scooching closer and wrapping her arm around my shoulder.

“I’m just happy,” I whisper to her, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.

Rose’s phone suddenly dings and glows bright blue, not a texting sound.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“I have alerts for whenever there’s an article about Jane.”

I gape. This changes
everything.
“I cannot be faulted for checking the media now.” If Rose is doing it, it has to be sane. Lo may disagree with that logic, but it seems sound to me.

Rose ignores my statement, her eyes skimming the article, and I watch them slowly narrow.

Oh no. “What?” I ask, fear invading my voice.

“Those little shits posted the photos.” She shakes her head in disbelief and passes Daisy her cellphone. I think I already know where this is going.

Yesterday, Rose and I brought our babies on a walk down the neighborhood street. Since it’s gated, we thought it was safe to use strollers without any blankets covering the top. About five minutes in and the prankster teenagers sprung out of their passing Range Rover, snapping photos of Jane and Maximoff.

A part of me thought
maybe
they were just joking and wouldn’t sell them to the press. Not so. I peek over Daisy’s shoulder. I am staring right at a picture of both Jane and Moffy in their strollers, small tiny babies who were wide-awake and began wailing after the sudden commotion.

Sure, the pics are a little blurry, but that obviously doesn’t matter to the media.

The caption:
First baby photos of Jane Cobalt and Maximoff Hale! So adorable!

I smile. “Look they called them adorable.”

Rose glowers at me again. Zero for two today. “They’re babies. No one will call a baby an ugly gremlin.”

“You will,” I refute. And then I pause. “Wait…are you calling our babies ugly gremlins?”

“Of course not,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushing. “They’re adorable gremlins.” She’s hurting my head. “My point is…” Thank you, I need the point. “That these assholes are profiting off of our children. It’s wrong.”

Daisy theatrically hops to her feet and raises her fist in the air. “So let’s retaliate.” Her yellow feathers point towards the crescent moon.

Rose and I stare up at her. “What?” we say together. I whip my head back to my older sister, surprised she sided with me.

I ask Rose, “You weren’t about to end your speech with retaliation?”

“No, I was going to suggest cursing them out for the next hour and burning the articles.” Of course there is fire involved. She turns her attention to Daisy. “What were you saying?”

Daisy is the Peter Pan of our group, I realize. She has her hands planted on her hips like she is a clever, youthful creature, up to no good. “You remember back when they shot paintballs at the house?”

That feels like forever ago, but also just like yesterday. They terrified Daisy, an innocent bystander with PTSD and insomnia and a boat load of other issues. Being here in this house, all together, has unified us and hopefully helped her some.

“You all said that I could choose whether to do nothing or to retaliate,” she reminds us. I thought she was afraid of speaking up so she just let it go. “Well, I’m making my choice now.”

Rose is full-blown smiling.

I am too.

“I choose to do something. Let’s get those fuckers back.” She wears a shrewd grin. “And I have the perfect thing in mind.”

* * *

The darkness is our friend.

I repeat the mantra over and over as we tiptoe through the manicured yard. Rose and I saw the teenagers sprint into this stone mansion after they snapped the baby pics. So we can at least inflict damage to one of them.

“Here,” Daisy whispers, handing me a roll of toilet paper. Sneaking into the house to raid our pantry for extra rolls was easy. All the guys were down in the basement, so our covert mission is already going as planned. We even waited until midnight, hoping everyone in the house would be in bed.

I gingerly accept the toilet paper while we crouch behind a bush. We’re all in our pajamas: Daisy in green knit shorts and a gray crop-top, Rose in a black satin pajama set. Me in my onesie (hood on my head for extra stealth). And we crouch behind a prickly bush.

“The lights are off inside and out,” I whisper. Perfect. I’ve toilet papered plenty of houses with Lo. On boring nights, we used to grab a few rolls and drive to some jock’s home. It was harmless fun.

“Mission a go,” Daisy says with an
okay
sign.

I’m about to race out from behind the bush, but I remember that I gave birth two weeks ago and I can’t move that quickly. Walking here, I was a tortoise, step-by-step slow.

Daisy darts off to the largest oak tree, a wild grin on her face. I carefully scurry towards a half-grown magnolia tree with Rose. Like riding a bike, I position the paper the correct way before throwing it up and over a limb. A giddy, rebellious energy bursts in my belly. Just like old times. Except now my comrades are my sisters. One of whom is trying and failing at tossing the roll onto a tree limb.

Rose gives me a glare when she catches me staring. Her eyes flit between the dark windows of the house and my perfectly arched stream of toilet paper. I’ve already covered the left side by the time she huffs in defeat.

“How’d you do that?” she finally asks.

“Watch the pro,” I reply, gathering my paper and completing the same arch.

I expect Rose to fumble again, but she performs the angle to perfection. My teaching skills are on point. When I turn to look back at Daisy, she’s already finished the oak tree and runs with the toilet paper, covering all of the front bushes like she’s decorating them with streamers.

I now know which sister has done this before. Though it’s no surprise we’re taking Rose’s TPing virginity. Acts of juvenile rebellion and Rose Calloway don’t mix often.

Rose splits from me, now adept to take a new section of the yard. Within a few minutes, we’ve successfully covered the trees and bushes in toilet paper. We still have about three rolls left, and Rose is working on the front porch railings, muttering curse words under her breath.

And then a bedroom light flickers on. Oh shit. I walk hurriedly to Daisy who scatters toilet paper on the grass. “Daisy,” I whisper-hiss.

She must hear the panic in my voice because she looks straight up at the house instead of at me. “Uh-oh,” she says, dropping her roll immediately. She runs to my side and a second hall light flicks on. Shit. Shit. Shit. “To the bush, to the bush.” In another life, my little sister would make a great criminal.

I point at our lingering, oblivious sister, who is in a pissed-off rant, taking her anger out on the front porch steps. “Rose—”

“I’ll get her,” Daisy whispers. “Go, go, go.”

With this encouragement, I power-walk to the prickly bush near the magnolia tree. Rose is still blinded by fury, not even noticing the lights.

Daisy clasps Rose’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“One more,” Rose insists. “I need this.”

Daisy turns to me and mouths,
Go!

I realize I’ve frozen in the middle of the lawn. I defrost at the same time the floodlights illuminate the front yard. Oh shit.

This shakes Rose out of her trance and she finally unglues from the porch, skipping steps to head down to the grass. I walk faster to the bush, adrenaline keeping all the aches and pains to a dull roar.

By the time I crouch and hide, Rose and Daisy are squished beside me. We all go completely silent, the only noise comes from my heavy breathing. Rose shoots me a look to
shut up.
I can’t stop breathing! What does she want from me? I’m already in an uncomfortable position, unwilling to shift and lessen the strain on my quads.

The front door swings open. “I know you’re out there!” a woman yells. “If you don’t show yourselves, I’m going to call the cops to come chase you.” That doesn’t sound fun.

Daisy is trying hard not to laugh. Of course she’d like the idea of that scenario. She can sprint and flee and climb trees.

I can waddle. I’m as fast as a penguin. It’s the sad, sad truth.

“Where are you hiding?! Behind the bush? Come out right now!”

No. She has to be bluffing. Right?