Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (24 page)

Back then, I shoved the attached sentiments to these violations so far down. I didn’t feel a thing. It’s easier being numb, to have
zero
regrets, but I wouldn’t trade what I feel now for feeling
nothing
. By processing these moments, I’m more apt to say
no.
I feel more empowered to walk away. To speak out about my experiences.

After my pain and healing came strength.

I’m stronger today.

“Will Rose be speaking at the shoot?” Lo asks me while we stop at the elevators.

“Yeah.”

“Great, hard-on avoided.” He flashes a half-smile at Connor. “You’re in trouble, love.”

I smile at Rose’s husband. “Her voice gives you an erection?” I’m even surprised I asked Connor Cobalt this. His intense all-knowingness has a way of making
everyone
feel small and inferior.

I wait for his answer, but he just stares at me. And then he says, “I’m going to assume your question is rhetorical because you should already know the answer. Unless you’re not as intelligent as I believe you are.”

Burn.
So my sister’s voice definitely turns him on, probably among a long list of other traits. I push the elevator button a couple times since it’s taking forever. “What do you think about to avoid…”
don’t think about Connor Cobalt’s ginormous penis.

Too late.

I mouth to Ryke,
help.

He shakes his head. “You got here all on your fucking own.” Then he reaches for my hand, holding tight. Ryke has trouble abandoning anyone in a sinking ship, and Connor would probably call that his greatest flaw.

Connor barely even blinks. “I think about Ryke’s infinitely small vocabulary.”

“We know who the nerd is,” Lo says.

He’s probably one of the most sophisticated, yet domineering nerds I’ve ever seen in my life. I squeeze Ryke’s hand. “Is yours still Lily?”

My older sister turns him off
that
much.

“Yeah, her and her fucking whining,” Ryke clarifies.

I lean my shoulder on the elevator door. “Hey, her whine is like a cluster of koala bears, pandas and chipmunks.”

“Being killed,” Ryke deadpans.

I almost laugh. Lo is actually really quiet. I thought he’d say something in reply, but he stares off towards a potted plant. I’m about to ask what’s up, but the elevator opens—I fall in.

Ryke still has my hand, so I don’t go down.

He walks inside and pulls me to his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist.
It’s safe here.

Connor pushes the
rooftop
button, and as we rise, Lo finally speaks to Ryke. “I bet I can give you something that’ll
really
turn you off.”

“What?”

Lo has this rare smile peeking at his lip. He rubs the back of his neck, unsure if he’s actually going to say it, but then he does, “Lily pregnant.”

My mouth falls. “Is she?”

Lo nods and his smile bursts. “Yeah.”

My heart swells, and I bounce on my toes.

“She wanted me to tell everyone, so don’t let Rose near me with a goddamn knife for some kind of sisterly betrayal.”

I’m in this happy, surprised state of shock. I never really expected Lily and Lo to have another baby. Even when they said they
could
, I didn’t think they’d try. I’m not sure any of us did.

“Congratulations, darling,” Connor says.

Ryke affectionately messes Lo’s hair like the big brother he is, and I exchange a smile with him. Moffy will have a brother or sister, and this time no one here
is worried if Lily and Lo can do this.

We all know they can.

* * *

“Who’s the genius who scheduled a rooftop underwear shoot at the beginning of March?” Lo’s breath smokes the air, shivering in just his black boxer-briefs.

The New York City skyline glitters behind him, the afternoon sunny. The rooftop is dressed like a summer bash: lemonade in mason jars on a nearby bar, beach towels over lounge chairs, and an inflatable swan floats in the pool.

“There are only two geniuses here,” Connor says, “and I’m not to blame.” His conceited aura never diminishes, his black sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, wavy hair styled totally perfect. He reclines on a lounge chair without goose bumps or reddened skin.

Connor Cobalt is impervious to frigid temperatures.

Lo can’t stop shivering, sitting on a blue cooler. The camera flashes repeatedly. Standing beside Lo, Ryke battles the cold better than his little brother, but he’s as stiff as can be. The photographer has already asked him to “loosen up” three times, and Ryke shook out his arms but he’s still six-foot-three-inches of stone.

Rose, next to the photographer, casts a scathing glare at Lo. “I’m the genius that wanted the
real
skyline in the photos and not a Photoshopped one.”

“Your real goal is to freeze our balls off,” Lo rebuts, teeth chattering.

“Secondary goal, and only for
you
, Loren.”

Lo glares at the sky. “I’m officially in hell.”

Rose places her hands on her hips, ignoring him and inspecting the rooftop scene. Her elegant shearling coat keeps her and her bun-in-the-oven toasty. Lily and I are hugging onto one another beneath a thin hotel blanket.

“I can’t watch this for long,” Lily whispers and shivers against me. Her pained eyes reflect Lo’s trouble withstanding the elements. She starts typing on her phone.

How can you tell if someone has hypothermia?

She’s really concerned.

“Hey, just think, Lil, if it comes to that you can use your body heat to warm him and have
epic
I’m-keeping-you-alive sex.” I don’t mention how I modeled dresses during winter nights colder than this. Sometimes in unheated pools.

Lily contemplates this and tugs her Wampa cap down with one hand. “I can’t have I’m-keeping-you-alive sex if he’s dead.”

“Look alive, Loren,” Rose snaps.

Lily’s eyes widen like he’s near death.

“He’s totally alive.” I point at Lo. “That’s a classic Loren Hale glare, with a classic Loren Hale haircut, and a
classic
Loren Hale jawline.”

He flashes a half-smile in our direction.

“Classic,” I say.

Lily relaxes against my side, and I’m tall enough that I can rest my chin on her head. I might be twenty-three to her twenty-seven, but I think she’ll always look younger than me.

Lo blows on his hands.

“Relax, Loren.” That’s the photographer.

Lo shoots him a
really
nasty look that could cut up fingers and toes. Maybe because the photographer wears a warm trench coat, winter beanie, and woolen scarf.

“Ryke, hands off,” the photographer chastises.

Ryke is “adjusting” himself. “You put me in thirty-degree fucking weather
in
underwear only, and things are gonna fucking move.”

“Shrinkage is a real thing?” I ask aloud.

Connor begins, “Scientifically speaking—”

“Here we fucking go,” Ryke grumbles.

“—the penis and testicles move closer to the body to seek warmth when cold, all to protect sperm, which is healthiest in a set temperature range.”

“The more you know,” Lo says and shivers. He finds some heat just to glare at Rose again. “Think of our goddamn
sperm
.”

“I’d rather drink acid.”

Lo retorts, “That can be fucking arranged.”

Rose leans over to the photographer. “Are there any photos where Loren doesn’t look like he’s going to butcher everyone’s family?”

“Just yours!” Lo shouts.

“Her family is my family,” Connor reminds him.

Lo sighs and then shivers again. “Jesus Christ, I’m too young to die.”

Lily can’t stand here any longer. As she bolts towards Lo, I give her the blanket. She’s wrapped up in it, and his whole demeanor just relaxes at the sight of his wife. When I reached the roof, she already told Rose her pregnancy news, and I saw the tiniest tear-track on Rose’s cheek.

A tiny one for Rose is the equivalent of a sob.

Lily wraps her arms and blanket around Lo. The photographer keeps taking pictures and tells Rose to join her husband and for me to join mine.

I hesitate because I made a promise to myself not to model anymore.

Is this the same?

Rose is already sharing the lounge chair, drilling a glare through her husband. He only grins back.

Ryke is about to leave the photo shoot, but I go to him, making up my mind. He shakes his head at me like
Daisy, don’t be fucking forced into this.

I’m not.

“This is my decision,” I tell him. I don’t feel strange about it or numb. It feels right because I’m not alone here. I’m with my sisters. I’m with him.

Ryke isn’t controlling, as much as the tabloids like to paint him as the “older possessive man” in my life. He’s overprotective where it matters, and he
always
listens to what I want. So he backs down immediately, nodding.

Then he suddenly lifts me up on his shoulders, my legs draped over his chest.

I smile down at him.

He looks up at me.

I howl like I found my mate, and he clasps the side of my face, the one with the long, old scar. And my wolf—he kisses me.

[ 14 ]

May 2019

Manhattan Medical Hospital

New York City

ROSE COBALT

“He or she is
coming out
before midnight,” I proclaim like it’s ancient fact written in stone slabs. “We’ve made an agreement.” I readjust my hospital gown, no longer suffocating at the neck. Then I hold my round stomach. Nine-months with this little monster and I’m ready for him or her to skedaddle right on out of my vagina.

It’s time for you to meet the world.

Though I know, like I did with Jane and Beckett and Charlie, that I’ll miss these moments where it’s just me and them. Where even in the quietest closet I can whisper little nothings and little somethings and they’d kick in reply.

Connor is all logic. He’d say the fetus is just reacting to noise. I’d like to think they knew exactly what I said, and they kicked until their mother heard their voice loud and clear.

I hear you, little gremlins.

“Rose,” Connor says from the chair nearest my hospital bed, “you can’t make agreements with an unborn child.”

I raise my hand at his grin. “I can and I did, Richard.” I fix my ponytail again. Twelve hours in labor and I’m already begging for the experience to end. It has nothing to do with pain, which is mild so far. The doctor hasn’t even recommended an epidural yet.

It has everything to do with being confined to a bed, in a hospital gown, with all my children out of my care and in Lily, Poppy, and Daisy’s for the night. They stopped by earlier with Jane, Beckett, and Charlie, but they all left when they realized how mind-numbingly
long
this would be.

I’ve already reapplied my mascara and lipstick to fill the wait. I also feel more put-together and comfortable when I pamper myself. So that’s why I fix my hair for the umpteenth time.

Connor and I have exhausted most of our games, including
seventeen
crossword puzzles. I’ve even tried sending him away so we can communicate by text, but he refuses to leave the hospital in case I go into labor.

It’s admirable. I’d even give him a gold star for his loyalty, but Connor is the kind of soldier that would rip the sword out of the king’s hand and knight
himself. He doesn’t need me to present him with any honors.

Connor leans back, his fingers to his jaw, and my gaze grows hot at his calmness. I scoot further up, sitting taller and straighter to match his poise.
Fuck slouching.
I ignore the throb in my lower back.

He holds my sweltering gaze. “You verbally communicating with our unborn child is as nonsensical as you thinking that you can end your labor anytime you like.” Connor knows full well that I’d never force the baby out and jeopardize his or her health.

“Jane asked me…in so many words to make this a May baby.” I point at my belly. “And I am not
losing
to the fucking universe.” When midnight strikes, it’ll be June 1
st
.

Connor arches a brow.

“You look ridiculous when you do that,” I snap. He actually looks incredibly self-assured. Like he can defeat any foe.
It’s attractive.
I glare at the wall.

My mind is a pool of betrayal.

“Bypassing your erroneous assessment, I need to remind you that Jane simply said and I quote, ‘Mommy, do May babies look like June babies?’ She’s just curious because she was born in June.”