Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (46 page)

She comes with a muffled cry into the mattress.

I choke on a groan, and I don’t linger inside of Lily. I pull out, find a pair of boxer-briefs and black sweat pants. I tug both on. Then I turn to Lily and wipe the sweaty hair off her forehead. She’s still making sense of where she is while sluggishly fighting with the armholes of her baggy shirt.

“I’m going to go deal with our kid,” I tell her.

She finds the energy to kneel and tries to stick her head in her shirt. “It’s…not his fault, Lo.”

I lower my voice so Moffy can’t overhear us. “It
is
his fault. He knows better. We’ve told him a million goddamn times.”

She fits her head in and pulls the black shirt (my shirt) down. “We shouldn’t have had sex—”

“
We’re
the parents.” I point at my chest. “I’m allowed to fuck my wife. You’re allowed to fuck me and not feel guilty about it.” For Christ’s sake, we were doing so well for a minute there. It’s all circular. Addiction. Shame.

Lily hesitates, doubtful and uncertain.

I clasp her face between my hands and say strongly, “I would’ve slept with you this morning, even if you weren’t an addict. Would you still feel guilty if he walked in then?”

She thinks for a second. “Yes…because he should always come before sex.” She cringes at the word
come.
“Not like that. Notlikethat.”

I comb her hair back again. “It’s
not
about sex. It’s about the fact that he didn’t listen to us.”

Her brows crinkle, not seeing this from the same lens as me. “It
is
about sex.”

I let go of her and step back. I lick my lips, thinking. I can’t see away around this, so I make up my mind. “I’m grounding him.”

Lily springs from the bed, her black shirt falling to her thighs. “Don’t, Lo!”

I’m already walking to the door, and she tries to drag me backwards by the waist, but I end up dragging her forwards. When I reach the door, I spin around on Lily.

She crosses her arms, her seriousness tensing the room and me.

I have my hand on the knob. “I’m doing this, Lil.”

“Then we’re in a fight.” She nods resolutely.

My stomach twists. I can’t remember the last time we fought. “Lily…”

Tears well in her eyes. “I don’t want to punish him for this.”

“We have to.”

She shakes her head repeatedly. “We’ll lock the door next time.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t listen to us.” Our kids can’t walk all over us. Not when there are things in
our
lives that are so goddamn dangerous.

Alcohol. I will slam my foot down on the idea, on the concept, on the cold reality. They won’t be able to say,
But Dad, the kid next-door drinks; can I have just one beer?

No.

No.
I’m not a pushover, and they have to see the threat of disobeying us. They have to think in the back of their mind,
my parents will ground me for this.
Maybe then, they’ll hesitate enough to stop.

Lily shakes her head one more time.

I swallow hard. “I guess we’re in a fight.” Every word is a punch in the gut. I open the door and go outside. Moffy at least waited in the hallway like I asked. He sits by his bedroom door, snapping the elastic of his goggles. As soon as he sees me, he picks himself up.

“I won’t ever do it again,” Moffy says quickly. “Can I just go swimming? Please?”

It’s summer, no school for our children, and a bunch of us have to meet up with Garrison and my sister around noon. While we do that, the plan is to bring all the kids to the Cobalt’s for a “painting party” thing. Cobalt Inc.’s subsidiary company, ColorPalace, overproduced their neon line of finger-paints. Great for our kids who can now play with the extras, but shit for Cobalt Inc.

I tower above his pleading eyes. I don’t want him to feel powerless. Like I can dictate which way he turns and where he goes. I don’t want to be my father. I rebelled against
every
demand he cast towards me. I hated it. I hated all of it, and I can’t even imagine a world where I do that to Moffy. Where he feels so emotionally trapped that his solution is to shit on everything.

But I can’t let him live without boundaries. I had that too. I drank in excess at eleven. I stayed out late. I made excuses and lies.

There has to be a balance between being overbearing and being too lenient.

I squat down to him. “What’d you do wrong?” I start out.

He holds my gaze better than adults can, but his voice is meek. “I didn’t knock.”

“When you do something wrong,” I begin, watching his voice flood with sadness, “you have to be grounded.”

Moffy blinks back tears. “Like timeout?”

“Kind of, but it lasts much longer.”

“Nooo.” His chin quakes again.

My chest caves. “You can still paint today with your cousins and sister, but for two days, no swimming, no cartoons, no comic books—”

Moffy bursts into tears. “Mommy!” he wails and tries to race to my bedroom, but I grab onto his shoulders and spin him towards me. “I want Mommy!” He rubs his cheeks with his fists and hiccups.

I have fifteen arrows in my heart, and I have to keep shooting more right in. “She knows you’re getting grounded, bud.”

He pushes off me and sobs like I’ve sentenced him to death.

“It’s only two days, Moffy.”

And then he cries, “I hate you!”

My eyes burn.
I hate you
rings in my ears. “You can hate me for two days, Maximoff, but I’ll love you for a thousand more.” I wipe his tears with my thumb, and he sniffs, calming down for a minute. “It may seem unfair, but we’re your parents—and if there’s anyone in this world you need to listen to and trust, who will always have your back, it’s
us.
We just need you to respect us when we tell you something. The same way that we respect you when you ask us questions. What do we do?”

He thinks for a moment. Then he says softly, “You listen to me, and you always answer back.” He rubs his nose with his arm. “What if Luna watches cartoons? Can I watch with her?”

“No. That’s not how being grounded works.”

Moffy cries again, “Can I see Mommy?”

“In a minute.” I stand back up and tell him he can go eat cereal before we leave for his aunt and uncle’s place. He trudges away, still in tears.

I slip into my bedroom, the mattress empty, and the shower pipes groan in the walls. When I enter the bathroom, Lily steps into the shower. Our eyes meet for a second. Hers are bloodshot like she’s been crying more.

She hesitates about opening the misted door wider for me or shutting it closed.

“Are we still fighting?” I ask, approaching with the intent to wrap my arms around Lily and pull her close.

“I don’t want to,” she says, eyeing my lips, “but I have to.”

“Love—”

“You didn’t listen to
me
,” she notes. “I know I think in different ways, but I didn’t ever want to punish him for that.”

I can’t take it back. I would’ve still done it, no matter what. “But I did it. So now what?”

Lily hones in on my abs, but then she tears her gaze off me and yanks the shower door. It sticks on her, and she struggles to shut it while water pours onto her head. Literally, she lets out a groan to pry the thing closed.

I smile and then push the shower door shut for Lily, closing myself out.

“Thank you!” she yells over the water. “And we’re still fighting!”

I realize that.

* * *

Connor and I ride up a graffiti-decorated elevator. Mechanical light bulbs strung with metal chain above us. I’ve been here a couple other times, so the metal and concrete style isn’t as jarring as the first. This industrial factory in Philly was converted into premium lofts about a year ago.

The doorman at the building’s entrance says enough about the cost of this place. It’s not mine. Not Connor’s. This place belongs to my little sister.

Willow graduated from college, and she had a small garden wedding on May 31
st
. She left with Garrison to Hawaii right after, and they haven’t been back in Philly for that long. In that short time, they’ve been trying to move into their new loft, but Willow has been worried that cameramen can see inside.

The window is partially tinted, but my sister doesn’t want to live with the curtains closed for the rest of her life. I don’t want that for her either, and this transition can’t be easy since she’s been in London for four years. Away from the media.

Away from us.

She probably forgot what this whole circus is really like.

So far, no one has posted snapshots of the loft from outside. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone stored a ton and then dumped them all online at once.

We’re here to help test the visibility of the window from the street. The whole “plan” isn’t going very well at the present moment.

Connor speaks to a cluster-fuck of a group call. “Listen—”

“Rose, put your sunglasses back on! Someone will notice you,” Lily whisper-hisses. I almost smile, but then I remember we’re in a fight. My muscles tense up.

“Stop flailing, Lily,” Rose rebuts.

Daisy whispers, “Breaker, breaker. The hummingbird and the sparrow are currently hiding behind a bush. Someone is onto us.” I remember that Daisy paired off with Willow, and Lily is only with Rose.

Before I can even process what they’re saying, the three Calloway sisters start talking over one another.

And then this. “Hey,” Ryke cuts in, “why the fuck am I in this call?”

I lean towards Connor’s cell. “Because you were
supposed
to come with us, bro.” He ditched at the last minute to stay with the kids at the Cobalt estate, painting right now with their grandparents and Poppy. We planned to be back early, but Sullivan stared pitifully up at Ryke and said, “Will you stay with me, Daddy?” She even pouted and added, “Pleaseeeee.”

My older brother can’t resist his four-year-old.

“Fuck off.” Ryke hangs up.

“Avoid paparazzi,” Connor reminds the girls.

“Thank you, Richard, like we hadn’t realized that was part of the plan from the start.” Rose grumbles, “I’m not wearing the ugliest hat I own for nothing.”

The elevator comes to a halt on the fifteenth floor. Connor tells Rose, “I’d advise you to speak softer. I know it’s hard for you, but you’re on a
city street
. Unless you’re lost, then we have a much larger problem.”

Rose growls. “I hate you.”

“You love me.” He grins as the elevator opens to a distressed metal door.

“How do I evict you from this call?” Rose asks because she wouldn’t hang up on Daisy, even if it meant she’d hang up on him.

I unlock the door with my set of keys.

With one hand, Connor yanks it open, the metal screeching as it slides. “You can’t get rid of me, darling.”

“So you’re like herpes,” she rebuts. I don’t even have time to feel that burn because Connor is quick.

“More like air. I’m necessary in your life. Not detrimental. And you enjoy fighting against the one person who helps you.”

I laugh, feeling the heat off that one. I walk further into the loft while they bicker. Boxes are stacked in the large open space and most say
Abbeys – kitchen
or
Abbeys – living room.
Connor and I go straight towards the massive window.

I can practically feel Rose’s glare. “Your ego
asphyxiates
me.”

“It stimulates you.”

They could do this all damn day with each other, and it’d probably end with Connor fucking Rose. I don’t fixate on that.

I haven’t heard Lily on the line in a while. “Lil, you okay?” I ask into his phone, just as we stop by the window.

“…I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Who said?”

“Me.”

I sigh heavily, my aggravation and frustration constricting my shoulders. This fight can’t last long. Right?

“We’re on the move again,” Daisy whispers.

The loft window overlooks a street of eclectic shops and a miniature park. Rose and Lily are supposed to move far left towards the shops while Willow and Daisy are towards the park. I scan them from the fifteenth floor, but most people look like specs in the distance.

The girls are quiet while they focus on reaching their positions that we mapped out.

Connor cups his hand around his phone’s speaker. He’s not in a suit today, just a blue shirt and workout shorts, but he looks like a god in any fucking attire. It’s never been about his clothes. His confident,
I’m better than you
demeanor draws my gaze to him—while also shrinking me. And I’m six-two.

“What happened with Lily?” he asks me in the calmest, most comforting tone.