Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (93 page)

My niece halts in front of us, face falling at our post-run sweat. “Dad,” she says to Ryke. “You could’ve woken me. I was in a half-sleep, and I could’ve been ready really,
really
fast.” Then Sulli spins to me. “Uncle Lo, tell him.”

I feign seriousness towards my brother, crossing my arms. “Yeah, Ryke. Why didn’t you wake her up?” My smile peeks as I remember that time I picked her up from school.

Napping in class.
I thought for sure that would’ve been one of my kids before Ryke’s.

“We’ve been through this, sweetie,” Ryke tells her.

She sighs. “Sleep is so fucking boring. Why can’t I just use an alarm clock and wake up earlier? Just one hour?”

I shake my head at Ryke. “Only your kid, man.” Mine would be
begging
to add five more hours of sleep, not shave them off.

Ryke puts his hand on her head, and she stares up at him as he says, “Go to bed fucking earlier, and you can run with us tomorrow morning.”

My brother, the diplomat.

“Will you wake me?” she asks. “Please.” I think that’ll do him in. The
pleeease
and the giant green eyes.

“Seven fucking hours.” He stands strong.
Good job, bro.

She nods, understanding. “Seven fucking hours. I’ll do it.”

The backdoor swings again, my oldest son sprinting out in sneakers and a backwards Spider-Man baseball hat. Sometimes I scan Moffy for any signs of being
encumbered
with shit he shouldn’t be dealing with—but responsibilities involving his cousins and siblings never weigh him.

I don’t get it all the time.

Then again, I really grew up as an only child. I didn’t even know what it was like to have a brother until I was in my twenties.

Ryke has bent down to tie Sulli’s shoe.

“Dad,” she says like he’s babying her—which he is. He’s Ryke. He’ll baby her all the way through high school and college. “I can do it.” Sulli squats to tie her shoe, both exchanging smiles, and Ryke messes her already messy hair.

Moffy reaches me, thirteen in two months.
He’ll be a teenager soon.
It’s insane. I’d say
I’m not ready
but what have I been
truly
ready for? Not much—and I’ve done okay.

I think—no, I know. I aged up my son at Disneyland, to the point where he stands in front of me, and he looks like he’s prepared for anything.

I clasp his hand, and then bring him in for a hug. He pats my back and says, “I can run the trail with her.”
Not going to happen, Mof
, I think as I let go of his hand, but he keeps talking. “We’ll bring bear spray and lights.”

I nod to my son. “Apparently there’s a murderous goddamn root on the trail right now, so think of this as me saving your life.” I give him a smile that’s less sardonic than all my others.

Moffy laughs, cheeks dimpling. “Alright,” he says, easygoing, and he’s understanding when it comes to rules. “I don’t want to die yet, especially not by the Murderous Goddamn Root.”

I don’t want to die yet.

When I was twelve, I was already building my grave with bottles of booze.

I don’t want to die yet.

I nod, trying not to show how this gets to me. “Horrible way to go out.”

Moffy smiles and then nudges Sulli’s foot with his. She’s busy tying her shoes. “Sorry, Sul, I tried,” he says.

Sulli stands. “Do you want to play checkers on the porch?”

“Yeah, sure.” Moffy nods to her. “Race you there.” He darts off with a growing smile, and Sulli tries to catch up and pass him.

After Ryke and I finish stretching, we enter the house through the spacious kitchen. Lights are on. Someone else is definitely awake, and my guess is Connor Cobalt. He’s the right answer to most things.

Ryke gently shuts the door. I’m already inside, passing Connor on my way to the fridge.

He plugs in a coffee pot, shirtless and wearing drawstring pants. Hair perfect. Body perfect. The guy is a god—I call it as
fact
.

I bet you my brother would even hesitate to shout
fiction.

Connor supports his sleeping daughter with one hand against his chest. Little three-year-old Audrey, dressed in strawberry-pink floral pajamas, drools on his shoulder. It’s not the first time she’s used Connor as a pillow.

I’m thinking she knows something that we don’t.

I yank open the fridge door and find a water bottle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryke helping Connor with the coffee pot. They’re friends beyond their relationships with me—I’m glad for it; they both deserve more friendships.

They deserve every goddamn thing.

Ryke fiddles with the coffee machine that won’t start. I search the fridge for another water bottle, and I strain my ears to hear him whisper to Connor, “She okay?”

Connor rubs Audrey’s back in a circular motion and pries a strand of carrot-orange hair off her lips. “She was afraid last night and didn’t sleep well.”

I shut the fridge, two waters in hand.

“Scared of what?” Ryke asks, giving up on the coffee machine.

I edge closer, brows knotted. This story is starting to sound familiar, especially since my toddler is friends with his toddler.

“
A great and terrible boogey
,” Connor whispers. “Her words.”

Huh. I hand my brother a water bottle. “What’s up with this boogey? My kid was crying all last night because of the same thing.”

Ryke uncaps his water. “Which kid?”

“Kinney.” I’d never seen her that afraid, but as soon as she said
boogey
, it was hard to be concerned. It sounds like booger.

“The monster is fictional,” Connor explains, “from the imagination of Eliot Alice Cobalt.”

My face scrunches at this truth, processing this, processing—and by the time I come to a conclusion, Ryke swigs his water and nods to us as he backs away. Leaving.

I whisper to Connor, “We need to have
words
, love.”

His lips rise. “What kind of words, darling?”

“The kind that says
your son scared my daughter
.” I lean against the counter, toying with the coffee pot with no intention to fix it.

“My son also scared
my
daughter—so your argument falls short.”

I let out a laugh. “I’m used to that.”
Falling short.

Connor leans against the cabinets next to me. I stare at my hand that grips a water bottle. I’m not shaking. I’m not sliding down to the floorboards.

I’m upright. I’m standing.

I’m alive.

He tells me, “Very few people don’t fall short of me. It’s just a fact.”

“Fact,” I say with the cock of my head. “You’re a conceited prick.”

“Fact.” He grins. “You’re a good looking asshole.”

I almost smile. “I keep waiting for you to replace
asshole
with
bastard
, and still, after all this time…you never do.” I touch my chest. “I’m wounded.”

“You’re both,” Connor says quietly, “but I prefer to call you whatever you identify with more.”

I’m mostly a bastard in the literal definition. I’m an asshole any way you flip it. I take a large swig of water while Connor reaches over and tries to fix the coffee pot again. Still holding Audrey.

He has seven children. Seven goddamn children. A billion-dollar company and more reasons to have headaches than all of us combined—and still, he has
none.
In this world there might be another
me
, another angst-ridden guy who just needs someone to care
.

I know in this world there will never be another Connor Cobalt.

I want to say that he keeps me smart, but he’s done so much more than that. He loved me at my lowest—when I thought no one else but Lily could love someone spiteful like me. He always saw beyond my addiction, beyond the angst and the hate—I never had to explain. He just knew me.

I needed that kind of friendship, and I think he knew that too.

Connor resigns from the coffee pot.

I quip, “Just drink me, love. I’m bitter. I’ll wake you up.”

“Ugh,” Rose gags at me on her way into the kitchen, knotting the strands to her silk black robe.

I give her an ugly dry smile. “Choke a little harder, maybe your missing soul will come out.”

She snorts into a short laugh. “One day I have a soul. The next day I don’t. Make up your mind, Loren.”

You have a soul
. I think it instantly. Without question. Without doubt. Rose has possibly one of the best hearts in this house. In her lifetime, she’s done incredible things for people. Not just for her sisters, but
people.
Hale Co. has more female executives than it ever did, and she did that.

She grimaces at me. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I layer on my usual glare, and her shoulders loosen. She’s glad that I act like I hate her just as much as she acts like hates me. In reality, I love her as much as Lily loves Rose—it’s just the way it turned out to be.

Rose whips her hair at me and glides towards her husband.

“You’re fraternizing with the enemy,” Rose whispers, her eyes softening on their daughter.

Connor says smoothly, “Your enemy is my best friend.”

I smile smugly at Rose and finish off my water.

She rolls her eyes at both of us, but Connor draws closer and murmurs something against her neck. I let them flirt-fight in private. Though it’s hard to miss the one consistency, the one unbroken exchange—you know it’ll always be there. Reliable. Unfaltering.

“Richard.” She glares.

“Rose.” He grins.

I almost smile again. I open a cupboard, trashcan beneath, and I toss my water bottle in the bin. The darkened sky slowly begins to lighten. I shut the cupboard the same time Lily pads into the kitchen, Kinney dead asleep in her arms.

There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

I’m beside my wife in an instant. By the fridge. My fingers on her waist. Lily blows out a strand of hair stuck to her lips.

Beautiful.

She whispers, “Luna told Kinney to listen to a ghost story from Eliot. That’s how all this happened, Lo.”

I love how Lily’s nose crinkles and how she uses every last ounce of strength to hold up our three-year-old.

“Lo?” She frowns. “Did you hear what I said?”

I gather what words I remember while pulling Lily into my chest. “Ghost stories, girls.” I put my lips to her ear. “
Boo
.” Then I stick my tongue in.

“Lo!” she whisper-hisses and slugs my arm.

I feign a wince. “Lil.” I pout, and her green eyes flit to my lips.

My humor fades, and I float through decades. As kids, as teenagers, as adults. Staying up late reading comics, sneaking to parties—all the plans we never made in college. All the lies we told. I touch these memories. I can go as far back as I want, to the gravest depths.

The past can’t drag me under.

I relive the better parts that are intertwined with bad. Because I look back and think,
Christ, we were so goddamn fragile.

Look how far we’ve come.

Look at us now.

Lily’s eyes flood, sharing my emotion. Ache for ache. Smile for smile. I only ever wanted to live this life with her.

“Hey, guys,” Daisy whispers, just barely shaking my attention. “Did you see which way Ryke went?” I never saw my brother pass through the kitchen again, but Connor points towards the side door to outside. I glance out the window over the sink.

My brother sits on the grass by the red chairs, knees bent. He stares out, the sky morphing from dark to light blue. And I know.

He’s waiting for the sun to rise.

Lily breaks from my side, just to put Kinney in a bouncer beside Audrey, both girls still asleep. I grip the sink counter, the side door clattering as Daisy heads out. She walks across the grass, light on her feet—going towards my brother.

I’m proud of Daisy. For never listening to me. Or her mom. Or her dad. I’m goddamn proud of Daisy for becoming the woman that she wanted to be.

My lips lift just slightly, and I turn my head. “Lily.” She’s not far, her hands on my waistband. I clasp one in mine, and I nod towards outside. She nods back, and silently, we leave through the side door, following my brother and her sister’s footsteps to the hill.

Daisy sits between Ryke’s legs, back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her frame. Their eyes touch the horizon.

I take a seat on the grass only a few feet from Ryke, and Lily plops next to me. I hold her as she holds me, her cheek resting against my shoulder. My eyes fix ahead, and I try to see what my brother sees in the sky. Orange colors that melt into blue.