“Fuck off, Cobalt.” I kick my boots up on the cooler.
Rose plants her fierce f**king yellow-green eyes on me. “Did you wear a condom?” she asks in a hushed but forceful voice, pretty careful not to wake up my brother.
My face hardens. There’s no way they heard us last night, but Connor puts details together to find facts, so I’m not that surprised he’s figured it out. Or that he’s been keeping Rose updated on my relationship with Daisy. “Did you wear one when you first f**ked Connor?” I retort.
Her neck reddens. “That’s not the point.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay then.” I have nothing else to say. I’m not about to explain how I always wear condoms with other women, but I honestly don’t see the f**king need to with Daisy. We’re in a serious relationship. I trust her. And I trust me. The. Fucking. End.
I’m about to stand up, but Rose says something that keeps me here.
“Be careful with her, Ryke. She might be experienced, but she’s still my sister. If you hurt her, I’ll personally snip off your balls and hang them on the Christmas tree this year.”
I internally cringe. “I wouldn’t f**king hurt her, I promise you, Rose.”
She nods. “Okay then,” she repeats what I did, and I almost smile.
“I’m going to get more wood,” I tell them.
Connor follows me with his coffee in hand. “I’ll help.”
“Feel guilty for cheating?” I ask, heading towards the forest.
“No,” he says, his expensive shoes crunching the leaves. “I just thought you needed an extra pair of hands.”
I wait for the punchline. My brows rise when it doesn’t come. “No insult?” It’s weird not hearing a dog joke. Even with the constant badgering, he’s always been my friend, but like most of my relationships, it’s complicated. “You didn’t tell Rose about Daisy’s sleep issues, did you?” I stop about twenty feet from the woods, our camp still behind us.
“I thought about it,” Connor admits, “but you’re not giving me all the information, and I’d rather not spread around partial truths.” He waits for me to divulge more.
I won’t.
“She’s going to talk to her sisters,” I say. “She needs time.”
“Man’s greatest excuse to delay the inevitable.”
“Can you not f**king talk like your auditioning for the role of Confucius?”
“If you make a mistake and do not correct it, this is called a mistake.” Of course he goes and actually quotes Confucius. Fuck me.
I shake my head. “You’re such a f**king prick.”
He doesn’t even blink, not affected by the insult. Maybe because he knows it’s true. “You know, I never really liked Confucius. I always thought his principles were a bit basic, common sense.”
“Fascinating,” I deadpan.
He continues casually. “But there is one quote I appreciate from him.” Connor looks at me and his eyes turn serious, no pretense or humor. “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”
I don’t know if he meant for this to be about Daisy. But she’s immediately what comes to mind. After what happened last night, bringing up some of the past, all I want is to go full f**king throttle. No more slowing down. No more hiding. I want to believe that I control my fate, that I’m the one who chooses to stop and start.
I want everything that my friends have. Out in the open. Real.
I have to tell Lo.
The resolution lifts this weight off my chest.
And then something rustles a bush twenty feet away. I see it out of the corner of my eye. A movement that crashes the weight back down tenfold and twists a chain around my ankles.
“Connor,” I whisper, a pit in my stomach. “Nine o’clock.”
He calmly sips his coffee and turns a fraction. Into his next sip, he says, “I can see two lenses.”
They found us.
I run a hand through my hair. I promised my brother freedom from this bullshit. I’ve failed him. Then the cameraman peers out of the bush, noticeable, and I lock eyes with him, my body blazing with anger. I start to charge forward, and Connor grabs my arm and forces me back by his side.
“You can’t go to court again,” he says.
The f**king cameraman no longer cares about “candid” shots that sell big to tabloids, he’s taking a video instead.
“Fuck them,” I tell Connor. “They shouldn’t be here.”
“This is public property,” Connor says. “He can legally be in the woods.”
“I said shouldn’t. How’d they get tipped?”
“RV,” the cameraman says. “I’m friends with the two guys camping next to you. Called me last night. Flew in this morning.”
I shake my head. It’d be more of a coincidence if the paparazzi didn’t get their tips like that. But mostly it’s from f**king friends and connections.
“Fucking fantastic,” I snap. I made a mistake. We should have gone to a f**king hotel. I shouldn’t have tried this. I head back to the campsite, ready to pack up. Rose is already folding chairs and pouring a water bottle on the fire.
The cameraman follows us like a shadow, entering the campsite as though we gave him permission to come hang out with us. Oh wait, we f**king didn’t.
“How many more of you are coming?” Connor asks.
He just smiles, and that’s when I hear tires and an engine groan up the hill. And then two more photographers pop out of the bushes in addition to however many are in the car. Fuck me.
“Ryke,” the guy says, his camera pointed at me as I head to Daisy’s tent. “What were the sleeping arrangements like?”
Before I unzip it, I spin around and the camera guy almost runs straight into my chest. He rights himself while a glare sears in my eyes. My fists clench. “Back the f**k off,” I growl. “You came into our campsite and disrupted our vacation. Don’t act like this is for your f**king job.”
“I’m allowed—”
“You’re allowed to breathe because I’m letting you,” I refute. “Back up and give me ten feet before I put you in the f**king ground.”
“You can’t touch me.”
I near him, and he takes a couple steps back. “You think I care about going to jail for a few hours? Fucking test me, and your thousand-dollar camera and those f**king pictures will be gone in an instant.”
He stays put where he is.
I’m so heated I can barely see straight. I open Daisy’s tent and duck my head in, careful not to let the cameraman have any view of her. She yawns tiredly, barely awake and really f**king naked. I crawl in and zip the tent back. Her spine straightens as she gets a good look at my pissed expression.
“We’re leaving,” I say, grabbing my shirt that she was in. I pull it over her head quickly.
“What’s going on?”
“Paparazzi.”
“Uh-oh.” She hurries to put the baggy sweatpants back on. They fall at her waist, and I tighten the string so they stay up. “What’s the plan?” she asks, trying not to appear scared. But she still hasn’t told anyone about the cut on her face, and I’m sure she’d rather tell her mom instead of letting her find out from the tabloids.
“I’m carrying you out,” I tell her. “Front piggyback. Put your face to my chest, okay?”