“She’s still f**king rattled,” Ryke tells us. “I’ve calmed her down some…but I think she’ll be better in the morning.”
Lily practically whispers, “Is she going to move out?”
The weirdest feeling washes over me. It takes me a second to process it. Jesus. I don’t want Daisy to move out. Not alone. Not even with my brother. I like having everyone here. One house. Together.
We’re a family.
Ryke lowers his voice. “We’ve been talking about it, but we haven’t made a decision yet.”
“We can move,” Rose suggests, guilt sagging her shoulders.
I shake my head at her like she’s crazy. We’ve spent months putting up with the teenagers and now that it’s ended, we’re going to move? We’ll be dealing with the same shit all over again. No way.
“Daisy doesn’t want you to do that,” Ryke explains.
Lily clears her throat and speaks louder. “We want you both here.”
Rose nods. “I second that.”
“I third it,” Connor says, his lips rising.
“Me too,” I add.
Ryke sounds overwhelmed as he says, “Thanks, guys. See you in the morning.” And he hangs up. I forgot to wish him happy birthday, so I end up texting it.
I can understand what he’s going through. Watching someone you love teeter on the brink of their anxieties and fears. With no real way to fix it. We can only pick them up. Each Calloway girl fights a similar battle in different ways. As I pocket my phone, I catch Lily scratching her arms and I know mine is headed towards that familiar edge.
64
LILY CALLOWAY
I can’t sleep. I lie on my side, tangled in the sheet, and I listen to the creaks of the walls, hugging the baby monitor to my chest.
“Lil,” Lo murmurs, his hands on my h*ps as he spoons me from behind.
“Huh?” An ache pulses between my legs. Ignore, ignore, ignore, I send these signals to my brain. Even if they’re incomputable. They must go there.
“You’re grinding against my dick, love.”
Shit. I stiffen, not wanting to scuttle away from him. I like that he has a strong handhold on my hipbones and that his warm chest presses to my back. My bony butt has betrayed me. And maybe so has my nether region.
“I didn’t mean to.” Anxiety flushes my skin.
“It’s okay.” He props his elbow on the pillow and kisses my cheek. Oh God. I want those lips right on mine.
“Lo,” I whine. I hate my needy voice. I turn my face into my pillow and moan in distress. I’d like to escape my mind tonight. And the best, easiest way to do that is sex. The problem is: I fear for Moffy’s safety, and why do I have to be the weird girl who’d like to drown those worries with a cl**ax?
Lo climbs over me, resting either of his knees on my sides and he flips me on my back. I stare up at him, his sharp jawline that’s visible in our dark bedroom.
Very softly, I say, “I’d like to be normal tonight.”
His brows knot in concern. “You are normal, Lil.”
I shake my head a little. “I want to f**k you.”
“Funny, I want to f**k you,” he retorts.
I laugh weakly into an even weaker smile.
“It’s true,” he says in a playful tone. “My best friend—” he pinches my cheeks “—has turned me on since I hit puberty. I love everything about her, and there’s not one day that I go without thinking, I’d like to f**k that girl.” He lowers his lips, those beautiful pink lips to mine, a breath away, and whispers, “So there.”
I tremble beneath him. “Lo.” Fuck me. I shut down my brain’s naughty request and press the baby monitor to my ear, just in case I missed something.
Lo watches me tentatively. “He’s okay, Lil.” The seriousness floods back to his voice.
“I’m just making sure.”
Before I even finish the words, Lo climbs off me and the bed. He flicks on the lights.
“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up. He’s wearing black boxer-briefs and sweatpants. Normally he wouldn’t have those, but he’s trying not to dangle the goods in front of an addict. Still though, I stare at his butt and his bulge, depending on which why he turns to me.
Dirty habit.
“I’ll be right back.” And then he opens the door and disappears.
I wear one of Lo’s baggy black shirts. I catch myself biting my nails that sting. The moment I drop my hand, Lo returns, and I perk up as I see who he’s brought with him.
Maximoff Hale. Our baby, dressed in a red onesie that says: Avenger in Training. His little tufts of dark brown hair are smoothed down, and he sleeps in Lo’s arms with his mouth open. We no longer poke at him to ensure that he’s alive.
Lo is holding our son. The baby that we created together. Half of him and half of me.
It’s the most beautiful image my brain has ever received. And I’m afraid of turning it into something dirtier. So I swiftly roll onto my stomach and hide beneath the comforter.
“Lily,” Lo chides. The bed undulates beneath his weight, and he rests beside me. “Come out, love.”
“I’m not coming anywhere,” I say immediately, the red-rash of embarrassment hot and cruel.
Lo yanks off the comforter. “You’re not hiding in the bathroom or beneath the covers. You’re scared that Moffy isn’t safe in the nursery tonight. So he’s sleeping between us.”
I gape and turn on my side, meeting his narrowed amber eyes. “Lo, I…” I’m afraid. Of myself.
“You’ll be fine, love.” He gently rests Moffy on the mattress between our bodies. And tears prick my eyes. He’s content, happy and quiet. As all babies should be.
I relax and touch his little hand, his fingers clasping around my pinky in his sleep. Maybe I can do this. I exhale and look up at Lo. He’s studying me, charting mental notes of all my urges. I shift a little and cross my ankles. But they’re starting to subdue with my anxiety.
The distraction is nice.
I watch Moffy sleep, and Lo eases back onto his pillow. He’s going to have Lo’s cheekbones. I can tell. Besides the dark hair, he looks a lot how Lo did in his baby pictures.
“What if I squash him?” I ask Lo.
“I’m going to put him in his crib when you fall asleep,” he says.
I nod at this plan.
“Shut your eyes, love.”
With only a smidgen of reluctance, I close my eyes. My mind rolls onward as I think one thing: I will always have bad days. It’s a fact that I’ve come to terms with. “Lo,” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“An addict will always be an addict?” There is no changing that, I think. He’s so quiet that I end up peeking at him with one eye.
He stares at me with such intensity, stealing my breath. “Did you ever dream that we’d be cured or something?” he asks.
My other eye opens. “No,” I whisper. “Did you?”
He shakes his head. “I knew from the beginning that we’d be addicted after all.” His amber eyes bore straight through me. “I just didn’t know whether we’d be at a better place than we were before.”
We are. I don’t even have to say the words. He knows the answer too. We’re at the best place we’ve ever been, reaching a stasis together. It’s beautiful up here, and even if I fear falling, it’s nice to know I’ve been down that road before. And I can always walk to the top again.