“It shouldn’t matter,” he evades, his amber eyes searching mine, looking for my response to the same question. It’s okay. I can admit it first.
I open my mouth to say the words, and they lodge in my throat, barred from exit by internal fears.
“Lily?” he murmurs, leaning over my small frame and combing the hair from my face. He’s halfway on my body, semi-cloaked in Loren Hale.
I tangle my legs with his. Better.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells me.
I think I need to though. I’d rather let these things out. “If we have a girl…” I breathe softly. “…there’s a good chance she’ll be ridiculed.” Her mom will be a sex addict. It’ll be like Daisy, pegged as one just for being my sister. I can imagine my daughter having a bumpier, rockier road. And Daisy’s is already horrible enough.
Lo finds my hands and intertwines our fingers together. My leg brushes his thigh, nearing his crotch, and my pulse speeds up a fraction. His hand lowers back to my hipbone, holding me still. And I relax in this position, the heat of his body warming me. It’s effortless. Our normal.
“Maybe in the future people won’t judge girls differently than guys,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I’m staring at his lips again, but I focus on his words.
He tucks a flyaway piece of hair behind my ear. “When girls sleep around—maybe they won’t be called sluts and whores. Maybe they’ll be treated like guys. Then no one will care about your addiction, not enough to harass Luna.”
Luna. My heart palpitates at the name we chose if we have a girl.
The world he described seems imaginary. One made from fiction. Not a future.
“Doubtful,” I whisper.
He stares down into me and says, “I’ll keep her safe.”
My eyes well with tears while my lips pull high. “Against the world, Loren Hale?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Against the world, Lily Calloway. I’m familiar with that battle.”
I kiss him, lifting my head off the pillow to meet those pink lips.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding sensually against mine before drawing away. “So you want a boy then?” he asks, figuring me out. I think I could raise a boy better than a girl. I think he’d like me as a mom. At least, I hope so.
“Yeah,” I say in a whisper, searching Lo’s eyes now for his answer. “Do you want a boy?”
“If you want one, then yeah,” he nods.
I punch him lightly in the arm. “That’s not an answer,” I refute. “Stop placating me.”
His amber eyes narrow and he blinks a couple times like I’m no longer Lily but some alien girl. “Since when do you use the word placate?”
“Since Connor gave me that thesaurus for Christmas.” Rose said it was a rude present, but he took the time to scribble notes in the margins. Like the word bastard, he wrote: the best looking one is in your arms. A literal truth. I run my hands along Lo’s shoulder muscles. “He highlighted all the cool words for me.”
Lo lets out a short laugh. “Connor’s definition of cool isn’t the same one you and I follow.”
“Oh.” That’s probably true too.
He grins, and then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me before I realize what’s happened. A surprise kiss. One that oozes my bones and rouses my soul. His lips suck gently on my bottom one, and his hand tangles in my brown hair. I moan into the next kiss, especially as his thumb rubs the soft spot on my neck.
He smiles just before his tongue flicks into my mouth.
My pelvis bucks up into his, and my legs spread on either side of him. Yes.
Breathless, he says, “That’s what placating you looks like.”
Oh.
I flush. “Can you do it again?” I wonder.
“You told me to stop,” he teases. “My wish is your command.”
I rap my fist on his shoulder once more, but his smile only intensifies, really dimpling his cheeks this time. And then he suddenly says, “I want a girl.” His smile vanishes with his words. I want it to return.
“Why?” I whisper. I think I know.
“I don’t want our kid to turn out like me,” he says, the angles of his face more tortured looking than before. “Spiteful and bitter—a complete f**king ass**le.” He shakes his head, his gaze dropping. “I want him to be like you.”
“A sex addict?” I frown.
“No, Lil,” he murmurs. “Kind-hearted, loving…introspective.”
“I’m not introspective.”
He kisses the outside of my lips. “Yes you are, love.” He’s only a breath away from me as he adds, “I just can’t make the same mistakes as my father did with me.”
“You’re not him,” I say softly. Jonathan alienated one son and drove the other down a dark, dark path. Lo would never do that.
He kisses my temple and then slides out from under the sheet. “I’m going to take a shower.” As he climbs off the bed, buck naked, he gives me a look that says join me.
My face brightens, and I’m about to run into his arms when my phone pings. Lo’s phone vibrates on the nightstand too. He checks his screen while I check mine.
7:30 p.m. at my house on Wednesday. This is mandatory, so if you’re considering cancelling, think again. – Jonathan
I look at who he group texted: Daisy, Ryke, Lo and me. He’s reminding us about the “meeting” he’s called. “It looks like just a dinner,” I say, though my stomach flips.
“Yeah.” Lo’s voice isn’t as optimistic.
I’m trying to prepare for the worst—but at this point, I’m not even sure what the worst is anymore.
5
LOREN HALE
Heavy sleet and snow confines us indoors for the morning, but even though we can’t run outside, I stop by my brother’s room to see if he’ll workout with Connor and me. My muscles pull taut, my chest bound tight, and I need to release this tension before I open the envelope and especially before we meet with our father.
When I try to turn the doorknob, it clicks locked. I sigh agitatedly. I’ve already tried texting him, and he didn’t answer. Fuck it, I’m waking him up. I bang my fist on the white wood and wait for a response.
After a few seconds of hushed noises and footsteps, the door swings open. Ryke holds the frame with a rigid arm while I catch Daisy skirting into her bathroom behind him.
“What?” Ryke asks curtly, only wearing drawstring pants. It’s not his lack of clothes or even Daisy sleeping with him that I have a problem with. Those facts I’ve accepted, no matter how weird it is at times.
It’s his apparent exhaustion that bothers me. Even beneath his hardened, dark glare, I can spot how tired he is by his eyes. “Did you sleep last night?”
The shower squeaks through the wall. Ryke shakes his head and speaks quietly. “She was terrified, and nothing I did helped…” He runs his fingers through his thick hair.
My older brother likes to insert himself in any situation, to fix it, so this is probably killing him. “She has to go to the meeting Wednesday,” I remind him. “I know it f**king sucks, but we need to play by his rules.” I don’t want to find out what happens if one of us cancels on our dad. And I also fear pushing him to drink. He’s been sober for this long—and he’s different now. Sure he’s still an ass**le, not exactly soft, but he filters a lot of his comments.