Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

“Is she your wife only in the legal sense?!” a reporter yells. Security squeezes through the rows to escort him out, but he struggles to stay put, clinging to the frame of his plastic chair.

I don’t acknowledge him. “I met Rose when I was fifteen and she was fourteen, and through what she would call fate and I’d call circumstance of our hobbies, we’d cross paths dozens of times over the course of a decade.”

I’m unlocking a private history book for millions of people to read, and maybe they still won’t understand the love I share with Rose, but they’ll at least know how much I desire her.

“At seventeen, I attended the same national Model UN conference as Rose, and a delegate for Greenland locked us in a janitorial closet. He also stole our phones.”

The journalists chuckle at the image.

“He had to beat us dishonorably because he couldn’t beat us any other way.” I stare around the room, at all of them, and they quiet at this statement. “Rose said being locked in a confined space with me was the worst two hours of her life.”

They look bemused, brows furrowing. I can’t help but smile.

“You’re confused because you don’t know whether she was exaggerating or whether she was being truthful. But the truth is that we are complex people with the ability to love to hate and to hate to love, and I wouldn’t trade her for any other person.”

They jot notes, the cameras flash again.

“So that day, stuck beside mops and dirtied towels, I could’ve picked the lock five minutes in and let her go. Instead, I purposefully spent two hours with a girl who wore passion like a dress made of diamonds and hair made of flames. Every day of my life, I am enamored. Every day of my life, I am bewitched. And every day of my life, I spend it with her.”

My chest swells with more power, lifting me higher.

“I’ve slept with many different kinds of people, and yes, the three that spoke to the press are among them.”

The flashes increase, along with mutterings, but I never waver.

“Rose is the only person I’ve ever loved, and through that love, we married and started a family. There is no other meaning behind this, and for you to conjure one is nothing less than a malicious attack against my marriage and my child.”

I pause, and they all wait intently again. As though I’ll slam the gavel right after I announce what I am. After I step into their box so they can better understand.

“Anything else has no relevance. I can’t be what you need me to be. So you’ll have to accept this version or waste your time questioning something that has no answer. I know acceptance isn’t easy when you’re unsure of what you’re accepting, but all I can say is that you’re accepting me as me.”

They go from bewilderment to being aware that this may end with loose threads.

In my eyes, it’s all tied up.

I rest my hands on either side of the podium. My eyes grazing the journalists, the camera lenses, and I settle proudly and comfortably with the choice I’ve made.

I leave them with a quote from Sylvia Plath.

“‘I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.’” My lips pull higher, into a livelier smile. “‘I am, I am, I am.’”

With this, I step away from the podium, and I exit to a cacophony of journalists shouting and asking me to clarify.

Adapt to me.

I’m satisfied, more than I even predicted.

Some people will rewind this conference on their television, to listen closely and try to understand me. I don’t need their understanding, but my daughter will—and I hope the minds of her peers are wide open with vibrant hues of passion.

I hope they all paint the world with color.

[ 55 ]

ROSE COBALT

It’s 3 a.m. and I barely drove to Manhattan undetected. As I enter a wealthy apartment complex, I lift my oversized sunglasses to my head. They’ve been obscuring my vision in the dark of night, but I needed a decent disguise. Since Connor’s poignant speech this afternoon, the media hasn’t lost their rabid bite. They’ve tried to leech all of us for a clearer, more definitive answer.

I’m proud to say that no one is giving the press what they want. I couldn’t discern my father or my mother’s reaction backstage, but they skirt around Connor’s sexuality whenever they’re asked.

My phone buzzes. Tell me when you get there safe. – Connor

He knows my plan, and if Jane wasn’t so fussy today, I know he’d have joined me. I’m here. I text back.

Along a carpeted hallway, I stop at a door and knock hard, not once but three times, hearing footsteps. It swings open, revealing my husband’s therapist. Frederick rubs his tired eyes, only in a pair of blue boxers. “Rose?” He squints at the harsh light. “What are you doing here?”

“Is this really how you answer the door, Frederick?” I wonder.

He just notices his lack of clothes, but instead of covering himself, he leans out of the doorway, peering down the empty hall.

“Connor isn’t with me,” I announce. “And the complex’s security is horrendous. I told them my sick, decrepit grandmother lived here and they just let me in.”

Frederick scratches his messy brown hair. “You’re here for the cat,” he assumes.

“I’m here for my cat,” I validate. “Connor and I agree that it’s time for her to come home.”

I expect a fight. I’m ready for one, purse braced like a weapon on my arm.

He strangely swings the door wider open, inviting me inside. I try to smother my surprise, and I enter his bachelor pad: leather furniture, bland walls with no splash of color, silver kitchen appliances.

“Sadie!” I call. “I’m here to take you home.” Her bell collar jingles, but I can’t see her anywhere.

“I watched the press conference,” Frederick says, sluggishly sliding onto his leather bar stool. He’s not going to help me find her.

“And?” I rest my hip on his couch and dig through my purse for cat treats.

“It reminded me of how far he’s come.”

I freeze in place, not expecting this response either, and I lock eyes with Frederick. He’s never really told me anything about Connor. I always thought their client-patient privileges prevented it and maybe so did their friendship.

“I first met him when he was twelve,” he explains, “and I thought he was brilliant. He spoke like he’d been living for decades, not twelve years. It took him some time to open up to me, but when he did, I realized that he lacked so much empathy for the human race. He thought of people as stepping-stones to greater achievements and nothing more. You see, a narcissist is incapable of love, and I never believed he would love a single soul until he met you.”

The declaration almost pushes me backwards. I know Connor loves me, but Frederick is a man who’s seen Connor through many facets of his life. He knew him before I ever did. Hearing that Frederick believed Connor would come to love me—it holds greater meaning, more power and more truth.

“How did you know?” I ask.

“You didn’t just fascinate him, Rose. You made him feel for more than just himself. He cared about you, and you had no larger purpose in his life other than existing.” He shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. “I never would have thought that twelve-year-old boy would become this man. It’s quite extraordinary.”

It is. My heart pounds with pride for Connor. I glance back at Frederick, ignoring the fact that he’s in saggy, wrinkled boxers. “I want to thank you,” I tell him, “for everything you’ve done for my little sister so far.” He’s helped her find healthy methods to combat her PTSD and panic attacks, and he was the one who advised her to get an ultrasound.

It hasn’t gone unnoticed by me.

Frederick smiles. “I’m happy that Daisy is letting me help her. I think we’re all in agreement that she deserves some peace.”

“Yes,” I get choked up, my throat swelling. Are you going to cry, Rose? In front of Frederick in his saggy, wrinkled box

ers? God, no. Pull yourself together. I continue digging in my purse and find the salmon-flavored treats.

I shake the plastic bag, and the orange tabby cat darts out from beneath the couch. I snatch her around the waist, and she surprisingly lets me hold her. I can feel her ribs. “She’s underweight,” I glare at him.

“She was overweight when Connor brought her.”

I flip my hair off my shoulder. “She was perfect.” I scratch behind her ears, and she lets out a large tractor purr. She still is perfect. “Do you have her carrier?” I’m afraid she’ll pounce out of my arms if I try to cradle her to the car.

He nods and heads to the closet. “You and Connor make a good team.”