Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

We can’t plan the exact number, not when there are too many unforeseeable roadblocks, but we can try to achieve this.

Two Cobalt girls.

Sisters.

“Then as soon as you have another girl, our girl”—I have to preface—“we’ll stop and that’ll be the size of our family.” I wait for this proclamation to sink into her features, and Rose’s eyes widen. She almost rocks backwards, but I clutch her hip, keeping her near.

“Richard Connor Cobalt, you’re leaving this up to fate.” Her smile lights her eyes, filled with amusement. I’m more than satisfied to leave the number of our kids to science, and yes, to chance.

“Your fate will be kind to me,” I tell her. “I can make anyone grow to love me in time.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Your fate is my fate.” I believe it. “And they don’t love you, Connor. They love the person you give them.” She pauses and says, “I love you. I’m proud of you. And I can’t imagine being anywhere but by your side.”

Our pulses thrum again.

I lift her chin, her gaze burning all of these truths into me. There are rare people who will fuel the fire inside of you, who will awaken a dormant passion, who will challenge you, who will push you and better you. She alone is my rarity.

“I’m always whomever or whatever people need me to be,” I say strongly, “but you were the only one who needed me to be me.”

She nods with tears brimming her eyes. “I can hear your heart beating.”

My lips pull higher, and I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It beats in equal time with yours.” I kiss the hollow of her neck and whisper, “Toujours.”

Always.

[ Epilogue ]

ROSE COBALT

One Month Later

“They’re in here somewhere,” Lily says, hidden in the depths of her walk-in closet. She keeps sliding hangers, expecting to find two of my fur coats that she’s commandeered over the years.

I crouch beside the rack of shoes, pretending to hunt for them. “You can keep the coats—”

“No,” she says adamantly for the fifth time.

“I want you to have them,” I repeat, also for the fifth time.

“I can’t hear you,” she lies and then disappears in the darkness of Loren Hale’s black button-downs. She definitely can have them if they’ve been traitorously making camp in between his shirts.

I let out a heavy sigh and look beneath a pile of clothes, tossing her tank top aside and then a—ew. “Lily!” I shriek, bolting upright like a feral cat.

Lily’s head pops out between the button-downs. “Whaa…”

I point to the stack of clothes on the floor, what appears to be men’s boxer-briefs on top. “Is this dirty?”

She mumbles something that sounds like maybe and slips back into darkness. Motherfucking ew—I just touched Loren Hale’s dirty underwear. I stomp out of the closet and enter the bathroom, scrubbing my hands vigorously in the sink.

I pump extra soap and lather my palms. Three minutes later, I dry my hands on a gray towel.

“Found them,” Lily pants and holds up my two coats.

My face falls. I was sincerely hoping she wouldn’t find them at all. “Are you sure you don’t want them?” I ask.

“You wear them more than me,” she expresses. “I want to make sure you have everything that makes you comfortable.”

It’s the last part of me in this house. I’ve been eradicated.

You chose this, Rose. I know. I’m moving down the street with Connor and Jane. We planned to wait longer, maybe years before we actually packed our things and left Lily and Lo and Ryke and Daisy alone. But when we came home from France—with cameras hot on our faces, accusing us of incestuous relationships that were downright vile—I think we both knew the distance would help everyone.

It was time.

Moving on is a bittersweet feeling. It’s saying goodbye to an era with my sisters and saying hello to an era with my husband. I’d never been ready or prepared to do this, but I am now.

I just wish little pieces of me were still left in my sister’s closets. Like my coats. Like my high heels or a necklace I lent them. I don’t want to be eradicated. I want to be remembered.

Off my silence, Lily says, “You’re just moving down the street.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s the principle.” I flip my hair off my shoulder and reluctantly collect the two coats, marching out of the room with her on my side.

“I’ll keep one,” she says. “Would you mind—”

“Which one?” I contain my smile, though I feel it grow inside of me.

“The brown one.”

I pass her the soft coat and she hugs it to her chest. “I’ll meet you outside!” She runs back down the hallway to put the coat in her room.

I descend the stairs into the living room, and I skim the back of the couch with my hand, as though saying goodbye. I stop right before the foyer, and imprint this place in my mind. It’s not empty.

It’s just empty of me.

I’ve spent well over a year here, the first time I’ve ever lived with Daisy and Lily together. My daughter walked for the first time in the living room. She spoke her first word in the kitchen. Endings make me sentimental the way new beginnings do, and I suppose, if I look closely, they’re one in the same.

Lily races down the stairs with her Wampa cap on, her shoulder-length brown hair looking washed and clean. Her gangly legs move quickly beneath her, and I inhale strongly, pocketing my odd sappiness.

“Is that it?” Lily asks me, nodding to the coat.

“Yes,” I say, “this is the last of me.”

Lily frowns. “Don’t say it like that. It makes me sad.”

/> “This is sad. I’m still waiting for you to cry for me.” I open the front door.

Lily tugs the flaps of her hat. “You said I shouldn’t cry if you’re not dying.”

I don’t doubt I said it. I would just like a little emotion today from someone other than me. I can’t be the only one experiencing this bittersweet cocktail, can I?

“Beep beep!” Daisy does donuts in a golf cart at the end of the driveway, a lopsided smile brightening her face.

Yes, I am the only one in fucking mourning over myself.

Daisy whips the golf cart up to the front of the house and turns sharply like she’s auditioning for a car commercial. “Hello there, pretty ladies. Want a ride in my vehicle?” She wags her brows and rubs the steering wheel.

Lily laughs and I roll my eyes, choosing to sit next to her while Lily plops in the back. We bought a golf cart about the same time we purchased the house down the street. It’s just easier than jumping in a car—and walking, of course.

“Your hickey is showing,” I tell her and fix my hair in the tiniest rearview mirror I’ve ever seen.

“It’s a wolf bite.” She chomps with her teeth and then smiles wider, a clear red mark on her neck. Besides the hickey, she wears Ryke’s baseball cap backwards and a muscle shirt that says, Whoa thar, pirate. I want ye treasure.

“As long as you’re happy with it, I’m happy,” I say distantly, sitting back, and she swings the golf cart towards the road. I brace myself in case Daisy whips the golf cart again, and I check on Lily. She spiders the white cushion of her seat—in fear of being flung off.

Lily mouths to me, I’m scared.

We’re going less than twenty-miles-an-hour, but she saw Ryke accidentally fling off Loren this morning. He was also doing donuts.

But Daisy is driving in a straight line now.

Before Lily volunteers to walk to my new house, I reach out and hold her arm, silently telling her that she will not fall off. And if she does, I’ll be falling with her.