I give her a look and set a hand on her head. “I’m not good at understanding some fucking things, Calloway. That’s why I have you.”
“You’ve always intimidated her, and I don’t think she ever thought of you like a brother—so it’s hard for her to switch gears. Plus, you know, she’s dating for the first time and experiencing new things without parents around, but now she has two brothers instead of just Lo.”
“I’m not going to make things fucking harder for her,” I say.
“I know, but it’s still awkward.”
I’m just fucking glad Willow and Dais are friends. I think they both need each other in different ways.
“Daisy!” Rose shouts across the room, and somewhere else, Samantha Calloway is no doubt shooting her daughter the fucking stink-eye.
Rose waves again, tapping her high heel. All of her sisters are congregated by the fireplace, wearing gowns. I still don’t know how we missed the fucking dress code.
Daisy peels away from my side to join her sisters.
And then someone pats my shoulder, hard.
`
RYKE MEADOWS
Hey, little brother, I think before I face a twenty-five-year-old with amber daggers for eyes and steel blades for a jaw. Dressed in all black with features that fucking kill, he could be the devil’s son. In some ways, he is.
In other ways, so am I.
We really must be brothers. I almost smile in remembrance. I said those exact words to him the day he found out we were related.
Five years ago.
We both look older. He looks stronger. There’s nowhere left to go but forward.
His hand tightens around a glass of ice water, and his gaze falls to my clothes. He laughs and pats my shoulder again. “It’s been nice knowing you, bro.”
I push his hand off. “Hilarious.” He’s referring to the third-degree Samantha Calloway will give me when she sees my fucking attire. I tug at his formal jacket. “What’s this?”
Now he shoves my hand away, his water spilling on his fingers. “Shit,” he curses. “It’s a goddamn bunny costume. What does it look like?” His cheekbones sharpen when he wipes his hand on the side of his black slacks.
“You know we live together?”
“No, I had no idea. I just thought the Wendy’s girl kept eating all the bacon and eggs in our fridge.”
I give him an irritated look.
He swigs his water, staring easily at me like I’m fucking smiling at him. Clearly my I’m-going-to-break-some-fucking-cocks face has no effect on my little brother.
“You had enough time to tell me this is a formal event,” I say. “So what the fuck?”
“You two were missing all morning.”
I shake my head, trying to recall everything. We went to the quarry for a hike this morning. Daisy has finally regained her energy since her surgery. She didn’t want to squander that by staying indoors—neither did I. “You could’ve texted me.”
Lo touches his chest. “I don’t text.”
“Bullshit,” I curse, grabbing a glass of water from a server’s tray.
“Seriously,” Lo says, “I thought you knew. Samantha texted Lily and Rose—I guess we just all assumed she texted Daisy too.”
I take a swig of water and nod. “She did text Daisy, but she conveniently left out the number of fucking invites.” I browse the room with a quick glance, spotting celebrities by another full bar: singers and an actress, maybe. I don’t know them.
I barely keep up with that shit, and I usually have to remind myself that I’m a part of it too. In magazines. On entertainment news.
I deliberately try not to pay attention to any of that. It’s not worth the headache.
When I observe the crowds again, I find myself searching for Daisy’s exes—fucking stop. I rub my eyes, disliking this paranoia.
I return my attention to my brother. He’s scrutinizing me like I normally do to him. I’m not used to his concern—not even a fraction of it.
He says, “I bet Samantha thought you’d ditch your own party if you knew all the details.”
That sounds more like something he’d do with Lily, back when they let their addictions run their lives. I wouldn’t have ditched this event if it meant something to Daisy.
I’m surprised that he’s making excuses for Samantha, but I don’t say anything about it. I just chug the rest of my water. The same time that he finishes off his.
He checks the empty glass, clenching his teeth. I can tell he wishes his drink had bite. Whiskey or bourbon.
“You okay?” I ask on impulse. Usually his brows will furrow in irritation.
They still do.
That hasn’t fucking changed but his self-assured posture has. “I’m better than you fucking look.” He raises his glass in bitter cheers. When he takes a sip from the empty glass, he mumbles, “Jesus Christ.”
“This is yours.” Connor appears next to Lo with a full glass of ice water. My brother sets his empty one on a passing tray.
“Appreciated, love.” Lo takes a sip.
Of course he didn’t offer me a fucking glass. I don’t expect Connor to give me anything other than a hard time.
He holds his one-year-old daughter to his side, her brown hair tied in a tiny pony, her cheek resting against her dad’s arm. Janie’s deep blue eyes match Connor’s. Both sets are currently pinned to me.
“You showed up.” His calm voice instantly heightens my aggravation, his whole unruffled, arrogant demeanor always grating on me. “C
olor me surprised.”
He doesn’t sound remotely surprised.
Connor Cobalt looks bored.
Even Janie, in a pale blue dress, watches the party and me with disinterest—and she’s one.
I’m about to ask him why he didn’t find a babysitter, but I haven’t spoken to Connor that much since the doctor’s appointment in August. He can share his beliefs, but I don’t want him to patronize me like I’m seven years old.
He’s not my conscience.
He’s not my parent.
He’s my fucking friend.
I understand every risk I take. I know what it all means, so he doesn’t need to reiterate them like I can’t fucking hear or see.
I switch out my water glass from another passing server, blatantly avoiding Connor. Passive aggressive bullshit really isn’t my normal tactic, but it irritates Connor more than yelling.
“This whole silent treatment is a bit infantile.” Connor acts like it’s not affecting him, like it’s all just the same, but in the creases of his eyes, I notice his frustration matching mine.
I angle my body towards my brother. “Where’s Moffy?”
“Garrison is babysitting.”
I connect the dots, how Lily and Lo must trust him enough to let him watch their kid, but Connor doesn’t.
“Moffy?” Janie says hopefully, looking up at her dad.
We all stare down at her, and Connor’s kid tugs at my fucking heart when she claps her hands, giddy for her cousin’s appearance.
“Moffy isn’t here,” Connor tells her in his usual calm voice.
“Moffy!” she giggles, not understanding.
My brother is smiling more than he does in a year’s time. He catches me staring, and he glares. “What?”
“I didn’t say a fucking thing.”
“My son is cool. The baby genius thinks so.”
I let out an incensed breath. “Why do you have to inflate his fucking head?” He could have left out the word “genius”—even if Janie is a little advanced for her age.
“Because I like his face.” Lo flashes me a smile.
I shake my head, feeling Connor’s blinding grin behind me.
“Ryke,” Connor says while Janie rests her cheek against his arm.