Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

The wind whips, chilling my nose. “Ryke—”

“CALLOWAYS SUCK!” someone shouts from afar, his voice carrying with the wind and stealing my thoughts and the moment.

“Lovely,” Rose mutters, collecting her glossy brown hair onto one shoulder. She diligently scans her surroundings while Connor lifts Janie onto her skis.

Ryke scouts the area with a dark gaze too. “You’d think they’d cool the fuck down by now.”

“I don’t know,” Lily says, helping Moffy stand onto his skis with Lo. “If I loved Princesses of Philly as much as I love X-Men then I think maybe I’d understand how upset they are. Like, if Marvel just decided to stop writing X-Men or stop making movies about mutants, I might riot.”

“Yeah, love,” Lo says, “but we wouldn’t drive to Marvel and start calling them names.” Moffy wiggles in their grasp, trying to stand free of them. They’re both not ready to let go just yet.

Lily gapes at Lo for a long while.

Lo sighs. “Okay, maybe I would.” He motions to the crowd forming behind our bodyguards. “But that is excessive. And no offense to you Calloway girls, but you’re not goddamn cool enough to elicit that kind of reaction.”

My jaw drops with Lily and Rose. We’re sisters. All sisters are cool by nature of just being sisters.

Rose closes her mouth quickly to fasten a glare. “I take offense to that, Loren.”

I’m so happy she snapped at him unlike her silence before. I chime in, “So do I.” I try not to smile with my declaration, but it’s a mighty one that almost forces my lips up.

“Me too.” Lily nods.

Lo mockingly puts a hand to his heart like she pierced him. She’s too busy concentrating on Moffy to see his reaction.

“Mommy,” he complains. If he knew the words let go, I bet he’d say them right now. I love how protective and caring both Lily and Lo are with their son. Lily is scared he’s going to fall, but she reluctantly loosens her grip after Lo. Connor removes his hands from Janie, and both kids instantly fall on their butts.

It’s so cute, especially since neither Moffy nor Jane has broken into a sob yet. My eyes alight, happy for their monumental first. I’ve learned to shelve the darker sentiments, the silent, quiet grief. I don’t ever want to attach it to my niece and nephew.

Ryke watches me, and when I turn to him, so much flits beneath his gaze: reverence, love and pain.

“What?” I ask.

The muscles tic in his jaw. He can’t find the word for what he feels. But I can. I know. He’s such a fixer, and he can’t give me a baby like a cup of hot chocolate, the shirt off his back, a hug or a kiss.

This isn’t an easy fix, and it’s killing him.

Before a lump rises to my throat, he shoves my arm playfully.

I nudge his arm back, harder than his push to show I mean business.

He sways and then gives me another look. “Do you know what you’re fucking playing with, Calloway?”

I slink up to him. “A big…bad…wolf.”

He sets a hand on my breastbone like he’s going to knock me backwards. My eyes twinkle like do it, please do it. Send me flying into the snow.

“GO BACK TO PHILLY!” someone shouts, causing our heads to swing towards our bodyguards again.

A scribbled sign reads: Queens of Philly! DO IT FOR YOUR FANS!!!

Ryke has dropped his hand off my chest, but his arm slides across my shoulders, tucking me close. Little moments between us are taking detours because of the growing masses. I wonder how different today would be if they were less vocal.

Lily notices the sign too. “Have you all ever thought about maybe doing another reality—”

“No,” everyone says together.

Rose dusts off Jane’s jacket. “Don’t worry about them. They’re trying to tug on your heartstrings. It’s their ploy.” She then smiles at her daughter who tries to stand up on her own.

“Rose is obviously immune, seeing as she has no soul,” Lo pipes in.

“LOREN!!” a bodyguard yells. It sounds like Garth.

We all shift in different directions, and I focus primarily on the babies’ safety while Ryke’s hands protectively tighten on my shoulders. I try not to fear what I can’t see.

Lo and Connor lift their kids in their arms, and I look every which way for the source of Garth’s panic. Some of the bodyguard fleet blocks the crowds, but Price sprints towards me, the slap of the wind reddening his cheeks.

I instinctively glance at my feet for Coconut, but I remember that we left her in Philadelphia for this trip. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure speeding towards us. Skiing down the side of the mountain, his face concealed with winter gear, he fists…something in his glove.

I step back on instinct, meeting Ryke’s hard body. He pushes me behind him, so that he faces the skier, but I notice Rose trying to help Lily from the snow.

She must have fallen, and Lily struggles to stand in her puffy jacket and pants.

Rose almost trips onto her. “Take my hand,” Rose tells Lily.

My sisters.

The skier is headed for my sisters.

My frozen legs gain more life, and I try to hike towards them. “Rose!” I yell, feeling weighed down by the deep snow—but I realize Price is holding onto the back of my jacket.

Let go.

Ryke runs past me to help. Rose is in the direct line of fire, the skier skidding towards her. I think—no, I know. She’s shielding Lily. On purpose.

“ROSE!” Connor screams, and that’s when I know it’s too late.

The masked skier hurls an object at her head, and a white chalky substance bursts against her face. Rose waves her hands at her cheeks like she needs to wipe it off but fears smearing the powder. Her frantic, frozen state crashes against my lungs.

Lily starts desperately helping wipe Rose with her sleeve and snow, our older sister’s eyes squeezed painfully shut.

Connor runs over to Rose with Jane, just as the skier flies right past us with no intention to toss anything else. The skier’s eyes briefly pin to mine, and I swear there’s a smile in them.

Something furious and hurtful snaps inside of me. I charge for him, peeling out of Price’s grip. “DON’T HURT MY SISTERS!” I scream, grabbing fistfuls of snow on my way down to him. I chuck loose snowballs that deteriorate before impact.

He grows further and father away.

“GET BACK HERE!” I want to hurt him like he’s hurt her, and this foreign hate zips through me. It takes hold, burning my throat raw with the chill. I throw more snowballs while a few bodyguards chase after him too.

Someone picks me up. As he tosses me over his shoulder, I know it’s Ryke.

“YOU CAN’T HURT US!” I scream so loudly, practically clawing at Ryke’s back to reach the skier, a blip in the distance.

“Say that a little fucking louder, Calloway!” Ryke provokes.

“YOU CAN’T HURT US!” Tears blister my eyes. He did hurt us. He hurt Rose. I thrash against Ryke’s restraint. “LET ME AT HIM!”

He grips me tighter and treks towards the ski lodge. “What do you want to do? Fucking hit him?” My head is near

his ass, sliding down to flee, and he pulls me back, my abdomen on his shoulder.

“He hurt my sister.” My voice cracks, and I go still.

I cover my eyes because I’m crying more than I wanted to, more than that masked skier deserves.

He pauses for a second; maybe he hears me crying. “Hey.” He sets me on my feet and then he wraps his arms around my body, hugging me in a warm, safe cocoon.

It doesn’t reverse what happened.

My older, fiercer and obsessive-compulsive sister was just flour-bombed.

RYKE MEADOWS

This is somewhere between a clusterfuck and a nightmare.

Ushered past people and locked hastily in the lodge’s restroom—not the girls’ (out of order and barred shut) but the fucking guys’—we’re surrounded by urinals with dried piss and grimy tiled floors littered with sopping toilet paper.

Which wouldn’t be that bad, but Rose recoiled from the fucking walls like she’d catch an incurable disease. I don’t know how Connor did it, but he calmed her enough so she’d stick her face in the sink. Eyes forced shut, shielding her reality.

I have her fucking hair bunched in my hands, keeping the strands from touching the “repulsive” basin. Connor stands on her other side and washes a portion of her hair at a time, focusing on the strands that I’m not holding. He carefully attempts to rid as much of the flour as he can.

Never did I think I’d be washing any part of Rose with her husband. Never. Not even if you fucking told me I would.

“I’m going to kill him,” Rose repeats for the fourth time, her voice shaking with ire and distress. Near the brink of tears.

My muscles burn at a standstill. “Join the fucking line.”

“The police are looking for him, so why don’t you all holster your revenge plans for at least another hour,” Connor says, his features tenser than I’ve seen in a long fucking time. He catches me staring and then mouths, Concentrate.

I return my attention to Rose’s glossy brown hair. If I drop a single fucking strand and she notices, she might fall into some kind of panic. She’s only gripping the sink counter because I “sacrificed” my jacket and splayed it out. Her hands meet the fabric, not anything else.