Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

Her big eyes train on my features.

I raise my brows at her, and she quiets and stares so fucking curiously at them.

I love her so fucking much. “If you’re looking at me like that, just wait until you see this big fucking world, Sulli.”

She makes a tiny noise that digs right into my soul. I toss her dirty diaper in the bin. After finishing up with a new diaper, snapping her onesie back, I cradle her in my arms. And I shut the bathroom lights off behind me.

As I saunter back into my darkly lit bedroom, my head collides with the hanging green paper lantern. “Fuck,” I swear softly and set my free hand on the lamp to freeze it in place.

“What a precious little cupcake.”

I swing my head towards the bed. Daisy is tucked beneath the covers, propped on her elbow, her blonde hair wild around her cheeks. I stare at her like she’s a fucking mirage. I stare at her like if I look away, she’ll disappear for fucking good.

And she smiles so much that her scar stretches. “He heard me call him a cupcake,” she teases. “Can I take a bite out of you?” She gasps with lively green eyes. “The thrill of it all.”

Don’t disappear on me.

I edge to the bed and then toss a round pillow at her face. She laughs while I climb onto the mattress, right next to her, and I set our daughter on her lap.

Daisy rests her head against my shoulder, her fingers skimming Sulli’s feet, covered in tiny yellow socks. “There’s nothing more precious than this, I swear,” Daisy whispers. “She’s like a peanut butter cupcake.”

“I thought I was the fucking cupcake,” I mess with her.

She looks up at me. “Have you ever heard? One cupcake makes another cupcake.” She then leans forward and whispers, “Isn’t your daddy just the most handsome cupcake in the world, Sulli?” Daisy brushes her nose with Sullivan’s nose, and my heart just fucking melts.

Daisy leans back while Sullivan coos. “I could totally watch her do nothing for hours.”

“Yeah, but you need to fucking sleep, Dais.” Which is why I’ve tried to be as quiet as fucking possible changing and feeding her in the middle of the night. I wanted to keep her in the nursery so Daisy could sleep, but she hated the idea of our baby even being in a crib five feet away from us.

Daisy has this tiny pout on her lips, confusion in her gaze. “I thought we agreed on sharing sleepless nights?”

“That was before…” I rub my mouth, still unable to fucking recall the events from a week ago.

She had a total hysterectomy. They removed her uterus, her tubes, and her remaining ovary—along with that fucking cyst. They froze what eggs she had left, but she underwent a major surgery, not to mention losing more blood than I can even wrap my head around.

I rake my hand through my hair and ask her, “How do you feel?”

“A little lethargic.”

I give her a fucking look like see.

“But they said it’d be that way from the blood loss.” She has to take iron supplements to help with that. “I’ve decided to give that EMT my Ducati.” She sits up straighter, glancing between me and our daughter. “I know it seems like a huge decision, but I wanted to give him something that meant a lot to me as a thanks for saving my life. I called his mom yesterday and she said he’d like it.”

I nod a couple times, thinking about how that nineteen-year-old rookie EMT ended up being the factor in whether she made it out okay. I knew Daisy’s blood type because of the Paris riot, and she needed a transfusion on the ride to the hospital. The young EMT knew his blood type.

And they were a match.

“Well if you’re not going to fucking sleep, you watch her for a minute.” I stand up from the bed; my right leg fucking throbs. It always does in the middle of the night.

Her eyes smile back at me. “Such a cruel job. Give it to me always.”

I flip her off.

Daisy says to our baby, “That’s a sign of love.”

I shake my head, my lips rising. I crouch to Daisy’s wooden trunk beneath the window. I can feel her watching me very fucking closely. I know what she’s been putting in here, and maybe she thought I had no clue. All this time.

I have known.

This is where she’s kept who I am. In case I went looking for myself again.

I unlatch the lid and then glance back at Daisy on the bed. She’s not afraid. Even after everything that’s happened, she only wears eagerness, light and curiosity. Brightening our entire room without the switch of a lamp.

It was a miracle, they said, that she lived.

I just keep looking at her every day. I keep holding her, and I listen to all the words she has to say. I will never take a single second of my life for granted.

After my accident, I missed August. I missed even more of September. I missed these months in a fucking daze, and I slept through them. I wandered to no fucking end. And after what happened last week, a common reaction would be to slow down, to play it safe, but I’ve learned that death is inevitable. I could’ve lost her. I could’ve lost my daughter.

I have another chance at this, and I refuse to waste another fucking minute of my one life. I refuse to be less than the person I know I am.

I’ve woken up.

I’ve seen what I used to see.

I focus on the trunk, reach inside, and pull out rope, carabiners, all of my fucking gear. Beneath them are piles and piles of magazines. She even saved my subscription to Rock and Ice. I pick up an old issue and stand.

I’m on the front cover, ascending a cliff in Venezuela.

When I turn to Daisy, I see her crying with the biggest fucking smile.

“Thanks for keeping this safe,” I tell her. It’s not going to be physically easy to start up again, but the hard things are usually the right things.

DAISY MEADOWS

“Do you see this face?” I sidestep from the kitchen sink, Sullivan set in a bath basin with an open-mouthed giddy smile, her eyes alight and tiny hands unclasping. Trying to grab hold of the warm green washcloth on her tummy.

Ryke wears a backwards baseball cap, just returning from a run with his brother. So he’s also in track pants and shirtless. Though he grabbed the video camera before I could, filming Sullivan’s favorite thing in the world.

Bath time.

“This is the face of two-month-old Sullivan Minnie Meadows,” I narrate. “Part mermaid, part pirate.” I spin back to Sulli and splash warm water on her arm. “Aye, girlie.”

She beams, wiggling her legs and hands for more water. We only use soap on her bottom since we bathe her every day and don’t want to dry out her skin. April is slightly warmer, but lotion has been her best friend during the cold months.

Ryke sidles next to me, and Sullivan makes a tiny squeaky noise in delight. I think she’s aware that we’re her mom and dad. “And what are you?” Ryke asks me. “The mermaid or the fucking pirate?”

“The pirate,” I say, not missing a beat. I wash Sulli’s face, leaning closer to her. “That makes Daddy the merman.” I can’t hold a straight face for long. I start laughing, especially since we’re recording this for history’s sake.

“You think you’re fucking funny, Calloway?” He’s totally trying not to smile right now.

“All the other pirates laughed at my stories. Maybe merpeople don’t have a sense of humor.” I clean our daughter’s neck with warm water. “Take note Sulli, pirates have more fun.”

Ryke seizes the sink hose, and without pause, he squirts me in the face.

I burst into a smile, my face doused and dripping. I try to approach him—to steal the hose, but he sprays me again. I stick my tongue out to catch a mouthful of water.

He clicks the hose off. “What were you saying, Calloway?”

“Pirates have mor—”

He squirts me again.

I laugh full-bellied laughs, my face slick and wet. “Pirates are—”

He never surrenders, only spraying my shirt that says,

donut go breaking my heart. I practically leap onto him, trying to steal the hose this time. He raises it above my head, but it tugs to a stop, allowing me ample time to clasp the hose for myself.

I rotate the nozzle towards Ryke and spray without mercy.

Water jets out and wets his face; he’s not even trying to block the stream.

“Ha ha,” I hoot. “Pirate thievery wins out every—”

He kisses me, so suddenly, so strongly, that I’m almost knocked backwards. He catches me before I plummet, and I smile so wide beneath his lips.

It lasts like two-point-two seconds since someone tugs on both of our pants. Our lips break apart and our gazes descend to little Maximoff Hale. We still live with Lily and Lo, and Willow will be moving out in the summer—so run-ins with everyone is common, even with our new baby.

“Unle Ry”—he pushes his words together in haste—“daddy said big roc!” He stretches his arms out. I translate this as: Uncle Ryke, Daddy says you’re going to climb a big rock!

“You told Lo?” I ask Ryke, setting the hose back into the sink and washing behind Sulli’s ears. Ryke has upped his physical training regimen since our daughter was born. Some days I just watch him move about a room, his stride full of vigor and purpose.