Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

I stay quiet. If I protest too, I’ll add to Ryke’s concern and probably break his concentration. Way more than Sully. Ryke is more used to climbing with Sul talking than with me.

The man types on his phone and then snaps a couple more pictures.

This is insane. I have no clue how they could’ve found us, unless they’ve been tailing us or tracking us with a stupid drone. We’ve been cautious of those every time we have sex outside after seeing one around the neighborhood.

“Ryke Meadows, look here!” the girl says again.

Frustration crosses Ryke’s features, and he uncharacteristically wipes sweat from his brow using his bicep.

I whisper to Sully, “Tell them that they’re going to kill your friend if they don’t leave.” My stomach twists. It’s not true. It is though. I know it is.

Sully stands. “You’re going to kill my friend! He has no harness on, so leave.” Sully is so unthreatening. And so am I. This would be easier if Lo was around.

“Can you tell us about your friend?!” the man screams up to us.

“Fuck you!” Sully shouts, his face reddening. “Did you not hear what I said?! You’re going to kill him!”

I suck in a breath and swallow. I stand next to Sully, my fingers twitching by my side. I knot and unknot the end of my shirt. Ryke climbs at a strange angle, his body nearly horizontal beneath a piece of rock that juts out.

Cick, flash, click, flash, click, flash, the cameras never stop.

Ryke’s ribs expand and collapse with expertly controlled breathing. The flashing light must disturb a nearby cave because a swarm of bats zips out. Flapping right past Ryke.

The forest is silent. The air is motionless and the trees sit still.

Sully is lying on his stomach, hand outstretched to see if he can reach his friend. He’s not close. No one is close. I lose sight of Ryke until his feet slip beneath him, only hanging on by the tips of his fingers.

He tries to swing and find a foothold so he’s horizontal again. Using your fucking feet is almost more important than your hands, he told me on our engagement night, trying to put me to sleep. You have to distribute your weight. You can’t fucking last if you’re only using your upper body.

My eyes are as wide as saucers, burning with emotion that I’m not ready to confront just yet. “Ryke,” I whisper. Don’t fall. Please don’t fall.

He screams in aggression as he uses all of his arm-strength to hoist himself up this rock. He’s eighty feet off the ground.

Don’t fall.

It hits me about this moment. When he still can’t find a foothold. It hits me. That I may witness his death.

My life with him sideswipes me, knees me, rips me open—the first time he smiled at me. The first time we were alone together. The first time we kissed. All the places we’ve been. All the things we’ve seen and done. All the lonely moments we’ve filled with each other.

All of that is…

His foot reaches a crevice, and he climbs over the difficult section. He places his right foot too, and he shakes out his arms. Then he looks up, at me, and hot tears roll down my cheeks.

Thank you. I exhale, the relief blanketing me.

“I’m okay, Dais,” he says, not too far below me. “Give me five more minutes.”

“Take as long as you need,” I reply, wiping my cheeks quickly. “Please don’t rush for me.”

Sully lets out an audible deep breath and kneels. “I’m sweating.” He wafts his shirt.

Ryke grunts like I’m the one who’s fucking climbing. He flips off his friend before slipping his fingers in a crack and lifting his body higher. Ascending. Again.

The man and woman are still there, but I don’t want to even give them the time of day anymore. So I shuffle back and lie down on the grassy area, staring up at the cloudy sky.

About five minutes later, a body collapses next to me, head on the grass like mine. He’s here. Tears almost squeeze out of my eyes again. He’s alive. I look over at Ryke, his breath heavier than usual, and he turns his head to me.

“Hey,” I whisper.

He breathes out. “Hey.”

You scared me. I love you. “You’re alive.”

He kisses me, so hungrily, and my heart bursts, my lungs on fire. Our legs tangle and my hands slide through his damp hair. He steals my hair tie, my brown locks frizzing around my face. His tongue wrestles with mine, and my head floats off my shoulders.

He pulls apart and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Calloway. Fucking remember that?” His eyes hold a single apology like I’m sorry I don’t make it easy on you.

He doesn’t have to. “I’ll remember. I promise.” I kiss his cheek, my hand sliding down his unshaven jaw. I feel smaller against him, and he tucks me close like I’m what he climbed towards.

Sully suddenly plops down next to Ryke, his head on the grass. He stares at the sky as he says, “I’m beginning to realize something.”

“What?” Ryke asks, his hand stroking my hair. I rest my chin on his chest.

He turns to us. “You two are seriously famous.”

Ryke rolls his eyes.

“So are you airing your wedding on television too because I’m not really sure America is ready for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’d still go. I just need some preparation.” He’s definitely not the kind of person who seeks limelight. Raised by lawyers with an older sister who followed his parent’s footsteps, he’s sought to live freely and privately. He says he tries to keep in touch when he can, but it’s not often.

I’m so close to my sisters, and Ryke is so close to his brother. We both can’t imagine losing those connections and relationships. With these trips, we can always return home. Best of both worlds.

“No one’s filming our fucking wedding,” Ryke tells his friend.

It seems impossible to make it private, especially after being slightly off the grid today and reporters appearing. But we have one plan that should help.

I elaborate in a hushed voice (just in case), “We’re getting married out of the country.”

Sully sits up and raises his fists in the air. “Yes! Where?” He excitedly rubs his hands together. “Venezuela? Puerto Rico? Madagascar? Lay it on me hard, Daisy Calloway.”

Ryke gives him a look and kicks his shin.

Sully kicks him back.

I sit up now. “Boys.” I smile. “Do I need to separate you two?”

“Yes,” Sully nods.

“Fuck no,” Ryke curses, sitting up with us. He pulls me onto his lap, his arm curving around my waist.

Sully is all smiles. “Italy? Spain?”

“We’ve narrowed it down to a continent,” I tell him, “but we’re still trying to pick a country.”

Sully looks to Ryke for the final answer.

And he says, “South America.”

We’re going to be married in South America.

Somewhere safe from paparazzi.

Somewhere happiness resides.

That’s the hope at least.

RYKE MEADOWS

“It’s not fair, and don’t tell me life’s not fucking fair. They can’t catcall you while you’re climbing a hundred-foot mountain,” my little brother rants through the phone’s receiver. I press my cell to my ear. “What’s wrong with humanity? Has everyone completely lost their shit?” He filed a complaint against Celebrity Crush for stalking me a week ago, but it doesn’t even matter.

I was on public property. They could do whatever they wanted at the time, and they’ll have to stalk me again in order to be arrested.

“Just let it go,” I tell Lo. I’m fucking over being pissed about it. A local tipped off the reporters that we were in the area. They found our bikes and followed our trail by paying attention to broken twigs, crushed from our fucking soles.

“You could’ve died,” he emphasizes. “Or does that not concern you anymore?” His dry, bitter voice scratches my eardrums.

I shift in the backseat of Rose’s Escalade, Daisy

squeezed in the middle. Willow on the other side. Lily drives, and I have a view of Rose in the passenger seat, her lips rising as she texts rapidly on her cell. To her husband, probably.

“Ryke,” Lo snaps at my silence.

“I’m just not going to fucking dwell on this. I’m alive, Lo. It’s okay.”

“Should we start fitting you for coffins?” Connor asks calmly over the receiver.

I roll my eyes. “Have I been on speaker phone?” They both couldn’t be here since it’s a Wednesday, and they had meetings for Hale Co. and Cobalt Inc.—each business in Philadelphia, so they see one another throughout the day.

It was hard on me at first—to fucking know that Connor spends more time with my brother than I do. Now I just try to remember that we’re not competing for his attention, even if Connor sometimes acts like we are.

I hear the crunch of a fucking chip. They’re eating lunch together. This entire time. Lo says, “Yeah, and it shouldn’t matter to you. You’ll be dead by next month.”

“Fuck off,” I say lightly.

“Not gonna happen, big brother.” He crunches on another chip.