Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

We’ve been quiet for the last thirty minutes, but every time her eyelids attempt to shut, she snaps them open and glances over her shoulder at the pitch-black woods.

I keep one arm around her waist, hoping she’ll let her mind doze off since she’s fucking exhausted.

Then she shifts, propping her body on her forearm. “Do my parents—”

“They know,” I tell her. “I asked them.”

Her brows shoot up in surprise. “For permission?” She’s about to sit up, but I seize her waist and pull her down, her back thudding to the air mattress. She grins as I quickly straddle her waist. I’m not planning to do anything to her, other than create the illusion that I am. The danger, I hear her gasp in my head.

I think she wants to stay awake for two reasons.

1. Tonight is a big fucking night, and she’s the kind of girl who’d want it to last until morning.

2. She’s scared of the dark.

Ever since she switched therapists, she’s been a lot better, sleeping around six to seven hours a night. Camping is always harder for Daisy, the woods carrying erratic, odd noises. She’s told me multiple times that she loves being outside too much to let fear push her away.

The goal is always sleep. Even the night we just became engaged.

I try to explain more of what happened with her parents. “At Janie’s first birthday party, I asked them if they’d be okay if I married you.” It was back in June. I’ve been trying to figure out how to fucking go about doing it. Lo said he thought it’d take me six more months to finally pick a day since I kept bailing at the last minute. I wasn’t afraid that she’d say no. I wouldn’t have asked her if I thought she didn’t want to take this next step with me. We’ve both talked about it offhand and in depth, so I knew her feelings.

I was just fucking worried that it’d go wrong somehow—that something would ruin it, and I wanted this moment to be perfect for Daisy. I wish I could give her a million perfect fucking days.

She grins more, her legs rocking back and forth. “You asked them just like that? No fucks attached?”

My brows harden, having no clue whether I cursed or not. It slips out like any other word, and I barely notice when I say it. “That’s what you’re fucking concerned about?” I teasingly mess her hair.

She bites my wrist just as playfully and says, “It’s the most important detail.” She’s restless, her hands continuously moving, and she places a strand of hair above her upper lip and quirks her brow.

She’s really fucking cute.

Though I know my jaw is tense and my eyes dark, the opposite of how effervescent she is beneath me. “What about whether or not they said yes?” I ask.

I’ve never wanted to create animosity between Daisy and her parents. I’ve tried fucking hard to be accepted by her dad. He sees her as his youngest baby girl, and he saw me as a brute who has more or less defiled her—and it wasn’t a good feeling for me. Not when I love her and would protect her from every fucking guy like that.

“Didn’t you hear?” she smiles. “Lily said that I have special powers of the mind after I predicted the color of Moffy’s eyes. So I already know that my parents said yes.” She blows the strand off her upper lip.

I give her a look. “Almost everyone guessed that he’d have green eyes.”

Daisy feigns shock. “So I’m not special? Because I thought I gave you a really special…” she trails off, unable to say the fucking word. She didn’t give me a blow job, so I’m not sure where she’s headed.

“Go on, Calloway. What was that?” I shift so I’m kneeling between her legs, pushing them open. We’re both naked, and even though I really fucking love her small boobs, long legs, and round ass, I’ll harden more by the sight of her infectious smile. The one that pulls the scar along her cheek.

She’s too tired to have sex again, so I’m trying not to think with my cock, which wants to stay deep inside of her. I don’t like making Daisy sore, but whenever we continuously fuck, there’s no avoiding it. So that’s also keeping me from pushing my erection between her bare thighs.

“Hmm?” She stares right up at me but plays dumb to keep our conversation alive.

“Hmm,” I deadpan. “You gave me a really special…”

“Orgasm,” she finishes in a silky voice. “A very special orgasm that defeated all the others.” She reaches out and takes a chocolate from the opened package, eating it whole. It’s cuter than anything, and I can’t help but think—I’m going to have this for fucking ever.

I kiss her cheek and then shift onto my side, pulling her into my arms, she whispers in my ear about opossums in an episode of her favorite show, deflecting from whatever emotion she doesn’t want me to see. I comb her damp hair back, her forehead perspiring from more than the sex we had.

She’s fucking scared.

“Dais,” I cut her off, and I have her so close, I can feel her heart pounding against my chest.

She tries to appease me with a small smile. “I’ll be okay, really.” Her foot runs up and down my leg, mostly antsy. She peeks over my shoulder, her face falling, and then she tucks her head closer to my chest.

“What do you need from me?” I ask, my fingers lost in her hair by her temple.

Daisy whispers, “Can you keep talking?” I strain my ears to pick up her next words. “I hear something out there.”

I don’t want to discredit her fear and tell her that she’s crazy for hearing noises that aren’t really there. They probably do exist, on some fucking level, but her mind is making her believe it’s worse than it is. That it’s not an animal—a deer or a squirrel—but a person.

“Close your eyes first,” I tell her.

She takes a deep breath before shutting them, her hands sliding from my shoulders, to my arms, back up to my shoulders. I press her more to me, and she nuzzles her head into my chest again.

If I tell her an interesting story, she’ll force herself awake, so I end up talking about climbing techniques: the importance of balancing weight between your entire body, footholds as vital as your core and arm strength; when blood flow is restricted, a fucking pump sensation circulates to the fingers and forearms (a build-up of lactic acid), and I go in detail about how to get rid of it while climbing—using G-Tox (gravity) and a shake out method.

I actually think I’ve bored her to fucking sleep, and I take a short second to scan the woods.

She jolts against my body, her eyes snapping open. “Did you hear that?” She immediately sits up before I can ease her back. The comforter falls to her waist.

I’m about to say something, but she grabs my arm. “Shhh,” she says in panic.

Fuck. I immediately reach over Daisy to her side of the bed and grab a black hard-shell case.

“Ryke,” she says. “Do you hear that?”

I’ve been hearing the same thing. “It sounds like a fucking animal to me.” I open the case. “Dais, look at me.”

Her widened eyes barely blink, and her face pales in dread.

“Daisy, look at me.” I’m about to hold her jaw, but she finally tears her gaze away from the woods.

She whispers in a shaky voice, “I think something’s out there.”

I take out my Glock and load the gun. It’s more for her peace of mind than for whatever animals lurk in the dark. “Do you see this?”

She nods, inhaling a short breath.

“I’m not going to let anything fucking touch you. Okay?”

She nods again, eyes welling. “I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” I kiss her cheek and then whisper in her ear, “You have nothing to be sorry ab—”

The lights turn on.

All the ones strung around us, the ones that lead a trail from the house to where we sit—I didn’t touch the switchbox by our side. Which means someone touched it by the house.

Daisy’s collarbones jut out, struggling for breath.

I touch her cheek with one hand. “Dais, breathe. You’re okay. You’re fucking safe.” It phy

sically pains me to leave her side, but I’m starting to believe someone is out there. I can’t just fucking sit here. I pull the comforter up to her neck. “Hide for me?”

She shakes her head. “…I can’t…” She’s going to have a full-blown panic attack, and I’m fucking pissed at myself for not bringing our husky along, a PTSD dog trained to calm Daisy down.

“Then hold onto this,” I instruct.

Her grip tightens around the blanket, clutching it like a safety net. I climb off the bed buck-naked and grab my boxer-briefs, putting them on quickly. I listen to the crunch of pine needles. With the Glock taut in my hand, I step forward, about fifteen feet in front of Daisy.

I distinguish a shadowy figure, moving at a moderate pace. I extend my arm, gun pointed at the person, blood rushing through me. “HEY!” I yell, fury overtaking any kind of minimal fear. I’m fucking livid. Fuming in place.

My jaw hardens, my stance closed and lungs ready to explode. And then I recognize the person in the light.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.