Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (26 page)

The nurses hover close to examine the baby as he rests on my chest. They nod to me and mention that his vitals look perfect, and when they distance themselves from us, Connor speaks again.

“George Eliot,” he correctly names the author of the quote. “
The Mill on the Floss.
”

Eliot.
I brush a finger across the baby’s cheek, and he murmurs again. “Eliot,” I whisper. “It suits him.” George Eliot is the pen name used by Mary Ann Evans. A woman.

Connor knows this fact, and I wonder if that’s why his smile only grows. “Eliot Alice,” he suddenly adds. “It suits him more.”

“Alice from…” I think I know, but I’m surprised he’d choose
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
by Lewis Carroll as the namesake. Though Alice is a female character, and since George Eliot was a woman with a common man’s name, Connor must like the symbolism of naming our
son
Alice in reply.

“Alice from…?” he says, wanting me to guess.

“From a story that has a smoking caterpillar and a cat that grins wider than you.”

He laughs. “Alice reminds me of Lily.”

I thought I was through crying, but another tear escapes. “How come?”

“They’re both gentle, imaginative, can be witty in their own right, and they’re prone to falling down rabbit holes.”

I laugh into a smile.

Connor drowns in my expression, and I float across the temperate, soothing surface of his. Only when the nurse announces his birthday, do I remember the goal I’d set in stone.

“This little one is born 12:01 a.m. on the dot.” She passes me a small cotton cap to put on Eliot’s head.

My eyes widen, processing and processing…

June 1
st
.

He was born June fucking 1
st
.

I try to narrow a glare at him, but I can’t do such a thing. He’s too fragile to endure the heat of my eyes.
I’m so sorry, my gremlin.

I rub small circles across his back and then look to Connor. “There’s still time to name him Brutus.” Before he can even reply, I whisper to Eliot, “I’d never name you that.”
Forgive me.

“You’re in love,” Connor states the obvious.

“You’re in love,” I combat.

“Two truths. What shall we do with those?”

“Have another,” I declare.
Have another truth. Have another baby.

“More love,” he says, reading my subtext clearly. “I can agree to that.”

Long before now, he’d never utter these words in this way. And yes, I may have lost my small goal but I see the future and I see now.

I’ve never felt more triumphant.

Connor & Rose Cobalt welcome the birth of their baby boy

ELIOT ALICE COBALT

June 1
st
, 2019

{
15 }

November 2019

The Hale House

Philadelphia

LILY HALE

“Did you pack an axe? A machete? What do you use to kill bears again?” I ask in all seriousness.

Ryke shoves a neoprene water bottle in the side pocket of his duffel and then gives me a look like I’m weird and
waaay
off-base.

I rest my butt against the armrest of my couch. My heavy, pregnant belly likes gravity. I have this need to
sit
or
lounge
or just splat on the floor like a beached jellyfish. Everything aches in the third trimester, but my brain still constantly reroutes to Loren Hale. In my bed. On my bed.

Naked. On me.

In me.

Hormones.
I love and hate them. The fact that I’m focusing on something other than Lo and sex is a huge win, even if I’ve replaced sex with worry.

“It’s a real question,” I say in the lingering silence.

Ryke zips up his duffel. “You don’t kill bears.”

I lower my voice. “But if they eat him…” I don’t want my four-year-old to hear this hypothetical horror scenario, but he should be out of earshot since he’s upstairs packing a bag with Lo. Garrison isn’t around either. He flew to London for the week to see Willow.

“It won’t happen, Lily,” Ryke refutes. “You can trust me with him.”

“It’s the woods. Anything can happen in the woods.” Is it just the woods though? Moffy has experienced the wilderness plenty of times. We frequent our lake house in the Smoky Mountains so often that he keeps asking when we’ll return.

“It’s not any different than the lake house,” he brings up, “or all the other times I’ve spent with him while you and Lo aren’t there. It’s all the fucking same. So why are you flipping out now?”

“I’m not flipping out,” I snap.

“Then you’re being fucking weird about it.”

“You always call me weird.”

Ryke sighs, frustrated, realizing that he’s being coarse with me, and I know he doesn’t want to be. He slowly unwraps a piece of gum from his pocket but doesn’t chew it.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Trying not to ride you hard—
fuck
.” He pinches his eyes. “Not like that.”

I smile because it’s funnier than it used to be. “I know you said it’s the same, but this feels different. This is a
camping
trip with a tent and no electricity and…” It clicks.

“And what?”

“You take a lot more chances and risks than I would with kids.”

It clicks for him too. “It’s about the fucking climbing wall, isn’t it?”

“You put it in her
nursery
.
You’re the insane one!” I point at him.

He rolls his eyes at me. “It’s fucking safe.”

I get hives walking into Sullivan’s room. Ryke built a climbing wall with footholds and handholds for his one-year-old daughter. Neon warning signs blinked in my head when I saw it yesterday. Broken arm! Broken leg! Broken toes and fingers!

Sulli ascended the wall higher than I’ve ever seen a baby climb anything. Daisy and Ryke were spotting her, and I was hugging the door frame. I could tell their daughter loved it, but if Moffy loved running in front of cars, I’d say
no.

I don’t know where the line is for someone like Ryke. “What if Moffy asks to run through the fire?” I step towards him, investigation mode on. “What would you do?” I poke his chest.

He stares down at me like I haven’t changed in a million years.

He’s right. I’m still a terrific
sleuth.

“I’d say fuck no.”

“Would you?”

“
Yes
, Lily.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I
care
. I’d never put them in harm’s way.” He rubs his jaw. “You know why I teach Sulli how to climb?”

I shake my head. Paparazzi ask him all the time:
do you want Sullivan to be a climber like you?

His response:
fuck off.

“Because it’s a huge part of my life, and if I barred her from it out of fear, I’d be shutting out my daughter. My goal isn’t to push her to become a fucking professional climber. That’s her choice.”

My shoulders relax only a little. “Are you hoping she’ll choose climbing?”

He’s rigid. “I’ve only ever said this to Daisy, so don’t go around telling Lo and Rose and the lamp and the bathtub.”

“Hey,” I say, “I broke up with the bathtub long ago.”

Ryke
almost
smiles, but it vanishes fast. “After what happened…no. Fuck
no
.” He means the climbing accident where his friend died. “I hope she chooses something else. I’d worry about Sullivan. Every ascent where I’m not on the other end of the rope, I’d fucking worry, but like Daisy, if that’s what she loved, I’d let her do it.”

I must be grinning wide and uncontrollable because he looks at me weird again. So I say what I’m thinking, “You’re a worrier too.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“You just admitted it. No take-backs.”

He sighs. “We’re not the same, Lily.”

That’s what he said when I called him a sex addict years ago.
I know you wish I was,
he once said,
so I could join you in your little sex addicts not-anonymous club, but it’s not happening.

“You worry,” I say. “I worry. Worriers United, us.” I motion between our bodies.

He re-wraps his gum. “I’m not
worried
about an overnight camping trip at a little state park. I’m worried about my daughter falling from three-thousand fucking feet.”

Good points.

I grow hot, and I’m not sure if it’s my anxiety mounting again or just the heat in the room. I grab the nearest thing I can find—which happens to be a comic book on the couch cushion. I waft the glossy issue at my face, small gusts of air cooling me.

“Is it hot in here?” I ask. “I feel faint.”

“Sit the fuck down.”

“I am seated…sort of.” I’m still leaning on the armrest. “I think I’m just nervous.” I have to face the facts. Moffy will be attending his first-ever camping trip, and I should be thankful it’s with Uncle Ryke. He’s a wilderness pro.

Lo even said it was the best-case scenario since Ryke spends more time outdoors than indoors. In comparison, Lo can barely start a fire with a match. He has no patience for fire-making.

“What’s the worst that can fucking happen?” Ryke pockets his gum. Before I can utter the words, he adds, “
Besides
a bear.”

I slowly set the comic book back down. It’s Wolverine.
Give me strength.

“Paparazzi,” I tell him. “What if paparazzi follow you and then give you hell in the woods where you can’t escape? It’s happened before, so it’s a
rational
fear.”

“Price and Declan are coming along. If something fucking happens with the media, they’ll take care of it.” Price is Daisy’s bodyguard. Declan is Moffy’s.

“What if Moffy doesn’t do well? I won’t be there to comfort him.” Ryke isn’t
me
. He’s said as much.

“Look, I promised Rose that if Janie freaks out, I’d bring her to the nearest hotel. I mapped it out. Same promise extends to you about Moffy.”

“Thank you.” My worry starts to subside, especially at the idea of Rose, my older and wisest sister trusting Jane’s life with Ryke. I bet she grilled him for a solid hour about safety.

I sink on the couch cushion, and Ryke leaves his duffel to take a seat next to me. I splay my hands on my abdomen, the baby kicking nonstop.

Ryke puts his hand on my stomach, feeling her wiggle around. He’s asked many times before if he could touch. I used to freak out by our physical interactions when I was pregnant with Moffy, but I’m much better now. So I always give Ryke permission.

“Are you scared?” he asks.

I frown. “Do I look it?”

“You look a little fucking tired.”

“She moves a lot and keeps me up at night sometimes.”
She.
Luna Hale. I’m a little scared to have a girl, but only because of other people. I don’t want them to hassle her the way they hassled Daisy.
Future sex addict
, they said about my little sister. Just because of me.

I have to believe that Luna will have an easier time than Daisy had.

I say softly, “I wish Daisy was going camping with you.” My sister decided to expand a section of Camp Calloway in the “off-months”—which includes paperwork and Skype meetings.

“Me fucking too,” Ryke says, “but she’ll have a good weekend with Sulli.”

I don’t doubt it.

While we wait for Lo and Moffy to come downstairs and for Rose and Connor to drive Jane over, all I picture are
bears.
Brown bears. Grizzly bears. I’m losing my mind when a polar bear pops up.

Ryke half-interestedly flips through the Wolverine comic.

I squint at him. “Remind me why we’re not going with you?”

“For one, you’re fucking pregnant.” He roughly turns a page, and it
tears.
Shit! He freezes.

I freeze. Lo is so possessive over the state of our comics. When I reanimate I whisper, “Stuff it in the couch cushion, he’ll never find out.”

Ryke checks over his shoulder before he lifts the cushion beneath his ass and slides the comic underneath.

“Lo can go with you.” I pick up where we left off. “He should go with you.”

“He can’t even light a fucking fire with a match, and he kicked a canteen into a bush the last time we went camping together. I love my brother, but he’d be more trouble than help. I bet you anything he doesn’t even want to fucking go.”

“He’d rather stay at home?” I thought he’d rather go with Moffy.

Ryke clears his throat like he’s hiding a secret. “Yeah.”
What a lying liar.