Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters) Read online

  “Cute.”

  “Cute because it’s accurate.” She wagged her brows again.

  “Cute because it’s fucking inaccurate.” My hand slid to the back of her head, and I felt her body react in a way that surprised her. I drew back only a fraction, my lips close to her ear. I whispered, “I’m not fucking scared of you.” If she wanted to dive headfirst, I was going to dive right behind her.

  She knew that was true.

  She inhaled deeply, her chest rising against mine.

  When the employees finished tethering us together, they instructed, “Hold onto each other. The tighter, the better, so your limbs won’t smack into hers.”

  I wrapped my arms firmly around her shoulders, not hesitant about it. Hers slipped around my waist, not cautious either. Her heartbeat thudded against my chest. Racing with each passing second.

  With Cancun as our landscape, we hugged each other in the sky. She rose and dropped on her tiptoes in crazed anticipation. I watched her focus descend, contemplating the distance between her feet and the ground.

  So I pointed at the sun ascending in the horizon. Just as the darkened sky began to lighten. “Keep your eyes there.”

  Her green ones flickered to me before following my finger. Her pulse picked up speed. “And what happens when it disappears?”

  I would’ve loved to tell her that it never would. That no matter where we were the sun would always be present. But it wouldn’t have been true.

  The only thing we could count on was that the sun would rise again.

  “Wait for it to return,” I told her.

  She gave me the saddest smile I’d ever fucking seen. “That’s an awfully long time.”

  For some people, I knew a minute could seem like infinity. So maybe one night seemed like forever for Daisy.

  “Hey, Calloway,” I said softly, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, one that escaped her pony.

  “Hey,” she whispered back.

  “You ready to feel your fucking heart burst out of your chest?”

  Her features illuminated tenfold. And she said quietly, “Yes.”

  I barely heard the instructor tell us to jump before we both charged off the platform together. Our bodies pressed close, my chest against hers, hers against mine. We sliced through air, and she hollered fucking happily. Like she was in the front seat of a rollercoaster.

  She laughed.

  I smiled. Fuck—I was really smiling.

  I never bungee jumped with another person, and doing it with Daisy had suddenly beat every fucking time I did it alone. As we slowed—hanging upside-down, spinning some—we met each other’s gaze.

  She wore this honest smile that I hated to see leave. “Thank you,” she panted, out of breath from excitement and adrenaline.

  “For what?”

  “For doing this with me,” she said, “so I didn’t have to be alone.”

  It was then. That I fucking knew how much I really understood her. How much I related to the loneliness in her eyes. I felt closer to her in a way that I couldn’t articulate. It wasn’t physical. Or mental. It was spiritual, something I couldn’t shake.

  I nodded a couple times, and she practically radiated. As though she felt the air shift, brighter and lighter.

  I felt it too.

  And I fucking thought, thank God.

  Thank God the sun will rise again.

  FOUR YEARS LATER

 

  RYKE MEADOWS

  I’ve scaled mountains with my bare hands, no harness or rope. I’ve sped down freeways at over a hundred miles per hour. I once dove off a forty-foot cliff, swam with sharks, jumped out of a fucking plane, whitewater rafted class five rapids, ran an ultra-marathon in a remote Chilean desert, and some months ago, I underwent transplant surgery.

  All of those moments combined are easy compared to what’s happening now. I rock on the balls of my feet—for fuck’s sake, I can’t remember the last time I rocked on my feet.

  I stop and run my hand through my hair for the millionth time. I scan the backyard as the sun falls behind spruce trees. The pool is empty, only water wings floating on the surface. Water wings—I’m used to seeing these things everywhere.

  It happens when I’m living with my brother, his wife, and their one-year-old baby. Though lately, seeing high chairs, diapers, stuffed toys, and rattles sends my mind into a fucking tailspin. I exhale and wipe my forehead with the end of my gray T-shirt, restraining the urge to jump in the pool and cool down from the August heat.

  The glass door opens, and I look over my shoulder. My little brother and Connor stroll through with these really fucking annoying smiles. My blood pumps harder in my veins.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I tell them.

  Connor’s grin pulls wider, stretched so far that I think it should tear his face apart. It doesn’t. He’s still good looking. Fuck him. And he says, “Shutting up would require talking.”

  “You are now.” I have my hands on my head. I’m really close to pacing, and I don’t pace either. Rose paces. Loren paces. Lily sometimes even fucking paces.

  I don’t pace…do I?

  I’m losing my mind.

  Lo places a hand on Connor’s shoulder, cutting in before he responds. “Let’s not make this into a lecture. He already looks like shit.”

  Fucking A.

  “Should I shave?” I ask, running a hand down my jaw. I usually trim more, especially in the summer, but I’ve kept the scruffy, I’ve-been-outdoors look since March.

  “You could start with that,” Connor says, his shit-eating grin blinding me. He stuffs his fists in his khaki shorts. “The hair needs some work too.” His blue eyes flit to my unkempt brown hair, the thick strands just doing their natural fucking thing.

  When I don’t argue with Connor but instead rake another hand through my hair—attempting to flatten the strands—his composure shifts.

  He arches a brow. “You look like yourself. Just leave it alone.”

  “So you’re saying I always look like shit?” I flatten the longer pieces over my forehead. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing.

  “Yes,” he says easily. “And stop touching it.”

  Lo scrunches his face at the bangs I just created. “Who are you? And where have you taken my brother?”

  I don’t have a fucking answer.

  Connor approaches me, confidence in every deliberate step. When he’s inches away, eye-level with me, I piece together his plan.

  He’s still grinning as he says, “Don’t bite me.”

  “Don’t give me a fucking reason to.”

  Without hesitating, he starts fixing my hair. I cross my arms over my chest. The last time I was this close to Connor Cobalt, I punched him in the face. It was as complicated back then as this is now. I don’t hate the guy, but never in a million fucked-up years did I think I’d let him play with my hair.

  “Jesus,” Lo says, laughing. “Please let me record this.”

  “If you want a fist to your face,” I mutter.

  Connor is practically gloating. I’m seconds from shoving his chest, but he wouldn’t purposefully make me look worse—not today. Not for this. We may not always seem like friends, but we are. We’re probably better friends than most.

  And why do I even care this much about hair?

  Loren cocks his head at me, his arrowhead necklace against his black V-neck shirt. “I’m your brother,” he says dryly. “You wouldn’t hit me.” He flashes a sardonic smile. His lightheartedness lives somewhere beneath all of that edge.

  And yeah, I have hit him. In the dead heat. In the Utah desert. Until red dust covered us both in exhaustion and fury. All that’s in the past, along with any bad blood between us.

  He just says shit to say shit.

  Connor touches the longer hair by my forehead, and I push him off now. He barely sways. Instead, he purposefully takes a single step back.

  “Just leave it,” I tell him. Then I comb my hand through my hair without realiz
ing. Fucking fantastic.

  Connor arches another brow at me. “You’re a lost cause. I don’t know why I even try.”

  I flip him off and just do my natural hair thing. Messy. Disheveled. No system or order. I know I look more like myself, but this day has me disoriented, more than I’ve ever fucking been.

  With a dissatisfied once-over, Connor gestures to my clothes: jeans, a plain gray tee, and a waterproof watch. “Your attire needs work.”

  “I’m not going on a date with you, Cobalt.”

  “Of course you’re not. I have high standards. Ones that you can’t meet.”

  I shake my head at him a couple times and then I jump a little on my feet, shake out my hands, and crack my knuckles. I just struggle with letting things out, verbally, and if I ever need to do it right, I’d want to do it today.

  “You need a drink?” Lo sinks down onto a patio chair, his forearms resting on his kneecaps. “It’d help those nerves.”

  I meet his amber eyes, and he gives me another half-smile to show that he’s kidding. I never find the humor in these jokes, and maybe that’s why he keeps it up. Anyway, I’ve grown used to this fucking nonchalant offer of alcohol, and I’ve never seen him as healthy as he’s been in the past year.

  If we flashed back to Paris at that bar, I think the Loren Hale today would shake himself for taking a drink and giving me one. In fact, I know he would.

  If that’s not strength, then I don’t fucking know what is.

  “Is that a yes?” Lo banters.

  “Fuck off.”

  Connor chimes in, “Fifty-two fucks in twenty minutes. Just so you know how redundant your vocabulary is.”

  My phone vibrates, saving me from talking to Connor. I slide my cell out of my pocket and check the text.

  Lunch tomorrow? – Dad

  My stomach overturns, and I quickly text back: no.

  I let out a tense breath. “This is a fucking sign.” I hold up the phone to show Connor and Lo the message. “He texts right now? It’s not a good time—”

  “Since when do you buy into superstition?” Connor asks me in one of his annoyingly calm voices.

  “Yeah, you sound like Rose.” Lo doesn’t even focus on the text. His eyes are right on me, and I see more sincerity in them. Something that says, don’t be afraid.

  I’m afraid of watching the people I love get hurt. I’m afraid of hurting the people I love. Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, I’m going to fall into one of the two.

  I end up shrugging and then pointing at both of them. “You know what? I’m going inside. You two can fucking stay out here.”

  I step over Moffy’s plastic Batman car, a toy that Lo complained about for a good week before conceding. Lo’s love for Marvel was finally trumped by his son’s love for a DC toy.

  I hear Lo speaking loudly as I slide open the door. “You think we hurt his feelings?” Asshole. Even as I think it, I nearly smile. I love my little brother. Truth is, I thought we’d kill each other by living together, but it’s brought us even closer in the past year and a half. He’s also a lot less aggravating to live with than Connor Cobalt.

  I wasn’t that upset to see Connor move down the street. It mostly sucks in early mornings when I’m in the gym. Connor used to spot me since Lo doesn’t wake up that early.

  Do I miss him nagging me for information about Daisy’s therapy sessions? No. Do I miss him quizzing me about literature and languages? No. Do I miss his constant need to make everything a fucking cock show? Absolutely-fucking-not.

  But yeah…sometimes I miss that motherfucker.

  Not today though.

  I shut the sliding door. The sun has already disappeared outside.

 

  DAISY CALLOWAY

  I pack double fudge ice cream onto a sugar cone. Three scoops. It melts a little and drips down my knuckles onto the hardwood. While I suck it off my hand, my white Siberian husky perks up from her curled position, nestled beside the cupboards.

  Uh-oh.

  She excitedly nears the droplets of chocolate and tries to lap them up with her tongue.

  “Coconut, no.” I squat down and push her back a little. “I know it’s a horrible fact—gruesome really—but chocolate is toxic for dogs.” She stares at me with a blank look. “I can tell you’re taking this hard.” I insensitively lick my ice cream cone, but it’s melting fast. “I bet in dog heaven you can have all the chocolate you want.” I add, “But don’t think about leaving me that quickly, okay?” I scratch behind her ears with my clean hand.

  She sits down in obedience and delight, nudging her head closer to my palm to keep going. I love her a lot, maybe because her temperament is a mixture of sweet, nurturing, and fearless. I wish I could be all of those one day, without compromise or hesitation.

  I go still and listen to the growing sound of footsteps, but I don’t jump or panic at the noise. Partly because of Coconut’s presence—but mostly because I believe in this moment that no one can hurt me.

  I just rise to my feet, and Ryke Meadows emerges into the kitchen. I haven’t seen him all day, which isn’t unusual. Some weeks we’re together twenty-four-seven and others we’re doing our own thing, staying in communication by text and phone calls.

  Earlier I went shopping and out to dinner with Lily, Willow, and Rose, and they’re all back at Rose’s house down the street. It’s hard for me to be around my sisters’ babies so much lately, and since both Jane and Moffy are there, I just left.

  I think they knew I would anyway.

  Ryke passes the bar counter and nears me.

  Six-foot-three with a darkened gaze, scruffy jaw, and brooding brows—he’s utterly handsome. The kind of handsome that screams danger, yet I know his heart is soft and warm and a place I always want to be.

  We don’t speak.

  We just look at each other, the silence spinning tension in my core. I smile as I lick the ice cream, and I watch him watch me, his gaze descending to my long bare legs, to my banana-print bikini bottoms, to my navy tee that says Adios Pantalones, and up to his blue baseball cap, turned backwards on my head. My tangled, naturally brown hair is let loose, stopping in layers at my chest.

  When his eyes finally lock on mine, I pretend to appear perplexed. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  He almost smiles, which makes mine grow wider before I take another taste of ice cream.

  “Are you fucking sure?” He steps closer, only a few feet apart. “Because I have a girlfriend who looks a hell of a lot like you.”

  I tilt my head, feigning confusion. I sweep his body with one long glance. “You know, it’s not clicking for me.” I playfully lift up the corner of his gray T-shirt and inspect his abs, a six-pack that’s basically an eight-pack if I’m being technical. His hard gaze bores into me, as though fastened on any inner-beauty I possess.

  An electric current zips up my arms to my neck, the tiny hairs rising.

  “What about now?” he asks huskily. His deep, gruff voice nearly melts me. I drop the corner of his shirt.

  “My boyfriend has a ten-pack,” I reply, trying to hold my seductive composure but I’m close to laughing.

  His brows rise. “Oh really?”

  “Yep,” I tease.

  “That sounds fucking impossible.”

  I mock gasp. “Are you making fun of my boyfriend?”

  He swiftly pushes my hand at my face, and the cold ice cream smashes against my lips and nose.

  I immediately laugh, my smile widening. “You must be him,” I determine. “Ryke Meadows would totally do that.” I try to lick my nose, but my tongue won’t reach.

  He nears me even more, his feet right beside mine, his chest pressed against me. My breath shallows. And he says, “Would he do this?” He kisses my nose, licking the chocolate, and then he sucks my bottom lip, the force winding an ache inside of me.

  I kiss back just as strongly, and we collide into each other like we haven’t made out in ages. His hand rises up the small of my back;
my free one clutches his thick, disheveled hair. God, I love his hair. I keep the ice cream extended so it doesn’t smash between our bodies.

  My pelvis eagerly curves towards him, and his hand falls down to my ass, my thigh, hoisting my leg around his waist. Our lips never part, and we hungrily attack with an animalistic, carnal desire that seeps into my veins. I explore him with my hand, running my palm across his unshaven jaw, his shoulders—down his biceps.

  He lifts my other leg and then pins me against the counter. A high-pitched noise breaches my throat in one breath, and his chest rises and falls heavily. My head rocks back for air, and I take a moment to catch my breath while his eyes flit across my features. Mine dance along his.

  “Hi,” I murmur.

  “Hi,” he says and then effortlessly lifts me higher, securing me against him, my body bouncing with the abrupt movement. Then he carries me out of the kitchen. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist and beam in curiosity. The thrill of the unknown place and destination excites me, but not nearly as much as being this close to the man I love.

  I peek over my shoulder. We’re headed towards the backyard. When I turn to Ryke, I catch sight of a smile that lifts the corners of his lips. It’s a beautiful sight, even if it’s momentary.

  I bring my ice cream cone to my mouth and lick the side. Then I hold it closer to him. With his hands beneath my ass, he takes a bite of the cone and chocolate.

  He raises his brows at me and then he swallows. “That’s too fucking sweet.”

  “That’s why it’s the best tasting thing in the entire world.”

  He takes one hand off me and opens the door, the outside already dark. “I know someone who tastes better.”

  I grin wide, a pulse thrumming inside of me. I want to tease him, but he sets me on my feet.

  He leans his head down and takes another bite of my overly sweet ice cream and crunchy cone. I finish it off and then wipe the sticky residue with the bottom of my shirt while he guides me around the pool, his hand on my head. The water looks black without any backyard lamps on. Stars blanket the sky, but the house windows behind us are the best source of light.