Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

“Why would you want children? You’re…you.”

“You’re right. I am me. And me wants eight screaming kids, who will bounce on our bed in the morning, who will beg you to braid their hair, who have your beautiful eyes and your brilliant mind. I want it all, Rose. And one day, our children will have it all too.”

“Eight kids?!” I fixate on this. “I can’t even stomach having one kid and you want me to birth a lineage? I’m not the Queen of England procreating to secure our empire with an heir.”

He grins into a bright laugh, his teeth almost too gorgeous to stare at. He wrestles me back to the mattress, and he kisses my cheek. “But don’t you want a son and daughter to succeed you,” he asks, “to raise them as your own, to know that your legacy will still remain long, long after you’re gone?”

“It’s still all about you,” I say, understanding completely now. “Could you even love your children?”

His smile fades again, and he becomes impassive, poker-faced. “I’d love them.”

I wish, more than anything, he wouldn’t try to lie to me. That angers me more than hearing the truth. “You only love yourself.”

“I love you.” He’s practically mocking me.

I push him up again, and I rise to my knees. My lips find his ear, my voice hot and cold all at once. “I don’t believe you.” I scoot to the edge of the bed, to climb off. He catches my arm again.

“I meant what I said,” he tells me seriously, “before you brought love into the equation.”

“That’s the thing, Connor.” I untangle from him. “Love should always be in the equation when children are involved. You’re just lucky I don’t hold that stipulation.” I step off the bed and straighten my nightgown.

“Where are you going?” he asks, worry creasing his brows. We fight often. And we make up even more. It’s not as though my storming off is out of the ordinary.

“To take a shower.”

“It’s five in the morning. Come back to bed.”

“No,” I say. “I want to shower before anyone comes into the bathroom.” I head towards the door.

“Rose…” He starts but he stops himself before he gets that far.

I feel like I’m eighteen again.

And Connor’s that nineteen-year-old boy who lent me his college blazer.

I wait for him to speak, but like back then, he just stares at me with those deep austere eyes, with shadows of the truth hidden behind pools of blue.

So I say, “I don’t mind that you don’t love me the way I do you.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thank you for at least trying.”

And I leave.

But he knows I’ll be back.

In nearly ten years of knowing Connor, we always seem to return to each other—even when we were thousands of miles apart, on two separate planes of existence—even when it seemed like our futures had strayed.

He may not believe in fate, but I do.

And I know I’m fated to be with him.

5 months and 10 days – Mom

I slip my cell in my purse, about to head to the Calloway Couture offices. Savannah stays close by my side with the camera hovering. As soon as I head towards the door, it whips open and Daisy walks in with her white motorcycle helmet beneath her arm.

“Hey, Rose.” She sets the helmet on the leather couch and twists her long blonde hair in a loose bun atop her head.

But she’s not alone. Brett enters with his steadicam, and Ryke shuts the door behind them, his black helmet dangling in his hand. Ryke slumps down on the couch and runs his fingers through his thick tousled hair.

“Good, I caught you,” I tell Daisy, deserting my plans for a second. “I want to give you something before I forget.” I should really get Lily in the living room too. But she’s much harder to wrangle. “Stay here.” I head to the hall closet and return with a shopping bag.

Before I pass her the bag, I notice the way Ryke and Daisy share furtive glances. She shakes her head at him, and he grits his teeth, his jaw locking into hard-cut lines.

“Is everything okay?” I ask with a little edge. I don’t like being out of the loop. If it involves my sisters, I want to be in the center fucking circle.

“Perfect,” Daisy says with a bright smile. I don’t believe her, and I have a suspicion Ryke wants to come clean since he shakes his head now. She grabs the bag out of my hand to distract me.

I let the issue go, only because I can’t prod today. I need to get work done at my office, and if I dwell on my little sister, I’ll worry until someone spills the truth. It’s probably not that bad anyway. I’m sure she just sped down the highway on her Ducati and almost got herself killed. In Daisy Calloway’s adrenaline-fueled world, that situation is like the sun rising and setting.

“Ooh,” she says. “Which one is mine, the tie-dye or the leopard-print?”

Ryke frowns. “What the fuck did you get her?”

I shoot him a glare. “Not whatever you’re thinking.”

“Panties,” Daisy tells him.

“That’s exactly what I was fucking thinking.”

She smiles. “I know.” And she pulls out a plastic package that does not contain panties. “Pepper spray.” She glances at me. “I think I’ll take this one.” She holds the tie-dye package.

“Since you and Lily have given up your bodyguards for the show, I thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of protection.” In order to film, Scott had a proviso that Daisy and Lily ditch their bodyguards, who had been keeping them safe from paparazzi after we went from anonymity to celebrity. “I also signed us up for a self-defense class.”

“Didn’t you used to take those classes all the time in Princeton? Why would you want to go to another one?”

“Because you girls should learn.”

“I don’t know if I have the time,” Daisy says honestly. “I’m booked for shoots a lot this week.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Ryke chimes in from the couch.

My brows jump. “Really?”

“Sure,” he says, his eyes not softening like mine. “And if Daisy doesn’t have the fucking time, then Lo, Connor and I can help out here. We can push the furniture to the walls for space.” I would love to beat the shit out of Loren. But what’s more appealing is trying to pin Connor to the floor. I’d revel in that win for months.

“You want to help?” I ask Ryke.

“Why does everyone find that so fucking hard to believe?”

“I don’t,” I say. “I’m just wondering why you’re so concerned all of a sudden.”

“I’m always concerned. I just don’t voice my opinion every five seconds like you.”

“You’re a jackass,” I tell him casually.

“You’re a bitch.”

“Thank you.” I grab my phone out of my purse. “And I accept your help by the way. Lily really needs to learn how to protect herself without running behind Lo’s back.”

“Yeah,” Ryke says, “but you girls need to fucking admit that you can’t protect yourself against a hoard of angry guys with a mini-bottle of pepper spray and a kick to the nuts. It’s better if we’re there too.”

I dial Lily’s number. “I disagree,” I say. “The tip of my heel to your ball sac would cripple you.”

“A hoard of fucking guys,” Ryke emphasizes. He purposefully rests his dirty boots on my coffee table.

I choose not to break his neck. This time.

Daisy pries the plastic open and pops out the canister from the packaging.

I press my phone to my ear, the ringing incessant.

Daisy shakes the pepper spray. “Should I test it out?” She grins and points the nozzle at Ryke. “Stay away, you pervert!”

Ryke’s face darkens, not amused.

She drops her hand and walks over to the couch, plopping down beside him. They have an intense whisper-conversation that Brett tries to catch by edging close to Daisy. Ryke physically plants his hand on the camera lens and drives Brett back, putting space between them.

Brett glares. “You can’t touch the cameras, Ryke. How many times do we have to tell you that?”

“Back up and I won’t.”

Brett shakes his head, but he shuffles backwards.

I concentrate on my phone call, and the dial tone sounds after the last ring. I groan and click the “off” button. “LILY!” I shout. I know she’s upstairs, and I want to give her a bottle of pepper spray before I leave.

When I glance back at my little sister, I scrutinize the way she leans into Ryke as she whispers something to him. Her eyes drift over his features in a curious, impulsive manner, and my heart quickens.

She’s going to kiss him.

And then when her lips stop moving, Ryke puts a hand to Daisy’s cheek. And he forces her face away from his. It’s a gentle push that has her trying to tackle him on the couch with a laugh. They’re verging on flirting, even when his brooding features say that he’s pissed at her.

He struggles to hold her still as she slides beneath his arm and snatches his helmet. She swiftly fits it over her head, and he tries to pull it off her, his lips slowly upturning. But she wiggles out of his hold, and in seconds, she’s suddenly straddling his lap. He flips up the visor to his helmet and stares harshly at her, hiding his partial smile.

I worry that the cameras will pick up any chemistry between them. My mother will not approve of a Ryke Meadows and Daisy Calloway coupling. For multiple reasons.

“Both of you, stop it.”

Ryke snaps awake, and he shoves her completely off his body. Her back hits the cushions.

His eyes flit from me to the staircase. “Lo!” he yells. “Lily! Get your asses down here!” His voice is a lot louder than mine.

From upstairs, feet patter but then they stop and go quiet, hesitating to join the land of people and real, adult things. Lo and Lily keep to themselves, living in their own hazy, addicted world. Here, it’s a bit scary.

“Loren fucking Hale!” Ryke calls.

Nothing.

Daisy rises to her knees and grips the back of the couch. She peers up at the staircase behind me. “Lo! Lily! A comic book came in the mail for you!” She pulls off the motorcycle helmet.

Enticing Lo with something that’s not here will put him in a worse mood.

But it works.

Lo and Lily stampede down the stairs. “It’s mine!” Lily shouts at him. “I ordered the new X-Men comic.” She tries to shove him into the wall, and they block each other mid-stair.

“And I ordered the last issue of New Mutants.” He steps forward and she jumps in front of him, gaping.

“You’ve already read that! Mine is more important.” She spins to race to the door.

Daisy crouches behind the couch.

Before Lily reaches the bottom stair, Lo snatches her by the waist and throws her across his shoulder.

“Not fair!” she retorts, trying to squirm from his strong grasp.

He carries her to the door without so much as glancing at us in the living room. When it comes to comics, sex and booze, they have a one-track mind.

Ben creeps down the stairs, the camera positioned under his arm. He looks slightly petrified from being alone with them, his eyes bugged and his legs shaking.

They must have been in the study room and not a bedroom, or else he wouldn’t have been able to film them. And I’m sure they were making out with more heat than a horny cat—just to say fuck you to the cameras. They’ve been at it all week. It’s only getting worse the longer Lo has to put up with Scott.

Lily said she’s been purposefully trying to distance Lo from the producer and finding ways to keep them apart for as long as possible. I think it’s a brilliant idea.

Ben almost drops his camera.

“Steady hands,” Savannah says to him.

Brett rolls his eyes. (I’m not a big Brett fan.)

Ben lets out a nervous laugh. Documenting Lily and Loren is like being an extreme voyeur, peeping in on their intimate affairs. I bet he feels a bit gross and wrong afterwards. Even reading about Lily’s sex life online leaves me feeling violated. I imagine it’s ten times worse for Lily.

“Wait…” Lily says from the door. “There’s nothing here.”

I grab the shopping bag and head over to the two of them. “This is for you,” I tell Lily. She brightens when she thinks it’s the comic. But as she sifts through the bag’s contents, her face falls for the second time. “Pepper spray?”

“For protection.”

“No, she thought it was for greasing pans,” Loren retorts.

I glare.

“You’re going to treat us like idiots,” he says, “you’re going to get an idiot response back.”