Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

No children.

Anywhere. Not even for her sisters.

That’s how scared she is. “What frightens you about having kids?” I ask her, skimming her palm with my fingers, tracing the lines while she comes to an answer.

She goes rigid, and I sit all the way up and rub her legs that peek beneath the sheet. “Failure,” she says with a tight voice. “What if they hate me? What if I don’t show them the love they deserve? What if I turn out like my mother and suffocate each one?” She pauses. “I don’t want to ruin a human being, Richard.”

I stroke her hair, pinning a strand behind her ear. “You won’t, Rose. I’ll be here to help you, and I have no doubt that you’ll love each of our children as much as the next one.”

I wait for her to refute. To shoot me a dark glare and snap about me not knowing anything about kids since I have none. But I know her, and I know she’d be a great mother if she allowed herself the chance to be one. And to believe this—all anyone needs is a glimpse into how she treats her sisters. With compassion, dedication and soul-bearing love. She gives all of herself to the people she cares for.

“In our late thirties, if we’re ready, if you help me, I can imagine a little girl or two…” She trails off as she stares at my face. “What?”

My mouth has fallen, and then my surprise transforms into the purest fucking joy. I smile so bright; I can’t do anything but kiss her on the cheek, on the lips. I tackle her on the bed and pin her to the mattress.

“Richard,” she says with a smile. “Stop for a second.”

I grin. “You want children?” She said yes.

“When I’m thirty-five or older,” she retorts.

She wants children.

I kiss her deeply.

“You have to help me,” she says between kisses.

Help. She’s asking for help. A girl who struggled to take my college blazer to hide a stain is willingly opening her arms to me—to us. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was be on your team, Rose.” I laugh as I remember. “You, Miss Highest Honors, were the one who chose to be my rival by attending Princeton.”

She tilts her head. “I like competing against you.” She sits up on her elbows, her lips so close to mine as she says, “But I like being your teammate more.”

“Me too, darling.”

Me too.

7 days – Mom

I try not to let the countdown alter my mood anymore. I’m more upset that Poppy, my oldest sister, decided not to come to Lily’s bachelorette party. Since we’re spending the weekend in Vegas with the cameras—and Scott, tall villainous Scott—she chose to stay back in Philly. At least she wants to be a part of the wedding.

Lily dances beside me, wearing a pink sparkly Bachelorette sash and tiara. Her happiness makes Scott’s looming presence worth it. We’re in a huge club with multi-colored strobe lights and half-naked girls gyrating in cages.

I grab Lily’s hands, all of us a little buzzed. Usually Lily doesn’t drink, but when I ordered shots with Daisy, she said she wanted to be a part of it.

“You’re getting married!” I shout over the music, swinging her hands.

She beams from ear-to-ear. “I’m getting married!”

I don’t really understand her sudden change of heart. But why question it? I’ll just ruin this, and I’d rather enjoy tonight and the next seven days.

Daisy twists her sweaty hair into a bun on top of her head. Savannah and Brett try to film us without being shoved by other dancers.

“Hey, look who it is?” I hear a guy shout.

Great.

“Go back to Philly, sluts!” The guys don’t near us, but the longer they yell, the more likely they will find the courage (or stupidity) to do so.

“Get out of Vegas!”

“Should we take a bar break?” Daisy asks. “Beer time?”

Lily tries to ignore the heckling too. She nods quickly. “Beer time”

“You girls want beer?” I say. We have the option of fruity cocktails, dirty martinis, tequila shots, and they’re going to choose beer. Really?

“You’ve never had beer before,” Lily refutes. “This is the day for us to try new things together. Come on.”

She tugs my hand.

“But you don’t even like beer,” I retort. Beer is not my alcohol of choice. Although, I’ve never tasted it. It kind of looks like piss in a glass, which makes complete sense why frat guys love it so much.

“I do like it,” Lily tells me. “I just don’t drink it often.”

“I love beer,” Daisy says with a nod.

“You love everything,” Lily and I say in unison.

She smiles and shrugs. And she would probably try to eat everything if she didn’t have to worry about her weight.

“Go back to—”

“We heard you!” I shout at the air, not sure where the voice is coming from. It must be close considering I hear him over the music.

We reach the long black granite bar with blue lights underneath, and we pick three stools beside each other. Lily is seated between us, and a guy with a scruffy jaw and tattoos sits on my left. From here, we can see our guys over in the VIP roped area, a balcony above us. They sit on leather couches and talk.

Scott doesn’t join them. He leans his forearms on the balcony railing, his eyes pinned to me. The whole time.

It’s aggravating, but I feel worse for Loren who has to put up with Scott during his bachelor party. And I rarely pity Loren in settings like this.

I glance at Lily who pockets her phone as soon as my eyes hit her.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Texting Lo. Let’s order.”

If this bartender would respond to my waving hand, that task would be much easier. But she’s having a nice time flirting with the male customers who’ll tip her more. I would have tipped her well. Now I’m reconsidering. I snap my fingers.

Lily grabs my hands, flushing in embarrassment. “She’s not a dog.”

Well she’s not a good bartender either. But I tone it down because Lily looks as red as the bartender’s formfitting dress.

I guess we’ll have to wait.

Patience—it’s something I don’t have.

Scott keeps looking at Rose. It’s creepy. Can you do something? – Lily

I pocket my phone. I’ve tried to stand up and distract Scott from Rose, but every time I do, Lo pulls me back down and Ryke tells me not to give him the time of “fucking” day. But it’s about Rose, and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable because of him.

“Go back to Philly, assholes!” Someone screams from one leather couch over.

“I’m getting the sense we’re not wanted here,” Lo says dryly. He tries not to provoke the hecklers, but I can see the irritation growing as he flashes a bitter smile.

I glance from the text to Scott. “Give me a minute,” I tell the guys. “I need to talk to him. Seriously.” I have to see what he’s plotting.

“No, we thought you were joking the last four times,” Lo says.

But I stand up from the leather couch anyway, expecting Lo to tug me back, but he just nods to me and says, “Tell him I hate him.”

“Any other messages?” I look at Ryke.

“Tell him to fuck himself.”

I nod. “Didn’t expect anything eloquent.”

He flips me off, and I leave both of them to go to Scott. I rest my arm on the railing like him, not saying a word as I stand by his side. I just watch what he does.

Rose.

She argues with the a brunette bartender in a red dress, and even from afar, I notice the way she cranes forward with heat in her eyes, obviously on the offensive about something.

“So here you are,” I say, feeling the gleam of Ben’s camera lens behind me. “I have the girl, and you’re left with what?” I finally turn to look at him.

“I never wanted the girl,” he says.

I try not to seem shocked. I thought this was a pissing contest from the start. “You wanted fame,” I state, throwing it out there for him to catch.

“No.” He stands straighter. As do I. And we face each other. “If I wanted fame, do you really think I’d be the producer of a reality show? You think someone’s going to award me a fucking Emmy for filming six rich college students?”

I don’t make a point to announce that I already graduated college. He knows this. “So you just want money from the show,” I say. “Princesses of Philly is a hit. You have your payoff. There’s no reason to keep looking at Rose. The charade is over, Scott. You’re not her ex. You’ve never been.” But I stop myself. The more I say these things, the more his lips curve in a smug grin. I inhale in detest, rubbing my mouth as a bad taste rises.

“There’s no season two, is there?” he asks.

“No.”

“I figured as much when she signed the contract. I thought there’s no way she’d want to do this for longer than six months.” He shakes his head at me. “It’s not over, Connor.”

He wants more money.

What the fuck is he going to do?

Before I have a chance to continue, my phone repeatedly buzzes in my pocket. I answer it, not checking the caller.

“You have to get down here, right now!” Lily yells so I can hear over the loud music.

“What’s going on?” I ask while I look for them at the bar. Rose is no longer arguing with the bartender. The thirty-something guy next to her is in her fucking face. And she’s in his as they scream.

I can hear her voice in the background of Lily’s receiver.

“Just order the fucking beer!” he yells. “Who cares what size it is?!”

“For you to understand me, you’d have to open your tiny, infantile brain,” she sneers, “and try to step onto my plane of existence!”

“Girl size or guy size, it’s not that fucking hard of a concept! Small or large!”

“FUCK YOU!” she shouts, not even that drunk.

I race down the balcony stairs at that last curse word. And I feel Ryke and Loren behind me, the distress must be clear in my muscles that constrict from my neck to arms.

When I reach the first floor, still on the phone with Lily, I sprint ahead, the crowds parting as soon as they see me. The bar is in sight. Maybe fifty feet away.

And then he punches her.

In the face.

Everything moves quickly.

The momentum knocks Rose off the bar stool. Lily crouches down to help her, and Daisy shoves the guy, screaming and trying to hit him back.

My heart is in my throat. The sensible, reasonable part of me that I have always listened to says to go to Rose, to make sure she’s okay. But the livid, boiling side that Rose is familiar with has a mind of its own. I’m already making my way to him, my hand clenched around my phone, my knuckles white with hatred. Who the fuck punches a woman? I’ve met some assholes—some really fucked up people that would sell their child if it meant living an A-class lifestyle. But this shit is something new and foreign and disgusting.

I almost reach the guy.

But as soon as he says, “Oh, you’re that prick on the show. Come to restrain your fucking crazy girlfriend? She needs her mouth taped shut—”

I lay one fist into his stomach before the bouncers separate us. My grip was strong enough to break the screen on my phone. These stupid, raging emotions collect as I realize Rose is still hurt. On the ground.

I find her within a second. Lily has her arms above Rose so no one enters her space. And Lo is right beside Rose’s head, holding a napkin filled with ice to her cheek that he must have grabbed from the bar.

“Tell me you hit him,” Lo says the moment he sees me.

I nod once.

“Thank God.”

“Thank me,” I say, dropping to my knees while Lo just laughs. It’s easy to joke right now. This is the hard part. “Rose?” I inspect her cheek that swells. Not a shiner, but she’ll have a bruise on the bone. I can barely breathe without seeing a fist in her face. Her body falling off the stool. The motion is repeated over and over again. I want to fucking puke.

“He hit me!” she growls, her eyes flickering hot. She tries to sit up to go attack him, but Lo keeps his hand on her shoulder, forcing her down.

“I have her,” I tell Lo, and I swiftly cradle her in my arms. She holds onto my bicep, not trying to go after the guy. Lo passes her the ice, and she keeps it to her cheek, silent again.

“How bad is it?” she asks. “Oh my God, the wedding pictures.” She grimaces. “What an asshole!” She growls again.