Fuel the Fire (42 page)

Fake
, I scoff.

Fake.

What about our pain and fury and grief? Is that fake too?

[ 38 ]

CONNOR COBALT

It takes us a couple minutes to push through Lily and Daisy’s kitchen barricade, table and chairs stacked together to bar Ryke from the living room. When Lo and I finally breach the doorway, Ryke attempts to charge past us. I seize his bicep and push him further back, to where Rose and Loren can slip around me.

“He’s gone, Ryke,” I say, as calmly as I’m able to. My throat constricts with the rest of my muscles. It’s hard for me to concentrate on the future, past today, and stay fully upright. Never have I had this problem before. To trick myself, I just worry about the present and leave tomorrow out of my mind.

“He’s not fucking gone,” Ryke growls. “I hear him—I
fucking
hear him.” He shoves me to reach the door, but I grab hold of his arms again.

“You hear Corbin, Samantha, Poppy, and Sam.” I told Naomi she could go, and then Greg left to talk to Jonathan, probably outside in the driveway. I’d never tell Ryke how close his father actually is.

Unfortunately, Jonathan is attached to almost all of us, so when he does something deplorable, nearly everyone is affected. Theo had only a thin strand tethered to Loren and Rose through Hale Co.

If my past had to be showcased at all, Theo vindictively outing me would’ve been better than what we face now.

“Did he really…” Ryke struggles to speak. In my peripheral, I notice Loren whispering to Lily by the microwave, his eyes misted, and then Daisy quickly lets her Siberian husky out the backdoor, the yard fenced in.

I don’t see Rose anywhere, and I don’t even have time to contemplate
where
she could be, my phone buzzing in my pocket. My mind is either fogged or rotating backwards and sideways.

“Connor,” Ryke growls my name. “I have to know if it’s fucking true.” I assume he only heard fragments of our discussion through the wall.

I rest a hand on his shoulder, concerned that he may try to bolt past me again, and with the other, I retrieve my cell. “Yes, it’s true.” Before the guilt hits him, I add, “And if you blame yourself for this, you’re past tragic, my friend. His actions aren’t yours, in the same way that your mother’s actions aren’t yours.”

Daisy swiftly slides between us, setting her hands on Ryke’s chest. It enables me to let go of my grip on him. “Hey there,” Daisy says.

Ryke lets out a tense breath. Unsurprisingly, he relaxes more in her company than in mine.

I check my phone.

You free? We need to talk.
– Scott Van Wright

He’s the last person I want to see, capping off one of the worst days I’ve ever experienced. Regardless of my personal feelings, I have to meet him. I can tell that he doesn’t trust me one-hundred percent yet. We haven’t brought up our hatred of each other during the reality show. So how could he believe that I’m truly his friend all of a sudden? It’s a conversation that has to happen.  

I brace my arm on the bar counter, my body in knots.

“I feel sick to my stomach,” Ryke says to Daisy.

“I can get you a water or a cupcake.”

He almost smiles. “A fucking cupcake?”

She nods. “We have fucking cupcakes too. I hear they can cure all maladies.”

“Is that a theory, Calloway?”

She shakes her head. “Nope, it’s just true.”

Before I text Scott back, I have to check on my wife. “Where’s Rose?” I ask Daisy, her arms wrapped around his waist and his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“The half-bath.” She points to the bathroom door beside the pantry.

I pocket my phone and hurry to find Rose.

When I enter the tiny half-bath, I catch Rose vigorously scrubbing her hands, the faucet running. Jane sits near the toilet, shaking a bracelet.

“Rose…” I shut the door and slide behind my wife, more concerned than I try to let on.

“I changed Jane’s diaper,” she tells me, her voice tight. Usually she can change Jane, wash her hands once, and be done with the process and not obsess. The stress from today has thrown everything out of sync.

“And how long have you been washing your hands?”

“They still smell like baby wipes.” She sniffs her palm and cringes before adding more soap.

I extend my arms on either side of her body and grip both of her wrists.

“Richard,” she warns.

“Look at your hands, Rose.”

Her eyes are bloodshot, and when I peek at myself in the mirror, I notice that mine are too. She finally absorbs her raw palms and reddened skin, one of her nails bleeding at the cuticle. She inhales and recoils backwards at the sight, knocking against my chest.

I grab a small towel and spin her around, so she faces me. Then I gather her hands and encase them in the towel to dry, her yellow-green eyes locked on my blue.

“I didn’t realize,” she whispers.

“It’s been a long day,” I say. I’m ready for it to be over, but it’s not yet.

She can tell there’s more. I watch her collarbones protrude. “I’ll handle the social media,” she says. “It’ll take some stress off you, and you can just think about what you want to say or not say at the press conference.”

“That’s not equal division of labor, hun. The social media should be split.” I rub my thumb over her bottom lip, the truth wedged in my throat.
I have to see Scott.
A longer moment passes—and she waits patiently even if her eyes begin to burn holes into mine. “I have to see Scott.”

“What?” Her face falls, and she frees her hands from the towel.

“Today.”

She slaps my thumb away. “He can wait.”

“No, he can’t, Rose.”

She glances once at Jane, who’s more interested rattling the bracelet than us right now. “You don’t have to do this anymore, Connor.”

“Yes, I do,” I say. “I want him completely out of our lives as much as you, and this is the only way.” I pause, already hearing her rebuttal in my head.
You can’t handle it.
“The argument that you want to use isn’t good enough, so don’t even say it.”

She clutches onto my shirt, fire returning to her gaze. I’m happy to see more of it, even for a moment. “You have no idea what I’m going to say.”

“You’re going to tell me that I can’t stomach Scott and this media shit storm at the same time.”

She raises her chin. “Or maybe that’s just your conscience.”

Or maybe Frederick is in my head.
I’ve been ignoring his calls all day. He’ll want to hash out my “feelings” that are stronger than usual.

“Emotions are just obstacles,” I tell her. “They’re not restraints unless I let them be.” I can control them a little longer.

She looks frightened by my declaration, her knuckles whitening, still fisting my shirt.

“Rose,” I murmur, “n’ayez pas peur.”
Don’t be afraid.
I draw her even closer, our bodies curving together. She’s fearful I’ll forget who I am—the man who can love and empathize—but I know she’ll remind me. I’m counting on it.

She surprises me by kissing my neck.

I smile at her tentativeness, and I lift her head and kiss her more aggressively on the lips. The force pins her back against the sink. My mind almost drowns out the dozen other frequencies and white noise, leaving only her mouth and her heat.

Then the door swings open.

Ryke bolts for the toilet. Thankfully Jane sits out of the way, Ryke’s abrupt presence distracting her from the bracelet.

He kneels. And he pukes.

Daisy is quick to appear by his side, rubbing his back.

“Already on your knees for me,” I say, hoping the lighthearted quip will lessen the tension. My skin crawls at a grating realization. “I suppose that’s the last joke I can make with you.” It’s not like he responds with anything more than a middle finger and a
fuck off
, but I’ll miss those all the same.

He clutches onto the toilet bowl, breathing heavier, angrier. Before he responds, Lo slips into the half-bath with Lily, Moffy on the crook of her hip. He shuts the door behind them, and I scan him from head-to-toe for signs that he’s stable.

Ryke does the same from the ground, but he’s more obvious about it than I am.

In my opinion—which should be trusted above everyone else’s—they both seem equally distressed: skin pallid, eyes puffy, and muscles flexed. They’ve put too many emotions into their father to take this news well.

“I’m okay,” Lo tells his older brother. “You’re the one who looks like shit.”

Ryke flips him off and shifts to a sitting position, elbow on the toilet seat. He whispers something inaudible to Daisy, who nods and whispers back. It’s easy to discern what goes on between Lily and Loren, but the other couple is too private to infer a faint conversation.

“I know it’s hard to talk about…” Lily is the first to really speak to everyone. She sets down Moffy and the little boy walks over to Jane, plopping down beside her. “But while we’re all together now, we should talk. It may help.” She nods at this, probably remembering her own experience with the media bashing.

Lo hugs her to his side. “That’s a good idea, love.”

Rose solidifies, my arm around her stiff waist while she leans against the sink. “Connor and I are taking care of it,” she says tightly. “The four of you don’t have to worry about anything.” She doesn’t want to saddle her sisters with a heavy burden anymore than I want to saddle Ryke and Lo.

Ryke breathes through his nose and shakes his head a couple times. But he stays silent.

“What’s
taking care of it
exactly?” Lo asks, his voice edged.

I tilt my head. “I didn’t call my publicist so she could entertain me for an hour with useless advice.”

Daisy rests her chin on Ryke’s shoulder. “I thought the whole point of being on social media was to be ourselves?”

“And clarify when the tabloids spread lies about us,” Lo adds.

“And support each other,” Lily chimes in, the biggest advocate for Ryke and Daisy’s relationship online.

Daisy smiles. “And to always have fun.”

Rose crosses her arms. “Then we’ll have fun implementing Naomi’s to-do list.”

Lo glares. “Then I better see you smiling when you tweet things like ‘my little angel sleeps so peacefully when I sing her a lullaby. Hashtag, I’m a lying liar.’”

Rose is too exhausted to retort anything of equal intensity. She supports most of her body weight against me and just shoots him a look like
stop talking.

“I know it’s hard for all of you to accept,” I tell them, “but if we don’t make at least a small effort, this won’t blow over. We can’t simply
be
who we are online if people keep twisting our relationship into something…”
cold, loveless and empty.
The words hit me but I don’t want to say them aloud.

“Why isn’t this harder for you?” Lo asks me, his face contorting with more emotion. He gestures to both of us. “You’re just standing there like it’s a goddamn pothole that you can drive over.” This is a crater with no alternate routes. I’m aware. “They’re degrading your
marriage
…and everything you two are.” Maybe he thinks we should be immobilized on the floor.

I recall Rose crying earlier in the closet,
screaming
into her coat so no one could hear. I could feel her pain grow, and I could feel mine burst. I let it out then, but it’s not gone. It’s sunken low so I can keep standing, so I don’t become crippled and small.

“I don’t know how to wallow,” I tell him honestly. “Maybe that action isn’t in me, but I assure you,
grief
is.” I’m never going to be entirely expressive with my emotions, but the fact that I feel anything at all is what matters.

His brows furrow, as though trying to detect it, and then he notices Rose rubbing her hands together, her skin dry and peeling. I clasp her palm in mine, and she stops.

Lo nods a couple times to himself. “We know that you two love each other, so now we just have to make the whole world realize that
your
love is equal to the rest of ours.”

It’s not possible. “You can’t make people see love. It’s intangible. They can see affection, the actions between two people who are in love, but ours is less physical and more mental.” Naomi’s plan is the best, regardless of how much it shames the way that we love each other.

“I saw your love,” Lily tells us.

Rose frowns. “What?”

Lily’s eyes smile before her lips do. “The first time I ever saw you together at my apartment with Lo. It looked like you two were fighting, but I always believed it was flirting.”

I can feel my grin.
Flirting
—I told Rose so during St. Patrick’s Day.

“And I also sensed a lot of…sexual tension.” She reddens. “I can’t be the only one who thought so. Right?” She turns to Lo. He was there that day, a long time ago.

“I thought they were weird,” he admits. “But in hindsight, I guess, yeah, it was flirting.” No one is convinced by him, least of all Rose.

She lets out a jailed breath. “We’re going to do what Naomi says.”

The room tenses, and Ryke finally speaks. “I fucking hate this.”

“Not as much as people hate my tweets,” Rose grumbles.

Ryke gives her a look. “They’re fucking funny, Rose.”

“Apparently they’re insensitive.”

“I’ve tweeted more insensitive shit and no one gets onto me,” he rebuts.

Lo’s brows rise. “He did once tweet that anyone who’s praying for rain again needs to shut the fuck up.”  

Daisy smiles, the whole room brightening an extra degree. “And anyone who’s performing a rain dance needs to sit the fuck down.”

Lo laughs, but it fades among the proliferating stress.

Rose fills the silence. “It’s a small sacrifice.”

“I don’t like when we have to sacrifice who we are…” Ryke trails off, his hard gaze drifting to the two babies closest to him. Jane even smiles up at Ryke and babbles a string of noises that desire to be words.

Rose says, “I’ve never shied away from who I am, even when people asked me to be softer, quieter or warmer. I’ve proudly remained
me
. But I’m willing to appear as the person they want
for
Jane.” She turns to me, and I read the look in her eye that says
just as you’d be willing to make that sacrifice.