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If only he knew.
I complied, stuffing my hair beneath one of Connor’s baseball hats, but as soon as we entered the gym, I had to remove it. We rented out Philly Rocks!—no kid’s birthday party or hovering instructors in sight. Ryke has permission from management to teach us.
Connor already tipped Walter our whereabouts, so the plan is set and in motion. Subconsciously, I check over my shoulder, at the floor-length gym windows, slightly tinted from the outside. I wonder if he’ll have to wait until we leave to snap a photo.
As long as there’s not an entire brigade of cameramen outside, Walter will have his exclusive photograph. Rumors about Moffy will stay out of the press. Everything will be fine.
“Earth to Rose.” Daisy waves her hand in front of my face.
I wake from my stupor, lounging with my hands behind me. Fuck stretching. “I was just picturing the wall violently swallowed by flames. Who has a match?” I look to Lily.
Lily tries to look stern, her back straightening. “This is about Ryke. We can’t burn his place of love.”
I snort. “His place of love is between our sister’s legs.”
Daisy waves her hand again. “I’m sitting right here.”
“I know, I fully intended for you to hear that,” I say curtly, checking my matte black nails, remembering their beauty, since they’ll be chipped by tonight’s end.
Daisy ties her brown hair in a messy high bun. “Lily is right, though.”
“I am?” Lily beams.
“Most definitely.” Daisy nudges her arm with a bigger, brighter smile. “The weather has been horrible these past few weeks, and he’s been really antsy.” Ryke hasn’t been able to climb outside, she means.
I sigh. “Fine,” I concede. “Maybe this will make up for our awful Christmas presents for him.” We spent four hours in the mall, flocked by our bodyguards and tailed by elated fans and cameramen. It was an ordeal, largely from our indecisiveness. We usually buy Ryke rock climbing gear that he requests for both Christmas and his birthday, but that seemed insensitive this year, considering his surgery is in January.
I bought him a nice electric razor, but I’m sure he already has one, his unshaven jaw clean and never a gnarly beard. I asked Connor what he bought him and he simply said, I’ve had his Christmas gift for a year.
A year.
He refused to clarify that irritating answer.
My phone pings, and as I grab my cell off the carpeted floor, I notice the three guys by the gym wall, talking amongst themselves. I skim the screen.
Tweet notifications:
@callowayforever: Was that really Connor going down on you? @RoseCCobalt
Yes. We do have sex, even if some people believe we’re cold and unfeeling, and like Lo said—make out annually. I refrain from replying back, especially to negative comments. Our publicist basically said: being defensive is the worst opinion you can have. Standing up for yourself with your back arched and claws bared is not allowed on social media, at least not from my end.
It’s hard for me.
My finger itches to press “reply” but I move on to the subsequent notification.
@liloloverallday: Do you even love Connor Cobalt? You never act like you do. He deserves someone who wants to kiss him. @RoseCCobalt.
God. This must be in reply to when I turned out of his kiss at the mall. No one heard him quote Plato with the smuggest grin I’ve ever seen. That didn’t deserve a kiss, a hug or a handshake, and he knew it.
@rachelle4beauty: @RoseCCobalt you’re such a slut! First the pornos and now public oral. Seriously?
Yes seriously.
@camibrat8: @RoseCCobalt is not a fucking role model for women. I’m so sick of people calling her that. She’s dumb and a disgusting piece of trash.
I try not to ingest any of these words. With a stiff spine, I look at the next tweet.
@_GoodWitchh: eww @RoseCCobalt
I nearly smile at the irony of a “good witch” saying ew to me.
My phone vibrates in my palm. Everything okay? – Connor
I raise my head. He’s still in a deep conversation with Lo and Ryke halfway across the room, but he takes the time to type a message to me.
People aren’t amused by our Thanksgiving activity. I press send and watch him read the text calmly before typing back. When his fingers stop moving, my cell buzzes.
In case you’ve forgotten, three-quarters of what people say about us are incorrect, exaggerated or fallible. – Connor
He’s right. Though I won’t reply with that. I have a perfect memory. I forget nothing.
Then you remember when you were fourteen… – Connor
My smile fades, and I notice his lips beginning to curve upward in triumph. “Don’t you say it,” I mutter under my breath.
“Are you texting Connor right now?” Lily asks, her head swinging between us.
I can’t answer. The next text pops up.
…and Faust beat Dalton at Model UN and I went in for a handshake, so you could congratulate me after I defeated you. And you actually did it. – Connor
“They’re totally texting,” Daisy says with a laugh.
I raise my hand at her while I type: I also remember trying to squeeze your hand hard enough so your fingers would break. I press send. “This is important—” My phone buzzes.
I remember you not succeeding. – Connor
I scoff, open-mouthed. I’m going to kill him. In the kindest way. I tighten my lips, my fingers flying over the keys. I remember you not getting laid tonight. I win. When I look up at Connor, he’s still grinning, like he’s very, very far from losing what he wants.
Dammit.
When I was fourteen, I thought for sure I would beat him at Model UN, but I wasn’t nearly as smart back then. Our rivalry pushed me to work harder. And when I was seventeen, Dalton almost won in a tiebreaker, but partly, I think he was thrown that year.
I caught him coming out of the bathroom with another guy—their body language said more than Connor wanted it to. I don’t think he intended for me to see the hidden parts of his life. But a veil opened that day. He said five words to me. Just five.
I don’t look at genders.
And after he took in my reaction—a nod and softened eyes—he walked away. I never once asked for more. I understood that he looked at the world in a different way, stripping the complexities and absurdities of society into bare simplicities. To be attracted to someone not because they’re male or female but because you feel a connection, in some way, you feel something more.
It made me realize how much there was left to see in Connor, of the truths I’d yet to discover. And I wanted another piece of him, another real piece.
There was a reason why he hid. What I really learned that day was that the world might not have been ready to accept Connor, and that’s a bigger shame than anything.
But I have every real part of him. Every part I love. Even if the world may not understand him, I do.
I see a new text drop down.
You can’t remember something that hasn’t happened yet. – Connor
Translation: I win. You lose, Rose.
Th
e towering rock wall in an array of nauseating primary colors has already sealed my fate long before Connor Cobalt did. I know my weaknesses, and anything that requires the removal of high heels sits at the very top of the list.
[ 8 ]
CONNOR COBALT
When I pocket my cell, Lo brings his phone to his ear. He places his hand on his head in distress. “What do you mean they backed out?”
I lean my shoulder against the rock wall while Ryke abandons his task of untangling two harnesses, both of us concentrating on his brother.
“We always run commercials on GBA,” Lo refutes. “Daniel said the network has the highest percentage of female viewers. We’re not putting baby shampoo promos on FOX or ESPN.” Lo rubs his eyes and meets Ryke’s gaze first.
Ryke mouths, hang up.
Lo shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says softly to him.
Their relationship is better than it ever has been. I can see it as well as everyone else. Lo spends more time with Ryke, and his comments towards his brother are never spiteful or biting like they once were.
It took years for two estranged brothers to finally reach common ground, and if I were more empathetic, I think I’d be moved.
Lo groans. “This shouldn’t have happened!”
Ryke grinds his teeth, probably thinking that his brother isn’t fine, but he’s doing well considering the nature of his job. I’m the head of a multi-billion-dollar corporation too. For me, it’s relatively easy. Sometimes moderately taxing, but rarely hard. For a normal person, it’d be stressful, difficult. For a recovering alcoholic, it might push them over.
Lo paces in front of me, wearing black track pants and a gray V-neck. His hair is in style, but when I first met him in college the shorter side-cut, longer strands on the top, wasn’t popular. He probably deserves credit for its ascent to the masses.
I scan him, his sharpened features and deadly gaze.
He’s someone I’d never entertain or associate myself with in college unless he was of use to me. I never really needed him though. I had no reason to use him. Still, my seventeen-year-old self would’ve said: Good, you found the rich bastard with connections. You needed him. You used him. Now let him go.
