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Ryke crosses his arms, not playing around about this.
My grip tightens, fisting his shirt. “One-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour. No brakes.”
His eyes redden. Our gazes are locked, all of our experiences together rushing through us, every moment where we kissed death but never tasted it. Every time we lived life so terribly—so fully.
And then he snatches my hairband, my brown locks tumbling out of a bun. His jaw glides across my cheek, his hand protectively on the back of my head, his breath warming my ear. And he says, “I’m right beside you, Calloway.”
I smile wide, and it seems all good and well—to have Ryke firmly in agreement—but it’s hard when two of the smartest people stand opposite us.
Rose violently clears her throat until we shift towards her and her husband. She has her hands on her hips, and he’s pocketed his phone, his entire focus on us.
“I’m going to try to carry the baby first,” I tell her.
“You can’t just decide right now,” she retorts, as though stating the law.
Ryke narrows his gaze. “We just fucking did.”
“The doctor said to weigh your options.” Rose looks more than upset, fighting actual tears. “What if something happens to you? Antepartum hemorrhaging and pre-eclampsia can be fatal. That’s death, Daisy.” The fear inside my brilliant, unabashedly confident sister almost knocks the breath out of me.
“There will always be risks for any pregnancy,” I say, trying to stand my ground.
Rose glares. “This isn’t a normal risk. This isn’t jumping off a building into a pool. If you get pregnant and something happens, you’re gone. Game over.” Her usual dramatics are painful when directed at me, especially in the context of my hypothetical death.
I try to be more positive without sounding naïve. “This isn’t the eighteenth century,” I remind her. “We have doctors and technology and my chances aren’t terrible. If they were, Dr. Yoshida wouldn’t have recommended it.”
“It’s our fucking choice,” Ryke adds, which makes my lips rise. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, his thumb drawing circles on my skin.
“She’s my little sister.”
“Rose,” I whisper, “I haven’t died. Please don’t cry.”
She gapes, nearly scoffing. “I’m not crying.” She quickly wipes beneath her eyes, checking for involuntary tears, and then she raises her chin higher.
Connor shakes his head. Connor Cobalt—the voice of reason—is full of severity, his normally calm exterior disrupted by it. “I have a daughter and a wife now,” he says, “so I’m going to do you the courtesy and tell you what I would tell them if they were in your situation.”
Ryke’s muscles flex and coil, his jaw tightening. I’m not sure I want to hear Connor’s opinion either, even if it’s filled with wisdom.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says flatly. “Both of you are.”
Ryke seethes beside me. They’re nearly the same age, and even though Ryke isn’t a certified genius, he’s worldly, intelligent and the one in love with me.
Connor directs this next statement to Ryke. “You view risks as tape you can tear through and not walls meant to block you. I’m not saying you’re blind because you’re not. You see your vulnerabilities. But you just don’t care. Neither of you do. It’s as if death is another thrill, and it’s almost sick to watch.”
“We didn’t ask for a fucking lecture when we invited you here,” Ryke growls. Connor is burrowing further into our situation. This isn’t just about our choice to carry a child. It’s about Ryke rock climbing.
It’s both of us.
Connor never flinches or spends time defending himself. He just continues, “Your lives have value, and your deaths have none. It’s not worth carrying a baby to term, climbing a rock without a harness, or every other risk you two take in your spare time.”
I imagine living forever inside a space carved with safety. I imagine us banging at the walls, attempting to break free.
I gather my feelings and turn them to words. “Maybe those things are just worth more in our eyes than they are in yours.”
Connor opens his mouth, but Rose touches his arm and whispers in his ear. Mild annoyance crosses his features before his composure returns, blank slate and all.
I hop off the hospital bed, my arm around Ryke’s waist. “Rose,” I say.
She fixes her glossy brown hair over one shoulder, her classy black dress hugging her hourglass frame. “Yes?”
“If the doctor said I could carry a baby myself, I’d planned to ask you something…” She offered to be my surrogate, but now that I might not need her like that—I do still want her to be a part of this in another way.
She listens intently.
“Would you consider trying to get pregnant the same time as me?” I wonder with a smile. It’s no secret that Connor and Rose want more kids. They’ve been postponing because of my situation, and I don’t want her to wait that much longer.
“What?” Rose blanches, her eyes orb-like and filled with confusion and questions.
“Lily had that experience with you, and a huge part of me would love to have it too.” Also if she’s pregnant at the same time as me, there’ll be less focus on my issues—less worry and concern for everyone involved.
It seems like a peaceful solution. A happy one.
Connor is staring right at me, seeing into all of my intentions. I meet his eyes, and his are entirely impassive, only letting me absorb what I throw at him.
I don’t like being a problem in people’s lives, and I just want them to be happy. This way, if something does happen to me, they’ll still end up with good news. I see good things. Doesn’t he?
Rose touches her forehead, stressed about everything today. I can tell. This was bad timing. “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “It’s not a big de—”
“We’ll have to plan it really well,” Rose declares, dropping her hand.
I bounce on my toes. “Really?” My chest rises, and my smile stretches. It must be contagious because she begins to smile too.
She nods and then spins to her husband. They begin talking in hushed French, indistinguishable from our vantage point.
My phone buzzes in my brown leather backpack. Ryke is closest, so I ask him to grab it since he’s already halfway there.
He enters the security code and sees the new message. “From your mom.” His voice is tighter. “Fucking A.”
I lean into his body and read the text.
Engagement party is set up for Ryke’s birthday weekend. No cancellations. You will be there. You’re my last little girl. Love you. – Mom
“I can say no…” I tell him.
Ryke rubs his lips and then shakes his head. “We should give this to her.”
I frown, wondering where he’s going with this. “Why?”
His gaze darkens on me. “Because we haven’t told your parents that we’re trying to have a fucking baby.”
I gasp. “The horror.”
He doesn’t even bat an eye or smile. He’s stoic, his gaze raking my body in a flirty manner. My breath shallows, and I’m tempted to flirt back.
Ryke is the one to shut it down before it begins. “We need to give her something before we tell her.” He doesn’t want to enrage my mom or be on my parent’s shit list again. We’re all at a good place with each other, and it’d be a blow to lose all that progress because of this.
So I nod in agreement. “Are you more worried about my mom or my dad?” I wonder.
He gives me a look like I’m not fucking worried. Then he messes my hair, the strands frizzing. I smile, already knowing that my dad’s respect means more to him. Everyone loves Greg Calloway, so when he doesn’t at least like you back, it hurts a little more.
I’m mostly worried about what an engagement party thrown by Samantha Calloway looks like.
Knowing her, anything is possible.
RYKE MEADOWS
I run around the second-st
ory gym track, which overlooks an indoor basketball court below. Empty at 4 a.m. on a Saturday. Rain pelts the metal roof, and my brother runs two paces behind me. He picks up his stride a couple times to catch up, but I easily double mine.
I look over my shoulder, and he scowls before giving me a dry half-fucking-smile.
I almost laugh. “Maybe you should run a lot fucking faster.”
“Maybe you should break your leg,” he suggests. He’s beaten me before, but it doesn’t mean that he does all the time. Before I focus ahead of me, I catch him yawning into his shoulder. “Or ask me to run during a normal hour. I’m only human, bro!”
