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In the background, Janie is hiccupping but has stopped crying, Daisy bouncing the baby on her hip. Moffy is crying worse than Janie after our bodyguards swarmed him outside the bathroom. Lily and Lo are doing their best to settle him down, though my brother glares murderously at every fucking object.
He looks about how I fucking feel.
Connor warms the water some.
I skim Rose’s attire, flour all over her formfitting woolen skirt, gray tights or leggings—whatever the fuck they are. She removed her coat, so at least her black turtleneck is somewhat fucking clean.
Connor might be able to keep her from looking down until we return to our private cabin, about thirty minutes from the ski resort. Rose was most concerned about her hair, saying over and over I want it out. I want it out.
“Take a breath, Rose,” Connor orders, his hands pausing on the back of her head.
She inhales, her collar even stricter.
His hands move faster, passing over mine to wash out the flour that sticks and adheres with the added water.
“Is it gone?” she asks in an abnormally high voice. “Connor?”
“Almost, darling.”
Rose then shifts her hands and starts scrubbing at her face like you’d scour a pan. Fucking—both Connor and I pull her back from the sink almost instantly.
She pushes us off and raises her hands. “Stop.” The word causes both of us to freeze. Eyes tight shut, she takes a deep, strained breath. Her wet hair soaks into her turtleneck. The air is still, and we’re all fucking wondering how she’s going to react when she focuses back on this reality.
Please don’t be fucking panicked. Watching Rose crumble is like having the world physically assaulted by meteors and comets, impaling unpredictably, infrequently and fucking violently. It usually comes at the hands of some other force—and that’s what fucking tears at me the most.
She opens her eyes.
Fucking Christ.
Her yellow-green gaze fixes in a glare.
On me.
“We have to go get them.” Her words rumble with anger. “We can’t just stand here and do nothing.”
She’s seeking my affirmation. Because I’m aggressive. Because if I glance at the mirror, I’d meet the severest scowl, the darkest fucking gaze—and muscles that cut like I’m ready. I’m fucking ready to end this.
Connor doesn’t wear bloodlust, even when he collides with the same brutal sentiments as us. And Rose would only turn to Lo as a last choice.
I rake a hand through my own hair. “As soon as they give me a name, Rose”—I point behind me—“I’m out that fucking door.” The police are questioning guests at the resort right this second.
“We have to go now,” Rose counters. “I’ll recognize his eyes.” Veins wind along her neck as she inhales deeply.
“I’m in,” Lo announces. He squats by Moffy but slowly rises to a stance. “He deserves worse than hell.”
I can’t fucking disagree.
Though I know what this means. When Rose, Lo, and I band together, our emotions are at the most volatile level. It never indicates the right mode of action. Just the most fucking passionate one.
“He deserves to be roasted over fire and burned to an unrecognizable crisp,” Rose says in one of her more vivid exaggerations. Her hands shake by her sides.
As I scrutinize her, I realize that her anger has superseded mine, and I’m fucking worried because she’s sharing company with my brother and me. When it comes to the three of us, I really and truly think we’re better at provoking one another.
Fuck.
Connor approaches his wife, a breath away from her. I’m fucking surprised she lets him.
His six-foot-four height bears down on hers, but for some fucking reason, Rose unwinds by his closeness, her breathing more natural and shoulders less strict.
He holds her face gently, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Assieds-toi.” Sit down.
She whispers back in French, “Nous n’avons pas le temps de nous asseoir.” We don’t have time to sit. A fire simmers beneath her words.
Connor arches a brow but his eyes uncharacteristically narrow. “Tu veux aller poursuivre un fou?” You want to chase a madman?
She tilts her chin up. “Peut-être, oui.” Maybe, yes.
Unflinchingly, he says, “Alors tu es folle aussi.” Then you’re mad too.
I breathe hot fucking breaths through my nose and shake my head. “Estamos todos locos,” I tell Connor in Spanish. We’re all mad.
Surprise passes his features for a millisecond. I don’t speak to him in foreign languages often, but it just felt fucking right.
He replies in the language he prefers, “Peut-être que nous le sommes, mon ami.”
Maybe we are, my friend.
“It’s decided.” Rose switches to English and charges for the door. Connor extends his arm and grabs onto her shoulder before she can even pass him.
“There are hundreds of people at this resort.” Connor breaks into our plans and sinks a heavy weight on us. “They all recognize your face. What are you planning on doing that doesn’t involve everyone swarming you for autographs and selfies? Give me a better plan, and I’ll let you go.”
Fire brims in her glare and she noticeably shakes. “I’m not writing up a business proposal for you, Richard. I’m defending myself and our unborn child.”
Unborn child.
Just like that, the meteor explodes against the fucking world.
She must catch her slip because she quickly rants, “I’m protecting Jane. And Moffy. The skier could have attacked them too. Our only chance to file a lawsuit is to catch this monster. We couldn’t do that for the first flour-bomber, but we have an opportunity now and I’m not going to fucking waste it.” She raises her chin higher like she has declared fucking law. Even though she’s basically said all this before.
The air strains in the dirtied bathroom.
I take a quick glance at Daisy: brows knotted in confusion and mouth slightly ajar.
I think we’re all fucking there.
Lo’s cheekbones sharpen like blades, and he’s the first to say it. “Your unborn child. Is that a new way of referring to metaphorical demonic offspring in your future or are you—”
“I’m pregnant,” Rose states.
Lo lets out a large breath. “Damn.”
We’re usually all on the same fucking page. The six of us. Ready to be happy for one another, ready to pick each other up. To cry together. To fucking laugh together. Right now, in the silence of this bathroom, we’re all just confused on what to feel.
It’s too fucking complicated. All of it.
Without hesitation, I peel away from Rose and reach Daisy’s side. Janie, still propped up on Daisy’s hip, sleeps with tiny snores, tears all dried.
Daisy sports this weak smile. Somewhere between happiness and pain. I just want to fucking hold her—to tell her that nothing has changed. Our lives are still in step with theirs. We’re not being shoved backwards.
We’re not being catapulted behind our friends.
Do you really believe this, Ryke?
I fucking have to.
Daisy rests her head against my shoulder, leaning into me. I wrap an arm tightly around her waist.
“Is this a good thing?” Lily finally asks.
The facts: Connor and Rose planned to postpone trying for a baby until Daisy got pregnant. So that Rose could be her surrogate if her sister had trouble on her own. Now we can pretty much cross surrogacy off as an option for the next year or even two years.
Another fact: Connor and Rose should be happy. We should all be fucking happy. Adding another kid to their family—this has been one of their dreams and goals. No one should diminish their joy.
We have though, and we have to fucking rectify this.
Daisy takes the reins. “It’s a good thing,” she says the words from the bottom of her soul. “It is.”
Rose fights tears in her bloodshot eyes.
“No, don
’t cry,” Daisy says quickly, stepping away from me. She passes Janie off to Connor and then confronts her older sister. Face-to-face, Daisy a little taller without Rose’s added heels. “I’m happy for you, Rose. Please, you have to believe that I am. I really am.”
Now tears brim Daisy’s eyes. Fucking hell.
“I’m not crying. I don’t cry,” Rose snaps, staring at the ceiling and trying to thwart all her tears by sheer will.
“I’m going to hug you now.”
“Don’t you dare.” Rose pats her fingers beneath her eyes. “Go hug Lily.”
Daisy presses her arms by her own sides. “I’m really happy for you, and I know it may not seem like I am but I can’t think of anything happier for you than a growing, fierce family. It’s great news, Rose. So you can’t be sad for me.” She reaches out and brushes away Rose’s last tear.
“I’m the older sister,” Rose says. “I’m here for you.” She didn’t wait for Daisy, and I don’t think Rose will ever forgive herself for that. It’s not her fault.
We don’t expect people to stop their lives while ours take a fucking detour.
