14. Sip-In-Snow Crashers Aftermath Part Three
JANUARY 2040
AFTER CHAPTER 56 IN FEARLESS LIKE US
We listened to "Every Night" by Josef Salvat while writing this scene.
Character List:
Connor Cobalt - 51
Rose Calloway - 50
Ben Cobalt - 17
Audrey Cobalt - 14
**
CONNOR COBALT
THE REMNANTS OF a high school party are strewn pathetically across our backyard. Solo cups crunched on the grass, pool floaties deflated on the stone, and I bend down to grab a small baggie of pills next to an outdoor ceramic cat that Jane made with her Aunt Poppy when she was seven. Whoever these pills belonged to, they must have left in a hurry.
I pocket them, more perturbed than I like to let on.
My annoyance derives from the mere fact that I cannot be two places at once. I would like to be talking with the security teams at the driveway, discussing the ins and outs of how Orion, Luna’s Newfoundland puppy, was bugged. I would also like to be inside with my children to discuss this mess and make sure they're okay.
Alas, there’s only one of me.
One place to be. I’ll deal with the other after.
Rose’s face twists the further we walk along our back patio. “Heathens,” she spits. “They broke every ceramic pot.”
“We’ll replace them.”
“I’m not worried about the mess, Richard,” she snaps. “I’m worried about the kind of teenagers who were around our kids.”
“Eliot and Tom broke as many things as their friends.” I remind her of all the phone calls we’ve received over the years.
“This isn’t Eliot or Tom,” she refutes. “This is Ben. Audrey.”
Yes.
My soft children.
Vulnerable.
Tender-hearted.
I’ve tried to thicken their skin, but Rose always tells me they were born to be more butterfly than snake, and to be okay with that.
It’s hard to be okay with it when there’s only one of me. I can’t be here to protect them at all times, and knowing others will see them as easy prey isn't a comforting feeling. They're my children. Our children. Any harm done to them might as well be done to me.
“Richard.” Rose struts powerfully to the outdoor bar where emptied liquor bottles tell more of the same story. “Do you see this?” She’s not pointing a manicured nail at the vodka.
I slide beside my wife, seeing a white powdery streak across the black granite. “You’ve found the cocaine.”
She glares at my calm tone. “You could be a little more enraged.”
“I am pissed, darling.”
“Cocaine,” she emphasizes with blazing heat, drawing me deeper into her fiery gaze. “We already have one child who’s fallen to this drug, and now it’s in our house around our youngest.”
“Beckett is clean,” I remind Rose, but him using cocaine is still a wound in her heart that hasn’t fully healed. She feels at fault as his mother. Responsible. She wishes she could’ve done more to guide him, to stop him. Our conversations with him were never enough, and that is painfully hard for someone like me to admit.
She lets go of that dark history with a breath. “I will murder the little asshole who brought drugs in here,” Rose seethes. “Justice will be served.”
“In the court of law.”
“By my fucking hand,” she amends.
I start to grin. She sees my upturning lips and rolls her eyes, but she cools down. After a big exhale, she asks, “How do you want to do this? Tag team together or you take Audrey and I take Ben?”
“Ensemble,” I say smoothly, and I clasp her hand.
She nods, holding tighter.
I want all the information tonight, and I can’t split myself in two, let alone in three. The girls and Xander were told to wait here until they were picked up, instead of walking down the street and going home alone.
According to our group text thread, Lily, Daisy, Ryke, and Garrison have already picked up their kids and left. Willow and Lo have been stuck in traffic.
Ben and Audrey have been instructed not to leave this house.
I run a hand over my wavy hair, smoothing it back as we step through our sliding glass door into the living room. The glass table is shattered beyond repair.
Rose intakes a sharp breath and releases my hand.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, darling,” I say evenly as I shed my jacket, folding it over my arm.
“My conclusion is that the table is fucking broken,” she says. “Are you telling me that’s inaccurate?”
Her blistering gaze bores into me combatively, and under different circumstances, I’d be taking her upstairs to fuck her until her glare burned me alive.
“Your worry is written in your breathing pattern,” I say. “That’s the conclusion I’m trying to smother.”
“I’d rather smother you in your sleep.”
I’m grinning.
She makes a low growl in her throat, but it’s accompanied by a dry smile. “Stop.”
I watch her touch the handle of a broom, illustrating that someone attempted to clean the glass but did a poor job and never remotely finished.
I squat to the broken glass. “There isn’t any blood.”
She stiffens. “It was a drunken high school party, not a UFC match. Of course there was no blood.” Only, maternal concern suddenly pierces her eyes. “We need to find them now.”
I scan the neat bookshelves as I rise. “Nothing else seems destroyed.”
“That we know of.” She sets the broom back, and we head into the kitchen together. I have many questions about tonight, but none come before the safety of our children.
Rose screeches to a halt when we crest the kitchen door.
Flour. Everywhere. Coating the marble counters and floors. A thin layer of the baking product floats in the air, as though it’s been recently disturbed. Several dishtowels are heaped near the sink, and someone left out a spray bottle of Lysol.
They attempted to clean their mess.
“What the hell,” Rose says under her breath. While we're still in the doorway, she bends down carefully in her dress, just to pinch a torn, emptied bag of flour off the ground. She straightens up and holds it out like a dirty diaper. “Audrey doesn’t maul her baking products. Ever.”
“It wasn’t Audrey,” I agree in a whisper. Our daughter’s baking is almost scientifically neat and orderly.
Rose’s eyes flame. “What kind of so-called friends did they let inside?” She drops the ripped bag, and that’s when we hear hushed, nearly inaudible voices echoing from behind the large marble island.
We go silent to listen.
“You don’t have to lie for me,” Ben whispers. “I don’t want you to take the blame.”
“But I can easily cover for you,” Audrey whisper-hisses.
“They already don’t believe it was you.”
Rose eyes me, like she’s ready to pounce, and I hold up a finger to wait a moment. She crosses her arms and looks like she would rather rip my finger off my hand. Another time.
“I can convince them I was baking my friends some cookies,” Audrey whispers, “and I just ripped the bag of flour.”
Rose rolls her eyes.
“I don’t want you to do that,” Ben refutes quietly. “Just tell them the truth.”
They go silent now, and I imagine they’re mouthing to each other. And while Rose and I face the island, a mop of wet orange-red hair slowly appears along with startled blue eyes. Audrey immediately dives back behind the island.
“Ben. They’re right there.”
“Shit,” Ben curses and stands up, a dustpan in hand. Audrey rises next, holding a wet rag. I study them quickly. No clear physical wounds, but Audrey is slightly unsteady on her feet. She's dressed in pink silky pants and a buttoned pajama top. Ben is in a Dalton Hockey sweatshirt, and flour coats his brown hair.
“Gremlins,” Rose scolds.
“Mauvaise soirée, mes enfants,” I say with the raise of my brows. Bad evening, my children.
Audrey rests the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m feeling faint.”
“I’m sure you are,” Rose says icily.
“Hi, Mom. Dad,” Ben says with a warm smile. “Welcome home?”
“The home you destroyed.” Rose tilts her head to me. “What do you say, Connor? Has it been a welcome homecoming?”
“More inhospitable?—”
“I can explain,” Ben professes. “We were going to clean this up before you came home. We promise.”
“So you were afraid of being caught?” I question.
“Yes,” Audrey claims, right as Ben says, “No.” He adds, “I didn’t set out to destroy the house, and I felt badly you had to come home to this.” He locks his gaze with mine. “But that’s not the answer you wanted to hear, is it?”
“It is, because it’s yours.”
Ben eases.
He knows he gave me an altruistic reason. It’s not self-serving, but there is no cost to listening to his heart in this situation. I admire this about him, but there’ve been times where I do fear for my son—the one who’d rush into wildfire where a thousand consequences lie before taking a clear path that benefits him.
Ben scrapes a hand through his flour-dusted hair. “I’m not scared of being caught, but I am sorry about the house.”
I lean a hip against the doorway. “Were you also planning to clean the broken table?”
Rose hasn’t unthreaded her arms. “Or how about the destruction left in the backyard? It looks like a battle zone.”
“We were under siege, Mother,” Audrey says like she rehearsed this part.
“And which of your friends aided in the destruction inside the house?” Rose asks, perching her hands on her hips.
Ben pales and shifts his weight. “They didn’t …only family came into the house.”
Rose squints at him.
“I’m telling the truth, Mom.”
“’Tis true,” Audrey says quietly, her fingers to her lips. Her gaze drifts to the left, and I study her longer. She teeters on her feet, and more concern tightens my muscles. Ben steadies his sister with a hand to her shoulder.
Rose skims her up and down. Worry bathes her yellow-green eyes. “How much did you drink?”
“What do you mean?” Audrey plants her hands on the island counter. “I didn’t drink anything.”
Ben looks between us. “They already know, Audrey. There’s no point.”
Audrey frowns. “Already knows what?”
“Everything,” Ben says and turns to me for clarification. “Right? Akara must have told you.”
“Not everything,” I say.
“We know Audrey threw a pre-birthday bash,” Rose explains. “And it was crashed by other students at Dalton. But that’s about all.”
“Great,” Ben mutters under his breath.
Audrey hiccups. I narrow my eyes on her and cock my head.
She puts a hand to her lips. “My hiccups betray me.”
“Mon petit, there’s a lot here betraying you right now. It’s not only your hiccups,” I tell her. She wobbles again, and Ben puts his other hand on her shoulder, dropping his dustpan.
I come around the island. Rose goes to the sink and soaks a clean dishcloth.
“Maybe you should go sit down?” Ben says to Audrey, then looks to me. “She threw up practically all night, and she was passed out like ten minutes ago.”
Audrey swings her head to him. “Traitor.”
I inspect my daughter, her eyes more angry than distant, but her skin is pallid and she’s noticeably sweating.
Ben says, “You look terrible. Would you rather suffer?”
“Yes!” Audrey yells dramatically.
Ben sighs.
Rose turns off the faucet. “Your brother is right. You need to sit.”
I guide Audrey to the breakfast table, and I pull out a chair. She reluctantly plops down and then sets a glare on her brother from across the kitchen.
“What did you drink?” I ask Audrey as I go to the fridge.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Rose and I say in unison.
She pouts. “Punch. Spiked punch.”
“What was in the punch?” Rose snaps and comes to Audrey with the washcloth. She gently dabs at Audrey’s sweaty cheeks and forehead.
Audrey shuts her eyes like this is a spa treatment.
Rose looks mildly amused, and I smile while I collect a sports drink with electrolytes. I shut the fridge.
“What was in the punch?” Rose asks again, this time taking away the cold cloth.
“I-I don’t know. A lot of ingredients, I believe.”
“Who made it?” I question, untwisting the Ziff bottle.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You are because you have a tongue,” Rose retorts.
I add, “And if you made the punch yourself, you should know what’s in it.”
Audrey tries to give her mother doe eyes, silently pleading for the spa treatment again.
Rose shakes her head repeatedly. “You should never drink disgusting mystery punch or something unopened that some stranger has handed you. How many times have I told you and your siblings that?”
Ben watches us interrogate his sister while he wipes flour off the counter and into a trash bag. I haven’t forgotten about him. I never could. I never would.
Audrey stares at her lap. “Father.” She sounds pitiful.
My lips rise, and Rose says to me, “She’s playing you.”
“She’s trying,” I say, and yes, Audrey can hear us very clearly.
She lets out a melodramatic sigh. “Okay, it was me.” I hand her the Ziff and she takes tiny sips. “I was in charge of the punch.”
“What were the ingredients then?” I ask, still having doubts she was the sole contributor.
“Cherry Fizz, orange juice, vodka, gin, pink lemonade…and Skittles.”
“Skittles?” I arch a brow.
“That is absolutely revolting,” Rose cringes.
We've been through this six times before. We're not shocked by the underage drinking. I went to boarding school as a teen. I socially drank. I'd be deluded to think my children wouldn't test these waters themselves. We always told them that if they were to drink, we'd appreciate if they were with their older siblings or better yet, at home with us and under our supervision.
Though I'm aware this might be the first time she's ever been drunk.
“It was regrettable in so many ways,” Audrey winces, looking sick.
Rose dabs her forehead again, and our daughter relaxes, eyes shutting closed.
I rub my fingers against my mouth, and I turn my head. “Did you try the punch?” I ask Ben.
“No. I just had a couple beers.”
Rose splays the cloth over Audrey’s forehead. “Did the other girls drink any alcohol?”
“Nona didn’t,” Ben says. “I don’t know if Kinney tried the punch, but I think Vada was drinking it.” Off his uneasy glance towards Audrey, I’m suspecting Vada helped our daughter make the punch.
Rose and I exchange a knowing look. There’s more we need to know. “Who disabled the security system and why?” I ask.
Ben scratches the back of his head. “Audrey, you want to take this?”
“I’m not at liberty to?—”
Rose removes the washcloth and takes a few steps away.
“But Mother!” Audrey bolts upright in her chair. “I’m ill?—”
“You drank too much. You threw up. The consequences of your actions tonight.”
Audrey tries not to cry. “It’s my pre-birthday.”
Rose nearly crumbles.
I step in. “It’s important that we know how you disabled the security system. It shouldn't have been that easy. Did you ask Jane or Charlie or Beckett for the passcodes?”
“No,” Audrey murmurs, taking a bigger swig of Ziff.
“Did you figure it out yourself?”
She shakes her head. “We all thought none of you would approve of our party, and I really wanted to have it here, so…”
“So someone disabled the security system.” I help her along. “Who and how?”
“I don’t know how she did it.”
Rose whips her head to me. “Vada.” Out of all four girls, she’s the only one who could’ve learned how to disable this kind of tech.
I already take out my phone.
“No!” Audrey springs to her feet, so dizzy that she falls back into the chair. “I’m not a rat! I didn’t rat her out! Please don’t call her, Father!”
“You won’t be implicated,” I tell Audrey.
She pants heavily. “You promise?”
“Je te promet de tout mon c?ur.” I promise with all my heart.
Audrey expels a breath and nods.
I send Garrison a quick text.
So you know, I have a suspicion your daughter disabled my security system.
He replies in one second.
GARRISON
Wtf. Will ask her about it
After Rose and I get more information from the security team tonight, we'll have a bigger discussion with our children about the dangers of disabling the security system.
“How did the party get crashed?” Rose asks both Ben and Audrey.
Ben tosses the dirtied rag in the sink. “I think people started hearing about it through one of Audrey’s friends that was invited. It just spread. People were texting me asking if it’s legit all day, but I didn’t reply to most of them.”
“Barely anyone was invited,” Audrey defends. “Gossip is to blame.”
Rose gives her a sharp look.
Audrey spins to me for reprieve.
I lift another brow. “Did gossip disable the cameras too?”
“I’m also to blame,” Audrey notes.
“And the flour?” Rose turns to Ben.
I say, “I’m assuming this is your mess.”
“Yeah.” He’s already squirting more Lysol on the counter. His eyes flit to his mom. “I have this handled if it’s bothering you.”
“It’s not, but thank you.” She examines him, her hot gaze cooling. “I’m more bothered at the idea that you had a fight with a family member and not a friend.”
Ben tenses, and he pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “It wasn’t Xander’s fault. It moved from the living room to the kitchen. I grabbed the flour. I started it.”
Rose goes rigid. “The living room? The glass table?—”
“I fell onto the table. I’m sorry.” That feels like a quarter of the story.
Audrey slips her brother a sympathetic look, but she’s also fighting to stay alert.
Rose presses her fingers to her forehead. “Ben, you’re almost twice his size.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I’d never hurt him.” His eyes flood, pain cinching his face. “I was just trying to help Nona. She was in trouble…and I had tunnel vision. Xander is the one who made sure no stranger came inside the house. You should be grateful for him.”
My phone buzzes as I say, “I’m thankful no one needed a trip to the hospital."
Rose lets out a strained breath. “You’re both so fucking lucky. If one piece of glass punctured you or your cousin?—”
“It didn’t,” Ben professes. “We’re both fine, Mom.” Sincerity bleeds through his eyes.
I check the text.
GARRISON
I hate your suspicions.
I send him a message.
Because they’re right?
Because she knows better. She’s grounded forever. Don’t worry.
I’m never worried.
I text, about to pocket my phone.
GARRISON
Whatever. Honestly, I had my suspicions about it too.
Sent you a work email btw. Not that important. Check at leisure.
I’ll check it soon, but not before I take care of Audrey. I glance over at our daughter. She’s slumped more against the table.
Rose follows my gaze. “Audrey?” She combs pieces of her damp hair out of her face. Likely, she showered after she puked earlier.
“Mmmh?”
“Time for bed," Rose says. "Can you stand?”
“Mmmhmm.” Audrey never opens her eyes or moves.
Ben puts away the Lysol. “She was just shouting.”
“Your sister used all her energy to combat us apparently,” Rose notes and spins to me. “She’s passing out.”
“I’ll take her upstairs, darling,” I tell my wife.
She nods. “I’ll check on her afterwards. I’m going to talk to Ben about his punishment.”
Ben lets out a groan. “I can clean the house.”
“We’ll start there, and you won’t be cleaning the yard alone. The girls and Xander will definitely be helping you tomorrow.”
“Okay, fine,” he breathes.
I lift Audrey effortlessly in my arms. Now a teenager, she’s no longer the baby I cradled at night and rocked to sleep. But I love her just the same.
While Rose speaks longer to Ben, I carry our daughter upstairs to her room. I gently rest her down on the queen-sized bed. She rolls over on her side, grabbing a frog-shaped pillow, an old gift from Winona. After I splay a throw blanket over her, I switch the lights off, about to leave.
“Father?” Her voice is faint, weak, as though she’s fighting to stay more cognizant.
I turn back. “Yes, little one.”
“I’m truly sorry…for any and all destruction I caused. I’ll carry whatever punishment”—she yawns—“you give me with great honor and respect…”
I haven’t heard those words in months. Maybe longer.
I have a hand on the doorknob, wondering when Eliot and Tom taught their sister their silly mantra. Or maybe she just memorized it after hearing it one too many times after they got in trouble. Of course, it was to try and make me crack a smile. Maybe even sway me to lessen their grounding if they made it sound dramatic enough.
“Your mom and I will discuss what kind of punishment you’ll have. But you will be grounded.”
“I honor and respect it,” she says in a sleepy voice.
She doesn’t see it. It’s too dark.
But I smile.
In the hallway, I meet Rose, and she lets out a long drawn-out breath. “She’s going to have a massive hangover tomorrow.”
“Likely.”
“And you have no idea what that feels like,” Rose says with a perfunctory smile, as though she’s experienced far more than I have.
I grin and slip an arm around her waist. “I don’t know why you’re reveling in the fact that you’ve been so drunk, you felt miserable the next morning.”
She glares but doesn’t step out of my embrace. “At least I know exactly how to cure her hangover.” She peeks over at Audrey’s room. “Are you certain?—”
“She’ll be okay, darling.” I cup her cheek. “They all will be.”
Rose holds onto my truthful gaze, and I press a kiss to her forehead.