3. PRESENT DAY - January
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
T hree-year-old Jane Cobalt tosses a handful of confetti from a little pink bucket. “Happy Birthday, Daddy!”
All of their children are front and center in Ryke and Daisy’s quaint “cottage”—it’s definitely not a mansion or as regal as the Cobalt Estate.
But it’s four-bedrooms. Not a shoebox either.
The outside is all gray stone with a stone-stacked chimney like they live on a pastoral English countryside and not in a Philly suburb.
The décor is like Urban Outfitters threw up in here. Boho chic or whatever. I’m not an interior designer.
One-year-old fraternal twins, Charlie and Beckett Cobalt have their own buckets of confetti, and three-year-old Maximoff Hale makes confetti angels on the hardwood, little legs and arms moving about.
Daisy kneels on the ground beside her almost-one-year-old daughter, helping Sulli throw the strips of colorful paper.
Ryke, Loren, and Rose stand off to the side, letting their kids “surprise” Connor.
I feel like I’m intruding.
But they wanted me around. So I’m here.
Still, I need air for a second. I slip out before anyone notices me and head towards the first-floor bathroom.
I’ve been here enough with Willow to know where it is.
Gold balloons litter the ground, and I push aside a black streamer, hanging from the ceiling.
They went all out for a not-really-surprise “surprise” party.
I lock the bathroom door and immediately splash water on my face. Taking out my phone, I check my messages.
None.
I’m about to text Willow, but loud laughter echoes from the living room. I want to be around them. I shouldn’t want that.
Get it together. You’re already here.
I swallow hard and wipe water off my face before returning to the living room. The first thing I notice is the life-sized cardboard cutout of Connor standing in the middle of the hall.
Jesus…
They really went there.
Like he doesn’t already have an ego the size of a galaxy?
I tilt my head, examining more. It looks so much like Connor.
One of them must have bought the cutout on a celebrity site.
I’ve seen them before. The only reason I even check out those sites is to make sure Willow and I don’t have our faces on T-shirts.
We’re not that famous, and honestly, I hope it never happens.
I prefer the periphery where people don’t have a life-sized cardboard version of me in their bedroom.
It creeps me out, but I see how Lily and everyone else are laughing about it.
How they try to turn this into something fun.
Because it’s better than dwelling on the shitty aspects of fame.
It’s not all bad. And I guess, it’s kind of a good gift.
Which reminds me: I didn’t get Connor anything. And I’m at his birthday party.
Well, whatever. He knows I didn’t actually want to come.
I head to the kitchen, passing a banner that reads Happy 30 th Birthday, Connor! The only other people that pack the place besides the “core six” are their children. I’m literally the interloper.
Awesome.
Jane Cobalt giggles on the ground, covered in confetti. A photo of this child just smiling in celebratory streamers would be worth thousands of dollars, sold to any magazine in New York.
She’s just a baby. I feel bad for her and Moffy. What kind of life are they going to have under this invasive microscope? Their parents got twenty-some years of peace before the spotlight roasted them.
They get nothing.
Sucks.
I shrug the thought off and slip further in the sunny kitchen, sunshine streaming through windows.
Loren pops a chip into his mouth, a jar of salsa next to him. His wife has her legs around his waist and arms around his neck in a piggyback. Lily is thin and bony and can’t weigh much. He hands her a chip over his shoulder, and he’s really the only person I care to greet right now.
“Hey,” I nod to him and then hop up on the kitchen counter. I catch sight of a tiny potted basil plant next to the sink, and my chest tightens.
“You made it,” Lo says, not surprised that I was invited.
I focus back on him. “Yeah.”
He scoops a hunk of chunky salsa. “Was groveling involved to get your ass here?”
“Some.”
“Good.” Lo tosses another chip in his mouth. “I can’t be the only one begging you to show up to birthday parties. As King Connor would say, it’s unseemly .” He tilts his head. “How’s my sister?”
I’m about to tell Lo that Willow is doing great, as far as I know. She never told any of them about how I punched her college friend or the fact that I visited her in London for all of two hours.
Can this stay between us? I asked her. I was ashamed. Still am.
She agreed.
But before I can say anything to Loren, his wife cuts in. “Lo,” Lily says softly, but loud enough to pull his attention.
“Hmm?” He swishes around the salsa with a chip. His other hand is planted on Lily’s leg. She’s still on his back.
Their embrace just makes me ache to hold Willow. My heart physically clenches, and I knock my head back against the cupboard. Come on, Garrison.
“Do you think Connor might be Batman or Superman?”
Lo drops her instantly.
She lands on her ass. “Lo!”
My lip twitches, almost smiling. God, I want to.
There are some things you don’t bring up in front of Loren Hale. DC comic book characters might actually be number one on the list.
He waves a chip at his wife. “There are a goddamn thousand superheroes, and you chose two that I can’t stand?”
“They make the most sense.”
“They make about as much sense as calling Connor the Swamp Thing.”
I almost laugh.
Lily picks herself off the floor. “That’s just silly. Swamp Thing isn’t even close to being Batman and Superman.”
Willow would love this conversation. Comics remind me of her. She’s the only reason I started reading them in the first place, and she still loves superheroes more than me. I’ll tell her about this. It’ll be a light thing after a lot of heavy shit.
Lo’s glare sharpens and intensifies. “Please let me know where I can find my other wife. This one in front of me is a sellout.”
Lily touches her heart and hurt cinches her brows. “I’m not a sellout. I just happen to not be an elitist about the whole Marvel versus DC thing, and I can appreciate all superheroes equally.”
“You think they’re all made equally ?” Lo asks passionately. “Do you want to talk Green Lantern? We can talk Green Lantern.”
“Okay, okay,” Lily immediately concedes. “So I have my favorites, just like you.” She’s moved close, fingers in his belt loops, and she gazes up at her husband like the whole conversation is a giant turn-on. Lo wraps his arm around his wife.
I lean forward and grab a couple chips from the bag. Trying not to wish for Willow to be here.
Lo declares, “My best friend is not Batman or Superman.” Best friend . That’d be Connor. It’s weird hearing him say that out loud. Not that I don’t know the fact. But because Connor is my boss. Loren is Willow’s brother. Our connections to one another are too fucking tangled at this point.
“Then what is he?” Lily asks.
“Connor Cobalt,” Lo answers without a pause. “He’s Connor fucking Cobalt, and whatever powers he has, they’re all his own.”
I narrow my eyes, watching their exchange. Connor doesn’t surround himself with people who only blow smoke up his ass, otherwise Ryke Meadows wouldn’t be in this room. But pure admiration comes from Lo.
For me, I remember being a seventeen-year-old kid who vandalized a house. I remember the guy who gave me the handout when I needed it but didn’t deserve it.
I don’t know—Loren Hale is the one who has powers to me.
Lily’s gaze drifts to a Celebrity Crush tabloid on the counter behind Lo, and her smile fades. “What is…” She seizes the tabloid.
I crane my head, trying to read the headline.
[POLL] Which Calloway sister has the cutest baby?
That’s fucked up.
And the poll won’t blow over well with Ryke, Daisy, Connor, or Rose either.
They’re all insanely protective of their kids. Like they should be. Parents should protect all of their children. Not just the ones they like the most.
Shit, if I had a baby right now, I’d be gutted every time their name was in print. I can’t even handle media attention. How could I expect my kid to deal with that?
And why the fuck am I thinking about a baby?
I’m twenty-one.
Willow and I are in the rockiest place we’ve ever stepped foot in. We may not make it to tomorrow . Babies are an unquantifiable part of my relationship. The more I think about the foggy future, my stomach knots.
Pain suddenly flares in my ribs as I focus more on the injury.
So I turn my attention.
Lo rips the tabloid out of Lily’s hands.
“They polled our babies by cuteness,” Lily explains. “They can’t do that.”
Lo’s brows bunch. “They can do whatever they want.”
“I just wish there were some ethical limitations,” Lily says while Lo flips to the right page. Lily tries to stop him, pushing his hands. “Don’t! What if Moffy is ranked the ugliest.” She lowers her voice. “We’ll know and we’ll feel bad and it’ll give him a complex.”
I look around for Maximoff. The three-year-old is playing patty-cake with Jane on the carpet.
“That’s not going to happen,” Lo says. “We have an adorable baby.”
“So do Rose and Daisy.”
“You don’t have to look,” Lo tells Lily.
But I’m positive he can’t help himself. I chew another chip and watch this go down.
I don’t even know what I would do in their position. Maybe burn it. Stop the temptation.
While Lo reads through the article, Lily slides towards me and we chat about movies. I think it’s helping distract her from the tabloid, but I haven’t seen as many films as she’s mentioning. Ever since Willow left, I haven’t had the energy to go to the theater.
After a few minutes, Lo finishes reading the article and drifts back to us with chips and salsa in hand. “Little ‘puff,” he calls out to Lily.