14. PRESENT DAY – December
Smoky Mountains
GARRISON ABBEY
“I think us being together—like sexually and not just seventeen-year-old chaste friends—is starting to finally click with your brothers,” I say on the porch of the lake house.
It’s this huge place that the Calloway sisters and their husbands all share and use every Christmas and other holidays and generally when they want to escape Philly and the paparazzi.
I pinch a cigarette and blow smoke up in the air, my skin freezing from fingerless gloves.
It’s fucking cold as hell, and I’m still reeling from my invite here. Without even knowing if Willow could fly down for the holidays, Lo asked if I wanted to join them at the lake.
Sure, I’ve been living with him for almost a year now, but he could have easily left me in Philly.
Willow is bundled in a pale blue ski jacket and sits on the wooden table. She pushes up her glasses with a gloved finger. “They’ve known that we’ve been sleeping together for a while.”
“Yeah, but we’ve been separated the majority of that time. It hasn’t been in their face. Now that we’re with them and also together, it’s right there. ” I raise a hand to her beautiful, rosy-cheeked face.
She smiles, a giddy nervous one that lifts her carriage, like this is the first interaction we’ve ever had and she’s bracing herself. It’s magical.
It makes me smile back, and after a quiet moment that I hang onto, I say, “Honestly, I think Ryke was glaring at me this morning.”
She leans closer, hands on her thighs. “He glares at everyone.”
I bounce on my toes, trying to circulate blood in the cold. “This was different. His eyes said you’re sleeping with my sister. Fuck you .”
Willow laughs. “There was no fuck you in his eyes.” Her lips start to fall. “Well, if there was it wasn’t directed at you.”
She touches my shoulders, and I stop bouncing. My cigarette burns between my fingers. Even though she doesn’t smoke, she joins me on most of my smoke breaks. I’m going to try and quit again—I’m going to.
Just not right now.
I think she might say something super positive, but instead her brows furrow. “I’m usually the one overthinking everything,” she murmurs. “This is…different.”
I nod. “I’m getting a taste of inside your head, Willow, and honestly, gotta say, I don’t like it.”
Her lips quirk. “They’re probably not thinking about us having sex. One, that’d be weird if they zeroed in on that. Two, I’m sure they’re more likely questioning whether we’re going to stay together.” Her eyes don’t have those questions. They hold this powerful confidence.
“You don’t believe we’ll break up,” I say, putting the cigarette back between my lips.
She shakes her head. “We’ve rode out the bumpy parts.”
“Are the bumpy parts named Salvatore Amadio?” I wonder.
Since August, I haven’t been back to London. My one weekend at their flat was enough of a hurricane between me and Mr. Dickbag. AKA vampire-knockoff. AKA Salvatore.
Willow has had a pretty rough time living at the flat. I always thought she had this perfect thing going on in London, and it doesn’t make me feel better knowing it’s been shitty recently.
The apartment parties are sometimes as bad as three times a week, even after she politely had a “roommate meeting” and told them house parties aren’t her thing.
She was probably too polite. I wasn’t there, but she rehashed the conversation. She said they sometimes remember to lower the volume of the music. But that’s about it.
She still loves Tess and Sheetal, just not as roommates, and I know she’d GTFO like yesterday. But she signed a lease, and she’s stuck there till May.
I don’t have to love Salvatore, but I have to find a way to tolerate him while he’s still her roommate. I’m trying to get there.
“Maybe one Salvatore bump,” Willow says softly.
After I blow smoke up in the air, I step closer and her gloved hands wrap around me. The backdoor slides open, and Daisy’s white husky bounds out, sprinting down the stairs and descending the snowy hill towards the dock.
Coconut’s fur matches the white landscape, blending in with the scenery.
“Nutty!” Ryke yells and follows the husky. Heading down the deck stairs, he nods to Willow and me, and I swear there’s another stern glare.
I whisper to Willow, “I’m not imagining it.”
“That’s his normal face,” Willow says.
“Jesus Christ, who left the door open?” Lo’s voice filters outside, and he appears in the doorway. He looks between Willow and me.
“Ryke,” I answer, not caring about throwing him under the bus. He, technically, was the one who left the door open anyway.
Lo leans outside, only in a pair of drawstring pants and a short sleeve T-shirt. “Ryke, close the damn door next time!”
Ryke gives him a middle finger.
Lo is about to retreat indoors. He stays, eyes on us. “Both of you. Your room is right next to Jane’s and Sulli’s. Remember that tonight before you start doing things. Actually, why don’t you two just not do things tonight.”
Wasn’t dreaming. Lo and whoever else have definitely been talking about the fact that Willow and I are having sex. Maybe because of the whole “blow job” slip-up back in August. Who knows?
Willow’s eyes are saucers, skin pale.
“Do things,” I say, almost near laughter. “How old are we?”
“Seven years younger than me,” Lo says swiftly like he has comebacks on speed dial. “And I was censoring myself for my sister. I could definitely be cruder if you’d like. Would you like that?”
Wow, he’s pissy today.
“No,” I snap. “Got it. Loud and clear. All of you can have sex, but we’re celibate.” And I realize my mistake as soon as I say it.
“No, sweetheart, you get to be celibate just like me and Lil,” Lo replies with a half-smile and all.
That’s right—Lily and Lo are not allowed to have sex for the six weeks after Luna was born.
Since Luna Hale came into this world at the end of November, Lo still has some time left with just his hand.
“Lo,” Willow mutters, “we don’t get to see each other that much.” Translation: we never usually get to have sex.
Lo cringes like Willow said the untranslated version. “Fine,” he concedes sharply.
“We’ll be quiet,” I tell him. But he’s already waving me off with a hand and walking into the house.
Willow and I exchange a look before breaking into laughter. It’s cut short when Ryke ascends the stairs, reaching the deck with Coconut jumping excitedly beside him.
His eyes hit Willow. “Dad was just on the phone. He said he’s been trying to call you.”
The air deadens, and the wind suddenly picks up.
Ryke’s brown eyes carry confusion. “Why is he fucking calling you so much?”
Willow shrugs. “We talk every week about school.”
I guess that’s not a lie. Shit, I hate that she has to lie to them. But I am glad that she’s not alone in this secret. She has me.
Ryke rubs his lips. No gloves on. But he hardly looks cold. “You need to be careful, Willow.”
She nods. “I know.”
His warning stays with me, even after he leaves.