He was super fucking young, and I remember rubbing my face until all the tears dried. I didn’t want Xander to be afraid of bullies. I realized then that if I showed my cousins and siblings that I couldn’t handle the world—young kids who saw me as a role model, their leader—then they’d never believe they could.
“I was thirteen,” I tell my dad. “There just hasn’t been a lot to cry over since.”
Twigs rustle in my peripheral. I crane my head over my shoulder. Two figures hide poorly behind leafless maple trees. Only about twenty feet away.
85% chance of eavesdropping.
My dad gapes in mock surprise. “Christ Almighty, I wonder who the hell that could be.”
Connor and Ryke emerge and glare at each other, shirking blame for being discovered.
My dad touches his heart. “I had no idea.”
I almost smile. As they dip into the hut, Ryke removes his gloves and stomps snow off his rubber soles. “Cobalt wouldn’t move his ass any higher up the fucking ridge.”
Connor unzips his navy blue jacket. “I lost cell signal. Of course, you wouldn’t understand the importance of needing to be reachable because not many people need to reach you.”
“Fuck off.” Ryke throws a glove at Connor’s face, but without even looking, Connor dodges the glove and it plops in the hot tub.
I grab the soaked glove and toss it back to Ryke. “If I remember correctly, you both were also at Camp Calloway doubting me and Jane.”
Ryke sheds down to his bathing suit. “We were also there trying to fucking protect you—”
“Is an I’m sorry that damn hard?” I ask.
His frown darkens, and he climbs into the hot tub. “I’m fucking sorry.” It sounds sincere, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder. Giving me a side-hug.
Connor places his jacket on a wooden table. “I apologize for hurting you.”
“I accept,” I say, “but Janie’s gonna need more than that.”
Connor nods. “I’m aware. She already asked her mom and me to write a three-thousand word essay on why we love her.” His lips pull upward, admiration for his daughter clear in his eyes.
My dad flashes a dry smile. “That’s what happens when you raise a bunch of geniuses and make your family motto: loyalty to the death.”
Connor grins a billion-dollar grin.
I lie back, but my shoulders won’t unwind. “Isn’t the Cobalt motto, ‘let me play the lion too: I will roar’ and whatever else Eliot says?” My younger cousin always recited that Shakespeare quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and it’s weirdly become the unofficial Cobalt rallying cry.
“We have many mottos,” Connor says and finishes undressing to his blue bathing suit. He joins us in the hot tub, sitting closer to my dad while Ryke stays next to me.
Connor sets his phone in a cup holder, and I remember what I’ve been meaning to tell all three of them.
“I’ve been working with a tech & security company.” I capture their attention. “The engineers are updating all of our electronics and the security team’s to ensure no hacks from any outside sources. Phones, computers—everything will be safer to use. It was supposed to be my Christmas present to everyone, but I’ll roll it out before the tour starts.”
Connor looks marginally impressed. Which is more than he gives most people. He nods repeatedly. “This’ll allow you to text Farrow without fear of a public hack.”
Sudden mention of my boyfriend/bodyguard heavies the air. “Yeah. It’s an added benefit.” I start to unconsciously smile when I imagine us texting like we’re together, for real.
I’ve never had that before.
Connor reads my features. “You like him.”
“I love him,” I correct.
Ryke scratches his unshaven jaw.
“Say it,” I tell him.
“Look, we hired these fucking bodyguards. All of our kids trust them. You lower your guard around them, and it feels fucking wrong for security to take advantage of your vulnerability—”
“I’m an adult,” I remind him for the millionth time. “It was my choice, and it wasn’t fucking easy for me.” I can’t lie to my uncle and say that trust wasn’t a factor. Inherently, I need to trust someone before I can be completely myself with them, and I trusted Farrow. But I also knew him before he was a bodyguard.
Ryke digests this. Silent.
“If you’re worried about your daughters or the little kids with security,” I say, “you don’t have to be. The team is professional, and all they want is to keep everyone safe. You all know that.”
“I do,” Connor says like Uncle Ryke is being dumb.
Ryke rolls his eyes.
My dad watches me, but he stays quiet. I can’t tell where his head is at regarding Farrow, and maybe he’s not even sure.
I feel the need to defend my relationship. “I know you want me to be in an uncomplicated relationship,” I tell my dad. “Some guy or girl I met in a coffee shop or at some damn comic book convention, but that was never going to happen.”
My dad twists his wedding ring.
I solidify.
Then I try to straighten up, water lapping the ledge of the hot tub.
I follow his gaze that drifts down the ridge. Someone bundled in gray faux fur hikes towards the hut, and as my dad relaxes more and more, I know it can only be one person.
I climb out of the water. Cold bites every inch of exposed flesh. I shiver and quickly put on my pants, shirt, jacket—the works. I bet they know what I’m about to do. No one protests as I leave and run down the slope, snow past my calves.
I skid on a patch of ice but keep my balance. Wind slaps my face, and right as I round one corner, I startle the gangly, fur-clad figure.
“OhmyGod!” she shrieks, wide-eyed, and then catches her breath as she realizes it’s just me.
“Hey, Mom.” I lean down and wrap my arms around her bony shoulders, hugging her tight. “I’m sorry.”
“Nonono,” she says rapidly and pushes my chest.
I back up, lungs cemented in my throat.
Tears just stream down her round cheeks. “Why are you apologizing?” Her voice cracks.
I yelled at you. I hurt you. “Mom—”
“I had a whole I’m sorry speech planned.” Her chin quivers. “I wronged you.” She jabs a finger at my heart, but the longer I look into her glassy green eyes, the more fragile she seems—the more my resentment just depletes.
“I forgive you—”
“You can’t,” she cries but hurriedly wipes at her tears.
“I just did.” My chest is on fire again.
“Well, you shouldn’t.” She hiccups and then lowers her fur hood to shield her splotchy, reddened face from me. “Ihavetogo,” she mutters.
“Mom.” I catch her hand. “I love you, you know that.” With every word, I do more harm than good. I’m fighting for the right thing to say and do.
She rubs her face with her forearm. “I love you too…I’m so sorry. I’m doing this all wrong again.” She releases her grip, then treks further up the ridge and embraces my dad.
I turn my head.
Last night, the tour seemed like an okay idea—complicated, fucking risky—but in this moment, I love the whole concept.