I want to hurt him so badly. He makes it way too easy to do so. That’s the problem.
Lo saunters over to my neatly arranged bookshelf. “Let’s see, Rose…” He grabs a hardback and carelessly flips through it before shaking the book by the spine. My chest caves. “How does this feel?”
Horrible.
And then he opens my manila design folders and rattles them until all the papers flutter to the floor. “Stop it!” I shout, trying to collect them, every misplaced item like a knife in my side. My anxiety pitches.
“This doesn’t bother you, right?” he says. “Nothing’s fucking wrong with Rose Calloway? I’m the idiot. I’m the fucking moron in your world who’s so stupid and selfish that he would drink again and again.”
“No…” I say, but my head spins so much as I rearrange the papers. My hands tremble as I reach for my sketches in charcoal, some in color.
More than a couple I drew when I was only a teenager.
He spilt part of my childhood on the floor and scrambled the years.
CHAPTER 35
CONNOR COBALT
Rose is close to manic.
Her eyes dance wildly over the papers in distress. The last time I’ve seen her like this, she was pacing her room, crying, shouting things that made no goddamn sense. It was after her best friend betrayed her—helping Lily cheat in Princeton behind her back and blaming it on me.
But this is so fucking different.
Because it’s Loren Hale. No matter if he curses us both to hell, I can practically taste his pain that throttles his body. He says cruel things in hopes that we’ll say them back and hit him.
It’s that simple.
And neither Ryke nor Rose has to consult with me to learn this. We all understand him by now.
So no matter how much I want to throw Lo against the fucking wall for putting Rose in a state of distress, I can’t touch him. I can’t curse him to hell. I can’t punch him in the fucking face. It’s like abusing a kid that’s been shit on his whole life. I’m not going to add to those bruises.
I just need to concentrate on my girlfriend who breathes sporadically, tiny sharp gasps leaving her lips. I bend down behind her and whisper a line of French in her ear to gauge her response. She hardly pays attention, shuffling hurriedly through papers, accidentally smudging the charcoal on one. And her blackened fingerprints stain another.
She pauses in a horrific daze, and for a split second, my whole world tilts.
I make an impulse decision. I grab her around the waist from behind and lift her from the papers, most fluttering from her hands.
“No!” she screams, kicking out to try to reach them.
“Stop,” I force in her ear.
She screams again, a high-pitched wail that rips out my heart.
I only want to calm her. I grip her wrists in front of her body, about to whisper to her again, but Lo interjects.
“It took you twenty-three goddamn years to finally lose your virginity.” He pulls at another loose thread, this time, hitting me full force. “And you lost it to a guy that’s just fucking you for your last name.”
“LOREN!” I shout. My face pumps with an unbridled, irritated, hell-bent rage. I don’t think Lo has ever seen me this upset. I want to kick him as badly as he wants to be kicked. I would never go after Lily the way he’s going after Rose. She may be strong, but she has her moments of fucking fragility. And he’s purposefully breaking her.
His face immediately falls, blanketing with an intense guilt. His mouth opens, and I worry that an apology won’t be on the other end. I can’t have him tearing at my girlfriend anymore today. She can’t handle it.
I cut in, “Don’t.” The word is controlled and powerful enough to quiet the room. “Give me a minute.” I pick up Rose around the waist while she breathes heavily, no longer fighting me.
I glance back at Lo. He stares at the ceiling, his legs a little loose like they’re going to give out on him. Ryke tries to talk to his brother, but Lo just shakes his head and stares out the window. I look for Lily, but she stays seated on the edge of the bed, rooted there with a faraway gaze.
I set Rose by a vanity in our room, placing her on the bench.
“Darling,” I say, wiping her hot, stray tears. I hold her face between my hands while I bend in front of her, eye level.
She raises a shaking hand to my face, as though to say, give me a minute.
I take her hand and tenderly kiss each one of her fingers. Her eyes finally focus on me, and they soften considerably before she grips the sleeve of my shirt. I slide on the bench next to her, and she tries to hide behind my body so no one sees her splotchy face.
“It’s already past,” I tell her in a breathless whisper, my thumb skimming the black mascara beneath her eyes.
She once told me that as a child, she would lock herself in her closet after she fought with her mother. The arguments revolved around many things. Like her schedule for the day, being forced on a date with a boy she found repulsive, being made into a person she didn’t want to be.
She’d grab an old fur coat and scream, muffling the noises in the clothes. She made sure to have her mental breakdowns in private. Even in her madness, there’s still a level of control.
She takes a deep, trained breath, blowing out of her lips like she’s meditating. And then she grazes my features and says, “Thank you.”
My heart beats rapidly and I fight the urge to pull her away from everyone, this situation and the worries. To lock ourselves alone and find solace in silence. She frightened me tonight. I realize how easily this could have escalated. How it could have gone another way. What if it had? What if she writhed in my arms until her screams punctured the sky? What if I lost her to emotions so deep they’d swallow her whole?
I want to protect her. From everything, even herself.
Her breathing steadies, and I place a hand on her cheek and my lips linger on hers. She responds by shifting her body towards me, and my tongue encourages her lips to part. I grip the back of her head, pulling her closer.
We kiss desperately, and I draw her so near that she sits halfway on my lap.
She breaks away abruptly, her breath heavy, but at least she’s breathing this time. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes for making a scene, for being a handful, for having a moment of pure panic. “I’m—”
“Human,” I finish for her. I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re human, Rose. We all are.”
I glance at the rest of the room. At Ryke, Lo and Lily who waver in uncomfortable silence. We have things we need to get to, but I’m not moving until she’s ready.
She holds my arm in a half-tight, half-frightened grip and nods to me.
“Let’s finish this then,” I say, rising with her, right by my side.
Where I always want her to be.
CHAPTER 36
ROSE CALLOWAY