I let her see my irritation and then spank her again. “My name isn’t Sadie.”
“I’m serious, Richard.” She catches her breath. “I want to bring her home.” She cuts me off before I can add we’ve been through this. “The last time I saw her at Frederick’s, she lazily and pathetically collapsed at my feet. She’s old.” I open my mouth but she says passionately, “I’ll clip her nails every single morning, and I’ll teach Jane not to provoke the cat or pull on her tail.”
“If it was just about Jane’s wrongdoing, we would’ve never sent the cat away. It’s more than that, Rose.” It’s about Sadie being unpredictable and hostile.
“She’s old, Connor.” She used my middle name, which means that this subject means more to her. “It’s not about Jane. It’s about keeping our family together, and Sadie is a part of our family.” Rose is loyal to a fault, but if she sees a change in Sadie, then it might be safer to bring her home.
I can convince myself that Sadie is fine without me, so I have no emotions towards leaving her behind, but Rose can’t.
Jane can’t.
I nod but then I shake my head. “I don’t like giving Jane something after we repeatedly told her no.” Our children are privileged, but I need them to understand their privilege. Spoiling them like this won’t help.
“We’ll remind her that Sadie isn’t hers. She’s her own being and not a toy or a reward.”
It’ll be difficult for Jane to understand the difference.
Rose glowers, her passion practically smoking off her skin. “Richard Connor Cobalt is afraid of a challenge.”
I push deeper, and her collarbones jut out with a staggered inhale. My jaw is tight in arousal. “And Rose Calloway Cobalt is trying to incite me.”
Rose jerks her hands in my hold, on the brink of another orgasm. I clutch her wrists tighter, my own climax on the horizon. Sweat beads across my chest, my abs glistening.
Her fervor stimulates me.
I come as soon as she climaxes. I carefully lean forward to kiss her lips, and I whisper, “Two weeks. We’ll bring Sadie home then.”
“One week,” she argues.
I sense a battle in our future. One with tiles and letters and points. “Scrabble. Best out of three wins,” I challenge.
Her shoulders rise with confidence. “I accept with the option of one addendum.”
She could remove certain vowels or set a category like “pastoral words”—anything is possible with an open-ended addition to the game. What will she do?
I’m entrapped.
I’m fixated.
“One addendum,” I agree to her terms.
And our love turns to rivalry.
*
I won the first round. She won the next two. Her addition to the game: only use words that specify historical sites or anatomy. The categories have zero relation to each other. On the board, we had hypothalamus connecting to Everest and then ventricle to Inukshuk.
It was as nonsensical as it was entertaining.
And I blame luck for my loss. I kept blindly grabbing tiles worth one point.
Now nearly 7:00 a.m., Rose has fallen back to sleep after we both showered. Not tired, I descend the cabin’s narrow staircase. Halfway down, the step creaks behind me.
I check over my shoulder.
Not surprised in the least.
Whenever we’re in the same house, Ryke and I tend to cross paths in the morning. Aspen or Philadelphia, this wouldn’t change.
Shirtless like me, hair astray (not like me) and jaw set hard, Ryke skips two steps at a time, barely making eye contact. Then he reaches my stair. No room to pass, he has to wait since I don’t hurdle the steps.
“Can you let me fucking by?” Ryke asks.
“The places you have to be can’t be more important than mine.” I’m not descending the stairs slowly or quickly. I’m somewhere in between.
“You could’ve just fucking said no.” His agitated voice is right next to my ear, and as soon as we reach the last stair, he tries to pass me.
We wedge together, stuck between the wall and the banister.
I push out in front, and he curses beneath his breath about me always needing to go fucking first. I’d respond, but it’s mostly true. The first floor is just one spacious room containing the living room, kitchen, pool table and windows to the snowy outdoors.
Lo is asleep on the leather sofa, crumpled tissues scattered around him. Without stopping, I head to the kitchen and hear Ryke trailing me.
I check over my shoulder. “And I didn’t even have to tell him to come.”
Ryke hardly flinches. “I’m not in the fucking mood, Cobalt.” Our paths diverge at the granite countertops. I go to the coffee pot. He goes to the refrigerator.
While I make coffee, I scrutinize him from a few feet away. It’d be a lie to say that I wasn’t slightly worried. I am. Just slightly. It’s not that he dismissed my banter. Ryke usually does. It’s the fact that he keeps sniffling and pretending I can’t see.
He yanks the fridge door open and pulls out a carton of orange juice. Then he twists off the cap…and he searches for a glass.
“I thought you preferred to avoid modern amenities.”
“Why can’t you just say a fucking glass?” He finds one and sets it on the counter.
“Because only you would say a fucking glass, and I’m not Ryke Meadows.” I press the start button on the coffee machine. While it brews, I lean against the counter and watch him carefully pour the orange juice in the glass while sniffling.
Ryke always chugs from the container, but he wouldn’t if he thought he’d get someone sick.
“You realize Vitamin C only helps prevent illness. It doesn’t cure it.”
“I’m not sick yet,” he growls beneath his breath. Then he quickly downs the entire glass in two gulps. He begins pouring a second glass, and his brown agitated eyes flit to me. “What?”
“You’re perspiring.”
“I’m not.” He wipes his arm across his damp forehead.
“Have you taken your temperature?”
Ryke swigs the second glass and then downs it. “Fuck off.” He caps the carton and puts his glass in the sink.
I ease away from the counter. “You don’t want to get your daughter sick, Ryke.” It’s why he’s so concerned about being sick in the first place, but he’s stubborn.
Ryke tenses and rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. “Alright.” He steps near, only an inch shorter. “I’m going to say this fucking once, and I swear, if you grin, I will punch you.”
“It sounds like a promise,” I say casually, “but I haven’t verified what promises from Ryke Meadows mean.”
“It means you’ll get fucking punched.”
“We’ll see.” I wait for his declaration.
Ryke combs two hands through his hair. “Just touch my forehead and tell me if I feel fucking hot.”
For his sake, I do my best to restrain my grin, and my best is the best. I’m blank-faced as I put the back of my hand to his clammy forehead. After a few seconds, I drop it. “You’re warm,” I confirm. “Warmer than Jane but not feverish like Daisy.”
“Fuck.” He sets his hands on his head and stares off.
“Just ask. I’ll say yes.” I’ll always say yes if he needs me.
Ryke drifts to the sink, setting his hands on the edge as he thinks. I’m patient. I return to the coffee pot and take out a black mug from the cupboard.
“Can you look after Sullivan?” he finally asks, choking back more emotion than I thought he’d have. “Fuck.” He pinches his eyes.
My chest rises in a strong breath. His emotion affects me—and it’s not often that people do. “It’s not a failure on your part,” I tell him. “If Rose and I were contagious like you and Daisy, I’d ask you to look after my children.” I get more specific. “I’d ask you first.”
I see surprise in his eyes, and he turns more towards me. “Yeah?”
I nod. “You’re dependable, reliable.” I grin. “A classic Golden Retriever.”
He shakes his head. “You’re so fucking…”
“Accurate, I know.”
I expect him to flip me off, but he just messes up his hair again and then nods to me. “I saw Twitter this morning. Is that accurate?”