Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #5)

by Krista Ritchie

As soon as he stops by my side, his bright face smothers every dark emotion inside of me. He has the biggest overpowering smile, three of his top teeth missing, and his eyes shine with some sort of pride. Of me. Jesus. My son is proud of me. I’m not sure what for, but it almost rocks me back. “This is my daddy.” Moffy motions to me with his thumb. “He’s got two jobs.” He holds up two fingers. “He owns Hale Co. and Halway Comics. The baby stuff is alright but the comics are soooo cool, and my mommy owns this café and comic book store where all the comics go. She’s awesome.” Lily is going to freak out when I tell her this. That just made today worth every goddamn thing.

This might be one of the few times I don’t seek out the last word. I don’t even want it. Moffy chats softly with a girl beside him. Still talking about my presentation, he points towards me and grins from ear-to-ear. I smile back. He’s the only one I ever needed to impress.

I had never looked back in that way before, but for the very first time, I did. I looked back, and I only looked back at her.

“You can hate me for two days, Maximoff, but I’ll love you for a thousand more.”

My relationship with Dais was never founded on words, so when dead-silence arrives over a call, it’s not tense or strained. It’s fucking peaceful. I’d rather share the quiet with Daisy than sit in silence alone.

Daisy laughs, wiping tears that fall. “I know people always remind Lo of this, and for Connor, it’s just known, but Ryke…” Daisy smiles into another heartfelt laugh. “You’re an amazing dad.” I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hit me like a thousand tons. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be like Jonathan Hale, and I broke the mold faster than my brother could. I had no good father figure, nothing to emulate, but I knew what I never wanted to fucking be. What I’d never do to my daughter. I’d be there every day, not just on Mondays. I’d love her more than I loved money. More than I loved my reputation. More than I loved myself. I’d dig for fucking happiness and hand it to Sulli.

My love for Lo overwhelms me in ways most would chastise. It’s too much. It’s too toxic. Stop it. He’s a part of me. He’s in my soul. It’s always been this way.

Outside, as snow flutters in the pitch-black Christmas Eve night, the paramedics open the ambulance doors and I’m wheeled towards safety. My hands on my knees, gritting my teeth. Rose shouts at Xander to stay inside my uterus. Connor coaches me to breathe. Ryke talks to an EMT. Daisy sets a reindeer-shaped sugar cookie on my belly. Thank you, Daisy. It’s what I really wanted. And Lo is right beside me, clutching my hand, telling me that this is real. That no matter what happens, he’ll be here. By the time the world catches up with me, I’m in the hospital, the clock strikes an hour past midnight. And a Christmas miracle cries softly in my arms.

“Every day that I grow older is a fucking blessing,” I say lowly, my voice hushed in this Jeep. Next to the sun of my life. “But every day that I grow older with you is priceless.” I watch her chest rise high. “I’ve been so fucking lucky.” Lucky to be with Daisy. Lucky to be alive. Lucky to hold my daughter. Lucky that we have two chances to have another baby when we could’ve easily had none.

“This must be that ‘can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff.’” She quotes It Takes Two often. “No,” I deadpan. “Just no?” “Fuck no.” Her lips pull upward. “Then what is this?” “It’s so much more than that.” She gasps. “It’s chocolate.” I drop her down my back and grab her ankle, stopping Dais before her head meets the floor. She’s safe and out of breath. When I pick her back up, when she’s upright in my arms, I fucking tell her, “It’s us at one-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour without brakes.” Daisy says as softly but more tearfully, “I really fucking love you.” “You going to be saying that after I run your fucking ass, Calloway?” “Oh yeah. I might even add another fuck.” “You really fucking fucking love me?” She smiles, the biggest one so far. “Fucking fucking fucking yes.”

I murmur just as softly, “And what sound is my heart making?” His words dive deep into me. “It beats—it beats.” He whispers against my lips, “It beats in equal time with mine.” He kisses me, raw and smooth sentiments cutting and flowing through us. We never leave for our closet, to the darkest, dimmest depths. We kiss in the open, with nothing but his hand as the sole barrier between our children and us. He breathes assuredness and self-belief, filling me completely. This is not our worst.

Luna giggles but never speaks, still acting like she’s invisible. My lips curve up. My kid is cute. Example A: she’s in a dinosaur bathrobe and penguin slippers. Example B: she’s my kid.

Luna wears a sparkly green headband with bulb antennas. Moffy called her a dinoalienguin this morning because of her wardrobe combination. My small smile stretches. That’s my little girl. Christ. I love her more than I love most things. More than I love most fucking people. Moffy, Luna, and Xander fill this deep place in my heart that only Lily could ever reach.

“Uh, no. I was fourteen.” I set the bottle back on the desk and meet Ryke’s gaze. We’re both thinking about it. Our children losing their virginity at fourteen. Ryke shakes his head at me. “Not fucking happening. That’s way too fucking young.” Garrison says, “You know you’re old when.” I must be ancient then. “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—hell, twenty-seven, I’d like my children to be celibate until…hmm, forever.” I wear another half-smile. I can’t think about Moffy losing his virginity in only six years. And I’ll bust a vein in my neck if I even contemplate Luna in bed with anyone other than a stuffed animal.

“Are you going to give me any hints?” I wonder. “Vada Lauren Abbey,” he tells me the name. “Vada for⁠—” “My Girl,” I finish. The lead character of that 90s film is named Vada. Garrison reblogs a lot of My Girl gifs and makes them for Willow, but both Lo and I first saw that movie when we were about eight or nine. It fits them better than all of my suggestions, even Hermione. “And Lauren, as in⁠—” “Me,” he finishes this time. My eyes well. “Lo.” “Yeah, I know.” He nods. “It’s a horrible middle name.” His sarcasm is so apparent, especially as his smile grows, overwhelmed by being a namesake. I wipe a fallen tear. “Is it spelled the same?” “She asked me if she should do the L-O-R-E-N version, and I told her to go traditional. I figure I have thirty-three years of bad karma stored up in that name. Best way to dodge it is by going L-A-U-R-E-N.”

Loren Hale in black boxer-briefs. Loren Hale with cheekbones that cut like ice. Loren Hale with a six-pack and muscular thighs. Why his thighs turn me on, my nefarious brain cannot compute. It just sees them and his biceps and those cheekbones and chants, closer, closer, closer.

Loren Hale used to be synonymous with the word selfish. Every time we’re in bed together, I’m reminded of his selflessness. He always puts my needs high above his, and every night I settle down in his arms, I feel lucky to have him.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say softly, our legs tangled together. His glare could murder a family of geese, but the familiar sight is more than comforting. “Then we’re two undeserving individuals because I sure as hell don’t deserve you, Lily Hale. You help me every day stay sane and sober. I couldn’t live this life alone.” His thumb skims my wet cheeks. “And you know what?” “What?” I whisper. “The world went and fucked itself because the two most undeserving people got more than they deserved.”

“Keller for a boy,” he breathes. “Kinney for a girl.” I smile wider into my tears. Julian Keller and Laura Kinney from X-Men comics. Hellion and X-23. His two favorite characters in all of Marvel. Characters that I love immensely out of his love for them.

I have a theory that, together, sisters can do extraordinary, miraculous things. People will underestimate us, undervalue us, maybe even forget us, but together, together—we succeed.

She never loses her edge, not even after labor. Rose is made of something stronger than the rest of us.

“We did all of it,” he clarifies. This room. This love. Our future. Our dynasty. His hand strokes my cheek. I hold on to that hand, and his fingers thread mine.

“Honestly, Loren.”

“You’re better than I was. I want you to know that.”

“You’re a better father,”

“A better husband.”

“A better...

“I’ve always loved you, son.”

“Will you remember?”

“Remember what?” “That I loved you.”

Most deal with drinking and every shit decision that hurt Lily. Even though we’re together now, every day that goes by I regret not being the man she needed. Not being able to help my best friend. Days and nights fogged by booze. Drinking.

There’s nowhere I’d rather be than in the woods, on a mountain, with Daisy Meadows. With Sullivan Meadows. With Winona Meadows. With my fucking girls. My family.

I love Lily more than I love myself right now.

I remind myself that she’s connected to me. My wife. My best friend. My first and only love. My soul mate. If I hurt, she hurts.

I’m fragmented, and when I pull her in my arms, when I tuck her to my chest, when she holds on so tight, when her warmth blankets me—I’m whole. Like this is where I belong.

Cravings don’t magically end with her embrace, but she reinforces my defenses, my belief in myself. It’s not really a girl who fixes me. It’s an army of people who I love and who love me. It’s a phone call to my brother. It’s Connor’s reminder that I’m doing my best. It’s Lily being the other half of my heart. I stare down at my best friend. Her eyes carry the same pain as mine. We share our feelings like we share everything else. I fight this agony.

“Luna, I need you to know something.” She raises her big eyes to mine, and for the first time, she cries. Tears slide down her soft cheeks, and I brush them with my thumb. “I love you,” I tell her strongly. “Your mom loves you. Your brothers and sister love you. Your aunts, uncles, and cousins all love you.” I cup her cheeks. “You’re so goddamn loved.”

“Luna Hale,” I reply. “Let me tell you the secret of the universe.” She rubs her eyes with her fist, but the tears just keep flowing. “The entire universe?” “The entire universe,” I affirm. “Your worth isn’t dictated by the number of friends you have. You can have zero friends and still be the most amazing, spectacular person in the whole galaxy. You want to know why?” “Why?” Her voice is meek, but the waterworks have ended. “Because the love friends give you isn’t even comparable to the love you give yourself. Do you love who you are, Luna Hale?” She nods vigorously. “Yes.” “Then you’re the queen of your own galaxy.” I stand up, and she grabs onto my hand as we walk ahead.

“So what if you are?” Ryke says. “Weirdos are fucking cool.” “Really?” she asks, frowning. She doesn’t chide him for cursing since all our kids know that Uncle Ryke is allowed to say bad words. “Yeah, really.” He messes her hair and then fits her Wampa cap on her head. It must’ve been in her backpack. “And to add to what your dad told you. Friends come and fucking go. Family is forever.”

We speak of moving mountains, but sometimes people can completely rotate the world, just so someone else can land upright on their feet.

Luna is laughing. “Why’d you go and do that?” She points at Tom’s forehead. Tom sticks his hands in his coat pockets. “Because if they’re gonna call you a weirdo, then that means we’re weirdos.” “Definitely,” Eliot agrees.

If you saw Lo now, you wouldn’t find a weight on his shoulders. You wouldn’t see burden or torment behind his amber eyes. He stares towards the lake like he’s met the pain he mentioned, but today and tomorrow, all he feels is free.

He only turns when Ryke emerges on the dirt path, carrying a huge tree trunk. About eight-feet long. “What the hell are you doing?” Lo shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you stumble into a time warp and come out as a lumberjack? Bring back my brother.” He teasingly shoves Ryke’s shoulder. Ryke almost smiles and sets the tree trunk on the ground. Bark flakes off. “Look at the size of that log.” I wag my brows at my husband. “What is it, eight, nine, ten-inches?” I zero in on his crotch. Ryke raises his brows at me. “Hey, Calloway?” “Yeah?” “Wrong log.” I feel my smile pull my scar. “But it’s my favorite.”

My heels click-clack against the floorboards, and I yank the sliding door out of Loren’s grasp and shut it. His sharpened glare battles my piercing one, and I flick the lock before he can claim victory. He flashes a half-smile, and his next words are muffled through the glass, “Harm my little ‘puff, and see what’s up, Angelica.” “I’d sooner rip out your heart than I would yank a hair off my sister’s head.” Then I spin around and enter the circle.

Without background noise—the tabloids, cameramen, and our jobs—we’re left strong together, with simple moments that drum ferociously through us all.

This is a girl I never thought I’d be with—not like this. Not nine-inches deep between her legs. Not warm metal on my ring finger. Not two little girls with our features. I thought for sure I’d be alone.

Lily thinks that every day our oldest son looks more and more like me. But there’s no malice in his sharp jawline. There’s no spite in his daggered gaze. He has my features but his soul is clean.

“Biologically, metaphorically, spiritually—any which way you turn it,” I tell him, my voice clear and proud and full of never-ending love, “you’re mine.”

His chest collapses. “How could you let me dress like him?” I’m confused. “What?” My voice is sharp. “As a kid, I always dressed like Uncle Ryke. Right in front of you…I did that to you…” “No, bud.” I shake my head heatedly. “You didn’t hurt me. I love my brother. I love that you admire your uncle. For Christ’s sake, I admire him. He’s a goddamn superhero.” “You’re a goddamn superhero,” Moffy says strongly.

“My brother saved my life. I wouldn’t be sober if it weren’t for him. I might not even be here. Your mom might not be here. We wouldn’t have had you. He helped me become a better person.”