Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #5)

by Krista Ritchie

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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.”

“You know what—I might be a superhero, but there is no question, Ryke Meadows is one too. And he’s standing right by my side, heaven and hell.”

“She’s still your mom. She loves you like you’re a part of her goddamn soul. Nothing has changed. It’s just something that she deals with like I deal with alcohol.”

“If I see you at the deep-end and you’re under the water for longer than ten seconds, Uncle Ryke is going to jump in, save you and give you CPR. Not the cute little lifeguard, so think about that before you start recreating a scene from The Sandlot.” Eliot drums his lips in thought. “At what age would Tom be allowed to do it?” “When I’m dead and buried.” Lo pulls his sunglasses down. “And if you start plotting my death, remember I have friends in hell.” Eliot and Tom smile. They’ve always liked Lo.

And Kinney—she’s the only one who really opens her eyes. She looks up at Lo, and he kisses each of her chubby cheeks. I’ve never seen my little brother love anything more than he loves his children and his wife.

Off my stunned silence, Moffy says, “I know I’ve been…distant but…” His gaze drops to the paperback. “My dad said that I can love you and him at the same time, and I want you to know…that I do.” I rub my eyes, tears just sliding. Moffy wipes his with his forearm. “And…thanks.” “For what?” His tears fill to the brim. “For taking care of my dad.”

I have everything I’ve desired. I have him. I have them. This dining room breathes life the way that I only imagined.

“I’ve always loved winning, but I would lengthen the time it takes us to reach the end, just to spend one more second with you.”

There are many truths in life, but as I stand opposite Rose across a table with our many beautiful children, I wield one that I condemned for years on end. I’m in love. With so much more than just myself. This truth will never fracture.

We all laugh together, and mine transforms into an overwhelmed smile. I look to Ryke, but I can’t do anything but nod at him—you know those moments where you’re just so full you can barely breathe? So full of feelings you only hope to meet. They crash against me like freefalling. Like cliff diving and bungee jumping. Like screaming at the top of my lungs. Like one hundred and fifty miles per hour. All with Ryke Meadows.

And I kiss the most beautiful fucking thing on this Earth. Her smile pulls one from me, from the dark, lonely crevices.

Luna Hale might not have any friends outside of relatives, but she has more confidence at eight years old than I did when I was twenty. Never ashamed. My daughter is never ashamed.

How’d he get his bike over there? “Okay…” I trail off, my gaze drifting to the doorway where Loren Hale stands. I’m instantly distracted by him. Cheekbones that cut like ice. Eyes like liquid scotch. He’s much more than an alcoholic beverage, and he knows it. Lo flashes his iconic half-smile, and he says, “Never trust a bunch of Hufflepuffs to do a Slytherin’s job.”

“These years have been epic, and not because it was easy—because it wasn’t always—but because you and me, we flew.”

I always turn to him like he turns to me, and we’re not enablers. No one says that we shouldn’t be together. No one tells us to split apart. Our souls are still wound together, still wound tight.

“You know what I tell your brother?” I take a deep breath, remembering the conversations I’ve had with Ryke. “I tell him, ‘Lo’s ice in the winter now. He won’t melt.’” His eyes redden, welling, and he says, “Thanks to you.”

“Lil,” he whispers, wiping my face with his shirt. “Why are you crying?” “Because I don’t have anything for you.” He laughs at me. “It’s not funny,” I cry but that morphs into a tearful laugh that rattles my heart. Lo kisses my cheek, smiling, and he whispers, “You’ve already given me everything, love.”

I laugh and cry simultaneously again. As we watch our kids, joy coating their faces, childlike wonder in their eyes, I remember every moment I spent with Lo where we said we can’t. Where we said we shouldn’t. Not people like us. This isn’t meant for us. I realize something. So I tell him. “I think we finally deserve this.” Tears spill out of his eyes, and he says, “I believe it, too.”

I know in this world there will never be another Connor Cobalt. I want to say that he keeps me smart, but he’s done so much more than that. He loved me at my lowest—when I thought no one else but Lily could love someone spiteful like me. He always saw beyond my addiction, beyond the angst and the hate—I never had to explain. He just knew me. I needed that kind of friendship, and I think he knew that too.

She snorts into a short laugh. “One day I have a soul. The next day I don’t. Make up your mind, Loren.” You have a soul. I think it instantly. Without question. Without doubt. Rose has possibly one of the best hearts in this house. In her lifetime, she’s done incredible things for people. Not just for her sisters, but people. Hale Co. has more female executives than it ever did, and she did that.

My humor fades, and I float through decades. As kids, as teenagers, as adults. Staying up late reading comics, sneaking to parties—all the plans we never made in college. All the lies we told. I touch these memories. I can go as far back as I want, to the gravest depths. The past can’t drag me under. I relive the better parts that are intertwined with bad. Because I look back and think, Christ, we were so goddamn fragile. Look how far we’ve come. Look at us now.

I’m proud of Daisy. For never listening to me. Or her mom. Or her dad. I’m goddamn proud of Daisy for becoming the woman that she wanted to be.

Daisy sits between Ryke’s legs, back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her frame. Their eyes touch the horizon. I take a seat on the grass only a few feet from Ryke, and Lily plops next to me. I hold her as she holds me, her cheek resting against my shoulder. My eyes fix ahead, and I try to see what my brother sees in the sky. Orange colors that melt into blue. My gaze breaks when Connor walks outside, hands in his pockets until Rose reaches him. Side-by-side. He laces his fingers with hers, and their heads turn. So does mine. To look back ahead. Just as the sun rises. With the six of us on this hill and the packed lake house behind us—I feel sentiments far beyond this sunrise, this morning, this moment. We filled an empty house.