I brighten with my features. “Thanks, Lo. That means a lot.”
“Hold onto it because I only give one compliment a year and you just hit your limit.”
I act like I grab the compliment out of the air and pocket it in my bra. I pat my chest. “Safe keeping.” I’d literally do this with only Lo or Ryke—Ryke because he understands my humor the best. Lo because of his what the hell reactions.
He grimaces. “Now I have to bleach my brain when I get home.”
I wince. “Sounds painful.”
“Not as painful as other things…” His gaze and voice drifts towards the lake. Ryke said that November had been the worst month for his little brother, but he persevered.
Jonathan Hale left his house specifically to Lo. He was the one who grew up in those four walls, who had memories in each room. Ryke said that Lo wanted to part ways with the home—that it was a past he could revisit but ultimately one he knew he had to leave behind.
In March, Lo found the strength to walk through his father’s house.
In April, he sold it.
The rest of Jonathan’s other assets were split between his three children, per his request.
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, caring 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.”
Lo scrunches his nose, his head swinging between Ryke and me. “I’m still in earshot, raisins. Wait until I’ve left before this begins.” Then he points to the log. “Seriously, bro, what the fuck?”
“It was rotting,” Ryke says. “I didn’t want it to fucking fall on anyone.” Lo can act like his brother is crazy, but when it comes to safety of little kids, he can be even more cautious.
“My brother,” Lo declares and then tilts his head to me. “You’ve married this person, you realize that?”
I look to Ryke while he looks to me. His darkened features conceal a million dangerous adventures. Ones that we’ve taken together. Where we’re anything but alone. His lips begin to lift higher and higher. I pick up our wiggly two-year-old in my arms, and his smile touches his eyes.
You’ve married this person, you realize that?
It’s a familiar question from Lo but with a new twist. Usually he asks Ryke if he realized who he married. I grin right at Lo because he knows me and loves me for reasons beyond bringing his brother happiness. He loves me for me.
“What?” Lo asks me like I’m the strangest person in the world. I just grin more, and he throws up his hands. “You know what, don’t tell me. You’re probably grinning because the sun is in the sky.” He nods to his older brother. “You know who you married, right?”
Never leaving me, Ryke says, “That I fucking do.”
[ 49 ]
July 2026
The Lake House
Smoky Mountains
ROSE COBALT
“I declare this a sworn pact between Calloway sisters and our honorary sister, Willow Hale.” I raise a sharp knife, and my three sisters and Willow exchange wary glances. We’ve gathered in the kitchen, a baby monitor close by and our youngest four girls in a living room playpen together.
Our husbands and the rest of the children play outside since yesterday’s rainstorm confined everyone indoors. We’ll join them in a second, but first, we have to finish this pact. Last night, we all collectively shared a similar mode of feeling, and it only seems right to solidify this promise together.
Poppy’s maroon bohemian dress flows to her ankles and hides her bathing suit. We’re all in cover-ups, mine sheer and black. I already set my floppy hat aside. Now we stand in a circle between the kitchen counters.
Lily raises her hand. “Can’t we just spit on it?”
I glare. “There’s a reason why it’s called a blood oath and not a spit oath.”
“I’m game.” Daisy smiles wide, her blonde hair tangled and still wet after jumping in the lake. Water collects at her bare feet. My littlest sister turned thirty in February, but Lily still looks five years younger.
Willow pushes up her glasses. “Is this safe?”
“Probably not.” Poppy never raises her voice, not even when combatting me.
I give my oldest sister a cold look. “It’s sterile. I have matches, and we’ll clean the blade after someone uses it.” They hesitate, so I add, “Calloway sisters don’t welch.” Coconut barks in the background, pawing at the sliding glass door to come in.
We all turn our heads. Outside, Ryke scratches Coconut affectionately by her ears and then whistles for her to move further onto the deck. Then he notices us through the glass. His what the fuck expression drifts away with him.
“We’ve welched plenty of times on your blood oaths,” Lily notes, but that fact crinkles her brows like maybe they’ve been terrible sisters. Maybe in all the years I asked, they should at least give into this one moment to solidify something between us through blade and blood. “Okay…I’ll do it.”
Willow nods, bravery in her eyes. “Me too.”
“Why not?” Poppy smiles and looks to me. I press my lips together to keep from grinning eagerly. Bells are ringing. Confetti is falling. All the annoying sentimental things that I usually can’t stand—even birds with their brutally irritating chirps—I hear them and I only think, I love my sisters.
“I’ll go first.” Without flinching, I knick both of my palms with the kitchen knife, sliced deep enough that blood shows in the cut.
I clean off the knife, sterilize, then pass it to Daisy.
She’s been rocking excitedly on her feet, and she raises the knife in the air. “Rejoice!” Then she cuts her palms without trouble. Poppy goes next, and when it’s Willow’s turn, she winces a little. Daisy cheers her on until she finishes.
Last is Lily.
I clean off the knife. “You’ve given birth. You can survive a cut.”
Lily places her hand on her heart. “I’m not a warrior. I’m the village person who hides in their hut and waits for help.” I don’t think she always believes this. Maybe just in the face of these daring tasks opposite people like Daisy and me, she forgets all that she’s ever done.
My hands hover over her shoulders. “Lily. You’re a fucking warrior. You slay enemies left and right. You stomp on critics and you’ve risen from ash.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Say it.”
I’m much taller than her in heels, so she has to look up. “I’m a warrior?”
Dear God. “Say it like it’s true.”
“I’m a fucking warrior.” She nods slowly. “Yeah…” She nods faster.
“Yeah!” Daisy raises her fist in the air.
“Yeah!” Lily shouts like she gets it. “I’m a fucking warrior. Take that. Ha!” She tries to do a side-kick, but she whacks a cabinet. “Ow.”
Daisy laughs and gives her a thumbs-up.
“Hold out your hands,” I tell Lily.
She focuses and splays out her palms for me. I knick her skin less than I did mine, but enough that blood appears. She keeps her eyes tightened closed the entire time.
“Done.” I set the knife aside.
Lily opens one eye and relaxes at the sight of a small cut.
“What are you crazies doing?” Lo has cracked the sliding glas
s door, and our husbands are gathered on the porch, acting like they’re not watching and just grilling hamburgers and hot dogs for lunch.
They’re painfully obvious.
“Go away, Loren!” I call.
Lo waits for one of my sisters to explain, but no one is betraying this circle of sisterly secrecy and trust. “Don’t let her sacrifice you for a year’s worth of heels!”
That’s it.
I break ranks to shut up the naysayer.
“Go, Rose!” Daisy starts clapping.
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.