It’s hard for me.
My finger itches to press “reply” but I move on to the subsequent notification.
@liloloverallday: Do you even love Connor Cobalt? You never act like you do. He deserves someone who wants to kiss him. @RoseCCobalt.
God. This must be in reply to when I turned out of his kiss at the mall. No one heard him quote Plato with the smuggest grin I’ve ever seen. That didn’t deserve a kiss, a hug or a handshake, and he knew it.
@rachelle4beauty: @RoseCCobalt you’re such a slut! First the pornos and now public oral. Seriously?
Yes seriously.
@camibrat8: @RoseCCobalt is not a fucking role model for women. I’m so sick of people calling her that. She’s dumb and a disgusting piece of trash.
I try not to ingest any of these words. With a stiff spine, I look at the next tweet.
@_GoodWitchh: eww @RoseCCobalt
I nearly smile at the irony of a “good witch” saying ew to me.
My phone vibrates in my palm. Everything okay? – Connor
I raise my head. He’s still in a deep conversation with Lo and Ryke halfway across the room, but he takes the time to type a message to me.
People aren’t amused by our Thanksgiving activity. I press send and watch him read the text calmly before typing back. When his fingers stop moving, my cell buzzes.
In case you’ve forgotten, three-quarters of what people say about us are incorrect, exaggerated or fallible. – Connor
He’s right. Though I won’t reply with that. I have a perfect memory. I forget nothing.
Then you remember when you were fourteen… – Connor
My smile fades, and I notice his lips beginning to curve upward in triumph. “Don’t you say it,” I mutter under my breath.
“Are you texting Connor right now?” Lily asks, her head swinging between us.
I can’t answer. The next text pops up.
…and Faust beat Dalton at Model UN and I went in for a handshake, so you could congratulate me after I defeated you. And you actually did it. – Connor
“They’re totally texting,” Daisy says with a laugh.
I raise my hand at her while I type: I also remember trying to squeeze your hand hard enough so your fingers would break. I press send. “This is important—” My phone buzzes.
I remember you not succeeding. – Connor
I scoff, open-mouthed. I’m going to kill him. In the kindest way. I tighten my lips, my fingers flying over the keys. I remember you not getting laid tonight. I win. When I look up at Connor, he’s still grinning, like he’s very, very far from losing what he wants.
Dammit.
When I was fourteen, I thought for sure I would beat him at Model UN, but I wasn’t nearly as smart back then. Our rivalry pushed me to work harder. And when I was seventeen, Dalton almost won in a tiebreaker, but partly, I think he was thrown that year.
I caught him coming out of the bathroom with another guy—their body language said more than Connor wanted it to. I don’t think he intended for me to see the hidden parts of his life. But a veil opened that day. He said five words to me. Just five.
I don’t look at genders.
And after he took in my reaction—a nod and softened eyes—he walked away. I never once asked for more. I understood that he looked at the world in a different way, stripping the complexities and absurdities of society into bare simplicities. To be attracted to someone not because they’re male or female but because you feel a connection, in some way, you feel something more.
It made me realize how much there was left to see in Connor, of the truths I’d yet to discover. And I wanted another piece of him, another real piece.
There was a reason why he hid. What I really learned that day was that the world might not have been ready to accept Connor, and that’s a bigger shame than anything.
But I have every real part of him. Every part I love. Even if the world may not understand him, I do.
I see a new text drop down.
You can’t remember something that hasn’t happened yet. – Connor
Translation: I win. You lose, Rose.
The towering rock wall in an array of nauseating primary colors has already sealed my fate long before Connor Cobalt did. I know my weaknesses, and anything that requires the removal of high heels sits at the very top of the list.
8
CONNOR COBALT
When I pocket my cell, Lo brings his phone to his ear. He places his hand on his head in distress. “What do you mean they backed out?”
I lean my shoulder against the rock wall while Ryke abandons his task of untangling two harnesses, both of us concentrating on his brother.
“We always run commercials on GBA,” Lo refutes. “Daniel said the network has the highest percentage of female viewers. We’re not putting baby shampoo promos on FOX or ESPN.” Lo rubs his eyes and meets Ryke’s gaze first.
Ryke mouths, hang up.
Lo shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says softly to him.
Their relationship is better than it ever has been. I can see it as well as everyone else. Lo spends more time with Ryke, and his comments towards his brother are never spiteful or biting like they once were.
It took years for two estranged brothers to finally reach common ground, and if I were more empathetic, I think I’d be moved.
Lo groans. “This shouldn’t have happened!”
Ryke grinds his teeth, probably thinking that his brother isn’t fine, but he’s doing well considering the nature of his job. I’m the head of a multi-billion-dollar corporation too. For me, it’s relatively easy. Sometimes moderately taxing, but rarely hard. For a normal person, it’d be stressful, difficult. For a recovering alcoholic, it might push them over.
Lo paces in front of me, wearing black track pants and a gray V-neck. His hair is in style, but when I first met him in college the shorter side-cut, longer strands on the top, wasn’t popular. He probably deserves credit for its ascent to the masses.
I scan him, his sharpened features and deadly gaze.
He’s someone I’d never entertain or associate myself with in college unless he was of use to me. I never really needed him though. I had no reason to use him. Still, my seventeen-year-old self would’ve said: Good, you found the rich bastard with connections. You needed him. You used him. Now let him go.
My twenty-six-year-old self is more aware of what certain people mean to me—beyond endgames and goals and profits. My life is dull without Loren Hale. If I let him go, I’ll be searching for someone like him—sharp-tongued, trusting, sensitive and cynical—and I’ll realize that Lo exists alone, as a unique individual without a duplicate. I enjoy the darkest parts of him as much as I do the lightest ones, and I won’t leave him just to find someone with a better use.
If that hurts me in the end, then I’ll deal with the consequences. His friendship is worth it to me.
Lo puts a hand to his forehead. “How many fuck-ups are going to happen in three hours? …That was rhetorical. Put Mark on the goddamn phone.”
Ryke scratches his unshaven jaw, trying to stay rooted to the ground. His natural reaction would be to disrupt Lo, giving his brother slack from this job. He’s trying a new tactic: being supportive, not treating Lo like a fragile, breakable human being.
It’s empowered his brother more than Ryke may realize.
At the end of the day, Ryke can be cautious but he can’t make Lo feel inferior. It’s easy for Lo to look at Ryke and wonder if his older brother would excel in the same position that he’d flounder in. But he’s not floundering yet.