Page 83 of A Very Addicted Christmas

Tom Cobalt - 21

Audrey Cobalt - 15

ROSE CALLOWAY

I CANNOT BELIEVE I slept through the back door's camera notification. Those digital windchimes can go to hell. What’s the point of keeping my phone on at night, if it can’t even break my sleep cycle?

It’s plaguing me during my morning routine in the cramped lake house bathroom. We’re not in the main suite this holiday. Daisy and I agreed to let Loren and Lily have the largest accommodations. To which Loren said, “Wow, thanks for the pity offer. I’m touched.”

“This is purely for my sister,” I snapped back, “who’s still in physical therapy and on crutches. So don’t worry, I have no pity for you.”

“Good,” he said.

“Great.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder.

We glared at each other, but there was a small understanding that I’mnotcoddling Loren. He’s more upset when I try, and after the assault and kidnapping (don’t even get me started—murderseems too pleasant for those disgusting, vile pigs)I’m doing my best to remind myself he’s not fragile. That I need to come at him with a fucking sword and not a butter knife—but I just hope he’s not looking to be cut.

I played rock-paper-scissors with Daisy for the next best room, and I pride myself on having a great win-to-loss ratio for that particular game. I’m even better than Connor, but Daisy went away from her usual strategy of always choosing rock.

And I lost.

This room is only good for the views of the lake. The shower is tiny, and we need to replace the outdated vanity lights. We plan to hire a contractor to do some small repairs and renovations before the summer. It’s always better to have ithappen at once so a million people aren’t learning the location of the house.

This is our one solitude from paparazzi, and that’sneverchanging. I will personally stab the person who breaks their NDA and ruins this for me and my family.

I finish combing my hair and place the brush in a bathroom drawer. “You didn’t hear the phone notification either?” I ask my husband beside me.

Connor brushes his teeth without a care in the world, which simultaneously aggravates every bone in my body and attempts to douse my simmering hostility.

He angles closer to me, just to spit in the only sink. “No one did,” he says like he can’t be held accountable for his mortal hearing.

“You’re coming to that conclusion on what grounds?” I cross my arms, and my silk black robe tightens against my body.

Connor’s eyes flit to my hips, then ascend slowly up to my eyes. The brief once-over is as commonplace as spring pollen, and yet, it still heats my skin.

He arches a brow. “From experience, darling. If someone heard it and saw the video, they would’ve called us.”

“Wrong,” I tell him. “There are a handful that would’ve simply brushed it off as our son’s nature to be traipsing outside in the middle of the night like a mischievoussprite.” I hear the iciness of my voice.

Connor leans against the bathroom counter, providing me with his full attention. “Are you more concerned about sleeping through the notification or about what our son was up to last night?”

I scowl. “I can multi-task, Richard. I hold it in my heart to be concerned aboutboth. Seeing as how you’re concerned about neither.” I hate my words as soon as they breech the air, but I can’t take them back.

Strain protrudes my collarbone, and a knot forms in my ribs. The first thing Connor did when he saw the video was jump out of bed and check on our son.

Eliot Alice Cobalt. He might be twenty-one now, but he’s still the son who will crash a car, walk away like it’d been intended—like it’s all part of somemasterplan, and then he’ll sleep in misery. Broken bones, bruised soul—he's the son who won’t tell me when he’s truly hurt. He’ll laugh like pain can’t touch him. It’s just an adversary he’s made friends with.

And while admirable, as his mom I want to know when he’s suffering. I want to take away his pain, however I can.

So Connor needed to have eyes on Eliot. To ensure he wasbreathingand not hypothermic. He did that without me prompting. He came back and assured Eliot was okay and sound asleep.

Of course Connor cares about our children.

But maybe I caretoomuch.

Maybe my care has ballooned enough for the both of us and is absorbing the very air we’re breathing. Is that why I feel so undone?

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, “You care. I don’t know why I said that.”

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