Kiss the Sky (Addicted #3)(125)

I clap my hands together to alleviate the leftover strain in the room. “Everyone, go pack. We’re leaving, you heard Dad.”

I picture my gated house with the black shutters, large kitchen, and most importantly—private bathrooms. Dear God, I’m already salivating over a nice hot shower alone with no threat of cameras.

I glance at Connor, who collects my hair off my neck. Maybe he can join me too.

Daisy shifts on her feet. “I guess I’m going back to Mom’s.”

My stomach falls again. She’s seventeen. There’s nothing I can do about that, as much as I want to. And then my eyes drift to Ryke, the other one who will be left in Philly. It’s weird. We’ve been together in the same house for so long that breaking our routine feels odd. Like a puzzle piece out of place.

We’ve become something of a family.

A dysfunctional, f*cked up family. It’s hard to let that go.

But things are changing again. The reality show helped Calloway Couture, and in one moment, this sex tape could topple all I’ve sacrificed.

I’ll have to confront the public at some point, and it’ll have to be more than just waving a glass of whiskey at the television.

I could be hated and condemned like my sister.

I hear the criticism already. And I don’t wilt by it. I’m just angry.

So bring it on, motherf*ckers. Try to hurt me. Because I won’t let you.

You’ve won the right to see my body, but you’re not taking my pride.

It’s too excessive to destroy anyway.





[ 49 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY



The townhouse is empty except for my heavy cedar table in the living room. I set my small duffel bag on the kitchen counter as Connor descends the stairs.

“All the rooms are checked,” he tells me. “Nothing’s left behind.”

“Except my dignity.”

His eyes deepen in concern, the same look he’s given me the entire time we’ve been packing. I’ve shut down any conversation revolving around Scott and the sex tape. But now I’m no longer fueled by my liquid courage, and I’ve had two hours to shake off the shock and process what’s happened.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately say. He comes over and touches my cheek. But I take a step back, and his hand falls.

“Rose—”

“Just let me get this out.” I take a deep breath. “It’s my fault that we have a sex tape…soon to be sex tapes.” I grimace, but I don’t back down from his gaze. I don’t cower. “It was my fault. Mine. And I’m so, so sorry. Your penis is now all over the internet, and that’s on me.”

He smiles at the last line. I narrow my eyes as he nears me again and cups my cheeks. “Rose, you don’t have to apologize to me,” he says sincerely. “It was a mistake.”

I cringe again.

“I know,” he says. “You and me, we don’t have many of those.” Connor combs my hair away from my eyes. “But they happen.”

I exhale and nod. I’ve been holding so much in—looking more like a wooden board, like someone shoved a broom up my ass, on red alert, waiting for the next attack. I’m trying to let this go, but it’s a little difficult. My naked body is all over the internet, and my world has changed in one millisecond and moment of time.

What’s done cannot be undone.

“Can I try something?” he asks me.

I frown deeply, not understanding. Not until he clasps my wrist and pulls me into his arms. And then he places his large hand on the back of my head, guiding me to his chest so that my forehead nestles safely in the crook of his shoulder.

Darkness is here.

The kind I don’t like to meet.

Emotions so cavernous stir within me, and a powerful surge bubbles them to the surface, a force I can’t stop. The layers I wear to muffle the pain start to peel off quickly. The tears come first. Silent. And then the sobbing. Louder. The type that shakes my whole body. I have f*cked up so badly, and it’s not just me that’s paying the price. I hate that I dragged someone else down from my mistake.

Connor may lose his job over this. Cobalt Inc. may not take kindly that their future CEO is a porn star. The loss of Calloway Couture will hurt me, but knowing that I ruined someone else’s dream—that’s unforgivable.

I can’t stop crying. I hate tears. I hate what they mean, but in the confines of Connor’s body it feels safe to show this part of myself.

He holds me tighter, and I clutch onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Let it out,” Connor coos as he strokes the back of my head.

My privacy has been stripped, and I’ll never get it back. I feel so incredibly violated, but Connor has somehow muted this pain that tries to pummel me. The way he holds me, with reassurance, with commitment and confidence, makes me believe that I can overcome anything. I think all my life he’s helped me find power inside of myself so that I may barrel forward and never look back.

I don’t know how long he holds me while I cry, but when I feel drained, when the tears have ended and I master the strength to lock away the guilt, I withdraw from his warm chest.

Connor rubs the wet streaks from my face.

“Can you fix my mascara?” I ask in a whisper.

“Look up,” he tells me. I stare at the ceiling while his thumb removes the black smudges I’ve caused. When he finishes, he places his hands on both of my cheeks again. “Rose,” he breathes. “I’d rather you cry in my arms for ten minutes than pace manically for two hours. I’m always here when you need me.”