Page 170 of Wherever You Are

An empire.

Literally the media calls them theCobalt Empire, and Willow and Lily own too much Cobalt Empire merch. I love the T-shirts and water bottles. Hate the snow globes.

“Oh…no, I’m out of storage,” Willow says beside me, and I glance back as she untangles our hands and quickly tries to free up storage on the DSLR camera strapped around her neck.

Keeping my arm splayed over her shoulder, I use my other hand to hold the camera and help Willow.

Daisy notices the dilemma after Ryke drops her on her feet. He had her upside-down. Even after all these years, Ryke is a beast. Physically able to climb any mountain and also toss his wife over his shoulder. Paparazzi aren’t allowed in the event, but I bet their telephoto lenses captured that shot.

Media loves a flirtyRaisy.

“I still have the video camera.” Daisy holds up a newer digital camcorder, Velcro-ed to her hand. “We won’t miss a thing.”

Everyone also has cellphones. No matter what, the competition will be recorded a billion times over by the core six.

Willow smiles at Daisy, who smiles brightly back, and they let me fix the DSLR. My eyes skim the women as they talk and laugh.

Their friendship has only strengthened through the years. Even as work pulls everyone away at times. Willow is the Chief Brand Officer for Superheroes & Scones, and every now and then, we’ll return to London. We always make a point to time meetups with Tess and Sheetal. They live in Atlanta, but they visit Sheetal’s family in Liverpool about twice a year.

We went to their wedding in London.

And currently, Tess is an actress on a medical TV drama that we tape every Tuesday night, and Sheetal is a producer on the same show.

I click into the camera settings. Two clicks later and theno storagewarning sign disappears. “Got it.”

Willow grins up at me. Rising on her toes, we kiss and she whispers, “Thanks.”

My lips upturn more, and I cup the back of her neck in tender affection. “Anytime, anywhere.” Still, to this day, my heart belongs to Willow.

At the sound of a familiar whistle, my gaze drifts. Near us, twenty-two-year-old Jane Cobalt has two fingers in her mouth, whistling the way her Aunt Daisy taught her.

Bright smile, freckled cheeks—Jane cheers on other teens, basically strangers, while we wait for the next moto.

She’s smart. Like genius intellect. In a minute flat, she calculated the points needed for the top ten racers to qualify for the Grand Nationals in Tulsa.

And I thought I was good with numbers.

While Jane lives in Philly, she’s been seen out with some douchey bro. Connor acts like it’s not the worst thing in the world, but I see how his face twitches whenever Lo and Ryke bring up the subject. Connor has run about ten different background checks on the guy and was even a heartbeat away from asking me to hack into the bro’s computer.

I don’t blame him.

Jane is severely famous.

The five oldest kids are.

I glance over my shoulder at our tent. Coolers surround pop-up chairs under the shade. Maximoff Hale has a few bottles of Ziff in arm, on his way back to everyone. Athletic, kind-hearted, unwavering confidence is in his entire demeanor.

I feel fucking old. Because next month, he’ll turn twenty-two, and I look at him and still see the little kid I’d babysit.

The one who made me feel alive when being away from Willow seemed like certain death.

His thick brown hair is dyed lighter and blows in the wind.

Moffy smiles as he stops beside me. “Is it time yet?”

“Should be next.” As he passes a blue flavored Ziff to Willow and limeade to me, I notice a wet piece of paper in his hand. “What’s that?”

He makes a face and stuffs the paper in his back pocket. “A guy gave me his number.” His eyes briefly flit towards a group of twenty-something racers before landing on me. “I didn’t want to reject him in from of his friends.”