Addicted to You

I MAKE an effort to call Rose more often. For the most part she answers and gives me updates on Calloway Couture. Sometimes she’s short with me, but it’s better than slammed doors. While I try to heal my relationship with Rose and ignore the rest of my family, Lo spends time with Connor at the gym.

Ryke continues to follow us around, and since the fashion show where—for one strange moment—Lo and Ryke seemed to band together, they’ve been much more cordial. Ryke has pretended to scribble notes for his fake article, but he usually tries to understand Lo. Last night, they started talking about their experience with nannies. One of Lo’s used to drink strawberry margaritas and was sloshed by noon. Apparently Ryke had a similar situation, only his nanny let him sip her mimosas and bloody marys. He was only nine.

I pull a brush through my wet hair while Lo rubs a towel through his. Shower sex. Classy.

I almost can’t remember why I was so worried about my lifestyle. I’m more than capable of making everything work.

Today the professor posted the econ grades online. As usual, Lo refuses to divulge his grade, but I earned a C+, which is practically an A+ in Connor’s mind. He insisted on celebrating. Only for Connor Cobalt can achievements wipe slates clean. Lo somehow squirmed back into his good graces too. After the fashion show stunt, I thought we’d be blacklisted from any events with Connor. But I think it all comes down to Rose. His one human weakness happens to be my sister. And if she’s forgiven me, then she’s probably ordered him to do the same.

I’m still trying to untangle my hair when Connor arrives with Ryke. Lo leaves to answer the door and I snap one of the comb’s teeth. Really? How is that even possible? I’ve finally acquired a superpower—indestructible hair. Super lame.

My door stands open as I search for another comb. Or better yet, an actual brush to tackle these knots. I hear the guys in the living room, but they must not realize it because their conversation turns from the best pizza joints in Philly to me.

“Whose idea was it to ditch the fashion show?” Ryke asks.

“Is this for your article?” Lo wonders.

“No, just curious.”

“I wanted to fuck her. So I did. And didn’t you ditch the show too? What’s your excuse?”

“I have a hot girlfriend that I wanted to fuck,” he banters. “No, really, I had food poisoning from that taco stand around the corner.”

“We eat there all the time,” Lo says. “I’ve never been sick.” Does he think Ryke’s lying? He has no reason to. Actually, he probably wishes he could have stayed to witness my demise.

“Then maybe it was bad milk in my cereal. I don’t fucking know,” he says exasperatedly.

Connor cuts in. “It was really your idea, Lo?”

I close my eyes, hoping Lo rejects some of the blame.

“She wasn’t exactly saying no.” Okay, I thought that would feel better.

“It takes two to make love and only one person to make a mistake.” Connor must turn to Ryke as he says, “Write that down.”

“It’s all up here.” I imagine him pointing to his head.

“Do you have any friends?” Lo wonders in an easy tone. “We have to be seriously grating on you by now.”

“Lily, definitely. Connor, maybe. You’re okay.”

“Well you’re not my type of company either, Meadows,” Connor says casually, not offended.

“I’m definitely writing that one down for the article.”

“You should just quote everything I say, and I expect my name in the headline. Like ‘Children of Tycoons, featuring Connor Cobalt, an upcoming entrepreneur to look out for.’”

“I’ll consider it, but my professor doesn’t like ending things with prepositions. So I think I’ll end it with, ‘featuring Connor Cobalt: You’ll want to kiss his ass.’”

“Perfect,” Connor exclaims.

I finally find a brush stuffed in my sock drawer and finish battling the knots. When I brace the kitchen, I see Lo pouring a glass of scotch. I sidle up next to him and he wraps an arm around my waist.

Ryke mouths, Distract him.

I shake my head. I am done trying to force Lo to do anything, not at the expense of our relationship.

Ryke flips me off, and Connor’s too stuck in his cellphone to notice. I stick out my tongue at him, really mature, I know.

Lo grabs my chin and turns my head towards him. “Did you just stick your tongue at him?” He wears an amused grin.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“She did,” Ryke rats me out.

“He flipped me off!” I refute.

Lo kisses me on the lips, shutting me up. Oh… When he breaks, his warm breath hits my ear. “I love you.” My heart flutters at the words. Before I can reciprocate, his phone vibrates on the counter.

I catch a glimpse of the screen, my stomach dropping. “Maybe you shouldn’t answer it.”

Lo takes the phone and presses the receiver to his ear. “Hey Dad.” He walks towards the bedroom for privacy.

To preoccupy my mind, I go to the fridge and find a Cherry Fizz, popping the can. I remember I owe Connor a thousand bucks for passing my econ exam. I’m not in the mood to fish out my checkbook right now, but I’ll plan a search for it later. It may very well be hiding underneath my bed. Or in a random purse.

“Connor,” I say, “Can I pay you later for our bet?”

One of Ryke’s eyebrows arches. “What bet?”

Connor distractedly answers and texts at the same time. “A thousand dollars on whether or not she would pass her econ exam. And Lily, I don’t want your money.”

“Oh…”

“However, I’d love a favor.” He has yet to look up at me.

Ryke lets out a short laugh. “You would choose favors over cash.”

Connor doesn’t argue.

“What kind of favor?” I ask.

“When you feel up to it, I think you should work for your sister. It doesn’t have to be now. Maybe sometime in the spring. She’s looking to hire an assistant at Calloway Couture, and I know she’d love for you to be involved.”

My stomach sinks. “As much as I’d like to be working with my sister, I know nothing about fashion.”

“That’s why you’re an assistant and not running the company.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” And how will I be able to take sex breaks? I can’t believe that’s all I can think about: how to schedule in porn, how to sneak Lo through her offices, how to find time to feed my desires.

“Well, you lost the bet, so you owe me.”

“Can’t I just pay you?”

“No, that’s too easy.”

I sigh, wondering if I’ll be able to squirm out of the deal as it approaches later in my life. Probably not, but by the time it happens, maybe I’ll be okay with my decision. So I nod. “Okay. I’ll be her assistant sometime in the future.”

“Near future.” He types something in his phone and then stands. “I have to take this.” He presses the cell to his ear and heads into the living room. Leaving me alone with Ryke.

I hop on the counters by the cabinets and face him.

Ryke glances over his shoulder at the hallway where Lo disappeared. “Does he like his father? I can’t tell.”

I shrug. “It depends on the day.”

He turns back to me. “What’s he like?”

“Jonathan Hale?”

Ryke nods.

“Lo doesn’t talk about him with you?” I’ve managed to dodge their boy outings by having breakfast with Rose the past week. I enjoy it more than I’ll let on.

“Not much,” Ryke says. “Sometimes, he curses his father out, and then other times, he talks about the guy like he’s a god.”

Sounds about right. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“Look.” I lower my voice. “I know you’re not really writing an article, so you don’t need to ask these things.”

Ryke rolls his eyes. “I fucking know that, Lily. I’m asking because I’m genuinely curious. No offense, but I care about your boyfriend more than I care about you.”

I squint. “Are you sure you don’t have a crush on him?”

He groans. “Seriously, Lily?”

“What? It’s an honest question. You’re obsessed with Lo.”

“I’m not obsessed. Don’t use that word. I’m just curious. I want to know him. Why do I have to be in love with him to want such a thing?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s weird.” I can’t make sense of the strangeness. I feel like it’s there, but it’s not connecting. “Are you sure there isn’t something more?”

“No. There’s not. Just go back to my first question. How’s Jonathan Hale complicated?”

I focus on that and open my mouth, trying to form words to an enigmatic man. He doesn’t physically hit Lo, but he’s not earning any Father of the Year awards either. In one minute, Jonathan can wrap an arm around him and call him a great son. And then next, he can spit out hateful words. Lo’s mood fluctuates with his father’s temper, and whenever he interacts with him, you can see a switch. I assume that’s where Ryke’s concern originates.

After I fail at describing Jonathan aloud, Ryke changes questions. “Do you talk to him a lot?”

I shake my head. “He makes an effort to ignore me unless he wants to blame someone for Lo’s poor grades. Otherwise, I steer clear of the Hale household.”

“Has he remarried?”

“No. He brings a lot of girls over at night.” After Lo’s mom left when he was a baby, Jonathan hired a nanny and started dating again. The number of women stumbling out of the house in the morning, wearing the same dress the night before, grew exponentially as the years ticked by.

When I was sixteen, I remember shoveling scrambled eggs into my mouth while Lo tried to unlock his father’s liquor cabinet. Jonathan overslept after a night of his own debauchery. A woman in a slim black dress carried her red pumps and shuffled through the kitchen. She refused to look at us, instead keeping her sight on the door like it was a finish line in a 5K race. And I had a sudden urge to bolt up from my chair and pull her aside. To ask her if she liked the thrill of one-night stands as much as me. To talk and gossip about being two girls completely in control of their bodies. At the time, I felt closeted, like a slut with a secret. But I stayed in my seat, letting her leave and fantasizing about what she might have told me.

I don’t know if Lo realizes that I learned about one-night stands from his father’s numerous flings. I hope not. And I’d never tell him.

I return my focus back on Ryke who watches me too closely, as though reading my expression for his answers.

Lo enters the kitchen with a clenched jaw and a pocketed phone. Oh no.

“Everything okay?” Ryke asks.

“Fine,” Lo says unconvincingly. He grabs his jacket off the chair and a bottle of bourbon from the counter. “Let’s go.”

Ryke and I exchange worry, and we both follow Lo in close pursuit.

The necklace I gave Lo thumps against his chest as he dances with me. I touch the arrowhead and he clasps his hands in mine. He plants a light kiss on my cheek before distancing himself. I reach out, but he’s already gone, delegating himself king of the bar stool.

He orders a slew of drinks while sweat gathers at the base of my neck, and I solo-dance on the floor, shedding off insecurities with the hypnotic music. I keep glancing back at the bar. Each time, Lo holds a new drink. I’ve evaded the phone call topic because Connor and Ryke always hang around him, and I’d rather not broach the subject in front of them.

After three shots of tequila for Connor and Ryke, they head to the bathroom, and I grab my chance to speak to Lo alone.

“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder and slide into the nearby stool. Distracted, he stares at his glass of amber liquid—his mind far away from here. “What did your father want?”

Lo shakes his head and cups the glass tighter. “Nothing.”

I frown and try to push away the hurt from his unwillingness to share. The rejection stings, but it may just be the wrong time. He catches my despondence and looks back towards the bathrooms to make sure Ryke and Connor aren’t returning soon. Then he twists his body towards me. Our knees knock together, and I have a sudden urge to lean in closer, to intertwine our legs and feel his lean muscles against my body. This is serious, I remind myself, pushing away those selfish thoughts.

“It was about my mom,” Lo confesses. All dirty images evaporate, being replaced by sheer concern. “Somehow, he found out I contacted her.” Lo pauses and rubs his lips in deep thought. “He told me that she wanted nothing to do with me.” My chest constricts. “He told me that she doesn’t deserve to think about me or to even hear my voice.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He said she was a fucking cunt.”

I cringe.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Lil, I think…I think I agree with him.” Wrinkles crease his forehead in utter confusion as he struggles to make sense of his warring emotions.

“Your mother left you,” I say. “It’s okay to be angry at her. It doesn’t make you him.”

His lips press together as he processes my words, and I wish I had more to offer. He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the temple, a small thank you, before he turns around on his stool and flags down the bartender for another drink.

She pours bourbon in a Riedel glass and slides it into his hand.

“How long before you want to go to the bathroom?” I ask.

“I don’t know. My bladder is pretty big. I could wait at least another couple hours,” Lo says. He smiles into his glass, and I give him a sharp look.

He hooks his foot under the rung of my stool and slides it forward. Oh wow. My hip knocks into his, and he snakes an arm around my waist, melding me to his side. This is kind of nice. I feel his hand run up underneath my shirt and rub the soft skin on my back.

I start dreaming about having sex right here. Lo taking me across the bar in a sultry heat. Fucking on a bar.

It’d be like our addictions making love.

His lips tickle my ear. Back to reality. “What are you thinking?”

I think he knows because he smiles and nibbles my ear.

“Get a room,” Connor exclaims, sidling up beside me while Ryke sits down beside Lo.

“Or better yet,” Ryke says, “a car.”

“How about Connor’s limo?” Lo asks with a smile. “Do you think your driver would mind?”

“I would mind,” Connor tells him. “You’re charming, Lo, but not enough to make me want to sit in your—”

“Stop.” I cringe and cover my ears. Gross. Guy-talk. No.

All three of them laugh, and I wave down the bartender. “What do you want?” Lo asks me.

“Just a beer.”

He nods and lets me order for myself. I slide my fake ID to the bartender, and she hands me a Blue Moon.

“You don’t want to go in those bathrooms,” Connor tells Lo. “They’re disgusting. I think I might call the CDC when we leave. You need a hazmat suit just to walk in there.”

Lo grins at me and raises an eyebrow. No! Connor is just being over dramatic.

“You rarely venture into smoky clubs,” I tell Connor. “I’m sure you’re just not used to a place that doesn’t have a bathroom attendant and complimentary mints after you pee.”

“I’ve lowered myself to these standards before, but there are some places no human being should go.”

Lo smiles into another big gulp from his drink. I let the issue drop but plan to sneak into the restrooms later to make my own conclusions.

After a couple more drinks, Lo starts asking Ryke questions and I struggle to hear over the cacophony of sounds: drunken college students, newly blasting music, and Connor practically yelling into his phone as he talks to my sister.

“Yeah! I’d wear a peacoat!”

What? Is Rose asking him for fashion advice? The world really has gone mad.

He grimaces. “I can’t hear you! Hold on!” He presses his palm to the speaker. “Lily, can you save my seat?” Before I can agree he’s hopping off the stool and charging towards the door. Connor Cobalt doesn’t push his way through bodies; he saunters into the masses and waits with an impatient scowl before people part and make man-made paths for him. I smile in amusement and turn back to place my coat on the stool.

But a blonde rushes to take it before I can claim the spot. Oops.

“I don’t have any siblings.” I overhear Ryke say. “It’s been pretty much my mom and me since I was a kid.”

Lo shifts, uncomfortable by the topic of mothers, especially after his phone call with his father. So he redirects the conversation. “How did you get into running?”

I’m surprised Lo chooses to ask questions and not be evasive like usual.

“When I was little, my mom put me in a lot of races. She told me it was either tennis or track, and I picked track.” He laughs to himself. “I have a thing for running towards finish lines.” I can believe that.

“That’s funny,” Lo says bitterly, “My father always tells me that I run away from everything.”

“Do you?”

Lo’s cheeks sharpen, his lips forming a pout.

“Forget it,” Ryke says quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“How much of what I’m telling you are you going to exploit?” Lo asks.

Ryke frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“The article,” Lo reminds him. “I’m expecting to be in the tabloids by the end of the semester.”

“I wouldn’t sell you out.”

“Isn’t that what they all say?” Lo turns back to the bar and orders another drink. To me, he asks, “Want another beer?”

I shake my head. What I really want doesn’t reside at a bar, but Lo has jumped into the rabbit hole of self-involved drinking. I can’t pry the shot of whiskey from his fingers, and he’s had enough liquor to forget about my problems.

“We need to toast,” he tells us and holds up his drink in salute. “To Sara Hale. For being a fucking bitch.” He throws back his shot and I steal a glance at Ryke.

His eyes narrow to hard stone. “Maybe you should switch to water.”

“If I’m bothering you, you can always run towards the door.” He takes his next shot in hand.

Ryke tensely leans back and shoots me a wide-eyed look like do something.

No, I mouth. There’s nothing I can do. I see the end of the night. Lo wants to pass out. He wants to reach that point so he can drown his feelings. No matter what I say, he’ll continue to do it. Even if I plead and scream and beg Lo to stop, he won’t.

I wouldn’t.

He needs to wake up by himself, and nagging Lo will only push him from me. That’s not what I want. Or what I need.

Ryke shakes his head at me in disapproval and watches as Lo curses his mom again in a more callous toast.

“Can you not?” Ryke spits.

“What’s it to you?” Lo watches the bartender help someone at the other end, waiting for her to return to this side.

“I generally don’t like toasting to bitches and whores.”

“No one’s making you,” Lo retorts.

Ryke looks distressed as he runs a hand through his brown hair. “I know you hate your mom—”

“Do you?” Lo spins towards him.

“Let’s go dance,” I tell Lo, tugging on his arm. He jerks away from me and glares at Ryke on the other side.

“You don’t know me,” Lo sneers. “I’m sick of you acting like you understand what I’m going through. Did you live in my house?”

“No.”

“Did you watch the cops take away my bed because my mom claimed it belonged to her?”

Ryke rubs his jaw. “Lo—”

“Did my father grab your neck”—Lo places a hand on the back of Ryke’s, bringing him close—“and tell you, ‘son…’” He pauses, only inches separate their faces, and something intangible circulates in the air, a tension so thick I can hardly breathe. “…‘son, grow the fuck up.’”

Ryke refuses to back down. He meets Lo’s challenge, not deterring from his sharp gaze. He even goes one step further and sets a gentle hand on the back of Lo’s neck. “I’m sorry,” Ryke breathes with so much hurt that it takes me by surprise. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lo. I’m here for you now. Whatever you’re going through, I may not have experienced it, but I’m right here.”

And just like that, Lo takes his hand off Ryke, the strangled moment passing. What kind of response did Lo expect? A fight? Another verbal showdown? Something other than compassion—that’s for sure.

Lo flags down the bartender and acts like nothing happened. Like Ryke never offered to help in some giant immeasurable way.

“Let’s go dance,” I try again.

He avoids my gaze. “I’m busy. Dance with Connor.”

The bartender slides over another small glass. Should I leave him alone? Ryke drinks from a water bottle and watches him carefully. He’ll stay here with Lo. I’ll just…go. Maybe he’ll remember me and follow after a while.

When Connor returns, I convince him to dance with me—the chaste, friendly kind with more than twenty inches between our bodies. Occasionally I glance back at Lo, but he drinks silently, staring off at the towering racks of bottles behind the bar. The only difference is the burger in his hand, which gives me some relief. At least the food will soak up some of that liquor.

I try to relax and concentrate on the pumping music, drifting away from Lo and his worries. The bump bump bump of the bass carries me.

In the pit with other bodies bouncing up and down, I lock onto wandering eyes, and for a brief moment I connect with another guy. The clandestine looks set my blood ablaze and it takes all of my energy not to follow them subconsciously.

After our sixth song, Connor looks back to the bar and someone takes an invitation to dance against my backside. His hands linger on my hips. I don’t see his face, and in my head I imagine it being Lo or maybe Prince Charming. Someone other than Mr. Reality.

I close my eyes and float on the idea. The hand moves across my belly and then up underneath my shirt. Past the soft flesh of my abs and onto my padded bra. My breathing shallows and I sink back into the body.

I feel a hand tightly grip my wrist and yank me forward. I stumble into a chest as he wraps an arm around my shoulders in a brotherly way. “Go grope someone else,” Connor tells the guy calmly, but his hand tightens on my elbow. It was real? Not a fantasy?

My body heats and I refuse to look at my handsy dance partner. He mutters something under his breath and walks off. I steal a glance at the bar, but Lo is now in a heated conversation with Ryke, waving his burger around so wildly that lettuce falls out of the bun.

Connor puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me face him fully. “Lily,” he says, a rare drop of concern on the edge of his tongue, “What the hell is going on?”

I want to shrink in place. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not when Lo is already spiraling. My throat becomes swollen and just as I’m about to mutter the stupidest lie in the world, Ryke saves me.

He bounds over with a water bottle in hand and a scowl creasing his eyes. “Lily,” he snaps. “I need your help.” He points to the bar. “Lo is going to be piss drunk in five minutes. You need to tell him to switch to water. Every time I say a word about it he throws back a shot of whiskey just to spite me.”

“He’s eating a burger.” Is defending Lo engrained in my DNA?

Ryke stares at me, dumbfounded. “Don’t do this right now. He needs his fucking girlfriend. This is not going to be like Halloween, okay? I’m not carrying him up to your apartment unconscious.” He rubs the back of his neck with a shaking hand.

I take a shallow breath. “I’ll go try.” I push past people and slide into the empty bar stool beside Lo.

He barely acknowledges me, but he says, “Just when I was starting to like that fucking prick.”

“What did he do?”

“He doesn’t take a hint. I don’t want to talk about my parents. I don’t want to talk about his mother when I don’t have one. I don’t want him to badger me about drinking.” He takes another shot. “What the hell is this article on anyway? Two rich kids with silver spoons in their mouths? Or two spoiled brats who became destructive fuck-ups?” Lo’s words spill out clear and coherent. He rarely slurs, but there’s an edge to his voice that comes with drinking a lot, and I hear it tenfold.

“I don’t think he’s asking about that stuff for the article,” I say softly, “maybe he just wants to get to know you.”

“Why?” Lo asks with furrowed brows as if it’s completely foreign for someone to befriend him.

“He cares about you.”

“Well he shouldn’t.” Lo orders another drink as he pops a French fry in his mouth.

“Maybe we should leave.”

“No. This place has good liquor and food.”

I wait for the sexy smile or maybe a flirtatious joke but he’s consumed with what’s in front of him. And I just sit off to the side. Even if I take off my shirt and fling off my bra, he’ll keep that glass in his hand. He’ll drink until everything melts away. So I keep my clothes on. The only tactic I have in my arsenal is completely worthless.

“Ryke carried you home,” I let out the truth. “At the Halloween party, you passed out and he had to carry you up to our apartment.”

His face twists in hundreds of emotions, and he settles on something blank and foreign.

“Do you really want him to carry you home again?”

“I’m not drunk,” Lo refutes, finally looking at me. His eyes ice over. “Not by a long shot. I’m even too sober for this conversation.”

I feel rooted to this bar stool. Like if I slink away it will implode. “You’re scaring me,” I murmur.

His gaze softens a fraction. “I’m fine, Lily. Honestly.” He keeps his hands to his liquor and fries, not touching me in comfort. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave, and it’ll be before I pass out.”

My chest clenches. “I’m going to go dance with Connor.”

Lo nods and doesn’t try to stop me as I leave the stool.

I find Connor and Ryke lingering by a high-table near the dance floor. “And?” Ryke asks instantly.

“He says he’s not drunk.”

Ryke gives me a disgusted look. “Yeah? No shit, Lily. He’s got a problem! He’s going to fucking tell you he’s sober.”

“What makes you an expert?” I shout back. “So you quit drinking, that doesn’t mean you know how to fix Lo!”

“You’re right,” Ryke says. “This is beyond me. He needs professional help.”

Tears gather. “Stop.” I want Lo to be helped. I do, but I can’t imagine a world where he’s torn from my life. What will become of me?

“Anyone with a heart would care, Lily,” Ryke says. “So the better question is why don’t you?”

The punch to my stomach knocks me back. It hurts too much to breathe, and the hardest part is trying to defend myself to me. I do care. I’ve kept Lo from sitting behind a wheel. I’ve made sure he returns home in one piece. I’ve protected him. From everyone but himself.

I glance at Connor as I try to wrack my brain for the right words, but for the first time he’s become silent. Avoiding my gaze by peeling back the label to his beer bottle. He agrees with Ryke?

I let out a short laugh that borders on a choke. “I guess I’m just a terrible girlfriend.” And I believe it. In more ways than one.

I push through the sea of bodies, not having the heart or stomach to watch Ryke and Connor’s reactions. My hand shakes like a junkie needing a fix and my head spins from all the lights. I stumble over plastic cups and brush against someone on my way to the bathroom.

The stalls line up in a single row, doors ajar and empty. I lean over a sink, writing scrawled in permanent marker all over the basin. Wash up. Tina was here! Use Soap, you dirty wench! Blow me.

The door creaks and I glance over. A nameless guy with a face like a wolf, scruffy chin and dark eyes, saunters in. Is he the one I accidentally brushed up against? I don’t break his gaze, and he takes the invitation.

His hands linger on my hips questioningly, and I brace the porcelain basin in response. Rough kisses press into my neck and for a moment it feels better. It feels like it could be okay again. When my jeans lower and the cold air prickles my skin—I jolt awake.

“No.” I will not cheat on Loren Hale. No matter if anyone tells me how bad of person I am.

He doesn’t hear me or doesn’t take the hint. Hands grab my ass, only a thin layer of fabric between him and me and scoring. Fuck.

“No,” I say louder, employing the one word I’ve always avoided.

His hands slip beneath my panties and I try to turn around and pull away. But he pushes against me hard, and my stomach slams into the sink, nearly taking my breath. “Stop!” I struggle and try to kick out, but I’m all skin and bone and he’s all brawn and hunger.

Tears fall down my cheeks as I try and scream, but the thumping music bleeds into the bathroom, drowning out my pleas.

What do I do? What the fuck do I do?!

Maybe I should just take it. Get it over with. Act like I want it. Convince my body that it’s another pursuit. Make it okay. Make myself believe it’s some fantasy.

My tears dry up and I try to fight one last time only to be slammed against the basin. I cough hoarsely.

Time to pretend, Lily. Make believe. It’s what you’re good at.

Just as I close my eyes, the door crashes open.

“Get the fuck off her!” Screaming. Terrible screaming. And the pressure behind me leaves. I’m numb, but I subconsciously pull up my jeans, covering myself like this is any other night.

I look to my left, and Ryke grips the guy by the arms, fighting against his drunken, hostile movements. The guy swings. Ryke ducks, and then slams him into a stall. The guy falls hard into a toilet bowl, his forehead hitting the porcelain lip, and his legs splay out the door.

Ryke clenches him by the shirt, lifting him up. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screams. But I feel like that question should be directed at me.

Connor steps in front of my transfixed gaze, but I stare past his eyes.

“Where’s Lo?” My voice is small and not my own.

“He’s still at the bar,” Connor says softly. “Lily.” He waves a hand in my face. “Lily, look at me.”

I do, but I don’t. I’ve never changed my mind after I invited someone to have sex with me. I’ve never been hurt by my addiction. Not like this.

Ryke kicks the guy in the groin and then bangs the stall door on him.

This is all wrong. Lo should be here, not Connor and Ryke.

“I want to go home,” I murmur.

Ryke puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me out of the bathroom and away from my attacker—or at least a guy who doesn’t understand the word no. A frown weighs down his face. “I need to go find Lo. Connor will you…”

“I’ve got her.”

Ryke’s hand leaves me only to be replaced by Connor. He guides me, and I float away from the bar, outside, and into the backseat of Connor’s limo. Connor finds a water bottle in the cooler and places it in my palm.

“Why did you come into the bathroom?” I ask. I should have sealed my own fate once I stormed off.

“You were acting strange all night, Lily. I was worried, so I told Ryke we should check on you.”

The car door opens, and Ryke enters with a wobbling Lo. He staggers but manages to duck underneath the frame before hitting his head. He collapses onto the seat across from me, and immediately shuts his heavy eyes, drowning in a sea of darkness, silent and void of turbulent thoughts.

Ryke climbs in beside him, shutting the door and giving Connor’s driver the order to go. I envy Lo so much right now for his peaceful, temperate sleep, the kind that shields the world’s dissonance, if only for one night.

Ryke checks his pulse and then nods to me. “Are you okay?” A welt grows on his cheekbone like the guy elbowed him.

I blink away tears. “I asked for it.”

Ryke’s face contorts, like I physically impaled him. “What? Why would you fucking say that?”

Connor covers his eyes with his hand so I can’t see his reaction. If Ryke looks this wounded over something bad happening to me, I’m sure it’s not good.

“I let him touch me,” I say. “…but then…then I changed my mind. I think it was too late by then.” My hands shake. I wish Lo could hold them. My knees bounce. I wish he was awake. I wish I didn’t need him this much, but I love him. I sniff as tears spill. “It’s my fault. I gave him the wrong impression.”

Ryke gapes. “No means no. I don’t care when you fucking say it, Lily. Once it’s out there, it’s out there. Any halfway decent guy would have backed off.”

My heart clenches. If Lo finds out this happened while he was at the bar, it’ll crush him. I won’t inflict that type of pain on Lo. “Don’t tell him.”

“He needs to know,” Ryke says.

I want to scream back about how wrong he is, about how the information will tear Lo apart, not strengthen him, but something sensible pulsates in my head, telling me to listen. I never do.

“This will kill him,” I choke. “You’re not helping!”

“You can’t keep this from him, Lily. Think about how much pain he’d be in if he found out and everyone knew but him? And he will. Don’t kid yourself.”

Maybe he’s right. I disintegrate into the seat, surrendering to Ryke’s unapologetic glare. I wipe the rest of my tears with a quick swipe and stare out the window. The limo quiets for the rest of the ride. No one talks. Not even as Ryke carries an unconscious Lo up to the apartment. Not when I close his bedroom door, locking him in for the night.

When it’s just the three of us left, Connor is the first to break the silence. “I’m going to make some coffee. If you want to go to bed, I understand, but I’d like to talk to you.”

I don’t deserve friends, but I try to hold onto them because I fear the blackness and emptiness that waits if I let go.

“Can you make me hot chocolate?” I ask.

“Even better. You could use some calories.”

I sink into the recliner, snuggling into a warm blanket and watch Connor mill about the kitchen like he owns it. I imagine if I ever had a brother, Connor would fit the perfect mold. A little conceited but deep down, even below his people collecting habits, he has a warm heart.

Ryke slouches on the couch. “Should I call your sisters?”

“No. They’ll just worry.”

Connor returns with a tray of coffee and passes me my mug of hot chocolate. “It’s too late. I already texted Rose.”

“What?” I squeak.

“She’s on her way.”