Addicted to You

SOME DAYS AREN’T GOOD. Hours before we have to arrive at the hotel for the Christmas Charity Gala, I suspect this will be a very bad one.

Lo slept maybe thirty minutes last night, and he paces around the room until he calls Ryke and talks to him for a couple hours. Nothing seems to calm him, and I think it may be from the conversation he wants to have with his father—the one where he admits that he’s trying to be sober. But I also worry it’s something else.

Before he goes to the kitchen, he snaps at me twice when I bring up college. I asked him what he got in Managerial Econ—which I promptly failed. And he told me to worry about having to retake it in the spring and stop being so nosy. He wouldn’t be so mean if something wasn’t wrong.

Rose applies my makeup at my vanity. I already wear my plum dress with lacy long sleeves. Rose actually bought the velvet sapphire dress, even though she tried on ten more after it. The Gala works in two parts. One, the dinner where we all sit around a round table and are served five courses. Then business-types will go to the podium and thank everyone for their generosity for the night. After which will be the reception where people will drink cocktails and walk around the grand ballroom to chat and socialize.

When I go with Lo, we usually stand by the bar and try to ask the server the most embarrassing questions to see what will happen. It’s obnoxious and probably rude, but it passes the time. This year, I plan on wandering aimlessly. Which doesn’t sound much better.

In prompt Connor Cobalt fashion, we arrive a full hour early. Ryke straightens his tie and nervously looks around the bare room, mostly filled with servers as they adjust red rose center pieces on the tables and finish stringing icicle lights.

“Have you been to an event like this?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Not this social circle though.”

Lo fidgets more than usual. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I need a drink.” He rubs his eyes and groans.

“You’re okay,” Ryke assures him. “Hey, what’s bugging you?”

“Nothing,” Lo says in annoyance. “I really don’t want to talk right now. No offense, but that hasn’t helped all day. I just have a pounding migraine.”

I reach out for his hand, and his eyes meet mine. Something bad stirs in me. “You want to…?”

“No,” Ryke says to both of us. “No.”

I glare at him. “Not that it’s any of your business—I went a full day without watching porn.” I leave out the part where I spent the entire afternoon in bed with Lo. And we weren’t sleeping.

“Congratulations,” Ryke says dryly. He gives Lo a stone-cold look. “You’re avoiding.”

“I’m helping her.”

“You know you’re not.”

I’m helping him, I want to refute. But Lo has already made his choice. His hand slips down the small of my back and he guides me out of the room and towards the hotel lobby.

He pulls his wallet from his pocket. “One room,” he tells the receptionist. I rock on the balls of my feet. Yes.

Now that my high has vanished, my whole body feels sore. He took me from behind, much harder than usual, and I liked it. When it happened. I regret the position, his intensity, and giving him the idea to be here in the first place.

“What time is it?” Lo asks, grabbing the clock on the nightstand. “Fuck.” He hurries off the bed, the comforter on the floor, the sheets twisted in odd ways. “Get up, Lil.”

I lie with my head on the pillow, unmovable. Maybe I can disintegrate into the sheets.

Lo leans over the bed and tilts his head so he stares directly at me. “Get. Up.” He tosses my dress at my face.

I hold the fabric and straighten to a sitting position. I try to tug the material over my head, but my sore arms barely allow me the strength.

Lo hops into his pants and then finds his white button-down.

I wish we could stay here, but that would have been old Lily and Lo. We’re improved now. I struggle with the fabric and finally poke my head through the hole of my dress. And then, I see the open mini-fridge. Maybe not that improved.

“Lo…” My voice sounds small.

He pockets a mini-bottle of tequila. Why is he doing this? Everything was fine. Wasn’t it? Except for this morning and this afternoon and now…

“Lo, have you been drinking?”

He doesn’t meet my gaze. “It’s fine. I’m not going to drink at all tomorrow. I just need something—”

“Lo!” I shout, springing from the bed, sans underwear. I struggle to steal the liquor from his pocket, and he clenches my wrists tight.

“Lily, stop!”

“You stop!”

We wrestle standing up until we fall on the bed. He pins my arms on either side of my body.

“Lo!” I shriek. “You can’t just give up like this!” It’s my fault. Deep in my heart, I know I led him here. It was all me. I burst into tears, adding to the dramatics of the night. And he gently eases off of me.

“Please stop,” he chokes. “Lily…” He lightly kisses my lips, my cheek, my nose, my eye and chin. “Please, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I did this,” I cry.

His lips return to mine, and he tries to make me focus on the kiss rather than my pained thoughts. If I was right in my own mind, maybe I would throw him off. Maybe I would tell him to stop. Maybe I’d do something that would benefit both of us instead of continuing our destructive cycle.

His fingers slip into me, and I clutch the sheet and wrap an arm around my eyes that alternate between something good and something bad.

He replaces his fingers with his cock, and I let out a sharp gasp at the sudden fullness. His lips find mine again, and he kisses me as he rocks slowly, as though telling me everything is right, everything is okay. He’s here. I’m here.

That’s all we need.

It’s our greatest lie.

I stand numbly in the elevator as it drops towards the first level and the grand ballroom. We’ve missed the dinner portion of the Gala, and I almost want to ditch the reception and go to the Drake to curl in my bed and wallow. But I’d rather find Rose. I need her.

Lo loops his tie around his neck, staring at the numbers as we descend. Wide space separates us, and so does the emotional sex and his drinking. I couldn’t stop him from downing that little bottle of tequila or pocketing another one. If the alcohol made him at ease, it doesn’t show. His muscles tense, and his neck barely moves, locked straight ahead.

“Where are you going when we get down there?” I ask.

“I need to talk to my father.” His eyes narrow at the glowing numbers.

“Maybe you should find Ryke first.”

“That’s not necessary.”

I swallow hard, and the elevator dings, the doors sliding open. Lo walks briskly towards the ballroom, and I struggle to keep up with his long legs. I skid to a stop by the door, struck by the bright, twinkling chandeliers and busy room with people milling about everywhere. A Christmas tree towers in the center, draped in gold tinsel with apple ornaments. Two screens on either side of the stage remind everyone the benefactors of the event. Hale Co. and Fizzle. I pass a server who carries a tray of pink champagne.

Lo plucks one off, downs it in one gulp, and sets it back. I can’t leave him. Not like this. I weave in between bodies and mutter “excuse me” hundreds of times, trying to tail Lo. He strides towards a certain spot with purpose and determination, ice crystalizing his amber eyes.

“Lo,” I say, grabbing out, but his hand drifts away from me.

I’m afraid to look for Rose or Ryke in the crowds because I may lose sight of Lo. Just by glancing over my shoulder, he gained considerable distance ahead of me. By the time I catch up, he stands in front of his father who wears a tux and a stern expression.

I stay an arm’s length away, close enough to hear every word.

“Have you been avoiding me?” Jonathan asks. “You usually stop by on Wednesdays.”

“I’ve been going through some things.”

Jonathan scrutinizes his son. “You look fine.”

“I’m not fine,” Lo admits. He shakes his head repeatedly, and his eyes grow glassy. “I’m not fine, Dad.”

Jonathan’s eyes flicker to his surroundings, and he says, “This isn’t the place, Loren. We’ll talk later.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” Lo tells him. “Do you hear me? I’m telling you that I’m not okay.”

Jonathan downs the rest of his whiskey and places it on a nearby high-table. After he rubs his lips, he edges closer to his son. My breath hitches, and I stay frozen in place. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”

Lo’s hands shake and he balls them into fists. “You know that I drink, and you don’t give a shit.”

“That’s what this is about?” Jonathan’s face contorts. “Lo, you’re a fucking twenty-one-year-old man. Of course you drink.”

“I pass out,” Lo says. Why is it so hard for Jonathan to understand that Lo has a problem? And then it dawns on me. Maybe because Jonathan hasn’t come to terms with his own.

“So have many before you. It’s natural for kids your age to abuse alcohol.”

“I can’t go a day without a drink.”

Jonathan’s lip curls. “Stop trying to find an excuse for your mistakes, and own up to them like a goddamn man.” There’s a difference between abusing alcohol and being dependent on it, and if he understood that, he’d realize Lo fits the latter.

I step forward and reach for Lo’s hand, but he jerks away from me.

Jonathan has found another glass of whiskey from a server. He sips and nods to me. “Have you put these thoughts into my son’s head?”

I shrink back from his scathing glower.

“I’ve known this since I was a kid,” Lo tells him. “She didn’t have to say anything to me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

An arm wraps around my waist. I jump and meet Rose’s concerned gaze. I fall into her hug and try not to cry into her shoulder.

Ryke, breathless as though he ran here, slinks up to Lo’s side and puts a hand on his arm. He doesn’t even look at Jonathan. “Come on, Lo.”

Rose tries to tug me away, but I shake my head and stay firmly here. Something’s wrong. I see it in Jonathan’s face. He pales beyond his natural Irish hue and almost drops his whiskey. “What are you doing here?” he says to Ryke.

Lo frowns. “You know each other?”

Jonathan lets out a small huff. “You didn’t tell him?” he says to Ryke. His eyes flicker back to the ballroom where people begin to stare. He shakes his head in annoyance and finishes off his whiskey.

Lo shifts his weight. “Tell me what?”

“Nothing,” Jonathan says with a bitter smile. He sets down the glass and meets Loren’s gaze once more. “So is this what you wanted to say to me? You wanted to blame me for your problems and stomp around like a child?”

Ryke keeps his hand resolutely on Lo’s shoulder, supporting him in a way that I can’t.

“No,” Lo says softly. “Maybe if this was a story about my teenage years, I’d have done something like that. I just wanted to say that I’m going to get sober.” His eyes cloud, and a single tear slides down his cheek. “I’m going to rehab. And when I come back, I may not see you all that much.”

He’s going to rehab. He knows this can’t work—us, together, while he tries to avoid alcohol for good. I can barely breathe. He’s leaving. For how long?

Jonathan inhales sharply and glares at Ryke. “Did you put him up to this?”

“No,” he says. “It’s news to me.”

Jonathan looks back at Lo. “You don’t need to go to rehab.” He mutters, “This is fucking ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“No, you won’t,” Lo tells him, more tears threatening to fall. “I won’t answer, and I’ll be gone by then.”

“You’re fine!” he shouts, silencing half the ballroom. He glances over his shoulder, as though just realizing his sudden outburst. He inches forward and speaks lowly. “You’re fine, Loren. Stop this.”

“He’s not okay,” Ryke interjects. “He’s telling you that he’s not okay.” My whole chest is on fire, and my head keeps spinning. The only reason I’m still standing is because Rose has her hand intertwined with mine, and if I fall, I don’t want her to drop with me.

Jonathan ignores Ryke. “Why are you crying?” he says to Lo, half in repulsion and half in something more human.

“I don’t know,” Lo says, his nose flaring as he tries to repress the silent tears.

He grabs the back of Lo’s neck and brings his face right into his. “Think about this,” Jonathan pleads with a sneer, shaking Lo.

People definitely start looking now. Lo tries to break the hold, putting his arm on his father’s but his grip is too tight, his fingers pressing into the tender part of Lo’s skin.

“Stop,” I say, trying to rush forward, but Rose pulls me back.

Ryke grabs Jonathan’s arm and pries it off of Lo, who stumbles in a daze. “What is wrong with you?” Ryke shouts at Jonathan. “No, you know what? I know what’s wrong with you. You never fucking change. Go back to believing you’re a great fucking man, but I won’t let you ruin Lo’s life.”

Why does he sound like he knows him?

“Is this Sara’s doing?” Jonathan asks. “Where is she?” His eyes dart around the ballroom, looking for Lo’s absent mother.

Lo parts from both Jonathan and Ryke, staring between them to try and understand their relationship. Clearly, it goes beyond anything we imagined.

“She’s not here. She doesn’t even know I’ve been talking to Lo,” Ryke exclaims.

Jonathan’s face twists in pain. “So you took it upon yourself to tear my family apart? After all that I’ve tried to do for you?” His eyes flash hot. “I could have shunned you, but I let you have a father.” Wait, wait, wait…

“I didn’t want one,” Ryke says.

Jonathan clenches his teeth. “You will not turn my son against me, do you hear me?”

“What’s going on?” Lo asks. “What the fuck is going on?”

From behind Jonathan, Connor appears and whispers in his ear. Jonathan nods and then says to Lo. “This is not the time. We’ll talk later.” With that short goodbye, Connor ushers Jonathan away to end an even bigger scene.

“Meet me in the hall,” Lo tells Ryke, not even looking his way.

I follow with Rose. Too many things swim in my head for me to focus. Tears keep falling—the source unbeknownst to me. Maybe from Jonathan’s sharp words. Maybe from Lo’s rehab proclamation. Or the strangeness between Ryke and Jonathan.

We stop in the hallway of the hotel, the carpet a tacky diamond pattern and the wallpaper a shiny gold color, both dizzying my flyaway mind.

“Who are you?!” Lo yells at Ryke. “Don’t fucking lie to me anymore!”

“Calm down,” Ryke says. “Give me the chance to explain, please. You deserve every answer.”

“How do you know my father?” Lo asks. “How does he know you?”

Ryke holds out a hand, palm down, as though trying to keep the peace. “Sara Hale is my mother.”

Oh my…Jonathan said something about being a father to Ryke. Is that why the divorce started? Sara cheated and became pregnant with Ryke?

That would make Lo and Ryke half-brothers.

Lo staggers back and raises a hand to pause the argument while he sorts out his thoughts. And then he looks up with furrowed brows and says, “You’re a bastard child?”

Ryke cringes in hurt, and he shakes his head once, so terse and pained that a tear flows from his eye.

Lo points to his own chest with a trembling hand. “I’m the bastard?”

Ryke nods once.

Lo lets out a strange choking sound, and I try to step forward, but Rose holds me back again. Lo wipes his eyes with his arm and inhales strongly. “Give me your license,” Lo immediately demands.

Ryke pulls his wallet from his back pocket and slides out the card. Before he hands it to Lo, he says, “You’re still my brother. It doesn’t make a difference who wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Just give it to me.”

Ryke hands it over, and Lo scans the name. His jaw locks, sharpening his cheeks to ice. His hand quakes as he reads the card. “Jonathan Ryke Meadows.” Lo lets out a crazed laugh and he flings the license back at Ryke. He leaves it on the carpet. “What did you say your mother did?” Lo feigns confusion. “Oh yeah? She lives off your dad.” Lo bites his bottom lip and nods.

“Lo…”

He sets his hands on his head. “Fuck you,” Lo sneers. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? You’re Jonathan’s son. Sara Hale is your mother, but she’s not mine, is she?”

“My mom filed for divorce when Jonathan got another woman pregnant with you. I was just born.”

Everything that his father told him is a lie. No wonder Sara hates Lo and cursed him on the telephone. He’s the product of adultery and her failed marriage. I try to move towards him once more, but Rose keeps pulling me back.

Lo is crying heavily. “Sara took my bed to give to you, didn’t she?”

“I didn’t know it was yours.”

“My dresser, my fucking clothes, she took them from the settlement and gave them to you.” Lo presses fingers to his eyes. “Why keep this from me?”

“There are legal issues…” He steps closer to Lo. “I didn’t even know you existed until I turned fifteen. My mom let it slip in one of her rants. I visited Jonathan all the time at country clubs. And I didn’t lie when I said I stopped seeing my father. I felt weird about him, especially when I started getting sober. I felt like I could see right through him.” He sniffs, trying to hold back emotions, but it’s hard because Lo is a mess. And Ryke’s eyes grow red and puffy.

“You knew about me for seven years? And you didn’t think to meet me?” Lo frowns in deep hurt. “I’m your brother.”

“You were also the thing that tore apart my parents,” Ryke says, his voice shaking. “I spent years resenting the idea of you. My mother hated you, and I loved her, so what the fuck was I supposed to believe? And then I went to college, and I gained some distance from her. I started thinking things through, and I came to peace with you. I’d leave you alone. You’d be some sort of wealthy prick that Jonathan Hale would raise. And then I saw you.” Ryke nods to himself, his eyes welling. “I saw you at the Halloween party and I knew who you were. After I learned about your existence, Jonathan would show me pictures of you, always asking if I wanted to meet you. I never did.”

Lo looks pained. “Why did you?”

“I saw what would have become of me if I was raised by him. And I regretted everything. I blamed you when you were just a kid dealt a shitty hand of cards. I wanted to help you…for all the years that I sat by. I knew what he was like. I listened to my mother talk about the things he said to her—horrible, disgusting things that were sometimes just as bad as a punch to the face. And I knew you were being raised by that. And I didn’t do a goddamn thing.” Ryke’s voice breaks. He shakes his head.

“So you saw me,” Lo says. “Am I as pathetic as you imagined?”

“No. You’re kind of an asshole, but so am I. We really must be brothers.”

Lo chokes on a short laugh. “Why’d everyone keep this from me?” He takes a step back and Ryke’s hand falls off his shoulder. “What are the legal matters?”

Ryke swallows. “In the settlement, my mom has to keep quiet about the name of your mother and she has to retain Hale as her surname or else she loses everything she won in the divorce.” Ryke must have kept Sara’s maiden name: Meadows.

“Why?”

“So your father won’t go to jail. Your mom was almost seventeen. She was just a minor, and my mother could have turned him in, but she signed papers that censured the truth. And if she changed her mind, then all the money would go to charity and she’d lose out.”

Lo’s face twists. “Did he rape her?”

“No,” Ryke says quickly. “No. Sara said a lot of bad things about Jonathan, but she never said that. I don’t think he loved your mom, or else he would have found a way for her to be in your life. I think it was…a one-time thing.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I think she walked…” He struggles to finish the truth. “I think she walked away from you. I don’t know why she chose to have you, but she did. And I know she didn’t want to keep you after.”

Jonathan raised Lo, when no one else wanted him.

As the words sink in, Lo’s hands tremble and his chest barely rises to accept breath. “It was just easier for everyone if I didn’t know, right?”

“I wasn’t sure if Jonathan ever told you the whole truth,” Ryke professes. “But when you met me, I knew he hadn’t. You had no recognition of who I was.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me upfront?” Lo asks. He points to his chest. “I deserved to know.”

“You did. You’re right,” Ryke says. “But you’re not well, Lo. I wanted to help you. So I made up a couple lies to be close to you. I even had to ditch Rose’s fashion show because Lily’s father showed up. I’ve met him. He knows me, and I didn’t think you were ready to find out the truth.”

My father knows? He had the answers the whole time. I can barely process this.

Ryke edges closer. “I was afraid if you found out, I’d push you to a dark place. Can you understand that?” His eyes flicker to me. “I think you can.”

Lo rubs his eyes again. He can’t stop crying. I see the hurt coursing through him like jagged tidal waves, crashing and crashing until he loses breath and focus and drowns beneath the rapids. He screams into his hand—angry, pained, pissed.

He slowly drops to his knees and puts a palm on the carpet.

“Lo,” Ryke says, bending to him. He tries to help, but Lo swats him away with wild, watery eyes.

“Where’s Lily?” he asks, frantic. “Lily!” He whips his head. “Lily!” he cries, searching for me.

Rose finally lets me go, and I run into Lo’s arms. He holds me tightly and cries into my shoulder, his body heaving. “I’m here,” I breathe. “It’s okay.” When I look up, I see Ryke and Rose exchanging hesitation.

I understand now. They’re afraid of our closeness. We’re not good together.

Not yet anyway.

He clutches onto my dress, and he cries until there are no more tears. I try and pray to hold mine back—to be strong for him. He whispers to me, in a dry voice, “I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not.” I kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.”

After a few more minutes, we rise and silently walk outside to the valet with Rose and Ryke close behind. I convince them to leave us alone in one of the cars, but they’re going to meet us at the Drake.

Lo slides into the Escalade first. And then me.

“The Drake,” I say, not even looking at the front seats. The car starts moving, and I turn to Lo who has a hand covering his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re going to rehab,” I say assuredly, even though a pain weighs on my chest. I know this is the right thing. For both of us.

“I can’t leave you.” He drops his hand. “It could be months, Lily. I don’t want you with another guy…”

“I’m going to be strong,” I tell him, taking his hands in mine. I squeeze. “I’m going to go to therapy.”

“Lily…” His pained voice sends daggers to my heart.

“I’m going to move in with Rose.”

He shuts his eyes and more tears spill.

I keep from crying. I swallow. “I’m going to transfer to Princeton, and I’ll be waiting for you when you return.”

Lo nods a lot, letting the news sink in. “If that’s what you want…”

“It’s what I want.”

Lo licks his lips and leans a shoulder against mine. “I’m sorry, about today. I shouldn’t have done that in the hotel room. I…I was upset, and it had nothing to do with you. I…”

“What is it?” I frown. What could be so bad that he threw back mini-bottles of alcohol, breaking his short sobriety that meant a great deal to him, to me, and our friends…his brother.

“Penn sent me a letter this morning.” He pauses. “They’ve kicked me out.”

“What? They can’t kick you out. You haven’t done anything wrong. We’ll go to the Dean—”

“Lily, I haven’t gone to half my classes. I’ve failed almost every one. I have a one-point-something GPA. They can kick out people that don’t meet their academic standards. They warned me last year, and I didn’t give a shit.”

“What?” I squeak. I knew something was wrong, but I thought he had been pulling better grades than me at least. “So…so you’ll go to Princeton with me. You can transfer. They’ll let you in with your last name.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m not going back to college. It’s not for me, Lil.”

I process this. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Lo says. “How about get healthy first?”

“That works,” I murmur. “What about your father? Lo, if he finds out, he’ll take away your trust fund.”

“He won’t find out. I’ve already called admissions and told them not to contact him.”

I exhale in relief.

The car rolls to the curb. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Hale.”

I stiffen. That voice—that voice did not belong to Nola.

The driver shifts slightly, and I see the gray whiskers, feather hair, and glasses perched on a beak nose.

“Anderson,” Lo says tensely. Anderson, Jonathan Hale’s driver, the guy who has been known to rat us out. “Please don’t tell my father…”

“Have a nice night,” Anderson says with a fake smile. He spins back to the front, waiting for us to leave.

We do, and in my heart, I know that everything is about to change.