Addicted for Now (32 page)

“I can’t wake her up,” Daisy says, her voice growing more
frantic and low. “Wait, please…I don’t want to…
Mom
.”

Ryke stands up before I can find the strength to put weight
on my gelatin legs. He goes over to the four-chair alcove. He has to lean over
a glowering Melissa to reach Daisy. “Give me the phone,” he whispers, but I can
still hear his hostile voice.

“Mom,” Daisy says. “I have to go…But…I…Wait…I…”

Ryke grabs the phone from her before she has a breakdown.
And at the same time, Rose is halfway across the plane aisle, her eyes dead-set
on me with so much confidence and power that I immediately wish I was her.
Strong and built like a fortress—able to withstand anything that’s thrown at
me.

I meet her gaze, but I point to Ryke who now clutches my
mother—or the phone that contains my mother. Rose understands. She grabs
Daisy’s cell from him and immediately goes into crisis management mode.

“Mother, calm down. No,” she snaps. “
No
.” And that’s all I hear as she struts back to the cabin to talk
in private. She said the one word that Daisy couldn’t.

I’m not sure I could either.

Daisy stares out the window. Ryke whispers something to her,
and she just nods and gestures to me.

Ryke comes back to the floor, collecting his cards and
fanning them in his hands. “It’s my turn, I think,” he says. “Do you have a
ten?”

“Ryke?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, you’ll take care of him, right?”

He goes rigid. “I don’t know what that fucking means.”

“It means what it means,” I breathe. “He doesn’t have anyone
besides you and me. I just need to know you’ll be there.”

“And so will you,” he snaps.

“Not if my parents force me into rehab or halfway across the
country.” My mother will want to bury away this problem by transporting it to a
different time zone.

“You’re almost twenty-one. You’re a fucking adult. Your
parents can’t make you do shit, Lily.”

“I owe them—”

“For tarnishing the Fizzle name? For bringing you up with
cash and luxury?” He keeps shaking his head. “You and Lo have it so warped. You
think you’re indebted to your parents because they gave you everything you
have. But they didn’t give you what fucking mattered. They owe
you
. They owe you for not asking why
their daughter isn’t home. Why she looks distant and sad. Why she has
barricaded herself in a fucking apartment with her boyfriend. They have failed
you, and if they tell you to get on a fucking plane or go to rehab—where we all
know you shouldn’t be—then you need to tell them to go to hell. And if you
don’t, Lo and I will. I promise you that.”

The right words stay at the back of my throat—
thanks, Ryke
. It’s a hard phrase to
produce, especially when he delivers his opinions with such fervor and force.

I land on something though.

“Go Fish.”

He lets out a short laugh as he reaches for the deck.
“You’ll be fine, Calloway.”

At least one of us believes it.

{ 32 }

LOREN HALE

I lean against the bathroom wall, staring at my
pallid face and sunken eyes. I look like utter shit. I feel even worse. My left
hand keeps shaking, and I have to clench my fingers into a fist just to make it
stop. My father bitches me out on the other line for ignoring his previous
calls.

“I’m in the goddamn air,” I remind him curtly, keeping my
voice low so Ryke doesn’t hear. “Unless you’d like reception to magically be
invented over the ocean.”

“Hey, I’m just as fucking livid as you are.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I say, my voice slightly
breaking. I don’t want to be talking to him while Lily looks one second from
opening the hatch and jumping from the plane without a parachute. And every
time I picture her crying like that—goddamn, I can’t start. I rub my eyes to
push back the emotions. I want to kick the wall so fucking hard, and I swallow
a scream that needs to escape.

“Whoever this motherfucker is,” my father says, “I will
personally rip him a new asshole, Loren. You hear me? He’s not getting away
with this shit.”
 

I have to ask. “Did you do it? Did you leak it?” One week
after I told him, the news exploded across the globe. Is it really all a
coincidence?

There’s a long pause. And then this: “You have got to be
fucking kidding me. Did you not hear what I just said? I have busted my ass
trying to find this fucker.” He growls a little. Yeah, it’s not him.

“Then who?” I ask. “Who would do this? What do they possibly
have to gain?”

“Money,” my father says flatly. “We’re still working on some
leads.”

I bring the phone away from mouth and struggle between not
shouting and screaming my head off. No sound escapes, but I catch myself in the
mirror, and I look like I’m fighting an invisible battle against a shadowed
enemy. I look crazy and tortured.

“I have to go,” my father says quickly. “Greg is on the
other line. I’ll talk to you soon. Keep your head up.” Words of encouragement
from my father. Those don’t come often. So I take them.
 

We hang up at the same time. I lean over the sink and splash
some water on my face. Trying to get my shit together.
 

I should call Brian, the therapist that Ryke and Lily
believe I’m talking to about my deep inner thoughts. But I can’t discuss
alcohol. Even the thought makes my stomach turn. Because Lily shouldn’t be
worried if I’m going to relapse. The world is crashing down on her shoulders,
and I don’t want to add to that weight.

I let out a long breath, bearing her pain that feels so much
a part of me. We’ve become entangled, years and years of lies and childhood
memories and stories all wrapped into one. I know her better than her sisters.
I know her sometimes better than she does herself. I know just how much this is
killing her inside.

And then one thought punctures me.
 

I’m here.

I could be at a bar. Passed out cold.

I could be in rehab. Away from her.

I have the chance to be by her side through all of this.

So go, you stupid bastard.

That’s what it takes. I’m out the door.

PART THREE

“One day, you're going to have to make a choice. You have
to decide what kind of man you want to grow up to be. Whoever that man is, good
character or bad, is going to change the world.”

 
– Jonathan Kent, Man of
Steel

{ 33 }

LOREN HALE

No one speaks in the car, from the tarmac to our
house in Princeton, New Jersey. Melissa calls a taxi to bring her back to Penn,
so at least we don’t have to deal with that.

Connor’s black limo gives us all plenty of room. Lily rests
her head in my lap, trying to play cat’s cradle with my shoelace. She stopped
crying sometime between our fifth game of Go Fish and when the plane
landed.
 

I want her to call Allison, but she keeps saying she doesn’t
want to talk to anyone. And I guess I have no right to force her to speak to
her therapist when I’ve been avoiding mine. Regardless, I plan on calling
Allison tonight whether Lily does or not. I have to ask about medication for
Lil.

No one understands lows like an addict. And I fear the one
she’s about to hit when she confronts her parents.

She holds up the intertwined shoelace in her fingers. “Your
turn,” she tells me. “Go under my hands and grab it.”

“I’m going to mess it up.”

“No you won’t,” she says. “Just make sure to grab the right
ones.”

Problem is, I don’t know which are the right ones.

Rose sits stiffly beside Connor, her cell clutched in her
steel-grip. Lily told me that Rose has been in “damage control mode”—she even
yelled at a reputable news producer for an hour before Connor pried the phone
from her fingers. She’s been texting and emailing gossip magazines and lawyers
since we landed.

Rose isn’t taking the leak very well. She keeps fixing her
hair and smoothing her dress. Connor has to grab her hands to stop her. And as
I look between the three Calloway girls—Rose in a frazzled state, Daisy
drifting far away, and Lil with a sad, soft voice—I get it. I get what Ryke
sees and what he feels. I have this insane wish to just make things right
again, to plug all the cracks in our lives—just for the small, sliver of hope
that these girls will be able to stand up on their own for one more day.

I think the six of us—we’re all strong. We’re each just a
different kind of strong. But we all have a different kind of weak too. And I’m
figuring out how to bottle my weakness to help them all.
 

I’m not going to be the villain of my own story. That shit
is done.

Rose’s phone buzzes. She stares at the screen, Connor
reading the text too. “We have a little hiccup,” she says.

Lily’s hands fall to her lap, tangling the shoelace herself.
“What?” Her worry cracks her voice. I rub her arm, and she holds onto my bicep
for support.

“Our parents are at our house,” Rose says. “They’re waiting
for you.”

Lily bolts upright, shaking her head fiercely. “I can’t,
Rose. I need another day.”

Gilligan, Connor’s driver, remains quiet behind the wheel,
leading us down our street. Only a couple blocks away, news vans line the curb,
most likely camped out by the gate.

Daisy presses her nose to the window. “Holy shit.”

Lily’s eyes widen at the scene.

She can’t handle this right now. That much is certain. I
look to Ryke and he just nods once. “Gilligan,” I call to the front and tap the
privacy screen. It lowers so I can see his bald head. “Change of plans. We’re
going to Philly.”

***

Ryke’s off-campus flat has brick walls and
hardwood floors, a Philadelphia 76ers poster hanging in the dim living room,
fit with leather beanbags, a big screen television, and a decent-sized sound
system. I’ve been here only a few times before, and it’s hard to remember that
this isn’t just another random apartment. It’s my brother’s.

After a quick call to Allison, I get an approval to give
Lily a sleeping pill. She falls asleep in the spare bedroom, quicker than I
thought she would. Crying must have exhausted her already.

When I return to the living room, I take a swift glance
outside. No news vans or camera crews. Not many people know that Ryke Meadows
is related to me, and in this instance, it comes in handy.

Connor and Rose talk in hushed whispers on the couch,
sometimes even switching to French. He told me that the private investigator is
still working on finding the leak. Same thing my father said about his
connections. A part of me feels hopeless by the news—like maybe we’ll just
never know. Another part of me thinks maybe I shouldn’t know. Because I have a
penchant for hurting people who hurt Lily or me. And I don’t want to be the guy
who threatens someone else’s future anymore. I don’t want to become my father.

“I just got off the phone with a friend,” Connor says.

“You have other friends?” I ask with a frown. Why, out of
everything, does this bother me? Maybe I’m too fucking emotional right now. I
rub my eyes, trying to pull myself together.

“Acquaintance, contact,” Connor tells me, “whatever you want
to call him.”

Ryke walks over and hands me a glass of something
amber-colored. I stiffen and give him a look. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s tea.”

I barely relax but take the glass anyway.

Connor continues, “My contact told me there are cameras
outside my apartment. I just wanted to let you know that they’re seeking all
avenues to get information.” Even Lily’s sister’s boyfriend—a far fucking
stretch.

Daisy sits on the hardwood floor, the remote control in her
hands as she stares at the blank television. I can see her curiosity. She’s the
one still halfway in the dark, and all the answers lie in that box. She offered
to be brought back to her house, but Lily and Rose refused. Their parents are
as bloodthirsty for information as the media, and we all know they’d sink their
claws into Daisy if they had her.

So she stays with us for now.

I stare at the floor, trying to piece together a semblance
of a plan. First things first. I turn to Connor who relaxes against the couch.
His arm stays around Rose’s shoulders, and I realize that he’s subtly massaging
her neck so she’ll be more at ease.

I didn’t want to drag him through all of this, and with his
usual impassive expression, I can’t tell if it bothers him that paparazzi have
invaded his apartment building.

“You’re not related to Lily or me. If you want out, you
should probably leave now before things worsen.”

I expect Rose to spit at me for untethering her own
boyfriend from this complicated matter. Because it’d mean that Connor would
have to leave her too. But she’s busy texting on her cell, inhaling sharp
breaths every so often that sound like knives slicing her lungs. I even saw her
pop some kind of medication.

“Rose already showed me where the door is,” Connor says.
“I’m fairly capable of knowing when and how to walk out of it.”

“The media may get worse,” I remind him, but I forget that
Connor has probably weighed all the possibilities in his head, and maybe even
created a mental spreadsheet of the pros and cons of the situation.

“Yes, and you’ll need someone who doesn’t curse every five
words to handle the press.”

Ryke rolls his eyes, the dig clearly referring to him.
“Journalism major,” Ryke says, pointing to his chest. “I know the press better
than you, Cobalt.”

“And do you really plan on doing anything with that degree?”

Ryke says nothing.

“Exactly.”

“What about your mother’s company?” I ask Connor.

“Cobalt Inc. isn’t a household name. People don’t associate
us with our products like they do Hale Co.—your name is on the label of every
baby shampoo and diaper package. We deal with manufacturers and subsidiaries.”
Like MagNetic, I remember. “My affiliation with you or Lily won’t hurt the
company, and for that, my mother won’t care. And plus, if she’s outside of the
scandal looking in, she enjoys the drama from time to time. It keeps her days
interesting.”

I wonder if that’s how he sees us sometimes. Interesting.
Entertainment. Something to make each day unpredictable.

I also can’t imagine the woman who spawned someone like
Connor. She seems as fabricated as a character in one of my comics.

“Like I said, Lo,” Connor finishes, “I know how to use the
door.”

Ryke nods to me. “You going to give me an out too?”

“No, if I’m going down, you’re burning with me.”

“Does that qualify as a brotherly obligation?”

“For me, yeah.”

Daisy fumbles with the remote and it drops loudly on the
hardwood. “Sorry,” she mumbles and continues to stare at the black television.

I want to watch the news and figure out how much the media
already knows. Finding the leak has become a second priority. Our first task is
to clean up whatever blowback we’re about to receive. I suspect Greg Calloway
and possibly my father are already working with a team of lawyers to subdue the
crisis. One of the many reasons they’ll want to talk to us.

I don’t trust them. But I do trust the people in this room,
and that’s enough to put me at ease for the current moment.

I realize Daisy is still in the dark—about a lot of things.
It’s not fair to her, especially since we’ll be talking freely now. “Do you
have any questions, Daisy?” I ask, slouching on the couch.

She places the remote carefully on the coffee table and sits
cross-legged on the floor.

“I do have a beanbag,” Ryke says.

“I see it.” But she hugs her knees loosely, making no move.
Her eyes flit to me. “I have hundreds of questions, but I can wait to ask Lily.
I don’t want her to be upset if you reveal something that she wants to keep
secret.”

“You’re going to hear it on the television or the tabloids
anyway,” I tell her. “She would prefer if you knew the truth from me.”

She hesitates. “I can ask anything?”

Anything is a strong word, but I’m confident in my ability
to deflect the too-personal questions. I agree with a nod.

“If this is going to be a Q&A, then I have a couple
questions as well,” Ryke says.

I smile bitterly. “Of course you do.”

Daisy throws the nearest pillow at him. “This is my
Q&A.”

He catches the pillow. “Now you’re throwing my things, but
you won’t sit on the damn beanbag?”

“You’re pushy—did anyone ever tell you that?”

“I do all the time,” I say. “He never listens.”

Ryke raises his hands like
what the fuck.
“I’m sorry if I can tell that there’s an
uncomfortable girl on my fucking floor, and I know how to fix the problem.”

“Don’t,” I warn him. We’re not opening those floodgates
ever, ever again. I can withstand him being friendly to Daisy in tiny
microscopic doses, but when he starts talking about girls on floors and fixing
shit, it makes me nervous.

Daisy asks the first question, which doesn’t necessarily
lessen any tension in the room. I’m not sure anything can after the leak. “Have
you and Lily been in an open relationship?”

I like to refer to what we had as a “fake” relationship, but
when we became a pretend couple, we
were
a couple. I had everything with her that a boyfriend would have. Except the
sex. But when I think of open relationships, I picture swingers and people who
have multiple partners. I’m sure the term is vague enough to encompass a
variety of situations. Just not ours.

I don’t have a yes or no answer for Daisy, so I have to go
into explaining what we did. How we lied to her and everyone around us. How our
friendship turned into something more but still remained something less.

“Wow,” Daisy says when I finish. “All to hide your
addictions? Couldn’t you have just, I don’t know, moved to Europe?”

“We contemplated it.”

Her face falls. “I was joking.”

I shrug, indifferent about it all. “Lily and I never ignored
you because you’re younger. The phone calls we didn’t pick up, the lunches we
canceled, all of that was because we’d rather drink and have sex than be around
people. Especially ones that we’d have to lie to.”

“That’s messed up,” Daisy tells me.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Actually, I told you it was fucked up,” Ryke clarifies.

Daisy ignores him. “Why is she a sex addict? Is there
something that caused it?”

My throat goes dry and my eyes flicker to the bedroom door.

Lily and I haven’t discussed the cause of her addiction, but
I know she’s been trying to sparse through the past with Allison.

Lily shuts down when it comes to her childhood, refusing to
look at her relationship with her family for what it truly is. I can touch her
painful memories without being terrorized by the hurt, and in turn she can
focus on mine without bearing the guilt. It’s a symbiosis that I’ve come to
recognize after hours and hours of therapy.

Whether we allow ourselves to open up to our own
feelings—well that’s something we’re both working on.

My silence lingers in the air as I try to focus on a
suitable answer.

Ryke grows restless by the quiet. “I’ve read that eighty
percent of sex addicts are abused as a child. Did Lily—”

“No,” I cut him off, my tone defensive and edged. My eyes
bear the same heat, and I wonder if this is why Ryke has never asked me that
question before.

“I’m not the only one who will fucking ask that,” he snaps.
“You’re going to have to start being less sensitive.”

I glower at that word…
sensitive
.
It makes me sound weak and fragile. It’s one of those words in my father’s
arsenal. I wasn’t living up to my potential when I failed a sixth grade math
test, when I had to do a group project alone after no one picked me, when I
lost a Little League game. He told me I was worthless, and as a kid I didn’t
know how to stop those tears
. Don’t be so
sensitive, Loren. You’re being too sensitive, Loren. Why are you so goddamn
sensitive, Loren?
So I stopped crying. Now I just get mad.

My eyes are on Ryke and my mouth moves before I can stop
it.
 
“I’m not sensitive,” I deadpan.
“You’re the one who flinched every time I called your mother a cunt.” Granted,
that was before I knew Sara Hale was his mom. I just thought she was mine, the
one who abandoned me.