Addicted for Now (44 page)

{ 49 }

LOREN HALE

The plane lands in New York. I don’t go home. I
end up at a parking lot of a local bar. Cold. Alone. Stuck with my own
thoughts. It’s a dangerous game.

I grip the steering wheel, pain cutting through me like
sharp knives. I can’t stop seeing Emily’s contorted face, one full of
unease—uncomfortable, wishing I would just go the hell away. I lost my mother
again, but that’s a stupid thought. I can’t lose something that I never had.
 

I pinch my eyes and scream, my throat burning. I need to
run. I need to push these feelings away. I hear my father in the back of my
head. I hear Emily. I hear the press, the media.
You have everything, Loren. Why the fuck are you crying? Look around,
what could you possibly be sad about?

Nothing. I’m not allowed to be upset, to feel anything but
gratitude. I am privileged. I am rich. My eyes skim the bar, the OPEN sign
flashing in neon blue. I am a rebellious new adult, needing attention. Right?
That’s what this is. Alcohol will draw every eye to me, make people pity me.
Make them feel sorry.

That’s not it
, I
think. Alcohol will drown my warring thoughts. Alcohol will shut out every
voice in my head.

It will also fuck everything else up.

I don’t know what to do. I’m going out of my goddamn mind. I
slam my palm into the steering wheel, another scream knotted in my throat, and
the tears I stifled suddenly stream down my face. I couldn’t say no to my
father, I couldn’t stop the leak, and my mother never really wanted me—not even
now. I always fail. Always.

My hands tremble as I slip out my cell and dial a number
quickly. I just want to hear her voice. I press my forehead against the wheel,
no more energy to even keep my head upright.

“Where are you?” Lily asks with worry. “You were supposed to
call hours ago. Your flight landed, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way home,” I lie.

“Are you still in New York? We can meet up for dinner,” she
offers, probably not buying my lie.

“Why do you love me, Lil?”

“Lo, really, where are you?” Concern spikes in her voice.

“Just answer me.” I let out a long breath. “
Please
. Why do you love me?” I grip the
phone harder, tears clouding my vision.

“When we were eleven, we were at your house, reading
comics,” she says, and for some reason I know exactly which memory she’s trying
to draw for me. We were on my bed, surrounded by several open and splayed
X-Men
comics, and we would read the same
one at the same time. She’d wait patiently for me to hurry up, her eyes
skimming the panels quickly while I soaked in each line, each bleed of color.
“Do you remember?” she asks after a long pause.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice shaking.

“We both knew you were most like Hellion. You make the wrong
choices, even when you know where the right ones lie.”

I nod to myself, tears spilling. I try to breathe a full
breath, but the pain chokes me.

“But that day, you said you aspired to be Cyclops. Scott
Summers was strong. He took care of everyone in the face of crisis. He was a
man that people wanted by their side.” Her voice shakes too, like she’s near
tears. “Lo,” she says, “you’ve made it. You’re my Scott Summers, and without
you, I wouldn’t be here.”

I close my eyes and let that sink in. She doesn’t have to
say,
I love you because…
The
sentiment is attached to each and every word. She loves me because she believes
I’m strong. She loves me because she’s a part of me.

She loves me because I’ve become a better man through all of
this.

“Lo,” she continues. “Whatever Emily said, I need you to
know that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here when you come home. There
will always be an
us
.”

“A Lo and Lily,” I breathe.

“Or Lily and Lo."

I smile. “Thank you.”

She pauses. “Do I have to say the rest?”

“No, but you can if you want.”

“Don’t fucking drink, Loren Hale,” she says sternly, but it
comes off more cute than rigid. It works all the same.

“I love you, Lil.” I straighten up and wipe my eyes with the
back of my arm.

“Are you coming home then?”

“I have to make a stop first.”

She sucks in a worried breath. “Lo.”

“Trust me,” I say.

“I love you too,” she tells me.

I turn on the ignition and let those words carry me.

***

I don’t remember the office being this cold or
dark, but I walk in with purpose. I’m no longer sorry or sad. I’m fueled by
something else, something darker and stronger that begins to eat at my core.
It’s a demon that my father carries, the one where anger turns into vile words.
The one where we stop being pathetic and we start being mean. I thought being
sober would change me. Make this part of me vanish. But I realize it’s not only
alcohol that powered my hate. It’s programmed inside of me from years and years
of being raised by someone like him.

“You’re finally back,” Brian says, lounging behind the desk
with this nonchalance that has always dug under my skin. “Did you get tired of
ignoring my calls?”

“You were nothing, if not persistent,” I snap dryly,
slumping down into the chair. I met Brian in rehab, and we discussed my life in
grave detail. He was supposed to be my outpatient therapist, and I guess I kind
of fucked that up when I stopped going to our sessions. Even more so when I
stopped answering his calls.

“So why are you here, Lo?” He leans even further back in his
chair.

“How do you not fucking hate me?” I ask in confusion.

“I assume you had a valid reason for skipping the session,”
Brian says calmly, “and if not, then that’s on you.”

“I’m not talking about skipping sessions,” I snap. “How can
you sit there and listen to my problems and not roll your eyes every two
seconds?”

“Why would I do that?” He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look
confused or upset. Brian is a blank slate that bounces my words right back at
me. All this time, I thought he stared at me like I was this royal
douchebag—that I was some loser he had to stomach. But I know I was projecting.
I wanted him to hate me. I was begging for it because I’m not worthy of
anyone’s compassion.

“I have more money than you will ever have in your lifetime,”
I tell him.
“You have to sit there
and listen to me
bitch
about stupid
shit for hours on end, and then I return home to my nice house with my nice
car.”

 
“You think I should
hate you because you have money and because I have to listen to your problems? Is
that why you stopped coming?”

“No, I stopped coming because I couldn’t bear to stare at
your ugly face any longer.”

He actually smiles at that. It’s genuine, which makes me
feel like a bigger dick. He sets his pen on his desk and sits up. “I know you,
Lo,” he reminds me. “We’ve talked for months, so I know that no one, especially
your father, has ever told you this.”

“If this is your fortune cookie wisdom, you can save it.”

“Having money doesn’t make you an unfeeling automaton.
You’re human. You can still have problems. The difference is that you have the
ability to fix them. You just have to want to. Not everyone can receive the
same help you can or afford the rehab facility you went to.” My stomach curdles
at the truth. “But that doesn’t mean your recovery can’t be difficult. It
doesn’t mean that what people say on TV or in the tabloids doesn’t hurt as
much. You still bleed like the rest of us. You can cry. You can be upset. That
right has not been taken from you.”

I stare dazedly at the ground.

“And Lo,” he continues. “I usually don’t offer my personal
opinion to my patients, but I’m going to make an exception with you.”

“How kind.”

He doesn’t smile this time. “Underneath this rough,
I-hate-myself-and-everyone-around-me exterior is a good guy. And I think that
you have the ability to accomplish great things if you just start forgiving
yourself.”

“For what?”

“I think you know what.”

“Well, you’re so keen on giving personal opinions, why don’t
you tell me,” I snap.

He doesn’t. Instead he grabs his pen, leans back in his
chair and clicks a couple times. “Sometimes the person we think we’ll become is
the person we already are, and the person we truly become is the person we
least expect.” He clicks his pen again and points it at me. “There’s your
fortune cookie wisdom.”

I think he’s telling me that I have a chance. That the life
I imagined—where I become the self-loathing man behind a desk, where I become
my father—doesn’t have to be the one meant for me. I want to take the leap
while my mind is clear, while I can see an alternative future that doesn’t look
as grim. I want Lily. A house. The white picket fence kind of happiness. I
didn’t ever think I deserved that, but maybe, one day, I can become the kind of
person that does.

I shift in my seat, but I don’t break his gaze. “I went to
see my mother. My real mother,” I tell him.

His head tilts, but his face has gone blank again. This
time, I don’t feel like punching him for his lack of reaction. I just talk.

It pours out of me like I’ve carved open my stomach. Every
word makes me lighter and freer.

I don’t stop.

{ 50 }

LILY CALLOWAY

The next morning, Lo and I head to his office. He
shares all the details about his mother, and he lets me hug him whenever I
reach out. While I can’t physically relate to a parent abandoning me, I
understand what it feels like to want your mother to love you and not receiving
the same affection in return.

He sinks into his leather chair, and I hesitate to bring up
what happened with Dr. Evans so soon after his emotional reconnection with
Emily. It’s why I didn’t mention it on the phone last night. Last thing I
wanted was to instill guilt and have him break his sobriety. (He admitted to
sitting in the parking lot of a bar—I knew it.)

I skim the comic books on his shelf while he works on a
couple contracts. A guy who runs another indie publishing company has been giving
Lo advice, so every week Lo grows more confident about the job. He even talks
about hiring a partner to help with all the areas he’s weak in. And that idea,
of asking someone for help, doesn’t make him balk in detest.

I’m supposed to be unpacking boxes downstairs at Superheroes
& Scones, so my lingering presence must catch Lo’s attention. “You okay,
Lil?”

I pull a
She-Hulk
comic off the shelf and focus on the cover while I speak. “I actually decided
to go back to Allison for therapy. And my father is okay with it. He says it
won’t break the deal.” He also told me that he’ll be filing a lawsuit against
Dr. Evans. Hopefully, I helped some other girl that could have been harassed.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I forgot to ask you about your last
session with…” He trails off, and I meet his eyes that have grown as big as
saucers.
 

“I’m glad I went,” I tell him. “I would have never fired him
otherwise.”

“What the fuck did he do?”

I hug the comic to my chest like a pillow, letting it give
me some sort of strength. “He wanted me to masturbate while he shocked me,” I
say very quickly.

Lo grips the table, his eyes turning into pure fury.

“But I said no! And then he didn’t like that so he unzipped
his pants.”

Lo jumps to his feet. I drop the comic and rush to stop him
from leaving the room.

My hands press to his chest. “I said no, Lo,” I say proudly.
“I screamed it, and then I screamed for Garth. Everything worked out fine.”

“Everything is not
fine
,”
Lo tells me, hurt caressing his amber eyes. “Fine would be you never having to
deal with that sick fuck.”

“It’s over,” I say. “My father is handling it. I don’t want
to keep dwelling about every bad thing that happens to us. I want to move on.
Don’t you?” I’m ready to start the newest chapter of our lives. One where we’re
not assaulted by our vices. One where we’re happy.

His shoulders slacken and his hands rise to my cheeks. “Are
you okay?” he asks, searching my eyes for the truth.

“I feel strong,” I say. “I know that’s probably weird.”

 
He shakes his head
and his eyes seem to say
no, not at all
.

“There’s something else,” I start. Worry shrouds his face.
“Not like that. It’s a good thing, I think.” I take a deep breath and his hands
fall to mine. “I’ve decided that I don’t want to see the blacklist of what I
can’t do…sexually, I mean.” I grimace.
Really,
Lily?

Wrinkles crease his forehead. “Why?”

“I realized that it doesn’t matter what I can’t do with
you,” I say. “We’re together…for real this time. No piece of paper or list can
tell me what I’m missing. I have everything I could want.”

I can’t even blink before his lips are on mine, before his
arms have pulled me to his body. I am cloaked in Loren Hale. He brushes his
hand against the back of my neck before ending the kiss, but he doesn’t retract
fully. I’m still very much in his arms.

And then he lifts me up with two hands firmly planted on my
ass. My legs swoop around his waist instantly. Obviously my limbs are
processing what’s happening faster than my brain.

His eyes melt into mine as he slowly carries me backwards
and sets me down on his desk. My heart beats like a drum at this—a fantasy I’ve
imagined since I was in high school. Desks. Sex over them. Sex on them. Sex
near them. Of course I can make furniture into something stimulating.

Is this really happening or is it all in my dirty mind?

The corners of his lips rise at my confusion and
anticipation. His amusement only riles my cravings, but I try to push them
back, not wanting to turn into a compulsive monster.

His hands run along my thighs, my legs still tight around
his waist. “How many times have you pictured this?”
 

“On this specific desk?”

He grins and kisses me again. I deepen it and hold onto the
back of his hair, gripping tightly. He groans a little as he pulls away, and
then he tugs off my shorts with ease. I’m about to swoop my legs back around
his waist, but I stop myself. Shockingly, I even stop him, planting two firm
hands on his pecs. Oh, those are nice.

“Lil?”

Right, focus. I meet his perplexed gaze. “I’m not stupid,” I
say.

His frown morphs into hurt. “I never said you were.”

I shake my head. This is all coming out wrong. “What I mean
is,” I start again, “after all those times you denied me sex on the beach, in
the car, basically anywhere but our bedroom and bathroom, I’ve figured out that
public sex has to be on that blacklist.”

He takes a step back and the distance hurts more than I
thought. I reach out and grab onto his hand for some sort of connection. He
lets me hold on tight. “You said it doesn’t matter what’s on it,” Lo reminds
me.

“It doesn’t,” I say. “It doesn’t, I promise. I just don’t
want to break it.”

My words appease him enough to walk back to me, to slip his
hand from mine so he can place both on my cheeks. “I won’t let you break any of
those rules. That’s my promise to you.”

“But—”

“It’s
my
office,”
he says with a humored smile. “It’s my
private
place.”

Ohhhhh.
YES!
I
bite my bottom lip to try and hide my grin.

“So you’re all smiles now?” he asks. “You know what I think
about smiles?”

I shake my head, still smiling as his hands make their
descent down. His fingers teasingly slide just beneath the hem of my panties.

His lips brush my ears. “They’re not nearly as sexy as
this.” He slips his fingers inside of me and presses against a tender spot. My
face instantly contorts into one of sheer pleasure, my mouth opening and my
eyes fluttering. A noise escapes my throat.

He looks all too pleased. “Who’s smiling now, love?”

Definitely you
. I
grab onto his shoulder as he replaces his fingers with his hard cock. I have
the urge to rock against him, but I make myself stay still as can be. I want to
show him that I have control. That I’m trying.

He thrusts in and out, and I clutch onto his back, his arms,
anything to hold myself together. His hand grazes my neck, and he leans forward
for a kiss but I have trouble just staying still. Moving my lips seems like a
difficult feat. He doesn’t seem to care. He presses his mouth against mine and
urges it open. When I don’t respond, he goes to sucking my bottom lip. Noises
bubble up from my throat, noises that I wasn’t even sure I could make.

Now he’s smiling.

He pumps faster and harder and I lose my grip, almost
falling backwards on the desk. He catches me and then slowly sets me flat
against a few loose papers.

“Eyes on me, love,” he orders in a husky breath. I realize
I’m staring at his cock. I look up to meet his gaze. It’s heady, intense, and
fills me fuller than any other body part. I don’t break it.

Not now. Not ever.