Thrive (31 page)

“I
did it at a carnival or amusement park or…whatever,” I say. “On the Ferris
wheel though.”

“While
it was moving?” Surprise infiltrates his voice.

“Yeah,
I mean, he didn’t last long.” My throat tightens, trying not to think about the
messy details.

Ryke’s
face falls a little. Maybe he’s just now realizing that I’m not talking about
Lo. I test out this theory by saying, “I also did it with a guy I met at a cotton
candy booth. Same night.”

He
shifts forward, removing his arm from the couch, darkness clouding him. I can
tell he’s trying to push it away, but when his gaze meets mine, there’s more
understanding, more empathy for my addiction than I’ve ever seen before.

Me
and him. We’re not the same. He can reminisce about all the places he’s fucked
with laughs and smiles, rehashing stories that involve beginnings, middles, and
satisfying conclusions. With orgasms and no shame in the end. My past is
littered with hurt and regret. I’d rather leave it all in the fog.

He
was right. He won’t ever join my club.

It’s
just me.

By my
lonesome.

How
it should be.
 

“You
ready?” Lo’s voice wakes me from my reverie. He stands in the doorway with wet
hair and a sharpened jawline. His eyes flit from my head to my toes, assessing
my state. And then he nods to me like
you’re
okay.
I rise to my feet and gladly walk straight into his arms.

Maybe
I’m not so alone.

{ 52 }

2 years : 01 month

September

LILY CALLOWAY

Landed.
Flight was pretty good, almost no turbulence.
– Lo

Rugby World Cup is going on in Paris this
weekend. Horrible traffic.
– Lo

Daisy looks shaken up.
– Lo

I scroll
through my old text conversation with Lo, rereading each word. His road trip
with his brother and Connor had to take a major detour and pit stop for my
little sister.
 

She had some sort of night terror…are you
sure you don’t want to come up?
– Lo

Is Rose raging right now?
– Lo

Rose paces
in front of me, slamming her fingers violently on the screen of her phone.
Raging, yes. Fuming, yes. She growls and looks like she’s ready to chuck her
phone across the room. “Connor won’t snap a picture of her and send it to me,”
she says. “How am I supposed to verify that Daisy is okay without
evidence?
”

I rest an
elbow on the checkout counter at Superheroes & Scones, the store opening in
a couple hours. “Trust,” I say, a pit in my stomach. “We have to believe that
they’re telling us everything.” I scroll through my messages again, silently
cursing Lo for being such a brief texter.

I should
just focus on my book that’s cracked open for my Options, Futures and Financial
Derivatives course. Every page is highlighted with neon yellow marks, my
fingertips stained that color. But the sentences blur together, my mind in Paris
with the guys and my little sister.

“We can
fly in tomorrow,” I suggest.

Lo did
call to deliver a more detailed account of what happened. Daisy was thrown out
of a runway show only minutes before she was supposed to walk, and the designer
basically ripped off her clothes. In front of everyone backstage. I would have
been mortified if that was me, so I wasn’t surprised that she was upset. But I
am a little shocked that she chose to call Ryke and
only
Ryke about the incident.

He
immediately wanted to check up on her in person. And when they spent the night,
Daisy woke them up, screaming like she was being murdered. Apparently she was
“stuck” in a nightmare…or something like that.

Chills
still prick my skin every time I imagine it. Lo said, “It was horrifying.”
It was horrifying.
I want to jump on a
plane and hug my sister, not leave her with our significant others and Ryke.

 
“We can’t fly in tomorrow,” Rose tells me, her
eyes still narrowed at her cellphone. “You won’t graduate.”

After
being delayed for so long, I can almost feel the crisp paper of my diploma, so
close. But I have a huge exam, and if I don’t make the date, I’ll be given a
big fat zero. My professor said, “In order to be excused, you need to be dying
in a hospital.” This particular professor isn’t fond of the “celebrity special
treatment” either, so I have to be there.

In the
flesh.

“You can
go,” I remind her, already feeling a bout of guilt for not being present for
Daisy. I don’t want to hold Rose back too.

She
pockets her phone in her clutch and sidles up to the counter. I smell coffee
being brewed by one of the employees. “I’m not leaving you,” she says. I read
into the rest:
not while you’re pregnant.

I give her
a weak smile.

Rose
straightens up. “Now where are your notecards? I’ll quiz you.”

I fish
them out of my backpack at my feet and pass the disorderly stack to her.

She
snorts. “Connor is a horrible tutor. He didn’t even teach you to rubber band
these.”

“He did,”
I say, even though I thought that “helpful tip” was pretty self-explanatory. “I
just always lose the rubber bands.” My tablet pings on the counter. I’ve been
entrusted with the internet to study for my exam, but I may have also setup
notifications for certain tags on Tumblr.

I don’t
deny it.

I’m still
a little obsessed.

I just
don’t want another surprise like the one about Lo’s dad. Plus, I sometimes fear
that the pregnancies will just pop up online. That
cannot
be the way Lo finds out.

Swiping my
finger across the screen, I power the tablet on and check the alert:
1 New from #Coballoway
. I click into the
tag, and my cheeks burn at the gif of Connor’s hand gripping Rose’s bottom, her
ass already a little red. I quickly click out.
I didn’t see it.

Rose
finishes straightening my cards together and gives me a look. “Why are you all
flushed?” I’m flushed in embarrassment, not arousal, just to be clear. Her eyes
flit to the tablet. “Lily, do you have
internet
on there?”

“Just a
little bit,” I blurt out.

“Okay”—she
snatches the tablet from me—“you can’t have a little bit of internet.” She logs
into my settings.

“It’s for
work purposes, and you know,
studying
.”
I tap my highlighter to my book for further emphasis.

“Stick to
your notecards.”

She just
doesn’t trust me as much since the doctor’s office. I think she’s waiting for
me to slip back into my old, destructive porn-filled routine. Which is
understandable. But she’s pregnant too and…

My eyes
grow big as my thoughts take a dangerous turn. “Rose,” I whisper, leaning
close, “are you going to be able to have sex now that you’re pregnant?” I
frown, thinking harder. Oh my God. “Can I have sex when I’m really, really
pregnant?
Oh my God.
What about right
afterwards?” I lunge for my tablet. I need answers. Answers that the worldwide
web can provide.

“Lily,”
Rose snaps, raising the tablet over my head. Damn her heels. “Be calm.”

“Aren’t
you freaking out? Just a little. Even internally?”

“Internally
I’m rolling my eyes at you,” she deadpans.

Oh. “These
are valid questions.” I point at her. “You should be more worried. I mean, you
and Connor do it like…” I trail off.

“Like
what?” Her eyes pierce me through the skull.

“Like…rough,
and you’re into bondage.”

“So?” she
says.

“How is
it?” I suddenly ask.

The break room
door breezes open, drawing our attention to a makeup-less girl with straight
black hair, big rimmed glasses and rosy cheeks. She flashes the Vulcan salute,
a clipboard tucked underneath her other arm. “Live long and prosper.” She
smiles and then says another greeting in Korean.

Did I
mention that I am in love with our new store manager? Ryke can’t have her.

Rose taps
her nails on the counter, watching Maya Ahn slip behind it. All our
conversations about babies and sex have disappeared with the threat of
eavesdropping. Worst case scenario: The news is leaked to the press before we
tell Connor and Lo. That is a nightmare of hellish proportions.

The
silence drags and Maya spins around from the coffeemaker. “Did I interrupt
something?” She pushes her glasses up with a finger.

“No,” I
say quickly. “We were just talking about…breast implants.” Ohmygod. I clear my
throat. “Mine are kinda small…” I actually don’t have a problem with my boobs,
but it was the first thing that jumped from my lips.

Rose
stares at me like I just purchased my one-way ticket on the crazy train. “And
I’ve
been telling Lily that her boobs
are fine how they are.”

Maya doesn’t
look fazed by the conversation. “As long as you’re happy with yourself, it
doesn’t really matter how you look, right?” She starts the coffee pot and it
gurgles in response.

“True,” I
say with a nod. “I think I’m going to stick with these.”

“Okay.”
Rose grabs her purse off the counter and starts towards the door. “I need to
get to Calloway Couture to prep for opening. Come along, Lily. You can study in
my break room.”

“I have a
break room,” I motion to the backdoor.

“Yes, but
my couches are better.” Her eyes turn fierce. Okay. Jeez.

“See ya!”
Maya calls out as we leave through the front door. The wind hits me and I
release a large breath. Close call.

“At least
we’ll know how trustworthy she is,” Rose says as we walk across the street. The
people standing in line at Superheroes & Scones whip out their smart phones
to snap pictures of us. I’m a little surprised no cameramen pop up out of the
thin air.

“Why is
that?” I ask. Rose unlocks her store door and I shut it behind me.

“Because
if tomorrow’s headline reads
Lily
Calloway is getting a boob job
then you can fire her.” She pauses in
thought. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Plant a lie for your staff and see
if they feed it to the press. Weed out the betrayers.” She grins like she found
her new tactic for her own store.

My phone
buzzes before I can compliment her evil strategy.

Miss you.
– Lo

I take a
deep breath and try not to count the days until I see him again.

{ 53 }

2 years : 01 month

September

LOREN HALE

Loren,
where did your father touch you?
I can still the feel the heat of the
flashes as we walked down the Paris city street, the paparazzi bombarding us, a
whole ocean away from where we live. Walking. Just walking. Became a nightmare.

Why hasn’t your
brother made a statement to the press? Does Ryke know the truth, Loren?

I sit on a barstool in a pub, gripping a glass with dark
carbonated liquid. I try to focus on the Rugby World Cup playing on every
television screen, but I can’t distance myself from all the questions today. No
matter how hard I try.

Connor says something to me, a plate of fries between us,
but I lose track of his words.

“Whatever,” I mutter, my voice biting and cold. I sip my
drink, the bitter taste of liquor sliding down. Beginning to numb my head. But
not fast enough.

Connor has to know I ordered a Fizz and whiskey when he went
outside to call Rose. He’s not an idiot, and while his demeanor never changed,
he stepped out again. I’m guessing to call my brother.

Lo, what about Lily?!

I grit my teeth. My eyes sear like someone rubbed salt in
them. I glare at the rows and rows of bottles behind the bartender. I don’t
want to think about this.

Did your father ever
touch, Lily?

I chug the rest of my drink. I flag down the bartender and
then point to my glass. She nods, understanding.
Has your girlfriend been molested?

Where did your father
touch her?

Stop.

Thinking.

Today.

It was the first day that I’ve ever heard Lily’s name thrown
around with this mess. I just want everyone to see the truth. To realize how
much damage they’re doing to my family by speculating. Instead, every lie keeps
growing into a bigger one. I don’t see how it’ll ever end.

Connor looks between me and the television, eating a fry.

“Did you hear,” I finally say, “that Sara Hale is going to
be interviewed on television?” Some sort of tell-all special. “She’s going to
bury my dad.” And I’ll be dragged down with him.

The bartender slides the newly-filled glass towards me. She
avoids eye contact, fear in her brows. She’s afraid of me. I must wear the
worst fucking glare—like I’m sitting here hoping that the world burns with me
in it.

I partly do. And then I take another sip, a buzz barely even
present.

“Sara has nothing to gain from that,” Connor says easily, as
if the matter is settled.

“Not everyone is like you,” I retort spitefully, clutching
the cold glass. “Everything Ryke’s mom has ever done is because she hates
Jonathan.”

“I never said that she wouldn’t lie on camera. I just meant
that it’ll solve nothing for her if she does. So revel in that fact. I am.”

“You go ahead and revel in that, Connor.” An acidic taste
sears my throat. “You’ll be the only one.”

“I’m used to being the only person who thinks intelligently.
I honestly can’t expect everyone to reach my level.”

His arrogance doesn’t fuel me like I thought it would. Maybe
because he takes my insults and just creates more of his own. It makes being an
asshole easier. “Cheers,” I say raising my drink and taking a long gulp.

It’s not that sharp. If I could, I’d just drink whiskey
straight.

The bar erupts in exclamations and overly energetic shouts
at the rugby match. French chatter overwhelms the small pub. Just as the noise
begins to die down, a hand rests on my shoulder. “Hey,” Ryke says.

I just sip my drink.

“How was shopping?” he asks, his voice deep, like black,
rolling clouds before the downpour.

“Boring.” I eat a fry and glower straight ahead, ready for
his onslaught of:
what the fuck are you
doing? How could you break your sobriety again? Stop this stupid fucking shit.

It doesn’t feel stupid. He doesn’t have to be rushed by
cameras and
people
that see a victim
of a crime that never happened. Doesn’t he fucking get it?

I will always be Loren Hale: the guy who was touched
inappropriately by his father.

And now Lily…

Ryke drags an empty stool between Connor and me, and I grind
my teeth. I wait for Connor to move back, but he stays quiet.

Fine.

Whatever.

Ryke motions to the female bartender, and my muscles constrict.
“What can I get you?” she asks.

“What he’s having.” He points to the glass.

The bottom of my stomach drops, realizing his stupid ploy.
All so I can admit, out loud, that I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a bastard. I get
it! I know what I am, and it’s no one good. I down the rest of my drink in one
swallow. “I’m done. Let’s just get out of here.” I stand off the barstool.
This isn’t happening
. I don’t
need
him to do this. Why can’t he just
let me go this once? I just need to breathe.

His hand grips my shoulder. “Sit your ass down. I want a
fucking drink.” He literally forces me back onto the stool.

“You sound like Dad, you know that?” I retort.
Just tell him. Just say the fucking words
:
I drank. They rise in a jagged ball to my throat. And I keep swallowing them.

The bartender begins to make his drink, setting ice in a
glass.

“Ryke,” I snap, forcing his gaze towards mine. A purplish
bruise mars his cheekbone, from when Daisy slapped him while she was having a
night terror.

“What?” His jaw is hard. His eyes never softening. He
reminds me of our dad. And it makes this more difficult. It makes it worse.

I inhale a strained breath, the oxygen never meeting my
lungs. In my peripheral, I see the bartender grabbing the whiskey. “Let’s go.”

“I told you. I want a fucking drink.”

Why is he doing this? I tug at the collar of my shirt and
turn back around, setting my forearms against the cold bar. Ryke has been sober
for nine years.

Nine goddamn years.

Why would he even toy with the idea of breaking that? For
me? My stomach roils, the alcohol making me more nauseous than anything.

“Refill?” the bartender asks me.

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.” I hate him. I hate that
he’s pushing me this hard. I hate that he won’t leave me alone. I hate that he
expects more out of me than I can ever give.

I am falling.

Beneath every sentiment I expel.

“Cheers.” Ryke raises his glass, pausing for a brief second,
giving me an out. Telling me to stop him.

Stop him.

Stop him.

The rim hits his lips.

I am rigid. I am screaming at myself to move. To be a
goddamn decent human being. To be worth this life that I’ve been given. And
yet, I watch him, with deadness inside of me.

He drinks alcohol.

And I think:
now we’re
even
.

For having the better life. For knowing about me for so long
and doing nothing. For not standing up for me in the media and ending this
torment.

It’s a thought that twists my face with brutal guilt.

He licks his lips, disappointment flashing in his eyes. Why
does he have to be so goddamn good?

“I hope you enjoyed that,” he says angrily.

“Which part?” I snap on impulse. “Me drinking or watching
you do it?”

Hit me.
His
muscles flex, a vein pulsing in his neck. And instead of raising his fist, he
grabs the glass, about to drink more.

My lungs explode, and I pry it from his fingers quickly and
hand it to the bartender. “He’s done.” I start to slide off the barstool as I
say, “If you’re this big of an asshole sober, I can’t imagine what kind of
asshole you are drunk.”

Before I leave, he grabs my arm. “You can’t do this shit.”
Stop. Talking.
“You’re supposed to call
me if you have a craving to drink. I could have talked you out of it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you!” I scream. I climb off
the barstool, and he follows suit, standing one inch taller. Face to face. Both
wearing scowls so dark that you’d think we were mortal enemies, not brothers.

There is so much he’s never told me about his past. And I
keep waiting to hear it. I never push. That’s not something I’d ever do to him.
But the longer he stays quiet, the harder it’s become for both of us. We’ve hit
a roadblock in our relationship, and I’m banging my head against brick while he
watches me bleed.

“Then call Lily,” he says, “your fucking fiancée, who would
be in tears if she saw you right now. Did you fucking think about her when you
drank? Did you consider what this would do to her?”

No.
I can’t think
about her when I drink. It hurts too much. “I’m done with this shit,” I say. I
try to walk away from this.

He grabs my arm.

Let me go. Please.

“You can’t run from your fucking problems. They’re there
twenty-four-seven. You have to deal.”

“Don’t talk about
dealing
.
You won’t even text Dad back. You’re ignoring him like he’s not even alive.” I
shake my head. “You’re doing the same thing to him that you did to me. So why
don’t you just do what you do best and pretend that I don’t fucking exist.”

I watch the pain take ahold of his features. I stabbed him
the only way I know how, and then I just push right on by.

I just leave.

Wishing that I was someone else.