Thrive (33 page)

{ 57 }

2 years : 02 months

October

LILY CALLOWAY

“I have been
informed by higher officers at the Pentagon that there still exists a top
secret UFO project. That’s where your Roswell file is.” – Brigadier General
Richard Mitchell (Ret.)

I squint at one of the many quotes on the museum wall, each
one about the Roswell aliens. I relax against Lo’s hard chest, his arms draped
over my shoulders. We reunited in the Smoky Mountains, and all seemed okay.
Better than the phone call in the hospital. Even Daisy radiated with more life
than usual, despite what’s happened to her cheek.

She made it really hard to be upset for her—she’s talented
at that. But sometimes, I just want to hug her for an extended minute or two
and put more attention on her, the good kind that she deserves.

“Did Wampa die from Tennessee to New Mexico?” Lo asks with a
grimace. “It smells, Lil.”
 
Lo places a
hand on my head—or rather on my Wampa cap.

“Shhh,” I whisper.

And then he tries to snatch my white fuzzy
Star Wars
hat off my head. I hold the
flaps of my Wampa protectively over my ears. “He does not,” I refute and sniff
just to make sure. Oh. It reeks of wood smoke from the campfire back at the
Smoky Mountains. The moment my hands fall, Lo steals the hat from me, my hair
poofing up from the static.

I pat it down, and he combs his finger through the messy
strands. The Smoky Mountains didn’t end on the best note, even if all the
“before” parts were lighthearted enough. Though Rose did have a meltdown,
brought on by hormones, and it got a little ugly.

I think Connor is onto her secret.

Not mine though.

Which means I
must
be smarter than her in this instance. I internally gloat at the idea.

The low moment in the mountains occurred right in the early
morning. When we crawled out of our tent, the paparazzi sprung up out of the
bushes. Literally.

In order to shake them off, we split up. Daisy and Ryke rode
off together, and Lo, Connor, Rose and I drove our rental car the other
direction. We’re going to meet up sooner or later, but for now, we’re separated
from Lo’s brother and my little sister.

“Do you think they’re getting it on?” I blurt out. I should
keep my thoughts to myself. “Nevermind,” I slur together and grab his hand,
quickly tugging him over to a glass casing of a spaceship model with dirt,
labeled:
Corona Impact Point.

“Whoa, slow down,” he says, nearly running straight into me
as I come to a halt.

“Look at this.” I try to distract him from my statement by
pressing my finger to the glass. “What if the dirt is real? Like from the
actual crash?”

He gives me one of those cold Loren Hale looks that usually
cripples people. I’m too used to them, really. They’re more like pinches. Love
pinches. “Who’s getting it on?” he asks, his brows furrowing. He smashes Wampa
in a ball, anger tensing his biceps.

“I was just thinking about how we all split up,” I mutter
under my breath. “Let’s go listen to the radio recording.” I try to tug him in
another direction, but his feet stay glued to the floor.

And it clicks for him. “You mean your eighteen-year-old
little
sister and my
twenty-five-year-old
older
brother?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds hotter than you
think.” I flush a little bit.

He doesn’t make fun. “I don’t see how.
Sister. Brother
. Immediately kills everything, Lil.”

I shrug. “I kind of shipped them during
Princesses of Philly
. Didn’t you?” He’ll understand my fandom
reference. To ship: aka, to fangirl hard over a prospective relation
ship
.

He cringes like it’s a gross thought. “She was seventeen
during the show. They’re not even legitimately together.”

“That’s never stopped you from wanting a ship to sail.” He’s
a not-so-closeted Sterek shipper from
Teen
Wolf.

He rolls his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. I think it’s
only appropriate that we’re talking about fandoms and ships in a place that
birthed one of my favorite television shows:
Roswell
. Aliens never looked so hot than on The WB.

“Lil,” he says. “Let’s just say, theoretically, they’re
together right now, doing…” The muscles in his jaw twitch and Wampa is a sad
ball in one of his fists. “…whatever.”

I could add evidence that they’re doing
something
other than talking right now. Daisy had wild hair when
she retreated from her tent in the morning, and I know post-sex hair. But just
adding that fact will draw more irritated wrinkles by his brows.

“…then why,” he continues, “have they not announced it to
anyone
?”

“They’re scared of how you’ll react,” I say. And then I
yawn. No one ever told me that being pregnant makes you tired. No one except
Web M.D.

At my yawn, he steps nearer to me, our shoes touching. I
didn’t know yawns worked like magnets, but I’m liking it.

“Yeah?” He swallows hard and glares at the ground. “Then why
hasn’t Daisy at least told you or Rose, someone
else
?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, thinking more about this. “Do you
think they’ve told everyone but us?” The idea hurts a little. Sure, we’ve kept
things from all of them. We all choose who to share information with, but it
definitely stings being on the receiving side, the ones in the dark.

“She would’ve told you, Lil,” Lo says with certainty. But
I’m not so sure. It agitates him though—I can see it in his stiff posture. He
hates that his brother would keep this from him. I worry, mostly, about Ryke’s
intentions with my little sister. If he’s sneaking around with her, then their
relationship can’t be as real as something like Rose and Connor’s. It has to be
more sexual, and that makes me nervous.

I want Daisy to have the best guy out there. The one that
gives her everything. Kissing in the dark, while fun, it’s not the type of
relationship that will last.

“Can we just forget about it for now?” he asks. “It’s
pissing me off.”

“You’re hurting Wampa,” I point out.

He realizes that he’s crushing my hat, and then he places it
back on my head. His amber eyes flit over my face with a bit of longing, filled
with more clarity than they have been in the past few months. I’d say:
now is the time to tell him about the baby
.
But something dark swirls behind those eyes that frightens me. Pain that he has
yet to deal with.

It’s way too soon. The weeks are ticking down, but I still
have some time, I think, before I start showing.

Lo tucks a piece of my hair underneath the fuzzy hat, and
then his fingers brush the sensitive skin on my neck. Shivers run down my arms.
I shudder and hold onto his biceps.

“I’m happy that you’re here,” he whispers.

Happiness is better than just
glad
. It’s brighter and fuller and something I wish I felt more,
but most of the time, I always sense it with him. “Me too,” I breathe.

He leans in to kiss me, a smile playing at the corner of his
lip. I may not get this kiss so easily. I try to close the gap. He quickly
leans back and then plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Just take your time,” Connor says.

I blush, but when we both turn our heads, Connor is standing
in the middle of the museum with a phone to his ear. Rose sips an iced coffee
and glares at a cheap cutout of an alien.

“We stopped in Roswell because Lily and Lo wanted to see the
aliens,” he says. “They spent four hours in the museum—excuse me, I mean the
propaganda shit hole.”

Spent.
We’re about
to leave, I take it. And we haven’t even reached the biggest exhibit at the end
of the museum. There are extraterrestrial things left to be seen.

Lo wraps his arm around my shoulder and lets out a short
laugh. “And you made us spend three hours at a graveyard,” he says to Connor.
“Between us, who’s the super freaky one, love?”

Connor grins, that blinding white one, too pretty to stare
at. “It was a war cemetery,” he says to the person over the phone, probably
Ryke. “And Rose and I were searching for our ancestors.”

They were. The nerds were trying to find their once removed
seventh-cousins.

“I won,” Rose says, raising her voice so Daisy and Ryke can
hear. She stirs her ice around her cup. “I have three more dead relatives than
Connor.” They speak through their eyes now, something I’ve most definitely
grown fond of.

“Follow me,” Lo whispers, his breath hot against my skin, he
motions with his head to the big exhibit behind a glass wall: an alien on a
stretcher.

I smile and clasp his hand.

I want to believe that this road trip will end well, but a
big heap of unresolved tension still pulls between Lo and Ryke.

{ 58 }

2 years : 02 months

October

LOREN HALE

We stopped at a gas station, not too long ago. The
tabloid magazines were placed in a row at the check-out counter. The big bold
print still flashes like blinding red headlights. I can’t get rid of them.

Sara Hale Tell-All
Interview Leaves Theories Open-Ended: Investigation to continue.
She
neither confirmed nor denied much. All doors and possibilities are still left open
for belief.

“Lo, slow down,” Lily says, sprinting to catch up to me as I
storm as far away from the parking lot as I can. Red dust plumes in the air, my
shoes kicking up the Utah dirt. A few couples scatter the hiking trail, and I
veer off towards these red rock arches. My blood pumps full of adrenaline.

“I don’t want to see him,” I shout at her over my shoulder.
I spot Rose and Connor following at a slower pace. Rose almost tips over, her
heels caught on a rock, but Connor catches her around the waist and tucks her
close to his chest.

She breathes with wide eyes, like she nearly fell off a
mountain or something.

The other headline scorches my head.

Lily Calloway’s
Addiction: Could it be linked to sexual trauma from her fiancée’s father?
I’ve
seen that theory before on another tabloid, but being reminded of it—it tore
something inside of me that I can’t fix.

“Lo,” Lily says, reaching my side.

“I can’t…” I feel my cheekbones jutting out. In a few
minutes, Ryke and Daisy are supposed to meet us at the start of the hiking
trail. “He’s
repeatedly
lied to me,”
I tell Lily, my bones throttling to march forward. Don’t stop. I return my
course, storming further and further away. “You want to listen to him, that’s
fine. I’m
done
pretending like
everything is okay between us.”

It’s not. It hasn’t been since I broke my sobriety.

“It sucks,” she says, rushing to keep up with me, panting
for breath. “They didn’t tell me either.”

The last tabloid was the one that cut me the worst. The one
I can’t push away no matter how hard I try.

Ryke Meadows and Daisy
Calloway Caught Kissing!
Photographed outside of Devils Tower, a rock
formation in Wyoming—she was on his shoulders, her hair chopped to her
collarbones, with pink, purple and green streaks. Her head was dipped down,
their lips touching, smiling.

They looked happy.

I spin around on Lily and she knocks straight into my chest.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, my chest rising angrily. “Give him an easy
time? Say
it’s okay?
” I point at the
ground. “It’s
not
okay. I trusted
him!” I make everything difficult for Ryke—being my friend, being my
brother—but he doesn’t see how much I’ve given him, how much I’ve let him in
and how much I fucking loved him.

“Maybe you both can sit down and talk it out,” she says
hurriedly, reaching for a hand.

I take a couple steps back from her. “He had so many
opportunities to come clean, to open up to me. To say
anything
that meant something to him.” I feel like I don’t even
know him. Our relationship has been built off my addiction. He asks me about
our dad. In relation to alcohol. In relation to my childhood. But I know
absolutely
nothing
about his.

I don’t need him to be a twenty-four-seven sober coach.

I need him to be my brother.

Connor and Rose join us, and I stand in place, glaring
ahead. “I don’t want to look at his face,” I sneer. Because I’ll see a guy that
I desperately need in my life. He keeps me healthy. He’s the kick in the ass
that has propelled me forward.

It’s why this hurts so much more. It’d be easier if he was
Scott Van Wright or Julian. Someone I can just hate to hate.

His lies are like validations:
You’re too weak to trust, Loren.

You’re just a little
fucking kid.

Why would I tell you
anything important?

“Hey guys!”

I rotate a fraction and spot Daisy waving as she walks down
the red dirt, an unmarked path where giant rocks dot the landscape.

The sun has risen halfway in the sky, shade leaving us,
sweltering my already boiling body. I watch Ryke approach, his unshaven jaw
hardening the minute he meets my harsh gaze. Confusion coats his face for a
brief second, and hate builds inside of me, prepared to launch it right at him.

My fingers curl into a fist. My heart is ripping to shreds.
He just walks. Like nothing’s wrong. It’s my fault in the end, I remember. For
trusting someone I shouldn’t have. For letting him in.

I’m the real fool.

“Love the hair, Dais,” Lily says, her voice spiking in fear.

They’re nearer. I fume, my muscles taut, stretched to the
max. My feet move before my head does. A target right on my brother. I aim for
him.

Ryke stops and puts a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Daisy,” he
says. “Go to your sisters.”

“Ryke—”

“Fucking
go
,” he
growls.

She takes a few steps back, but she never joins Lily and
Rose who stay beside a flat rock with Connor.

This isn’t just about Daisy. It’s so much more complicated
than that.

“Lo.” He raises his hands, already telling me to stand down.
If I was
anyone
else, he would hit
me. He would punch me. He would throw his whole
weight
into my body and pin me to the ground. I am sick of being
treated like a broken toy.

I am a goddamn human being. When will I ever be worthy of
the truth?

“What’s wrong?” Ryke asks. “Let’s talk about this.”

We’re so close. Ten feet away. “You wanna talk about it?” I
say, my voice layered with too many emotions to untangle. “I gave you a million
fucking chances to
talk
about it. I’m
so done talking with you.” I reach him, and I don’t hesitate. I can’t.

My fist pounds into his jaw. I rarely fight like this, but I
just want him to put me on his level. For once. I knee him in the stomach, and
he staggers, falling to the ground.

Ryke coughs, gripping the dirt.

Fight me.

“Lo, stop!” Daisy screams. She tries to rush us, but Connor
grabs her around the waist and pulls her back with her sisters.

I can’t stop. Penance—that’s what I am to him. For all those
years he never met me. I’m his way into heaven. Do right by me and all of his
sins are absolved.

That’s why he sticks around.

Something cold drills straight through me, and I punch Ryke
in the face again. He turns his head and spits blood on the dirt.

“Lo, calm down!” Lily screams. I don’t look behind me.

I just hit him again, my knuckles aching as they slam into
his jaw, praying that he’ll get up.
Get
up.
And punch me back.
 

“Hit me,” I sneer.

Ryke’s fingernails scrape the red dirt, almost clenching
into a fist. His gaze stays fixed on the ground, his muscles tense like mine.
And yet, his hands start to relax. He’s talking himself out of it.

“Come on!” I yell, my eyes burning, water brimming. “I’ve
seen you beat the shit out of guys twice the size of me. I know you want to
punch me.” I step towards him.
Treat me
like I deserve to be treated. Treat me like I can handle this shit.
“Fight
back!”

He staggers to his feet, his face beaten. “I won’t.”

I slam my palms into his chest, shoving him hard.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Lo—”

I sock him in the jaw. Again. He stumbles but stays upright.

“STOP IT!” Daisy cries, her strangled voice pitching.

I can hear Lily sobbing. It breeds more pain inside of me,
clawing to get out. I can’t back down. Not now. I point an accusatory finger at
Ryke. “You’re a goddamn coward.”

His lips press closed, darkness clouding his eyes.

“You’re so fucking scared to talk to our dad,” I say coldly.
“You’re so scared to talk to your own mom.” I barrel forward, and he actually
steps back, keeping distance between us. I’ve
never
seen him do this. The aggression still exists in him; he just
refuses to use it on me.

“What do you want me to say?” he growls.
Anything you feel.
“I’m fucking scared?”
He points at his chest. “I’m
fucking
scared, Lo!” His eyes are bloodshot. “I’m so fucking scared they’re going to
manipulate me into loving them when all I want to do is forget!”

“What’d they fucking to do to you?!” I scream. I see Ryke
Meadows with Sara Hale. And I see a doting mom. I see love that I never fucking
had. I don’t get what happened that’s so horrible that he hates everyone
that
much. He just won’t ever tell me.
“I lived with
our
dad. You sat in
your pearly white fucking mansion with a mom who loved you!”

Ryke shakes his head. Over and over. His lips pressed closed
again. Why is this so hard for him? He pushes me to my breaking point every
damn day. Maybe it’s finally time someone pushes him.

“Tell me!” I yell, taking a step closer. He breathes like it
hurts to inhale, a sentiment I’m familiar with. “Tell me how you had it so
fucking bad, Ryke. What’d he do to you? Did he smack the back of your head when
you got a C on a math test? Did he scream in your face when you were benched
for a little league game?” Hot tears pour out. I am so close to him, with
narrowed eyes, watching this brick wall crumble between us. “What’d he fucking
do?”

He shakes his head again.

Goddammit, Ryke.
I
slam my hands on his chest another time, and he finally pushes back. I stagger
but keep my balance, still standing.

“I’m not fucking fighting you!” he screams.

I grind my teeth and charge him again, hoping to knock him
down, but his strength outmatches mine.

His forearm rams into me, and my back is on the ground in an
instant. His hands grip my wrists, his knee putting pressure on my ribs, the
couple that I’d broken. I stifle the pain beneath every aching emotion.

“I don’t want to fight you, Lo,” he chokes, his anguished face
near mine.

I feel hot, raging tears roll down my sharp cheeks. “You
spend so much of your fucking time trying to save me,” I breathe, “and you
don’t even realize that you’re killing me.”

His hard, masculine face just contorts in pain.

“The news isn’t just in Philly, you know. It’s everywhere we
fucking go. All the way to a gas station in Utah.” I let out a weak laugh.
“They think he molested me. The
whole
goddamn
nation.” Saying it out loud to him—the weight of the words smash into me,
harder than any fist could. “People think my own father touched me, and you
won’t do a thing about it.” I stare right into him, a question on the tip of my
tongue, one I’ve wanted to ask. I never pressured him about the allegations.
Never pushed him. Maybe I should have earlier. Like he’s always done me. “Why
do you believe them and not me?”

“I believe you,” he whispers. Maybe I shouldn’t trust him,
not after all the lies. He could be placating me, afraid that I’m too close to
this dangerous edge. But he wears a haunted look, one dragging him back to the
past. This isn’t about me. It’s about the demons he’s buried. It always has
been. Finally, I think he realizes that.

“What the fuck did he do to make you hate him so much?” I
ask, referring to our father. I expect another brush off, so I’m surprised when
he finally talks.

“He chose you,” he says with a hollow, dark voice. “He chose
his bastard kid over me and my mom, and I fucking
lied
for him my entire life. I hid my identity for him. I had no
mom in public because I was a Meadows and she was Sara Hale. I had no fucking
dad to show for.” His eyes drill into mine, filled with hurt that he’s refused
to come into contact with. Hate. For everyone. “I saved
his
reputation, and he buried me six feet in the fucking ground
every single day he chose you over me, every day he paraded you around and
shoved me aside. I couldn’t breathe I was so fucking angry.”

I find a real hole in his words, one that latches onto me
like a parasite. “I thought you knew about me when you were fifteen.” How many
opportunities has he really had to come meet me?

“I told you that I met him at a country club every week. I
knew his name. I knew he was my father. He was a fucking socialite, so I was
smart enough to figure out that his son was my brother. They just didn’t tell
me until I was fifteen.” His arms shake, not with fear, just pissed. He crawls
off of me but stays on his knees, exhausted. His face is reddened everywhere my
fist landed.

I stay on my back and stare at the blue sky. And I wonder. I
wonder what it must’ve been like to be him. Alone, no real dad or mom.
Friendships that mean less when you can’t explain who you are.

“I hold grudges,” he confesses. “But I think you do too,
Lo.” My jaw locks. I give him a hard time. Because I’ve been jealous of his
strength, of the way people respect and trust him. Not because he showed up
late in my life. The fact that he appeared at all is more than what I would’ve
done. How could I keep holding that against him? If he feels any regret about
that, then he’s projecting it on me. Beating himself up about it.

Our dad has always been at the center of our grief, and I
recognize how hard it must be to help a man that has shit on you, cast you away
and chosen the bastard. I get it now. But I’m also a part of this mess.

A cloud rolls over the sun, and I say, “I just wish you
could love me more than you hate him.” I turn my head to the side, facing my
brother’s mostly hardened features that rarely break. My eyes glass again. “Is
that even fucking possible?”

He lets out a deep breath. “I love you, you know that.” He
touches my leg in comfort.

My body tightens. “You didn’t answer my question.” Yes or
no.
Will you stand up for me?