Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(142)

Emily goes quiet, her voice no louder than a whisper as she says, “That wasn’t an option for me. I don’t want the media to know about my attachment to the Hales.”

I realize that she didn’t want to call me. Never wanted to speak to me again. Not even for this. I cringe and grip the sink with white knuckles.

Lily wraps her arms around my waist, and her warmth eases the tension in my chest.

“I can fly you out this weekend,” I tell her. “You should talk to Willow, face-to-face, and then maybe she’ll return home with you.”

“She’s not going to want to come back,” Emily whispers. “She just learned that her half-brother is famous.”

I glare at the ceiling. “It’s not about that.” If she saw the pain in Willow’s features, she’d understand that it’s deeper. It’s about struggling to face a person who’s caused you agony. Hating that parts of your life were shadowed with uncertainty and doubt.

If this was about celebrity and fame, she wouldn’t have cried about her mom.

“And if she doesn’t come home, I’ll be right.”

“You won’t,” I snap back. “If she doesn’t want to come home, it’s because she still can’t stomach living with you.” I realize how harsh that sounds and so I add, “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“You don’t even know her,” Emily retorts defensively.

“You’re right, but I’ve been in her situation before.” I spent ninety days in rehab away from my father. When I returned, I began thinking about restarting a relationship with him. But I needed that space. What’s different here—Willow is in high school. She’s not a legal adult yet. “Let me fly you out,” I try again. “You can talk to her and go from there.”

After a long pause, she says, “I can only take off one day from work, if that.”

“You’ll be in and out of Philly within the day then,” I tell her.

She contemplates this option for another second. “Okay. I’ll text you my email.” And then she hangs up on me.

I pocket my phone.

“Lo,” Lily breathes, her fingers hooking on my belt loops again. “I want to apologize for her meanness to you, but I don’t know how.”

“You just did, love,” I whisper, kissing her temple. And then I take a deeper breath and kiss her outside the lips. It feels good, having Lily this close. I press her small body up against my hard chest. Her ribcage rises and falls in a sporadic, aroused motion. I’m careful not to build her up too much, but I just really want to kiss her here…

My lips meet hers, connecting our bodies on another level entirely. My hand disappears in her hair, and my tongue slides against hers. She moans and trembles, and I restrain myself from pushing harder—lifting her around my waist. I can’t right now.

My lips break from hers and then brush her ear. “Later.”

She nods in acceptance, and I scan her body for signs that she can handle not going further. She’s flushed, but she’s not crossing her ankles.

“I’m okay,” she tells me.

“Do I need to check?” I ask seriously, my eyes traveling to her zipper.

“I’m already wet, but not soaked.” She nods again, this time adamantly. Though she reddens even more.

I smile. “I love you, Lil.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder.

“I love you too, Loren Hale.”

I feign surprise. “You love me? Holy shit.”

She punches my arm playfully, and I hug her close as we leave the bathroom. The minute we exit, we both halt in place at the same time.

In front of the couch on the carpet, Ryke sits beside Maximoff who rattles a comic book like it’s a damn maraca. While my brother plays with him, my son chews on the corner of Young Avengers. I notice Willow picking at a muffin on the couch, hugging the armrest.

“Close your eyes,” Lily whisper-hisses and practically catapults her body at me to shield my sight from our son desecrating a comic book.

“It’s too late, Lil. I’ve seen it.”

But she climbs up my back, and I hold her by the legs. Her fingers barely cover my eyes. “You didn’t see anything,” she repeats like she can hypnotize me.

And then I hear the sound of paper tearing from the spine. “Ryke,” I groan. “I blame you for this.”

“He’s not even crying right now. I’m doing a fantastic f*cking job.” The f*ck-and-punch tactic to eliminate cursing barely lasted. Ryke just grew more pissy, and I hated punching him every two seconds. At first, it was fun. Then it just became exhausting.

But if Janie or Moffy’s first word is “f*ck”—he owes Connor and me, big time.

“You gave him a comic book, and he can’t even read yet.”

“He’s starting early then,” Ryke says. “Maybe you should’ve given me his diaper bag or something.”

Lily drops her hand. “We’re in a store with tons of toys on the walls. You could’ve taken a Green Goblin action figure.”

I add, “Or Wolverine, Black Widow, Hulk, Spider-Man—”

“For f*ck’s sake, okay. I got it.” He pries the defiled comic book out of Moffy’s clutch and then lifts the baby in his arms. Moffy laughs, like a giggle. My lips rise. My brother’s not too bad with my kid.