Addicted for Now (Addicted #2)(106)

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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.”