Addicted for Now (Addicted #2)(115)

“What if they never speak to me again?” I say, rubbing my puffy eyes. I spot Harold, our butler, walking rather quickly past the doorway with the mail in his hands. The staff, most of whom I’ve known for years, have all had the same skittish reaction around me. Like I’m contagious.

“That wouldn’t be a big change, would it?” Lo asks.

My heart twists a little at his words. They haven’t been the most active participants in my life, but I always thought it was my own doing. I purposefully alienated myself during college. But then again, my father was never around when I was a child, and my mother brushed me away pretty easily. But Rose said my mom bought self-help books to learn how to reconnect to her children, so maybe…she’s trying? I don’t think there’s a black and white answer. I think I’ve been swimming in the gray state of things for so long.

They’re still my parents. I love them because I believe they truly love me. My father has given me so much, and even if Ryke says otherwise, I can’t just abandon this life with my family or walk away from what I did. I don’t want to be that insolent child, stomping on my parent’s livelihood and then telling them to clean it up. It’s my fault. I need to take responsibility.

I just hope that I haven’t done irreparable damage—to the company, our family, and my relationship with them.

“It’s going to be weird talking to them through lawyers,” I rephrase. “It’s already weird.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of bullshit,” he agrees and takes my hand in his. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. You and me.”

“Lily and Lo,” I say with a weak smile. It hurts to lift my lips, but I try my best. I’ve avoided this day for a week now, and every minute I’m here reminds me of all the harm I’ve caused.

He kisses my cheek and the doors to the den open. The lawyers and our parents file out in a large wave. I haven’t been able to apologize to either my mother or father. Every time I tried to digress from the lawyers’ questions, they snapped me back on track with a sharp tone. I fear this may be my only chance.

I walk quickly around the couch, my parents heading in the opposite direction down the long narrow hallway. “Mom!” I shout, scooting past one of Jonathan’s burly lawyers.

She doesn’t look back. “Mom!” I yell again, nearly reaching her as I walk faster. She ignores me, and I rest my hand on her shoulder to stop her.

She spins around on her heels, my father padding ahead.

Her cold eyes puncture me, filled more with malice than anything else, and it takes me a moment to remember what I was even doing in the first place.

I stumble back a little. “I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m so sorry.”

“You can be sorry all you want,” she says with a chill. She touches her pearls across her sharp collarbone. “It won’t repair the damage you have done to this family.” She takes a step forward, and I take one step back so we don’t bump chests. “You have everything a girl could ever want, and you had to spread your legs for every boy who gave you an ounce of attention. I didn’t raise you to be so disgusting.”

Tears cloud my eyes, and I disobey my therapist’s orders and internalize everything she says. I deserve her hate. I’ve ruined everything my father has ever created. Years and years of hard work have been tarnished by me and my stupid f*cking decisions.

Her eyes flit to Lo as he comes to my side. Coldness blankets me, and my hand feels numb to his palm. My mother looks him over in one long gaze before she says, “You could do better.”

I try to disentangle my hand from his, but he grips fiercely, holding on. Tears spill down my cheeks as I focus on prying each one of his fingers off mine. He directs his attention to my mother.

“You don’t know us,” he says. “If you did, you would realize how guilty she already feels, so stop tearing her down.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. I want to hear her anger and disappointment. I’m so tired of people telling me it’s okay when it’s not. It’s not okay that my little sister is being theorized as a future sex addict. It’s not okay that my father’s company has lost investors. I don’t want to lock myself in an apartment and pretend that everything is fine anymore.

There is no one else to blame but me.

Lo squeezes my hand with extra force, making it impossible for me to let go.

My mother purses her lips. “It’s late. You both need to talk with the lawyers.” She spins on her heels, and they clap all the way down the hall.

I breathe in sporadic, choppy inhales, and my head spins so much that my vision starts to whirl with it. Lo presses his hands to my cheeks, cupping my face with strength that I do not possess. Months ago, he’d probably leave me on a bench in the hallway to go collect bottles from the liquor cabinet. Now that he’s here, I try to ingest some of his power to stand upright. But all I see is a boy who’s good and whole and a girl who’s broken and weak.

I want to be him.

I want that.

But those are my parents. And they hate me.

I think I hate myself more.

“Lily,” he says, very softly. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t slow your breaths.”

Going to? This isn’t a panic attack?

“Lily,” he snaps. “Breathe. Slowly.”