Addicted for Now (Addicted #2)(143)

I spring up from the table like my soles are on fire. “Let it go?!”

My father glowers. “Loren, you’re overacting.”

“Lo,” Ryke says, rising and resting a hand on my shoulder.

“Overreacting?” I let out a manic laugh. “I have a girlfriend at home who’s scared to walk out of the f*cking house without getting assaulted. And I’m overacting? It took her a month to stop tossing and turning at night.” I grip the chair. “She has men mailing her goddamn plastic penises from prison and alleged sex tapes being rumored every day. This bastard toyed with her for weeks, texting her vile things before he finally leaked it. And you have his f*cking name!”

My father is on his feet. “And what the hell are you going to do? Yell? Shout? Stomp your shoes and make noise?” His eyes grow dark. “There is nothing you can do that I haven’t already done. It’s over. Let. It. Go.….please.” His voice has softened considerably, and I pale.

Please. He doesn’t use that word, and I know what I have to do.

I have to trust him.

But I don’t know who he’s protecting—me or himself.





{ 46 }

LILY CALLOWAY



Garth must have been ex-CIA or a stunt driver on some Hollywood lot before becoming a personal bodyguard. He lost the paparazzi tailing us within two minutes. It usually takes me a solid hour driving in aimless circles, and I get so bored that I make stops at The Donut Man for jelly-filled pastries. Now that I think about it, maybe the donuts are the reason it takes me so long.

Lo has tried to conceal the location of his office from the press. For now, it’s the one place void of cameras peeping through windows or gates. Being here makes me feel normal again.

I kick my feet on his desk and lean back in the nice leather chair. Garth is broad-shouldered, his peppery hair receding and his forehead oily. He sits on the couch, currently transfixed by his mini-tablet. We don’t talk much other than to discuss where I want to go, which is fine with me. Talking can be overrated.

Lo’s office has more personality than our bedroom. Posters of his favorite science fiction and superhero movies line the walls: Battlestar Gallactica, Star Wars, X-Men (of course), Spider-Man (the Andrew Garfield version), and Kick-Ass.

We ate up a whole day just stocking the bookshelves with all his comics, organizing them by issue. When he told his father he wanted to start a comics publishing company, he probably expected Jonathan to laugh in his face, tell him to grow up, and find a serious job. But no, his dad signed a check and wanted a formal business plan the next day.

I thumb through one of the manuscripts out of the large pile. Lo has to read original comics (not all good) and choose which ones he wants to publish for Halway Comics. He lets me read them if he’s on the fence, but when I graduate from Princeton, I won’t be helping him with this side of the business.

I focus on the comic in hand. The art is surrealistic with a satirical edge. Some of the people even have dog heads. And some of the humans are drawn with animal feet. Lo can find the meaning behind most comics, but my brain just sees a dog-man with a big butt.

The comics I gravitated towards are more realistic and classical, like ones where the superheroes can spring from the page and fit in our world. Lo will try anything and everything, even panels that contain black dots and no words. I do love sexy superheroes, but those are hard to find in indie comics publishing. The most I’ve seen are sexy-clad characters that look like they’ll murder me in my dreams.

I sift through his pile and find a more realistic comic. Not superheroes, but it’s a noir strip with a detective as the lead. I flip through the pages to look at the pretty art.

Ahhh! I throw the manuscript on the floor and cover my eyes with my hands.

There is nudity in that comic book! And I’ve sworn off porn.

“Everything okay, Lily?” Garth asks.

“Yeah,” I croak. “I’m just gonna…go downstairs.” I bypass the dirty comic book on the ground and slip out of the room. I take the winding staircase down to the main level.

The first floor.

My dream.

I enter the store from the back (Employees Only) entrance and into the dimly lit space. Red linoleum booths hug the walls and windows, plastic wrap covering their cushions. The appliances and furniture are all hidden behind smocks, and I can still smell the fresh coat of warm gray paint on the walls. Red and gray and a bit of blue. I picked the color scheme, even after Lo warned me that the palette fit Captain America. We’ve been anti-Cap since he threw Wolverine out of an airborne plane.

I still love it.

Rows of low shelves create aisles and resemble a video store, but they’re going to be filled with comic books when the shipments arrive. The front area is sectioned with a small kitchenette for pastries and coffee. Not everything is here in the store yet. And it’ll be months before the place is ready to be opened for the public.

Lo pitched Superheroes & Scones to his father as a marketing strategy for Halway Comics. But I know the idea has nothing to do with his company. What he did was buy me something of my own, something I could look forward to after college. He found me happiness, and I think it’s worth more than any silly engagement ring.

A store that sells coffee, scones, and comic books.

It’s perfect.

And for once, we’re doing something good with our inheritance rather than wasting it away. For two people unwilling to let anyone in, sharing this intimate part of our lives—the nostalgic happiness of comics—has to mean something.