Addicted for Now (Addicted #2)(39)

“Wait.” His voice pitches. “Do I need to come over? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t come over.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ryke, unless you want to walk in on me f*cking my girlfriend, you need to stay at home.”

There’s a long pause, and then, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yep.” We both hang up.

And I step out of the car.

Ready to help Lily. Ready to be there.

Ready to change.





{ 11 }

LILY CALLOWAY



I pace back and forth in the kitchen. I’m a ball of string that needs to be unwound, an anxious mess and a compulsive freak. I didn’t follow Lo’s orders to retreat upstairs to our room and shed my clothes.

I stay right beside the back door, pressing my ear occasionally to the wood, waiting for him, hoping and praying that he’s not doing something bad and dangerous. I bite my nails, listening carefully at the sound of shuffled footsteps.

In the car, he looked like he wanted to sink and drown to the bottom of a dark, cold ocean. And I can’t let him do that. I can’t let him go.

The car door slams.

I peel my ear away and scuttle backwards, not quick enough. The door swings open and Lo catches me right here in the kitchen, disobeying his orders. A horrible, insane part of me wonders if he’ll hate that I care about him, if he’ll reprimand me for it.

I blurt out, “I’m sorry. I was just worried, and you looked upset…” I trail off while he stays stationary near the wall, his cheekbones sharpening. And I imagine what could have happened if he drank, if he did something worse in that garage. If he left me.

For real this time.

The truest deepest part of me suddenly speaks.

“I don’t know how to live without you.” And I shake my head quickly as tears pool. “And I don’t want to know how. I don’t want to find out.”

He is my breath. My soul. My life-force. I have spent forever with him. Being apart is the most unnatural feeling in the world. Three months—I could handle that like a bad itch. Forever without him?

Just kill me now.

He slowly walks to me, and his hand skims my cheek, his eyes never softening, his sharp demeanor never changing. He’s Loren Hale. Ice and whiskey. Powerful and intoxicating.

He’s my very best friend.

His forehead presses to mine, his lips so near. In a low whisper, he says, “You’ll never have to find out, Lil.”

I ache to kiss him, to solidify those words as truth.

His lips nearly brush mine, but he teases, a sliver of space tempting me and causing tension to build between us. His amber eyes flicker to me. “I will never learn how to live without you. I couldn’t f*cking bear it.”

I grip his arms, keeping him close. This feels imagined, like a part my fantasies. But I’m touching him, cut muscles, his legs against my legs. I let out a breath. “And what if everyone says we shouldn’t be together—that it’s not right?” Every person has to learn to live alone at some point in their life. Why do we? I always wonder. Because it’s right, my conscience says. But I love him. But you’re co-dependent. But I love him. But it’s not okay.

I want our love to be right.

Why can’t it be right?

“No,” he immediately says, holding my face in two large hands. “If the whole world says living without each other is what we should do, then this will be the last wrong I make.”

Yes.

We connect to each other fully, his lips touching mine in passionate desperation, as though two people are literally trying to pull us apart, as though we’re giving them the middle finger, telling them to f*ck off.

Fuck off. I love Loren Hale. I can’t live without him. However silly that may be, it is the undying truth. Even if he was with another girl. Even if we never could touch. I could not live without Lo. He is as much a part of me as the sun is a part of the sky, as the earth is to the universe.

I need him in order to wake up in the morning.

I need him to feel whole.

He clutches my hair, the long kiss stealing my breath. And without warning, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. Oh God. His hand grips my ass as he carries me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

My heart has traveled to my throat.

On the second level, he opens the bedroom door and tosses me roughly on the mattress.

I struggle to catch the air that escapes my lungs, and when I do, I prop my body on my elbows and watch him watch me.

He unzips his jeans, never breaking my gaze. His shirt comes off next, uncovering his defined muscles that beckon me to touch. I undress with the same mastered efficiency, breathing so heavily that my ribs jut out and in with quick succession.

In this moment, I have no desire to touch myself. I want him on me. In me. I can wait for his hands, for his body, for his breath.

So I watch him as he walks to the nightstand, only in black boxer-briefs while I stay completely bare. He opens the drawer.

I sit on my knees, my eyes widening in delighted anticipation.

When he shuts it, my mouth drops a little. “I thought…” you were just getting a condom. “Are those…?” I’m imagining them. This has to be a fantasy. “Where’d you find those?” I would have seen silver handcuffs in our room! I would have jumped for joy and paraded them around like they were a bag of galleons.