Addicted After All(133)

She simultaneously blushes and inhales with more eagerness. I wrap my arms tighter around her waist, and she holds onto them.

My father laughs loudly at something, and it distracts all of us for a second. Connor takes a larger swig of his wine. He’ll need a refill soon. “Has the board made a decision yet?” he asks.

We have no more news than the last standings, but we’ve been to another function. I can’t tell what the board is thinking. They’re as pokerfaced as Connor sometimes.

I drink my soda, craving something sharper. “The board doesn’t need to make a decision,” I say. “It’s my title. So you can all self-sabotage any day now.” The edge in my voice hurts my ears. I hate it. “By the end of the month, you can call me Mr. Hale, CEO. We’ll even have a party.” I feign excitement with a small gasp. “Ryke can bring the tacos, and Connor, here, will supply the Glenfiddich. Won’t you, love?”

The entire room deadens.

The tension and silence is so thick that it’s hard to breathe.

I don’t know why I said that. To be an *. Maybe it’s something deeper. But everyone catches the hidden meaning behind my words.

The first time I ever relapsed was by drinking a bottle of Glenfiddich.

Connor’s bottle.

I wait for Connor to banter back and ease the tension. Like he always does. But he stares off at the rug, not even looking in my direction.

“Come on, it was a joke,” I say dryly, my ribs binding around my lungs.

Connor suddenly rises to his feet, visibly upset. And he’s trying hard to hide it, avoiding everyone’s gazes. “You’ll have to excuse me for a second,” he says softly, sidestepping past the armrest.

“Connor,” I say before he leaves. I feel sick. Like I might puke. “It was a joke.” I think if I emphasize this, he’ll forgive me.

He doesn’t turn back.

Not once.

I watch him walk out the parlor door. Vanishing from sight.





{ 42 }

LOREN HALE



I glance at the doorway for the fifth time. I really thought I’d never be able to upset Connor. That no matter what I’d say, what I’d do, he’d always be my friend. I rub my lips, not able to even stomach the idea of losing him over a f*cking comment I made.

Lily slides off my lap. She cups her hands around my ear. “Just go,” she whispers, encouraging me to talk to him. Should I though?

I’ve never had a real guy friend until Connor. Pathetic, sure. But I didn’t grow up with bros or teammates and sports. I had Lily. And the friends I have now, I can count on my hand. Hurting them means something different to me.

This pushes me over. I rise from the couch.

I stop on my way out, just to look at Rose. I don’t want to make things worse. She gives me a single nod in confirmation, like I’m doing the right thing here.

Okay…

In five seconds flat, I’m out the door. He’s not on the patio. Or in the kitchen. And he didn’t head to the bathroom. I pass the library, the last room. I want to check there before I head upstairs. The wooden door creaks as I open it, and then I silently curse myself for not looking here sooner.

It’s a goddamn library. Of course he’d be here.

Bookshelves line every wall, top and bottom floors, sliding ladders accompany them. No windows. This room has always been for show. I can’t remember a time when I’d seen anyone in here. Except maybe hide-and-go-seek when we were little. Lily always tried to wedge behind a bookshelf. It freaked me out when I got older, thinking it’d fall on her or something.

It’s weird now, seeing a person in this room. Actually perusing the shelves and removing a dusted hardback from its permanent position.

Connor’s back is turned to me, but I’m sure he heard me shut the door.

I step forward, thinking he’ll spin around.

He doesn’t.

He blows off the dust and flips through the crisp pages.

A lump lodges in my throat, and I clear it with a cough. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Rose is looking for you,” I lie. My breath cages as I wait for him to speak. It’s in this moment that I know how much I value our friendship. And how it’s not invulnerable like I hoped.

“If she was looking for me, she’d be here instead of you.” He shelves the book and chooses another. I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off. “I’m not in the mood to talk with you, Lo.”