Addicted After All(163)

“What about a liver transplant?” I ask, knowing this road exists.

He laughs. “I’m so far down the donor list you can barely see my name. There are some things money doesn’t buy.”

He’s forgetting something. “I have your blood type. We’d be a match—”

“No.”

That’s all he says.

I grimace. “What do you mean, no?” I shoot to my feet, my veins pumping. “This could save your life and you’re just going to say no?”

He stares at me, square in the eye, no retreating. “You’re not doing that for me.” So this is pride? Compassion? I don’t understand.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I snap. “If I want to be a donor, I’m being your donor.”

“You want to try, have at it then,” my dad combats. “Your liver is in tiptop shape, I’m sure.”

“It’s better,” I argue. Like most alcoholics, I used to have fatty liver disease. But it goes away with the right diet and sobriety. I’ve been healthy for almost a year now. “They only need to remove a portion of it, right?” I turn to Connor for confirmation.

He nods once. “It’s not an easy recovery, Lo. This is a major surgery.”

I don’t care. It’s life and death, and I’m not going to stand by and watch my dad die. I can’t do that, no matter how terrible he can be. He deserves a second chance. Everyone deserves another f*cking chance. I’m going to give him one.

My dad opens his mouth to protest again, to tell me no. I’m sick of that word.

“I’m doing this,” I say first. “You’re always telling me how you saved my life.” He wanted me when my own mom didn’t. “I want to save yours.”

He blinks a few times. It’s not like he decides all of a sudden. He stands there and stares at me, like it’s a contest to see which one of us backs away first.

I don’t move. I might have a year or two ago. Maybe even five months. Ryke would’ve been the one to rival Jonathan Hale. To stand up to him. To shut him down.

Now it’s my turn.

I never flinch or give him the easy road because I love him. I love him, so I’m going to give him the hard road, the better one. Like Ryke always did with me.

“You look different,” my dad says. Fear flashes in his eyes…the most human thing I’ve ever witnessed from him.

“I’m older,” I remind him.

He shakes his head, just as Lily had done before. “It’s not that, son,” he says in a whisper.

I know. I feel different.

He sniffs loudly, controlling his emotions. Then a minute or two later, my dad finally shuffles to his desk. He crouches behind a drawer, and I hear bottles clink together. He emerges with four handles of whiskey. My alcoholic father, who has spent more days with liquor than without, tosses his whiskey in a nearby trash bin.

And he walks away from them. Heading towards me.

I let out a long breath. When I turn to look for Ryke, I think he’ll be happy about our dad’s choice. But he’s not here. I spin around, casing the area. He’s probably outside. Where he can breathe.

“I’ll talk to Jonathan about our situation,” Connor says, reminding me about why we first showed up. “You should go find him.” Ryke, he means.

I hesitate to leave Connor alone with my father, who already seems aggravated at the idea of conversing with him. I’d rather not push my dad towards the four bottles of booze he just rejected.

But I’m too concerned about Ryke to stay.

My decision is an easy one.





{ 55 }

LOREN HALE



I find Ryke in the driveway. The rain has stopped. Without Connor’s car keys, he’s left waiting by the Escalade. He sits on the edge of the pavement—where the cement meets the grass. His knees are tucked to his chest, his face buried in his hands.

My pulse quickens. “Hey,” I say softly, approaching my older brother.

He runs his fingers through his hair, but he never looks up. His gaze transfixes on the ground.

“It’s all worked out,” I tell him.

He shakes his head a single time, and his fingers clench his thick brown hair.

I rub the back of my neck. “I know you don’t like him…and you probably don’t want me to be the donor. But I can’t just let him die.”