Addicted After All(187)

It was the most overprotective, cutest superhero reference he’s used in a while.

“Are you new here?” Garrison makes small talk.

No small talk. That’s off-limits too. “Yep. Yep, everyone’s new,” I say rapidly. “Willow, can you get my purse from the break room?” I didn’t bring a purse, so it’ll take her some time. Smart thinking. I internally pat myself on the shoulder.

“Sure.” She struggles to fit the cash tray back into the register.

“I can do it,” Maya tells her, taking over.

Willow leaves to the break room, but she stops midway like she lost something. “My backpack…”

Garrison finds it on the ground before I do. “This?” He picks up the old jean backpack and carries it to her.

Their fingers brush as he passes it to Willow. “Thanks,” she says, as pale as a ghost.

I give up. Maybe in another life, I was cupid and foretold every relationship there ever was. I smile at that thought. I prophesied them all except my very own.





{ 68 }

LOREN HALE



“You ready?” I ask Ryke as we step into the Hale Co. elevators that’ll bring us to the board room. His unkempt hair is barely combed, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled to his forearms. He even ditched a suit jacket.

I thought for sure I’d be meeting someone besides my brother today. I’d come face-to-face with the Ryke Meadows that’s been buttoning his shirts to the collar, tying wide-ties, riding to the offices in a car, not a motorcycle.

“I usually ask you that,” he says under his breath, quiet enough that I don’t comment on it.

I try to ignore the tension and punch the button. “You look like yourself today.” I gesture to his hair. “Just rolled out of bed, grabbed the first thing on the floor.” I’m about to joke more, but he’s not smiling or laughing.

His shoulders remain strict. We’re about to cement one of our futures, and Ryke believes neither is good. I don’t know anymore. This elevator doesn’t seem like a ride to hell or to a cage. Somewhere from the beginning to now, I’ve changed.

“Ryke—”

“I tried to be different so I could beat you at this,” he suddenly says. “To help you. And I could barely stomach it.”

“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I’m glad you changed back.”

He nods repeatedly, staring at the floor while we stand side-by-side. The elevator doors have already closed, and we’ve begun to rise. “I need to tell you something,” he breathes. He turns his head to me. “I got tested, at the hospital.”

My brows pull together. “To see if you can donate?”

“Yeah.” He waits a second, struggling to explain himself. “I’m a match.”

I open my mouth, not sure what to say.

“Crazy, right?” he says roughly. “Who would’ve f*cking thought that I’d be Dad’s one chance at life?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I remind him, my stomach at my knees.

Ryke runs his fingers through his hair, not confused or uncertain. “Regardless of what happens today,” he says, “I’ve made a decision about the transplant surgery.”

“Yeah?” I frown. I can’t place what I hope he’ll say. I just want everyone to live, but the cost of my dad living is high.

Then he stares right at me, with that stubborn self-confidence Ryke possesses, and he says, “I’m not doing this for him. I’m f*cking doing this for me.” He points at his chest. “Because I can’t live with myself knowing that I could’ve helped him and I did nothing.”

I’m surprised but then I’m not. He’s the most compassionate person I’ve ever met. Without asking, he helped me stay sober for years on end. He became friends with a lonely girl who needed one. He watched over her when no one else did.

He will always be the biggest hero in my world. “I’ll be there,” I tell him. “Every step of the way.”

Relief floods his dark features, no fight between us. “Good,” he says, “because I’m going to be bored shitless in recovery.”

I laugh once, and then I reach out, clasp his hand, pulling him closer for a hug. I pat his back. I’m about to say thanks or maybe you can always back out if you need to. It barely hits me that our dad might be able to watch my kid grow up. Ryke’s too if he has any.