Addicted After All(69)

He was laughing only minutes ago.

This is wrong.

I jerk forward on instinct, to hold Lo, to hug him. To wrap my arms around him. But Garth keeps me put.

A fist pounds into Connor’s cheekbone as it becomes two on one, as Ryke turns his attention to Surfer Tee and lands a solid blow in his stomach. It’s reciprocated with knuckles to Ryke’s lip. They’re all beating the shit out of each other. I hate this. I glance back at our bodyguards, trying to express every sentiment and plea in my eyes.

Please, help them.

Garth and Mikey exchange a look between each other, and that’s all it takes. They release their holds on Daisy and me. Not so we can join the fight, but so they can.

It’s like adding a couple of trump cards. The minute they step in, Garth pries Ryke off Surfer Tee, and Mikey assists Connor, keeping the other two at bay. The intensity drops by a million degrees.

Ryke spits blood on the cement and says something volatile at the hecklers in Spanish. It’s such a scary fight that I didn’t realize I was shaking until Rose reaches out and clutches my jittery hand.

“They’re okay,” Rose says softly.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” I murmur. I watch Ryke throw his palms in the air like I’m done, I’m done. He wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand.

I’ve conquered my fear of facing daylight, of standing among fans, now excited when they approach for selfies. I’m no longer crippled by the constant attention. No longer a scared little hermit who hides in her house. But I don’t want to come out to find Lo beaten on the ground, accompanied by more people that I love.

“What if they had a knife?” I realize this could’ve been worse, easily. “What if they had a gun?” I freeze.

Rose says, “We can only tolerate so much until we snap. Ryke’s easier to enrage, but Connor’s not and he was upset. So you have to know that whatever they were saying must’ve been verging on a threat.” She raises her chin. “If I wasn’t pregnant—”

“You would punch back?” I presume.

“I would impale their gross, little black hearts with my heels.”

Thank God she’s on my side and not against me.

The hecklers have separated from our men, and they weakly stagger back, blood staining their shirts and a few shiners swelling their eyes.

Lo, Ryke, and Connor only appear minutely better, blood still splattering their clothes. All of them have taken hits. Connor is crouched over Lo, talking to him quietly while he nods like I’m okay.

I try to exhale a tight breath in my chest.

Ryke finally turns towards us, and he locks eyes with Daisy, who is all alone, a few feet ahead of me and Rose. Her chest rises and falls in a heavy, uneven rhythm, like she’s suffocating beneath a brutal wave.

Ryke assesses her as much as she assesses him.

She tugs at her tight shirt, and I remember her earlier thought about stripping and racing ahead and being held down by nothing at all.

Go, I want to tell her. She can sprint to the dock. The hecklers have disappeared down a side-street, out of sight. She’s safe.

But her feet stay on the ground, in place. “The full moon makes you crazy, you know,” she tells him softly.

“No more f*cking crazy than you.” He steps nearer to Daisy and then draws her to his chest. His hand disappears beneath her shirt, as though stretching it so she’s not as claustrophobic. The gesture is sweet. “And it’s not the full moon, Dais. It’s just people who want to shit on the ones I love. I can’t f*cking take it.”

My shoulders lift with that proclamation. Lo is still hurt and my stomach won’t untie until he’s in my arms and I’m in his.

So I head over to him as soon as he stands, wincing and favoring his ribs. I almost start shaking again at the flash of agony in his features. “Lo?” I whisper.

He stares down at me, his lip busted. Connor’s cheekbone is red and will probably bruise. But just by sight, Ryke has the worst of it: both cheeks and his lip beat up and bloodied.

“I’m fine,” Lo says.

“So fine that I can hug you?” I ask skeptically. He’s putting on a good front.

“Go ahead, Lil,” he nods.

I gently wrap my arms around him, keeping distance between our bodies.

His warm breath touches my temple as he whispers, “That’s not how we hug.”

“I’m not hurting you,” I tell him adamantly. “I know you’re in pai—”