Addicted After All(98)

“It hasn’t even been a whole year since your last relapse,” Ryke tells me in a controlled voice, trying not to curse me out. “I’m just concerned, as your sober coach but mostly as your f*cking brother.”

Lily hooks her arm around my waist, my muscles tensing like crazy. “Whatever…” I drop it there, especially as our phones ping again.

I check the text.

Daisy Calloway (sociable and well-spoken, very engaging) needs to stop fidgeting during group conversations. 12 out of 14 love you. Great work, Daisy. – Dad

My stomach falls, and the small fight I had with Ryke now seems insignificant.

Ryke drops his phone in his lap and runs his hands over his face. “Fucking f*ck…” He mumbles out more curses, and I notice that Daisy isn’t even paying attention to the texts.

“Are you okay, Rose?” she asks her sister.

Rose is pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s in pain, and Connor is rubbing her shoulders and whispering in her ear. Neither of them say a word.

I tell Daisy, “She’s probably about to cry because she knows your life is about to end.” It’s dramatic, especially for me, but maybe it’ll knock some sense into this girl.

“You all have things you love to do,” Daisy says. She braids her hair that’s now platinum-blonde, which pretty much resembles an alien to me. “I’m not giving up anything like you are.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say. “I’m not giving up a goddamn thing by being the CEO of Hale Co. I’ll still own Halway Comics.” I’ll just have twice the responsibility.

She’s nineteen, started modeling at fourteen. This girl has worked more in her lifetime than I f*cking have—that’s the truth here.

Ryke adds, “You are giving something up, sweetheart. You’re sacrificing the thing you could’ve loved. One day you’re going to find it. Hale Co. isn’t your burden, and I’m going to be f*cking sick if you take it.”

Daisy sips her water, mulling this over. We’re older than her. And I think she’s feeling it in this moment. She slouches, her green eyes flickering between us and then she lands on Ryke. “Who would you rather see be the CEO, me or Lo?”

“Neither,” he says immediately.

“That’s not a choice.”

He does look sick now. Like he’s going to puke or something. And I watch his face twist in pain as he contemplates each scenario. I pull at the collar of my white button-down, the suit jacket warm on top.

“Daisy, if it’s between you and me, he wants me to take it,” I interject. He needs to back me up, to have faith in me and to give Daisy a bigger reason to step away.

“I didn’t f*cking say that,” he retorts.

Goddammit, Ryke. I grind my teeth, my hand shaking, and he catches the irrepressible jitter. I’m not going to drink. The words scratch my throat, itching to come out like I could scream every syllable. But it just stays an urge, a thought, and I wear the sentence on my face instead.

“Rose?” Lily says, worry spiking her voice. My head whips towards Rose, who has her eyes closed, color lost in her cheeks.

“I’m fine,” she says in a stilted voice. But she’s almost hunched over, and Connor’s hand tightens on her shoulder. “They’re false contractions.”

Jesus Christ. “You’re having contractions right now?” This entire time?

“They’re false,” she emphasizes, growling out the word, and her eyes snap open, just to shoot me the evilest glare. She blows out a long breath. “I have three more weeks until my due date. It’s too soon.”

Now I notice how Connor’s examining her movements, his gaze traveling across her body.

“Motherf*ck…” She grips the edge of the leather seat and glances at the window. “We should be there by now.”

“You’re in pain and you’re still worried about being late to a dinner party?” I ask like she’s insane. She is. One-hundred percent insanity. I’m watching it.

“We’re still stuck in traffic,” Lily says to Rose, passing over my comment to keep her sister calm. “Do you need some water?”

Rose shakes her head a couple times. I really can’t tell if this is false labor or not. None of us have any prior experience as second-time fathers or mothers.

I watch Connor shrug off his suit jacket, maybe from the June heat. I lean over and try to speak through the limo privacy-screen at the driver. “Gilligan, can you turn the air conditioning down?” I ask. “It’s boiling back here.” Almost instantly, a gust of cool air blows out of the vents.