Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(6)

He brings the glass down and puts his head to the wall, his chin raised a little. He stares. I stare back. And my whole chest inflates with helium.

I want him.

I need him.

To hold me. To wrap my arms around his body. For him to whisper in my ear that everything will be okay. That we’ll be better for each other. Will we? Will we still love each other if he’s sober and I’m wading through the things that torment me? Will he fit into my life if I’m struggling with my addiction while he’s healthy and absolved from his?

I want to fit into his life. I just hope when he returns, he’ll want me too.

And I blink. He’s gone. Somewhere. No one will tell me what rehab he checked into, and so I’m left with these distressing fantasies, wishing for him to return. At least I managed to claw a few answers from Ryke. He said that for the first month of rehab, Lo isn’t supposed to have any sort of outside communication. I’m not sure if that pertains to only me, but I have a feeling Ryke has been in touch with Lo since he dropped him off.

So maybe I’m the only one who’s being shunned and kicked out of Lo’s life like dirty garbage.

Still, I wait in anticipation for February. Email privileges will be restored. And then March, he’ll upgrade to the telephone. If I can just make it through January, I’ll be okay. Or at least, that’s what I keep reminding myself.

My phone buzzes, and I retrieve it from my pocket, wiping my eyes with my wrist while I read the text.

I left my wallet at your place. I need you to open the gates – Ryke

I freeze and reread the text four more times. Open the gates. As in the gated house I’m supposed to be at right now—the one Rose bought in a secluded little town. Can I pretend that I didn’t read it?

Lily, I know you’re there.

What? How?!

I won’t fuck you. Just let me in. I’m supposed to be in Time Square right now.

My fingers hover over the button. If I refuse to answer, I can act like I never received the texts. Simple. And then I can just lie tomorrow about losing my phone. It’d be better than dealing with Ryke now.

We both have iPhones. I can tell when you’ve read my texts, so stop ignoring me and open the fucking gates.

Uhh…

My phone rings, and I jump. RYKE MEADOWS fills the screen.

I’m in trouble. We haven’t established a talking-on-the-phone type of relationship yet. As of late, we’re strictly text-only. Even if he is Lo’s half-brother, he has just entered our lives. And while Lo may forgive all of Ryke’s past transgressions—like spending seven years with the knowledge of his little brother’s whereabouts and not doing anything about it (like saying ‘hi’ at least)—I have kept Ryke at a lengthy distance. It has nothing to do with his boy-parts and sex but more to do with his annoying qualities. Like inserting himself into other people’s business. Like being an alpha male when the situation does not call for one.

My finger continues to float above the big green button, and I make a rash decision and bolt for the patio to avoid music and loud chatter. Even outside, the wild streets make up for the lack of pumping bass as people gather down below for tonight’s festivities. My phone vibrates angrily in my hand. Quickly, I press the speaker to my ear and wait for Ryke to speak first. I’m so not about to initiate this conversation.

“Open the fucking gate,” he snaps.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Get your ass off your bed and come down here.” I hear him jiggle the iron entry, as though trying to physically open it by pure brute force.

“Are you trying to break in?”

“I’m considering it.” He sighs, agitated. “It’s been seven days since he left, not five fucking years. You’re acting pathetic.”

I purse my lips. This is why I dislike him. His blunt honesty is so rude sometimes. Ryke takes the meaning “tough love” to a whole new level. “I realize that. And I’ll have you know, I changed out of sweats on day four, and on day five, I washed my hair.” I am not pathetic. I’m trying to live without my best friend. It’s hard. My whole reason for waking up in the morning and putting on a smile was taken from me.

“Congratulations. Now open the gate.”

And then, my luck goes in the crapper. “HAPPY NEW YEAR MOTHERFUCKERS!” a guy screams five stories below. I am one-hundred percent positive that Ryke heard the drunken exclamation through the receiver.

“Before you say anything,” I speak rapidly, feeling the heated fury brew from Ryke through the phone. “Daisy begged me to come to this house party. She gave me these big green doe eyes. You have not been inflicted by Daisy’s doe eyes, so you can’t judge. And then I thought—hey it can’t be that big of a deal. She’s fifteen. It has to be some small girly slumber party in the city. Nothing to fret about.” I moronically point at my chest even though he’s nowhere near me. “It’s not my fault that my little sister has friends twice her age. I didn’t even know she drank outside of our family until tonight! So this is not my fault. You hear me, Ryke? Not. My. Fault.” I finish my rant with a heavy breath.

After a short pause, all he says is, “Where the fuck are you?”

“I’ll probably head home after the ball drops.” I dodge the answer in case he intends to find me.