Thrive (Addicted, #4)(105)

I look between them. Is she serious? “That’s the best lie you can come up with?”

She smiles. “It’s actually the truth.”

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Daisy. He’s seven years older than you. He’s been with more girls than you probably even realize.” I don’t want to bring a person in her life that’ll just screw her and leave her. I can’t handle that.

“No,” she says, “I realize that he’s slept with a lot of women, but his number is probably one that I would have easily reached at twenty-five too.”

I grimace. Sometimes I think she puts on this act like “I’m so old and experienced” just for my brother. “I’m in an alternate universe right now.”

“Really?” Daisy says with a lopsided smile, one that brightens her whole face. It reminds me that she’s still young and may be able to escape all of this. I want something better for her than my brother. She has the opportunity to leave Philly behind, date a guy without so much baggage. She can be so fucking free. “Cool,” she nods. “Is it more fun here? I think it is.” She turns to Ryke. “What do you think?”

His eyes never leave me. “Tone it down.” And then he says, “Lo—”

“You’re not good enough for her,” I interject. “You realize that, right?”

Ryke’s muscles flex, as tense as me. “I care about Daisy just as much as you, if not more, so you don’t need to pull this overprotective bullshit on me.”

I want to believe that. So badly. The side of me that I hate most never will. “It’s not bullshit if you’re fucking her,” I say.

“We’re not fucking!” he shouts.

The door opens, and Connor, Rose and Lily slip into the garage.

Lily stands next to me with a heavy frown. “What’s going on?” she whispers.

“I caught them fucking on her motorcycle.” I literally say it to be mean.

Ryke groans. “Come on! We were both on the bike, fully fucking clothed. We’ve never had sex!” He shakes his head. “How many times do I have to say it?” I don’t know. I don’t know how to give you a fucking break when I rarely get one. It’s the cruelest part of my soul. “You know what,” he says, “we might as well fuck if you all think we’ve done it a thousand times already.”

“Whoa, whoa.” I cringe and raise my hands. “I can’t stomach you guys doing it once. So please spare me the goddamn picture of it happening a thousand times.”

“Both of you,” Connor chimes in, stepping off the short stairs that lead down into the garage, “stop for a second.” He stands between us. “You’re overreacting.”

Probably. But sometimes it feels good to see the anger flash in my brother’s eyes. Like we’re on equal playing fields. It’s sick, I realize.

“I don’t like being accused of things that I didn’t fucking do,” Ryke growls.

That just about kills me. “Yeah? How do you think Dad feels?!” It comes out before I can stop it. The garage deadens with silence, my hostile voice echoing. I have not once pressured Ryke for a statement. I won’t either.

But every day he remains quiet is another day I fight this alone. All he has to do is go to the press. That’s it. If he can’t vouch for our dad, then why can’t he at least vouch for me? Yeah I’m not the greatest person to be around, but he’s been by my side for three goddamn years. That has to count for something.

I swallow, realizing he’s not going to say anything. I can’t force him to speak out. It’s too big of a deal. “She’s eighteen,” I tell him, sticking to the topic.

“Here we go.” Ryke tosses his arms in the air. “Let’s fucking hear it, Lo. She’s eighteen. She’s like your little sister. Her mom hates me. I know. I know. I fucking know.”

Pain ripples through me. I’m sorry. Am I though? I just feel like shit. Lily’s arm slides around my waist, and my shoulders begin to relax. I exhale.

It’s not over though. I’ve always been a machine gun, another bullet ready after I press the trigger. Most of the time, I’m just waiting for it to ricochet. And finally hit me.





{ 51 }

2 years : 01 month

September





LILY CALLOWAY


I skirt past the kitchen, training my focus on the living room and the remote. Not Loren Hale, who closes the fridge, a water bottle in hand. I am not even going to glance at his gorgeous bone structure, those sharp-as-ice cheekbones or the pink lips that turn into a sexy pout when he glares. Or his intense amber eyes that always stare straight into me.

It’s just me and the remote.

Right on the couch cushion.

“Hey,” Lo calls after me.

“Hey back,” I reply, not slowing down. Hello, remote. I sidle to the couch and before I even plop down, Lo runs to catch me. In a flash, he clasps my bicep, stopping me. I let the surprise float across my face. “Do you have Peter Parker reflexes? Why didn’t you tell me you were bitten by a radioactive spider?”

He doesn’t laugh or even acknowledge my joke. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“Weird how?” My stomach does a dance, the kind of nervous dance that only middle school students can relate to.