Thrive (Addicted, #4)(119)

I find a real hole in his words, one that latches onto me like a parasite. “I thought you knew about me when you were fifteen.” How many opportunities has he really had to come meet me?

“I told you that I met him at a country club every week. I knew his name. I knew he was my father. He was a fucking socialite, so I was smart enough to figure out that his son was my brother. They just didn’t tell me until I was fifteen.” His arms shake, not with fear, just pissed. He crawls off of me but stays on his knees, exhausted. His face is reddened everywhere my fist landed.

I stay on my back and stare at the blue sky. And I wonder. I wonder what it must’ve been like to be him. Alone, no real dad or mom. Friendships that mean less when you can’t explain who you are.

“I hold grudges,” he confesses. “But I think you do too, Lo.” My jaw locks. I give him a hard time. Because I’ve been jealous of his strength, of the way people respect and trust him. Not because he showed up late in my life. The fact that he appeared at all is more than what I would’ve done. How could I keep holding that against him? If he feels any regret about that, then he’s projecting it on me. Beating himself up about it.

Our dad has always been at the center of our grief, and I recognize how hard it must be to help a man that has shit on you, cast you away and chosen the bastard. I get it now. But I’m also a part of this mess.

A cloud rolls over the sun, and I say, “I just wish you could love me more than you hate him.” I turn my head to the side, facing my brother’s mostly hardened features that rarely break. My eyes glass again. “Is that even fucking possible?”

He lets out a deep breath. “I love you, you know that.” He touches my leg in comfort.

My body tightens. “You didn’t answer my question.” Yes or no. Will you stand up for me?

“I don’t know, Lo,” he says. “I want to. I want to so fucking badly, but it’s not as easy as wishing for that kind of peace. I hate him for things he did to me, for the things he does to you.”

I sit up and wipe my face with the bottom of my shirt. “Jesus Christ,” I laugh shortly. “You don’t get it. I deserved every word he said to me. You didn’t know me in prep school, Ryke. I was a fucking shit. I was terrible.”

He glares. “Don’t ever fucking tell me that you deserved it. No one deserves to be beat down every fucking day.”

I feel like I did. Still do sometimes. I exhale, my eyes flickering up to his as I say, “He’s never touched me.” It’s the truth. I know the whole world may never believe me, but I need the people closest to me to.

Ryke holds my face between both of his hands, his brown eyes boring into mine, flecked with hazel. “Stop defending him. Not to me, okay?”

He’ll never love my father the way I do. It’s impossible to even try to convince him. He just doesn’t see the good that’s hidden beneath all the bad. Or maybe, he just thinks the bad parts outweigh all the good.

I draw back, the tension loose between us. But there’s still something left that we have to confront. I’m not leaving this desert with more things left unturned.

I gesture to the red welt on his cheek. “That bruise right there, that’s for fucking my girlfriend’s little sister by the way.”

His lips part in horror.





{ 59 }

2 years : 02 months

October





LOREN HALE


“Tabloids caught you making out just outside of Devils Tower.” I dig in my pocket for my new cell that I bought after the old one was destroyed in the riot. Then I scroll through Celebrity Crush, finding the picture of Daisy on my brother’s shoulders, both of them kissing. I throw my cell at him, and he catches it in his hands. “The photograph is on every gossip site.”

Off his shocked expression, I’m guessing he never saw the headlines. The longer he looks at the picture, the more his face settles on rage, his eyes glazing with this darkness. Then he chucks the phone back. It hits me in the jaw before thudding to the ground.

I pick it up and dust off the casing. “Pissed you got caught?”

He stays quiet. Not again.

I internally growl in frustration. “Please talk to me,” I snap, “because I need to understand what’s going on or I may just punch you again.”

He shakes his head, his shirt covered in red dirt like mine. Bruises begin to form on his jaw. “It just happened.” His voice is husky and lowered, like that’s all he’s ever going to give me.

It just happened. I blink a couple times. “It just happened?” I’m so tired of hearing that. “That’s a really shitty thing to tell me.” He runs his hand through his hair, red dust billowing. “You fuck Lily’s little sister, and you say, oh it just fucking happened? What’d you fall on her? Did you add her to your tally of girls? Is it a one-night stand kind of thing?” My chest thrums in worry, in fear that all of this could be true. He’s never said otherwise.

“That’s not what I fucking meant.” He grimaces and rubs his face with his hands quickly, like maybe he’ll wake up and this issue will just be buried with everything else.

I won’t let him. “Then what did you mean?” I ask.

He looks at me. “It’s serious.”