Thrive (Addicted, #4)(95)

“Not me,” she says quickly. “Maybe someone posted it online.

That happened to Ryke, you know.”

“I’m also not sleeping with random girls who’ve decided to share my number with the world,” I say crossly, more because of my cell than anything. Ryke should also be more careful with shit like that. He doesn’t care though. He barely cares about what anyone thinks of him.

I can’t be like that. Not completely.

When the next ring comes, I groan out loud. About to silence my cell. Instead I answer the call. My eyes narrow at the comforter, the cold speaker to my ear. “Who is this?” I snap.

“This is Mark Johnson from GBA News. How are you today, Loren?”

A chill sweeps the back of my neck. It’s been about three weeks since Daisy’s pool party—since my dad lashed out at me with seemingly no goddamn reason. This is why. I deduce in two seconds flat that a series of reporters have been trying to reach me.

I can’t do this here, in front of Lily. I lick my lips.

“Hold on a minute,” I tell him. My chest constricts, and no matter how hard I tell myself to relax, my muscles just keep tightening.

Lily frowns at me. “Who is it?”

“Can you save my spot in the comic?” I ask. “Don’t dog-ear it; just remember the page.”

“Yeah,” she says softly while I swing my legs over the bed and exit our room, shutting the door behind me. I practically skip steps downstairs and make my way to the kitchen, out of earshot from Lil. If this has to do with her—I need the answers first. So I can break it to her gently.

I try to inhale, to breathe a full breath, but the pressure on my ribcage only pains me.

“Okay,” I say to Mark, standing between the kitchen island and the sink. “What’s this about?”

People holler in the background—on his end, not mine.

“Sorry,” he apologizes with a heavy breath, like he’s walking somewhere else.

The interfering noise suddenly dies out. I hear a door close. “The newsroom was going crazy when you answered the call. We know that other networks have been trying to get in touch with you too.” And he’s the first one I clicked into.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say coldly. “It was random that I picked up your call.”

“And I appreciate it one-hundred percent,” Mark says quickly, as though to keep me on the line. “I know this has to be a tough time for you and your family, Loren, but we’d love to hear your side of the story. Do you have a statement or anything you’d like to say? If you don’t have time, we’d be more than happy with just a short quote.”

What could be this newsworthy that he’d grovel for a fucking statement? When Lily’s sex addiction became public, reporters didn’t even hound me like this. “How about you start by telling me what’s going on.”

His shock amplifies this heavy silence, and it builds an unbearable amount of tension. I try to exhale, like razors cutting through me.

“It’s been breaking news since 1 a.m.” He pauses. “I thought you’d heard by now.”

I grip the sink counter, leaning over. I could hang up on him, read a news article online. See the headlines. Turn on the television. But I have the answer in the palm of my hand. Right now. And nothing motivates me to drop the cell. If I let go, I may lose my shit. “Just tell me.” My voice is achingly deep.

He clears his throat. “Your father is being accused of molesting you.” He keeps speaking, but the words don’t register in my brain. I stare blankly at the white sink. Your father is being accused of molesting you.

There is a pain buried so deep inside of me. I’ve never tapped into it, never felt it until today. “It’s not true,” I say, shaking with emotions that I can’t sort through. “It’s not true. There’s your quote.” I hang up and immediately dial my dad’s number.

My hand quakes as I rub my lips. The line clicks. “Dad?” And everything begins to pour out of me. “It’s not fucking true. What sick fuck would say this?” I almost scream. It rises to my throat, and it turns into a silent one, the sound completely lost. Hot liquid creases my eyes, and I sink to the floor, leaning against the island cupboards.

“Loren Hale” has always been synonymous with: failure, fuck up, bastard, alcoholic, Lily Calloway’s boyfriend. Those are the titles the world has given me. I never, in my life, believed that this could be attached to my name, to my father’s.

“It was a family friend,” is the first thing my father says.

“He made these allegations to tarnish my reputation, my company’s name.” He lets out a weak, irritated laugh. “Hale Co. produces baby products, and whoever believes in this lie will likely boycott us.” He doesn’t say: because who wants a stroller made by a pedophile? He can’t utter the words.

I rest my head on the wood, realizing that he couldn’t tell me at the pool because he couldn’t stomach it. He tried, but it wouldn’t come out.

“No one will believe it,” I say under my breath. “I already made a statement. I said it didn’t happen.” It’ll all just pass like every other rumor.

“There’s an investigation, Loren,” he says.

“What?” My nose flares, hot pools welling in my eyes.