He’s an alcoholic.
He was expelled from college.
He’s a loser.
I’m a natural-born failure.
But I don’t want my son to grow up and have these same impressions of me. I want to be known for more than all of that. I just don’t know how. Part of me believes it’s impossible. I can’t move mountains, no matter how hard I push.
Stop thinking, I tell myself. My mind won’t shut off. In the yacht’s cabin, I lie on the bed next to Lily, who’s in a deep sleep. I check the clock: 4 a.m.
Four years ago, I’d go grab a bottle of Jameson. Take more than a few swigs. Call it a night after an hour.
I let out a heavy breath and quietly climb off the bed.
The moon bathes the room in blue, and I see a direct path to the door. I sneak out, gently shutting it behind me. And then I proceed down the hallway, knowing my course and destination.
I stop in front of another cabin, lamp light glowing beneath the door. No hesitation or second-guessing, I just open it.
Ryke leans against the headboard in only sweatpants, a paperback folded in hand. His eyes meet mine with questioning and concern. He’s alone, so I close the door and walk further inside.
“Hey,” he says while I take a seat on a wooden chair that faces his bed.
I’m not surprised that he’s awake. If anyone has a f**ked up internal clock, it’s my older brother. He’ll alternate between 5 a.m. mornings to 5 a.m. nights, depending on who needs his help and if he’s going climbing.
I rest my forearms on my thighs, slightly hunched. My fingers vibrate, and my leg jostles more than I like. I rub my lips, but it’s clear that he sees my anxiety.
I let out another breath and look up at him. He has his arms on his bent knees, and my eyes fall to the paperback, loosely hanging by his fingers, a picture of a bull on the front cover. “What are you reading?”
His eyes flit to the book. “The Sun Also Rises.”
I frown, making out the title from here. “That’s not what it says.”
He tucks the novel away, underneath his pillow. “It’s in Spanish.”
Right. I try to smile but it’s a bitter one. He’s fluent in more languages than I can ever learn. “Is it good?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s okay.” He studies my expression for too long, and my gaze drops to my shaking hands.
I breathe out, the strain bursting my lungs. I imagine my non-conformist brother in a suit and tie, pretending to be something he’s not. Entering this bullshit world that he’s purposefully escaped. It’s wrong. And I suddenly say, “I don’t want you to change.” It’s not all selfless. I need him the way that he is.
“You know me,” he says—three words that weren’t true for decades of time. “Do you really think I can f**king change?”
I never thought he could. “The board will never choose you, you realize that?” I snap, my voice more edged. Remorse twists my face. “Not as you are, I mean.” He curses too much. He’s late to everything, even his own birthday. He shelters his intelligence from every f**king person—so they just see this aggressive, unfiltered guy. But all of this is why he’s Ryke Meadows and not me, not Connor.
It’s part of why I love him.
“Fuck them, then,” he says. “But I’m still trying.”
He also never gives up.
I’m scared because I always do, in the end. Pitted against each other—I lose. Every time. I put my fingers up to my lips, my palms pressed together. My foot still taps the ground. And I say, “Just give it to me.”
His features darken, and he slides to the edge of the bed, sitting closer to me as his bare feet hit the floor. “No,” he says, one word that tears a f**king hole inside of me.
“No?” I glare, grinding my teeth. “You don’t even want it.”
“Neither do you,” he refutes. “How many times do I have to f**king tell you, Lo, that you don’t owe him one f**king thing?” He points at the door.
I swallow hard. “I’m alive because—”
“Because Dad said yes to keeping you? Decent people don’t use that to blackmail their children. You had no choice in coming into this f**king world. You should have a choice on what you do with your life afterwards. And he’s taking that away from you.”
I shake my head on impulse, but I catch myself and stop. I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. He’s taking that choice away from Ryke too.
My brother leans forward. “Lo, please drop out of this. It’s going to make you f**king sick.”
I tug at the collar of my crew-neck with a cringe. For once, I want to be the strong one. I want to save my brother from this hell. And he’s saying that I’m too weak for it. That I’ll destroy myself before I ever have the chance.
I’d like to believe that I’m better now. But it’s easy to say that I am. It’s harder to prove it. I want to. God I want to. “I think…we’re both in agreement that neither of the girls should take over Hale Co.,” I say.
Ryke nods adamantly.
Lily is about to have a baby. Daisy should be outside or whatever she likes to do. They’re only trying to win this because they know that neither Ryke nor I want to live this life.
And they’re trying to protect us as much as we’re trying to protect them.
I ask, “So why don’t we just work together at the beginning?” If we help each other, then maybe the girls won’t even have a chance. It’s a compromise, but in my mind, I see myself taking more of the burden from him. I will, in the end. I’m going to carry his weight for once. “Us against the girls.”
Ryke considers this for a second, his fingers combing through his disheveled hair. And then his brown eyes flit up to mine. “I thought you said the board will never take me as I am.” It’ll be hard. But we’ll still have a shot. We’re Jonathan’s sons. “Why would you want to work with me?”
“Because you’re my brother,” I say without pause, “and I’d rather be with you than against you.”
I can’t fight with Ryke. I need him on my side until the very end, until one of us is chosen. Maybe one day Connor and Ryke will pull away from me, and I’ll no longer lean on them for support.
But it’s only been four months since I last drank alcohol, and their fears have become mine. Of relapsing. I need him.
I need my brother.
I sit up and pull my shoulder back. “So how about it, Ryke Meadows, you want to be miserable with me?”
This is difficult for him to accept.
I see it in his eyes. By agreeing, he’s willfully going to subject me to a certain torture. He’d rather beat me. I’d rather beat him—but I’m not sure I can at the beginning: when I first walk through those glass double doors, when I meet the board’s judgment.
Before I run on my own, I need a crutch. It’s either Ryke Meadows or a bottle of booze. And I can’t let it be the latter.
So this is what I have to do. Please. Say yes.
He rises to his feet, and I do the same, my heart thrashing in my chest. And then he grabs my hand and hugs me, setting a palm on my back. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this together, little brother.”
My muscles finally loosen. For the first time that night.
When we break apart, something bangs into the door. We both flinch, and the sound happens again, a softer thud this time.