I hang up Daisy’s jacket, shut the closet and take a seat on Rose’s Queen Anne chair. “It’s not a rule so much as a suggestion.” I smile a bitter smile. Then I collect the remote, about to increase the volume to GBA’s Ballin’ New Year’s Eve.
“Are you sure Ryke and Rose know that it’s a suggestion and not a rule?” Daisy asks us. “I think they’d be really upset…” She licks her dried lips. “I mean…it’s not considered relapsing, right?”
Guilt washes over Lily’s face.
I go cold.
“No,” I interject quickly. We’re at a good f**king place. She’s confident, not compulsive. I won’t let their fears f**k with her progress. “Not that I really want to explain this to you,” I add and then grimace. Way to be a prick, Loren. “Lily’s therapist says that we can move things forward, depending on how well she’s doing.”
This is completely true, but even if Rose and Ryke had a sit down with Dr. Banning, they’d probably still believe that Lily needs more structure and limitations. Outwardly, she seems aloof and anxious, but most of that is because of the media.
It’s complicated.
Daisy wears a pained expression. “And you’re doing well?” she asks her sister.
Lily nods, but she has very little evidence to prove this, considering she hides under desks, dodges cameras, and isolates herself from people.
“Hey, Daisy?” I rub the back of my neck, my eyes narrowed. “Can you never tell my brother what you saw tonight? In fact, let’s just keep this between us.”
Lily says, “Please. We’ve been trying not to advertise our sex life as much.”
Daisy’s not stupid.
The gears click in her head—thinking we’re on a dangerous road. We aren’t. Not yet, at least.
Lily clasps Daisy’s hand and then says, “Do you want ice cream? Rose stocked up on double fudge for you.”
“I can’t…I have a photo shoot next week.”
“Oh,” Lily says, more remorse filling her eyes.
“No, it’s cool.” Daisy hugs her sister back, and just like that, their relationship has been reversed. Daisy cheering up Lily, something that only makes Lily feel like shit. “Let’s just watch the movie after the countdown. Who needs ice cream, right?”
Then the door swings open again.
And both Lily and I look to Daisy. Her loyalty to us is about to be tested.
11
0 years : 04 months
December
LILY CALLOWAY
A six-foot-three brooding—mostly irritated—guy bounds through the door. “I f**king hate people,” he states, barely glancing at Lo on the chair. I have to crane my neck over the couch to catch sight of Ryke, as does Daisy.
He saunters into the kitchen with an angry stride, disappearing through the archway.
“Not that I don’t love you here,” Lo shouts from across the room, “but you said that you were spending New Year’s at that frat guy’s kiddie pool.”
Ryke returns from the kitchen with a bag of pre-popped popcorn and a water bottle. “It was his hot tub, and he graduated in May, same as me.”
Ryke must have had a not-so fun time at his friend’s party. His stormy expression says it all. The irony: Lo and I were having a pretty good night, all things considered. Usually we’re on the other side of the fence.
“Can you imagine a hot tub full of frat guys?” Daisy asks me, nudging my elbow with hers, a smile playing at her lips. It sounds like one of my fantasies. Before Loren Hale. But then again, Ryke would not be a participant in my fantasy hot tub.
I don’t answer her, but I do, however, catch Ryke’s muscles flexing at the sound of Daisy’s voice, surprised by her presence here.
Ryke steps around the couch to face us, and he gives Daisy a long once-over that seems friendly enough. “What are you doing here?”
“Lo asked you the same thing,” she deflects.
Ryke sinks down in the open chair, his harsh gaze still on Daisy. “You want to know why I left my friend’s f**king party?”
“Yeah,” Daisy says.
“I was sick of people asking me how Lily is in bed.”
Whaaa…My eyes pop out. I despise those rumors. “I hope you told them I never—”
“I told them to f**k off,” Ryke says before I get worked up. “They’re f**king ass**les.”
“We’re ass**les,” Lo says. “They’re dipshits.”
“Are you really schooling me on curse words, little brother?”
Lo lets out a short laugh and grips the armrests too tightly, like he longs to stand up and grab a drink. “No. I don’t run as fast as you. I’m not as smart as you. And I definitely don’t curse as well as you.” I hear what’s beneath his words: My life is pretty much a losing battle. Cold washes over me. I glance at Ryke—his arms have chill bumps. “I’m just saying,” Lo finishes, “that you’re an ass**le.”
On instinct, I leave my seat beside Daisy, and I nestle on Lo’s lap, hugging his tense body. His shoulders begin to loosen as soon as my legs tangle with his, and his large hands slip around my waist, pulling me even closer to his chest.
Ryke drinks a swig of water and wipes his mouth with his arm. “At least we have something in common then.”
Lo lets out a laugh, his scowl completely vanished. He’s happy that Ryke didn’t convince him of things he knows are true. Lo spent his childhood running away from people. Ryke competed in track and field. I don’t think either of them believes that Lo will gain the strength to beat his brother in a race.
I do though.
Lo has the will to speed right past the person who lifted him to his feet. I think, sometimes, we have more faith in each other than we do in ourselves.
Daisy shifts on the couch for the third or fourth time, restless. She starts braiding the fringe of a purple throw blanket. “Are you spending the night too?” she asks Ryke.
“If it’s okay with my brother.” Ryke turns his head towards Lo. “I can drive back to Philly if it’s not.”
“It’s almost midnight, so you should stay,” Lo says. “We can crack open a bottle of champagne, toast to the New Year, then switch to whiskey.” He tops it off with that now literally famous dry smile. Celebrity Crush even ranked his bitter half-smiles from best to worst. My favorite was the one during Halloween (ranked only #6). I thought he’d want to stay at home for his twenty-second birthday, especially since last year’s Halloween was so apocalyptic, but he drove everyone to a haunted house in northern Pennsylvania.
He was a pirate.
A sarcastic pirate.
A girl dressed as Pippi Longstocking took the picture of his half-smile when he wasn’t looking and posted it to Instagram. I almost wish I could thank her.
It’s one of my favorite photos of him—maybe also because he’s carrying me on his back. I was a mouse. I thought it’d be ironic since I’ve been so quiet, but Ryke thought I was a rat so…maybe it wasn’t the best costume choice.
“That’s f**king hilarious,” Ryke says to Lo, unamused.
“Haven’t you heard? I haven’t had a sip of alcohol since rehab,” Lo says. “I’m cured.” I don’t think he even believes that.
“And Connor isn’t a genius. Lily’s not a sex addict. Daisy’s not a supermodel. And I have f**king fantastic college buddies who ask me about anything other than three-ways.”