“Loren,” Rose snaps, completely ruining this.
I internally sigh and put some space between us. “Yeah?”
“How about you not grope my sister when I’m in the room?”
The irritation just storms right back inside of me. “How about you not verbally fuck your husband when I’m in the room, thanks?” I flash a smile.
Rose looks at me like I’m crazy. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Connor leans against the kitchen counter with a growing smile, popping a grape in his mouth. Yeah, even when he eats, his lips pull upward in a rich grin.
“I hate your smile,” I mimic her in a high voice. “Your backwards logic wouldn’t…whatever.” I can’t even mimic her right. I wave her off and head towards the door. I need to get my brother and Daisy anyway. The food is all cooked.
As I open the door, I hear Rose’s voice in the background. “I was not flirting with you, Richard.”
I can pretty much feel his grin overtake his whole face.
“Hey,” I call, stepping into the garage and shutting the door behind me. “Dinner is…” My face falls, morphing into a series of emotions.
Ryke and Daisy are on a parked motorcycle together, her legs wrapped around his waist, lying almost flat against the gas can near the handlebars. His body is pushed up against hers, no space between them. It’s miles and miles away from innocent.
The worst part: just minutes ago Ryke told me that nothing was going on. I don’t get it. I don’t fucking understand why he has to lie to me. I ask him if he has feelings for her. He says no. I ask him if they’re fucking. He says no. I ask him anything and he gives me responses he thinks I want to hear. He’s walking on egg shells for me, and I just need the fucking truth.
Every day, I feel like I’m going out of my goddamn mind.
Anger drives into me. From so many places. I can’t stop it. Ryke climbs off the bike, acting guiltless about the whole ordeal. Daisy follows suit, and when they’re both standing on the concrete, I go off.
“Did I interrupt something?” I ask my brother.
“No,” Ryke says. “We were just talking.”
I nod repeatedly. There are fears so deep that I can barely touch them. He could fuck over Daisy. Break her heart. He could betray me. And break mine. I just need him to give me something. Tell me that he loves her. Tell me that this is more than what I think it is. Anything that can put these doubts to bed.
I ask, “If you were just talking, then why were her legs wrapped around your waist?”
“Lo,” Daisy cuts in. Ryke raises his hand, silently telling her to stay out of it.
“We’re friends,” Ryke says to me.
That’s all he gives me: We’re friends. I shake my head. “Friends don’t do shit like that.” I point at the Ducati that they were just on together.
Ryke pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw hardening. “What do you fucking want me to say?”
Anything. “That what I just saw was a mistake!” I shout.
His lips tighten. He just stares at me. I want to punch him right now. Maybe then he’ll tell me the truth.
“It was a mistake,” Daisy says. “I wanted to see what it would be like to ride on a motorcycle backwards. I needed his help.”
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.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Okay. He’s right on that account. On my way to the doctor with Rose, we had a major flat tire, which was a bad, bad sign, doomed from the start. So by the time the doctor said you’re pregnant to both of us, I resigned to the fact that this was some real cosmic injustice.
And that I better get my shit together so the news doesn’t break Lo. Rose is two weeks further along than me, so she may have to announce her pregnancy before I do. But I just have to wait for the best moment, the perfect time where Lo is in a better place. I’m hoping it’ll come before I start showing. It has to.
“Lily,” he snaps, waving his hand in my face. “Are you even with me?”
Keeping this from Lo is like carrying around a grenade, not knowing when it’ll blow up. “I’m not avoiding you,” I say swiftly.
“You just walked right past me,” he argues, “and yesterday, you didn’t even wait to shower with me.” Shower sex. I skipped shower sex. That had to be a big red flag. His eyebrows pinch together, hurt coursing through his features. “Did I do something? Are you mad at me?”
“No,” I say, a knife wedging itself in my ribcage. “I just wanted to go longer without having sex so frequently. You know, see if I can do it. Like a personal goal or something.”
His muscles loosen in an instant. “Can you let me know when you’re planning these personal goals?”
I nod. “Good news,” I say, rising on my tiptoes and hooking my arms around his neck, “I’ve completed it.”
His lips curve upward, and his hands fall to my ass, squeezing and building a strong pressure like sexual magic. He walks me back into the couch, and I lie against the cushions, the remote digging into my shoulder blade. I toss it on the floor and feel the weight of Lo’s toned body bearing down on mine.
A noise catches in my throat, and my heart skips, utterly transfixed by his lips. I try to lean up to touch them with mine, but he places his palm on my chest, flattening me against the couch.
“I don’t like this game,” I tell him.
His knees rest on either side of my hips, straddling me and making it near impossible to roll off the couch or to acquire a long, sultry kiss.
“You don’t?” His brows rise, and his hand disappears up my thin cotton shirt. Gliding over my skin, teasing me. It’s a rush that fills me with need.
“Yes,” I breathe. Yes? Was that the right response?
“Looks like you’re stuck here,” he says.
Yes. I try to focus, but that hand is creeping up my abdomen at such a slow, intoxicating pace. “No kissing?” I whisper.
He bends down, and his lips brush the nape of my neck, his nose nuzzling me. I cry a little, the sensations blistering and pulsing inside of me. His tongue slides against my soft skin, and I shudder, my limbs trembling beneath him.
Not fair. So not fair. I am a goner. I let out a hoarse ragged breath, and then wedge my arm between our bodies, enough that I can place a hand on the outside of his pants. When I begin rubbing, he groans into my neck.
Ha! I take it a step further and slide my hand underneath the elastic of his gym shorts but over his tight compression shorts, like spandex that most guys wear to keep their stuff in place when they work out. Very little fabric lies between my palm and his cock.
Lo rocks his pelvis, sucking gently on my neck, and his lips travel to mine in a brief moment, attacking with feverish hunger. Yes. God yes.
Instead of moving my hand, I let him grind his body against me. My lips ache and swell, and my panties begin to soak. When I feel him harden, I let out a sharp breath and try to slip my fingers beneath his compression shorts.
But he rests his palm on top of my hand, silently telling me to keep it there.
He kisses slower, and his tongue flicks in and out of my mouth, the best French kisser in the whole wide world. I think I could do this forever. Well, not forever. I need a release sooner or later, but foreplay has never been better between us. I revel in the beforehand now. Each moment means something. It’s not just about the climax.
Though something hard, really hard, right inside of me would be just about perfect.
“Hey, get the fuck off each other.” Ryke’s voice wakes me from my blissful thoughts. A pillow assaults my side.
Lo props his body up with one arm, just enough to detach his lips from mine and reveal exactly where my hand has journeyed. In Lo’s shorts. On his cock.
Should I look over? I do. I glance at Ryke, who towers over the couch. My elbows heat in a shade of rash-red. Ryke crosses his arms, a dark accusing look on his face. “The couch is a public area.”
“We weren’t fucking,” Lo refutes with a half-smile. “Thanks for the concern, bro.” He helps me retrieve my hand from his shorts because I have frozen in a pit of embarrassment.
“Ten minutes later and you might have been,” he notes. “I really want to fucking go. The weight benches are probably all taken, so can you hurry up?”
“Yeah give me ten minutes.”
“Not with her,” he says. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Shit.
Lo’s jaw muscles tic, and he rises to his feet. “Ten minutes alone, I got it.”
I cover my hot face with my hands, watching out of the cracks of my fingers. I can’t touch myself. For other people, it’s not so dangerous. For me, it may trigger my compulsions. Losing thoughts and time to porn and masturbating—not again. I don’t want to regress, not with this baby ticking inside of me.
I just need…to forget about the pulsing between my thighs. Do not think of what it feels like to climax, Lily. Think about ugly thoughts. Unattractive things. I glance at Ryke, his scowly unshaven face and general broodiness. It almost kills my arousal. Almost.
Lo pauses beside the couch, and his eyes fall to me. “You’re coming with us, Lil.”
“Nonono,” I say. “I’m coming with you, not him.” I point a finger at Ryke, thusly removing a hand-shield from my face.
Ryke groans. “Really, Calloway?”
“Not that type of coming, Lil,” Lo says with a small smile, making me like less of a sex-crazed freak. He nudges my shoulder with his knee. “To the gym, okay?”
I nod, nervous flutters in my belly. I can hold out. I realize I’ve crossed my legs. I’d like something very, very hard still. Don’t think about it. Right. Unattractive things. Ryke Meadows. Ryke Meadows.
I breathe out.
“Don’t leave her,” Lo tells Ryke. It’s not a question.
His fear lingers long after he leaves, like a dust storm he kicked up in his wake. I think I’m okay. Wet, aroused, but I can wait until tonight. No porn or touching. It’s not what I really want anyway. Loren Hale is my one true desire.
A couple seconds pass, the silent, awkwardness in the room disturbs me. I still lie on the couch, afraid to uncross my legs at the current moment.
“Can you talk?” I ask, tempted to just burrow in this couch like a naked mole rat and never return to see daylight.
“Sure,” he says roughly, which makes me a little scared of what comes next. “We should talk about how I now have to wait for your boyfriend to jerk off before we can go to the gym.”
I cringe and let my other hand fall from my face. “Doesn’t it skeeve you out that you’re talking about your brother jerking off?”
He rolls his eyes and throws another pillow at me. Seriously annoying. Mood killer. I brighten. It’s working, and I don’t even think Ryke meant to be my sexual repellant.
“Who instigated that?” He gestures to the couch. “You or him?”
“It was mutual,” I
reply defensively.
He opens his mouth and then closes it quickly, as though trying to choose the right words. That doesn’t happen that often. Ryke speaks on impulse with me. Finally he lands on this: “Are you okay?”
My lips part, not able to say anything, half out of shock.
“Don’t look so fucking surprised,” he says. “I care about you. It’s just…Lo has been in a bad place. All my concern has been directed towards him for a while.”
“Mine too.” Slowly, I sit up and hug one of the pillows to my chest, able to sit Indian style well enough. It’s not so bad. “I’m really worried about him.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “He told me that he’s going out west with you and Connor, on a road trip, instead of going to rehab.” When he uttered those words, I started to cry. Anytime we’re separated it feels like someone has ripped a piece of me away, but this time, the tears were more from the shock of the situation. The longer we sat and discussed it, the more it felt right.
I hope that when he returns he’ll be in a much better place, enough to handle more news. I’m not even sure if keeping this secret will be easier or harder with him absent.
“I didn’t think rehab was a smart choice,” Ryke says. “Not with the press. I don’t think he can deal with more attention from the media.”
“I know,” I say, remembering every headline about his hospital trip. It’s bad enough that he broke his sobriety and landed there, but to have the whole nation in on it—it’s ten times worse. It made his recovery harder, and it was one reason why he drank again afterwards. He even told me so. “Thanks for that.” I look to Ryke. “For offering an alternative.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. I saw the relief in Lo’s eyes when he told me about this pseudo-rehab away from cameras and the press.
Ryke takes a seat beside my feet, and he runs his hand through his dark brown hair. “Do you miss public sex or something?”
“Huh?” I frown at the quick subject change and tense at the actual topic.
“You were practically fucking in the living room,” he says, keeping eye contact with me. Which makes the awkwardness amplify by about ten notches. “Is it because you miss it? The public sex, I mean.”
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