Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  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.

  I step forward but Ryke holds out his hand and says, “I got it.” He cautiously heads to the door and cracks it open. Then he quickly swings it completely ajar.

  Daisy stands on the other side, her eyes dazed and far off.

  “Daisy?” Ryke says, concern all over his features. He waves his hand at her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Fuck,” he curses.

  “She’s sleepwalking,” I guess.

  “Yeah.” He moves out of the way as she shuffles forward. “She’s done this a couple times since her new meds.” He gently places a hand on her shoulders and sort of guides her towards the bed without being forceful about it.

  I hang back. “Need help?”

  “No, I’m good,” he says as Daisy sits on the navy comforter. He’s able to lift her legs up on the mattress. And then he tucks her underneath the blankets while she shuts her eyes. “Fucking fantastic,” he mutters and glances back at me. “I bet you Greg will notice that she’s not in her bedroom in the morning.”

  “I’ll tell him that she spent the night with Lily.”

  Ryke rocks back in surprise.

  I head to the door. “You don’t have to do everything on your own,” I remind him. “I can help you too, you know.” I hear my biting tone again. I wish I could wash it away. But maybe that’s impossible.

  He nods a couple times to himself. “I appreciate it.”

  “Just don’t ask me for sex advice. I gave it to you fucking once, and you rejected me. A guy can only take so much.”

  Ryke flips me off with a weak smile, and then his attention falls back to the blonde girl in his bed. Tomorrow we’re going onshore to Puerto Vallarta—Daisy doesn’t know about what Ryke planned. Neither do the girls.

  It’ll be a surprise for her birthday.

  Hopefully a good one.

  { 17 }

  LILY CALLOWAY

  “Virgin margarita,” I emphasize for the tenth time. The Spanish translation can’t be that far off from my English. I have a feeling the thirty-something bartender understands this phrase. Especially as he laughs like I should be “living it up” and drinking tequila straight from the bottle. My stomach is blocked by the bar, so it’s not like he can physically see my reasoning.

  He speaks in Spanish a little bit and then begins pouring shots.

  My eyes bulge. “Nonono.” I wave my hand like I have a superpower to reverse time. If only that was the case—but I’d find better use of it. When I acquire my powers, I won’t be wasting them on things like this.

  The nightclub slowly amasses with people, multi-colored strobe lights swirling and Latin music booming over the speakers. Even though it’s not electronica, it’s extremely danceable. A-plus-plus.

  “Pregnant,” I tell him, pointing to my belly that’s hidden behind the bar.

  He pushes the shots to me, and then his gaze rises behind my shoulder. “Is that your boyfriend?” He speaks English?!

  Internally, I fume. But outwardly I probably look like a washed ashore jellyfish. I check over my shoulder, and Garth, my two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bodyguard, stands behind me with his hands cupped. He’s more gut than brawn, his bald head shiny in the light. But he looks intimidating to me.

  And old enough to be my dad.

  Which is why I spin around and try to set a withering Rose Calloway glare on the bartender. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “What about that one?” He points over my shoulder with an amused smile. He’s busting my balls. I look anyway and see Mikey—a blond, shorter bodyguard with a Hawaiian shirt—and Dave, who wears black sunglasses indoors. Dave is Poppy’s middle-aged bodyguard. Mikey is Daisy’s. And I suppose, in effect, Rose’s bottle of pepper spray is hers.

  Right on time, my three sisters appear, swarming the bar around me, and I exhale in relief.

  “Are you seriously trying to serve a pregnant woman shots?” Rose says icily.

  The bartender not-so subtly ogles her breasts.

  “Also pregnant,” Rose snaps, “and even if I wasn’t, I’d throw salt in your eyes.” She actually reaches for the salt shaker, and Daisy snatches her arm.

  “No fights on my birthday, remember?” Daisy says, bouncing on her toes to the music.

  “It’s the day after your birthday,” Rose reminds her. “That window has closed.” She’s still angry that Ryke pushed all of the plans for Daisy’s birthday to the twenty-first without mentioning it to her. She’s out of the loop once again.

  I didn’t know about it either. It’s another indication that the guys are teaming up. Or maybe they thought we couldn’t keep a secret from our little sister.

  Regardless, it was a good thing Ryke chose today to really celebrate Daisy turning nineteen. Our mom wanted to spend time with Daisy, so Ryke scheduled ATVs and bungee jumping this morning and afternoon. Not that Rose or I could join in—or that she’d want to.

  Now we’re topping it off with some drinks and dancing. Sans the alcohol for me.

  Rose is having a stare-a-thon with the bartender who is not necessarily lusting after her anymore. He’s just trying to enrage her—something Connor does better than anyone else. Where is he?

  My head whips around, and I meet Poppy’s warm gaze. “The guys aren’t back yet,” she tells me.

  My stomach knots, worried they got lost or something worse happened. I check my texts, no new messages from Lo. The guys split from us after dinner. They said they wanted to go to a cigar shop, but I’ve never even seen Ryke or Lo willingly smoke before.

  “Who’s not pregnant?” the bartender asks us with a sexy lilt. I’m not staring at him too hard—keeping my hormones at bay. My sisters and I are actually standing in a row, oldest to youngest.

  “We aren’t,” Poppy announces, motioning to herself and Daisy on the other end.

  “Rub it in,” Rose snaps.

  Poppy smiles, used to Rose—as we all are.

  Daisy wraps her arm around my shoulders, and I tell the bartender, “It’s her birthday.” I gesture up at my five-foot-eleven sister.

  The bartender zeroes in on her like I said she’s the one you should fuck. Not my intention at all. I open my mouth to refute, but instead of a yearning gaze, he cringes, unable to hide his reaction to Daisy’s scar that runs along her cheek.

  Daisy just smiles politely, but she falls to the flats of her feet. I nudge her hip, but she gives me a weak smile too, like it’s okay.

  It doesn’t feel like that.

  He’s already splitting up the shots between Poppy and Daisy.

  “We’d like two virgin margaritas,” Rose tells him, and she touches the top of my head to demonstrate that one is for me. �
�And if you poison my baby with alcohol, I will severely harm you.”

  The guy laughs.

  “I wasn’t joking,” Rose says.

  “Who’s the father? The bald one?” He nods to the bodyguards again. Why does he keep saying that Garth is the father of our children? It’s disturbing.

  “That’s rude,” Poppy says before Rose can annihilate him with her glare and manicured nails.

  “They’ve been following you throughout the club,” he explains his point.

  “They’re our bodyguards,” Daisy clarifies, fixing the hair underneath her baseball cap before she wears it backwards again. Her blonde locks now shroud her scar.

  “He knows that,” Rose says, her yellow-green eyes never leaving his.

  I have a feeling he’s going to spit in our margaritas. Not that I want anything from him anymore.

  But Rose is right on one account. He should know they’re bodyguards, even if he’s not sure who we are. We’ve brought more attention to ourselves in the club, especially by being together. I already see some people snapping photos of us with their cellphones and whispering to their friends. I’ve been approached three or four times by fans, asking for an autograph and selfie.

  It always surprises me that people beyond the United States are interested in us. Princesses of Philly made my family more famous than I can even process sometimes, now internationally recognized. It’s easier living in our own bubble of normalcy. When we step out—that’s when it’s crazy.

  Poppy and Daisy clink glasses and then down their tequila shots while the bartender starts making our drinks. “Have the guys texted you?” I ask my sisters.

  They all check their phones.

  “No,” Daisy says, slipping her cell in her short’s pocket. She subconsciously touches her green and yellow hemp bracelet that Ryke made for her birthday. A simple present that has more love in it than anything store bought.

  He did well.

  “None from Sam,” Poppy says.

  Rose shakes her head, though she’s the only one who sends a text back.

  The bartender pours tequila into more shot glasses. He slides another one to Daisy. “For the birthday girl.” He’s sweet to her now, but I wonder if it’s because she hid her scar or because he pities her.

  Either way, it hurts to think about.

  “Let me guess your age,” he says with a smile.

  I check my phone again. No texts. I bite my nails and then drop my hand quickly. Rose caught me though, a fiery glare scorching me.

  “Only if you let me guess yours,” Daisy replies, twirling a drink napkin on the bar.

  His face lights up, and he rests his forearms on the counter, peering over it. He scans her entire body, lingering on her long legs. “Just making sure you aren’t pregnant.”

  Rose mutters a violent curse under her breath. I only heard penis. Poppy is holding Rose’s wrist in a maternal vice, one that also says cool your jets.

  My jets are too cold. They’re frozen to a statue-like posture. Our trip really has gone smoothly thus far. Not too much drama besides my father. It’s bound to take a wrong turn somewhere. And I think tonight is the night. I’m just waiting for it, watching the storm clouds roll in.

  “No baby in the oven,” Daisy says easily, though she concentrates more on the napkin than on the guy.

  “You’re twenty-five,” he guesses.

  Daisy mock gasps. “How’d you know?”

  “I’m good with faces.” He smiles.

  Rose snorts.

  I laugh once, but it fades as he soaks in Daisy’s slender, athletic frame.

  “Your turn,” he tells her.

  Daisy takes the shot, licks her tequila-wet lips and says, “You’re eighty-nine, or maybe seventy-four.”

  “Nice try,” he says, pouring her another shot. “I’m thirty-two.”

  She gasps again. “I wasn’t right? I thought for sure you were a little blind in your right eye.”

  His lips downturn.

  “I’m nineteen,” Daisy retorts. “Nice try.”

  My smile overtakes my face. That was awesome. I raise my hand for a high-five, and Daisy smacks my palm.

  The shock passes through his features quickly. “That doesn’t mean much to me,” he says, “other than your pussy being tighter than your sisters.”

  All of our mouths simultaneously drop, except Rose who is about to punch him. But she can’t. Hands swoop around her waist from behind.

  Connor.

  And Ryke suddenly appears beside Daisy with a murderous glare, directed at the bartender. Oh shit. “Lily,” Lo says my name in my ear.

  My chest rises. They’re all back. Unharmed it seems. Even Sam, Poppy’s husband, his jaw unshaven like Ryke, and his features just as masculine as the rest of them.

  Ryke has a paper bag in his clenched fist. Cigars, I think. To the bartender, he growls, “I don’t even know what to fucking say to you.”

  “I do,” Lo sneers; then he motions between Ryke and Daisy. “They’re together, you dumb fuck. So swallow your tongue. And consider yourself lucky that only three out of eight people pray you choke on it.” I’m guessing that’s Ryke, Lo, and Rose. The hot-tempered triad.

  I smile again, even though this is not the time to be smiling like a dopey fool. I just never really saw the three of them as a team like that until now.

  “I say we cut if off,” Rose threatens.

  Connor, standing behind Rose, puts his hand to her forehead like he’s checking her temperature. She swats his arm away. He says, “I’m just seeing if rage can boil a brain.”

  “My brain is working perfectly,” she says. “I see a disgusting human being and it says die.”

  Connor is grinning from ear to ear. “Your brain has no mercy, darling.”

  She can’t reply because the bartender interjects and points at Daisy accusingly. “She was flirting with me. I had no idea that she had a boyfriend.” Oh my God.

  Daisy pales. “I was not—”

  “Let me guess yours,” he says in a high-pitched tone that sounds nothing like Daisy.

  “Fuck you,” Ryke cuts in, his hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Come on, Dais.”

  The bartender can’t let it go. “I’m just telling the truth.”

  Ryke growls, “And I’m telling you to fuck off.”

  I interject (yes, me of all people) and say, “You can keep the margarita.” Out of principle, I won’t drink anything that has been touched by his hands. He threw my sister under the bus, which I do not appreciate.

  I spin around, and I’m shocked to see not only Rose following suit, but Poppy and Daisy. I was the leader of this movement, heading towards an open leather couch by the wall. The trek involves being the center of attention, with camera phones pointed at us. But we all make it safely and settle there.

  I sit between Lo’s legs, leaning back against his chest so we all have room. I like it best here.

  I look up and whisper to him, “You were gone for a while.”

  His eyes are daggered sharp, and something tells me it’s not because of the bartender. “There were a lot of tourists out.”

  I don’t believe that. It’s February, and for the most part, the nightclub is sparse with mostly locals. “Are you lying to me?” I breathe, my face plummeting. Is it really guys versus girls to this extent?

  He winces and dips his head closer to mine, his lips beside my ear. “All day, we’ve been followed by three guys, and we were trying to ditch them.”

  I frown. “What kind of guys?”

  He explains quickly, “They’re not paparazzi. They’re either on vacation or they live here, but they wouldn’t leave Ryke and me alone at the ATV park. They were just trying to get a reaction out of us.” His jaw is all ice tonight.

  Cold rushes down my arms. “Did they say anything in particular?” I mentally recall all the rumors involving me, Lo, and Ryke.

  “I don’t know,” he says in frustration.

  “But…you heard them, right? They were
close?” Or were they out of earshot?

  Lo grinds his teeth. “They only spoke in Spanish.”

  Oh.

  Oh. That means that Ryke hasn’t translated everything for Lo. And neither has Connor, who’s also fluent.

  “It’s aggravating,” Lo says under his breath. They’re censoring Lo, afraid that he’ll be hurt and react poorly, like by drinking.

  I hug my scrawny arms around his chest. “I believe in you.”

  I feel him inhale strongly, and then he kisses my temple. “I love you, Lil.” His arms tighten around me.

  I love you too, Loren Hale. He suddenly kisses me again, this time on the lips. Since he doesn’t have telepathy (yet), I have to assume my eyes did all the talking.

  “What’s in the paper bag?” Daisy asks Ryke. My thoughts reroute. Ryke acts like it’s nothing, just clutching the brown paper bag. He scrutinizes her hair that’s draped over her scar, and he ends up stealing her baseball cap (really, it’s his). And he wears it backwards on his head. They’re scooched together near us, and the other two couples are squashed on the opposing couch.

  Sam is whispering in Poppy’s ear with a huge smile, and she’s laughing like he’s telling the funniest story ever. It’s what Rose would call “nauseating” and her eye roll right now expresses that.

  “Can you tone down your happy?” Rose snaps.

  Lo drapes his arms over my shoulders and holds me close. “Rose is allergic to happiness and kids. It’s what gives her horns.”

  “Then you must be suffering from the same affliction,” she retorts. “Look in the mirror.”

  I hold my breath, hoping this ends at that.

  “My horns aren’t encrusted with diamonds,” Lo says. “So we’re not the same.”

  Rose’s lips slowly rise. Loren Hale made Rose Calloway smile.

  This is a first if there ever was one.

  Connor is subtly massaging his wife’s shoulder, and if she could see his overwhelming grin right now, she’d probably combat him with even more fiery passion. Nerd stars combusting—but not in a bad way or permanently. That’s never happening. I nod to myself.

  “Everyone,” Connor says, gathering our attention with one word. I follow his gaze that has shifted to Ryke, who’s removed the contents of the paper bag already, in his own world with Daisy.