Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  “This won’t push me over,” I continue. “I won’t drink. I just need to know.”

  Ryke turns back to the sink and washes his face.

  Connor sits on the toilet lid and stares at the ground, haunted almost.

  “Goddammit,” I sneer with burning eyes. “Someone say something.” It’s killing me.

  “I’m trying…” Ryke presses a towel to his lip and then leans against the wall. His eyes are also on the ground.

  I sit higher up, but the pain shoots through my body and I stay slightly slouched. “I know it’s about Lily.” My tendons sear.

  “It’s not just because I don’t think you can handle it,” Ryke suddenly tells me. He pulls the towel away from his lip, focusing on the damp cloth. “It’s that…” His face twists. “…I don’t know if I can translate it without screaming.”

  “Just give me something,” I choke out the words.

  Connor is quiet, looking concerned for me.

  “I can handle it,” I remind him.

  “I know you can,” Connor says. I can tell that he’s placating me, saying what I want to hear.

  Ryke balls the towel in his hand. “I’m just going to let some of it out as fast as I can.”

  I nod.

  “How many guys have pounded into that slut?” he says at first. It’s another swift kick.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t think about it.

  “Is she still full of their cum?”

  I shift, pain intensifying in my gut, but it’s not from my ribs anymore. I can feel the type of torment Lily would experience if she heard these exact words. And the part that belongs to her is sunken with agony. The part that belongs to me is rattling with rage.

  “Bring her here…” Ryke’s voice breaks.

  I open my eyes, and my brother is covering his mouth like he wants to scream and punch someone again.

  My eyes are on fire, holding back. Why are you fucking crying? Stop crying. I’m not crying. “Keep going,” I prod.

  “I can’t,” Ryke says, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his hair.

  “You have to,” I tell him.

  Ryke cringes at me, like he sees into me.

  “Just say the rest,” I almost yell.

  “No.” He shakes his head again and steps away from the wall. “I’m fucking done torturing you. You’re in fucking pain right now, and you want me to put you in more pain.”

  Is that what this is? Masochism. “I can take it,” I remind him.

  “I can’t!” He points at his chest, his eyes bloodshot like mine. He breathes heavily, staring down at me, and he says, “Bring her here, we want to see how many cocks can fit inside her…” He trips up, and his voice cracks again. “I can’t.”

  I’m crying.

  I only realize it when the sound of a sob breaches my lips. Wet tears slide down, and I bring my knees up, resting my forearms on them. I hang my head. Stop crying.

  “Keep going,” I say in a choked whisper.

  I’m surprised that Connor hears me. He takes over and speaks clinically, “how many cocks can fit inside her giant cunt. You better have a leash on your bitch; we plan on riding her tonight.”

  The pain rips through my chest.

  Ryke is beside me on the ground while Connor keeps talking. I sit idle between rage and grief, my emotions at war. I want to shut it all out, but then I want to feel the coldest, harshest parts of it. Maybe then it won’t hurt me anymore.

  After five minutes, my hands balled into fists, my shoulders shaking and my cheeks slick with tears, I whisper, “Stop.”

  I reached my limit. I understand why Ryke snapped a fuse back in the street. It’s just too much.

  I want to protect Lily from this type of ridicule, but I can’t. And I think that’s the hardest thing to grapple with—that people would come face-to-face with us and say this shit outright.

  And there is nothing we can do but sit here and bear it.

  Get thicker skin. Don’t be so sensitive, Loren. I am in love with Lily. To be unfeeling from someone hurting her—no rage, no grief—I’d have to be a fucking robot.

  No armor can block out this pain. No booze this time. And I remember—almost one whole year ago, I heard defaming words about me and my father. I slid to the floor. I reached into a cupboard for a bottle of Glenfiddich. I broke my sobriety for the first time. And I never got off the ground that night. Not on my own.

  Being in the media, I’ve learned to live with this hurt, stand up, and move on.

  It’s what I’ll do now. It’s what I’ll do tomorrow and the next day. For however long this fight goes on.

  Just stand up.

  And I rise slowly to my feet. Heavy and shackled with weight.

  I still move.

  { 21 }

  LOREN HALE

  “So let me get this fucking straight,” my father says in an edged voice, “the four of you attacked three guys who’ve been harassing you all day. In the middle of the goddamn street?”

  We couldn’t avoid our parents for long. As soon as we left the bathroom, Greg and Jonathan called us into the yacht’s living room. I stand between Ryke and Connor while Sam is on the end, the only one of us not beat to shit.

  “Technically, they punched Ryke first,” I offer.

  “But it doesn’t take away from the fact that you all responded the way you did,” Greg says, facing us with my dad. All the girls, including Lily’s mom, are situated on the couches behind us. Watching. Like we’re testifying in an informal hearing or something. Like we’re little kids about to be grounded.

  “I’m not a boy,” Ryke says, somehow not cursing.

  “Did hitting someone make you feel like a big man?” our dad taunts. I focus on the crystal glass in Jonathan’s hand: clear liquid with ice cubes.

  Not vodka, I want to believe. I wish I trusted him, but a lot surrounding my father has pissed me off this trip, most notably the “date” he brought. I’m surprised she’s not even in the living room right now. She’s been glued to his hip since we left port.

  “Fuck off,” Ryke says, not in the mood for an interrogation. I don’t think any of us are.

  Greg interjects, “Settle down. We’re just trying to understand what happened.” His gaze traverses along all of us, inspecting our wounds, and my expression only says I want out of here, now. My emotions still grip my muscles like a vice. Every malicious word that Connor and Ryke translated blinks back into my head. Don’t think about it. I’m trying.

  God. I’m trying.

  Greg’s gaze stops on Sam. “Why aren’t you all torn up?”

  “I stayed out of it, sir,” he says. “The fight really shouldn’t have started in the first place. If we’d all just ignored them like I had suggested, I don’t think they would have attacked Ryke.”

  I grit my teeth, and I turn my body, about to step towards him. Connor blocks my path, but I can’t shut up about this. “Hey, Sammy,” I say with ice in my eyes, “why don’t you go be a hero on another boat.” I lash out at him, even though I’m angry at the situation. “No one cares about your self-righteous bullshit.” The guilt doesn’t even tear a big enough hole inside of me. Maybe I’m already split open.

  “Loren,” Poppy defends her husband, about to spring up from the loveseat. Samantha Calloway grips her shoulder and forces her back down.

  “No.” I’m not done. I point at Sam. “He left us, and now he’s acting like he’s the goddamn peacekeeper, like he knows best.” No one knows. Not me. Not anyone. I meet Sam’s narrowed eyes that blaze with hatred towards me. It’s a look I’ve received almost every day of my life from people that I’ve barely met. “You don’t know what’s best, Captain America. You don’t even know what’s right. So stop pretending like you do.”

  Connor Cobalt, of all people, said yes to a fight by refusing to restrain Ryke. He wanted these guys to be punched in the face. That has to count for something.

  “I left you to help Poppy,” Sam retorts. “Otherwise, I would’ve been
there.”

  “Poppy has a bodyguard,” Greg replies, fear in his voice, like she was in trouble. She wasn’t. “She should’ve been taken care of.” He turns to Dave, a bodyguard with dark shades on. He sits at the breakfast table with Mikey and Garth.

  “She was fine,” Dave confirms.

  Sam shakes his head repeatedly. “I’m not seriously being reprimanded for looking after her.”

  “You look after the family,” Greg says.

  “My family is Poppy and Maria.”

  Greg quiets, silently upset. Truthfully, I’ve only ever heard him yell at Sam and Ryke, but this time he enacts his usual I’m disappointed in you look and stays still.

  Jonathan takes over. “Your family is everyone in this fucking room,” he retorts. “We’re all bound together one way or another, and there will be a time where you need him.” He points at Ryke. “Or him.” He motions to me. “Just as they needed you tonight. So you want to be a selfish little fuck and paddle out on your own little lifeboat and leave everyone else to drown, so be it. You go do that, Samuel. Because when the rest of us are carrying lifejackets, we won’t throw you one.”

  It’s harsh. But nothing about our lifestyle is smooth or easy or uncomplicated. It’s always been us versus everyone else. And it’s hardest when we turn on each other. We all know it. I’m even to blame for causing rifts, but it’s better to stay together than be apart.

  “I’m trying,” Sam says slowly, “to grapple with this concept. I’m not used to these kids—”

  “I’m not a kid,” I say heatedly.

  “I remember you as one,” Sam says. “And if you were grown up, you wouldn’t have given those guys a reaction or a reason to start a worthless fight. You’re about to have a baby—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Ryke suddenly interjects, protecting me from Sam’s words.

  I can take it.

  I can take it, I believe.

  Connor finally speaks. His voice is temperate in a room of combustible personalities. “I understand where you’re coming from, Sam, but before you cast judgment on Loren, you don’t even know what the fight was about. Unless you can suddenly speak Spanish?”

  Sam shakes his head and quiets. Then he says, “I’m sorry.”

  I realize he’s looking at me.

  I frown deeply, confused. It’s like Connor has some sort of hypnosis over him. But I take it with a nod. I can’t fathom what it’s like to have a kid to protect, but in his position, I doubt we’d choose what he did. There is a difference between us and him. We’re all loyal to each other. He was right—we’re younger than him. We grew up together, experiencing monumental moments at the same time.

  Sam doesn’t know us.

  Not really.

  His allegiance is blind, based on relationships set out in paper and ink. Not in emotions or blood. Maybe that’s why it’s harder for him.

  “What were they saying in Spanish?” Greg asks, looking between Ryke and Connor.

  Everyone goes quiet, and my ribs flame. I’m rigid and unmoving.

  “Someone speak,” my dad cuts in, his fingers tightening around his glass.

  “It was about Lily,” I let out, though I can’t say anything more than that.

  The room grows silent, and I crane my neck over my shoulder. Lily clutches the armrest of the couch and produces a weak smile for me. Lil.

  She knew it was about her. This whole time.

  She knew.

  The bottom of my stomach drops and then constricts.

  “I have a question,” Greg chimes in again. I expect him to ask specifically what the hecklers said, but his gaze sets on Connor. “Where was Rose if you were in the fight? She doesn’t have a bodyguard.” I’m selfishly thankful that he’s redirected the conversation onto someone else.

  “I trusted my wife,” Connor says easily. “I had to make a choice, and I made it.”

  My father takes a swig of his drink, and I hone in on the liquid again. “At least we all know where your priorities lie.”

  Connor stays impassive at the insult. “I’m not a knight in shining armor, and I’ve never insinuated myself to be one. I leave that to the men who like to straddle horses and prance around in meadows.”

  Ryke actually laughs beside me, knowing it was a lighthearted shot at him.

  I smile too. God, how the hell am I smiling right now? It fades pretty fast.

  “You’re spineless,” my father says into his next gulp. My face contorts in a grimace.

  “If I’m spineless, then every man in comparison is an annelid.”

  My father’s brows shoot up. “An anus?”

  Rose cuts in, “A worm.”

  Connor is grinning, loving that his wife understood him. “Jonathan,” he says easily, “the fact that Rose is completely unharmed, sitting right there”—he gestures to Rose behind him—“suggests that I chose right and you’re wrong. So please, continue to argue against evidence.”

  Greg interjects before my dad can speak, “The real issue here is the fact that Garth and Mikey had to step away from Daisy and Lily to protect you three.” He motions to Ryke, me, and Connor. And I suddenly realize what this interrogation has been about all along.

  “No,” Ryke snaps.

  “Yes,” our dad says, “you’re all getting bodyguards. Maybe then they’ll protect you from going to jail.” Fine with me.

  “That’s a great idea,” Rose says, raising her chin, her palms flat on her knees. “It was imbalanced to place bodyguards with all the girls and not the guys to begin with.”

  “You’re getting one too,” Greg tells his daughter.

  Rose’s eyes bore holes in his forehead. “No. I don’t need one. I’ve proven that.”

  “Like you said, hun,” Connor tells her, “it’s an evening of power.” He’s happy about this—I see it in his deep blue eyes. He’s wanted Rose to have a bodyguard since we became immersed in the media.

  Ryke is pissed. “I don’t want a guy following me.”

  “Why?” Greg asks.

  Ryke runs a hand through his thick brown hair, an anxious tell. “Because,” he says with a low breath, unable to let out his explanation. Come on, Ryke. Maybe he’s censoring himself so he’s not disrespectful or he’s just having trouble explaining at all.

  “That’s not going to cut it.”

  “I’m twenty-five-years-old,” Ryke proclaims, “no one in this fucking room can control the things that I choose to do with my life…” His voice dies off quickly, most likely remembering Hale Co. and what he’s striving towards now, even if it’s the last thing he really wants.

  I’m trying to understand why he’s firmly against a bodyguard, and I honestly can’t figure it out.

  “You don’t have a job,” Greg starts listing off facts. “After you were thrown in jail, every athletic endorsement deal you had for rock climbing disappeared. You are financially dependent on your trust fund that your father controls.”

  Ryke’s face hardens. “Then he takes away my trust fund.”

  I shake my head at my brother. Losing his financial security over a bodyguard—it’s not worth it.

  “And what about my daughter?” Greg plays that card, like he has the ability to remove Daisy from Ryke’s life. It’s fucked up.

  “Dad,” Daisy says with wide eyes, sitting next to Lily.

  Ryke tenses considerably. And in a controlled voice, he says, “I don’t want a fucking bodyguard speeding after me on a motorcycle, accompanying me to every rock face I climb.” His chest rises strongly and he points at the ground. “I don’t want a fucking bodyguard shoving me away from Daisy. And I don’t want one trying to restrain me from protecting my little brother.” He feels threatened by someone who doesn’t even exist yet.

  “Let’s compromise,” Greg says. “You’ll have a bodyguard when you’re in public with my daughters. Fair enough?”

  Ryke struggles to accept this.

  I place my hand on his shoulder and whisper to him, “It’s a good offer.”
/>   Ryke takes a deep breath, and after a long second, he nods tensely in agreement.

  “We need to have a talk about your future,” Greg says to Ryke. I’ve heard those words too many times, from him and from Jonathan. It’s weird having them directed at someone else. “I need you to do something for me involving Fizzle, but if you keep telling me that you’re unwilling to help, then maybe you don’t love my daughter like you say you do.”

  Ryke lets out a weak laugh, his eyes reddening. “I love your daughter like the sun, and I could say and do a thousand things, and you’d never accept me.”

  “You haven’t even done one thing,” Greg says with the raise of his brows. “I’m asking for one. This is easy. You’ll hear me out after everyone goes to bed, okay?”

  Daisy starts, “Dad, don’t—”

  “Dais, it’s fine,” Ryke says, squashing an argument easily. I wouldn’t want to cause a rift between Lily and her father, and I know Ryke feels the same. He nods to Greg again. “I’ll hear you out.”

  My dad has one-fourth of his drink left. He’s fixated on it—or maybe I am. He’s almost going to finish it off, and I can’t keep speculating. On impulse, I step forward and steal the glass from him.

  He cocks his head at me like really, son?

  I sniff the liquid, just smelling lime, but I see carbonation bubbles. Gin and tonic?

  And then Jonathan Hale, with his graying sideburns, narrows his deadly eyes and gives me a single dark look: drink it, son. If you don’t fucking trust me.

  I go cold, put the rim of the glass to my lips—

  “Lo!” Ryke yells, his hand clamping on my shoulder, about to tear the glass from me.

  It’s too late. The liquid slides down, and my taste buds catch all the ingredients. Ryke rips the drink from my hands.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he yells at our dad. Not at me. Thinking he just broke his sobriety and mine too.

  “It’s just carbonated water and lime,” I tell Ryke the truth, a pang of guilt hitting me. My dad wouldn’t sneak around. If he was drinking again, he’d flaunt it. I shouldn’t have questioned him in the first place.

  Ryke isn’t convinced. He takes a swig of the drink, and after he tastes the water, his muscles start to relax.