Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  Oh. Maybe I was supposed to start with that. I just didn’t want to scare him off, after I saw how much it took for him to come here. “Where were you?” I ask, reluctant to hear his answer.

  He stares up at the ceiling in thought, shaking his head. “I’m not a good guy. I never told them to stop. I knew that they planned to break in and scare everyone, and I didn’t do anything. I just let them leave.” He chokes on another laugh. “And now they’re all looking at a year in prison. And I’m standing free.”

  He doesn’t look free to me. “What made you stay back?”

  His gaze drops to the carpeted floor. “Everything your boyfriend said…fuck, I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right, scaring girls and babies…I know one of you has PTSD…”

  I go rigid, and my mouth falls. “Wha…?” That has been a fact we’ve all kept secret from the public.

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” he says quickly. “I promise. I can’t even remember who let it slip. Either Ryke or Loren shouted it at me. No one else was around.” He hangs his head again. “I think…you should know that I planned to go with my friends.”

  He bites his lips to keep more emotions at bay. A lump lodges in my throat. I see my best friend, a young Loren Hale who has so many muddled and warring sentiments swirling around him. The pain of living. It’s in Garrison’s eyes.

  “I literally could not move my stupid feet,” he finally says. “And there’s a part of me that wishes I was with them. That I got caught too.”

  It’s just guilt. I swallow hard and say, “You did the right thing.”

  “Did I?” he asks and shakes his head again. “I can’t even say I’m sorry because it feels fucking stupid. Like…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Like it’s not enough, you know? It’s not at all.”

  “This was enough,” I tell him softly. “I promise, it was.” I can’t even imagine Lo finding his way here at seventeen, saying these guttural, painful things to absolve himself.

  Loren Hale walked in agony for another half decade.

  He’d be happy to learn that he saved someone from that today.

  Garrison rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his black hoodie, and then he exhales deeply and scans the store like Willow had previously done.

  “Here, I’ll introduce you to Maya, the store manager. She’ll have a better idea what positions need to be filled.” I lead him over to the counter where Lo’s little sister and Maya stand behind the register.

  “Hey,” Garrison greets the girls with a head nod.

  As soon as Willow hears the male voice, she somehow knocks into the cash tray. It overturns and clatters to the floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, her skin paling. The opposite of my embarrassed red flush. She sheepishly smiles at me, avoiding direct eye contact with Garrison. She bends down to collect the money while Maya fiddles with the computer.

  “I can help,” Garrison says, squatting to gather dollar bills and quarters.

  Oh jeez. I watch the way he furtively glimpses at Willow while she clumsily scoops the cash. I know that look. It’s one that says you’re pretty and interesting and I want to get to know you all wrapped in one.

  Before any flirting occurs, I do what Lo would want and slip between them. “Okay, now you’ve met Willow and Willow you’ve met Garrison. Meet-and-greet has ended.” I’ll have to text Lo to see if I should maybe put them on separate shifts.

  While I’d like Superheroes & Scones to be a geeky match-making facility, Willow is off-limits. Lo said to keep an eye on any “creepy guys” and mentioned that if a Captain America fanatic hits on her, he’s clearly not good enough. Willow deservers Scott Summers and above.

  It was the most overprotective, cutest superhero reference he’s used in a while.

  “Are you new here?” Garrison makes small talk.

  No small talk. That’s off-limits too. “Yep. Yep, everyone’s new,” I say rapidly. “Willow, can you get my purse from the break room?” I didn’t bring a purse, so it’ll take her some time. Smart thinking. I internally pat myself on the shoulder.

  “Sure.” She struggles to fit the cash tray back into the register.

  “I can do it,” Maya tells her, taking over.

  Willow leaves to the break room, but she stops midway like she lost something. “My backpack…”

  Garrison finds it on the ground before I do. “This?” He picks up the old jean backpack and carries it to her.

  Their fingers brush as he passes it to Willow. “Thanks,” she says, as pale as a ghost.

  I give up. Maybe in another life, I was cupid and foretold every relationship there ever was. I smile at that thought. I prophesied them all except my very own.

  { 68 }

  LOREN HALE

  “You ready?” I ask Ryke as we step into the Hale Co. elevators that’ll bring us to the board room. His unkempt hair is barely combed, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled to his forearms. He even ditched a suit jacket.

  I thought for sure I’d be meeting someone besides my brother today. I’d come face-to-face with the Ryke Meadows that’s been buttoning his shirts to the collar, tying wide-ties, riding to the offices in a car, not a motorcycle.

  “I usually ask you that,” he says under his breath, quiet enough that I don’t comment on it.

  I try to ignore the tension and punch the button. “You look like yourself today.” I gesture to his hair. “Just rolled out of bed, grabbed the first thing on the floor.” I’m about to joke more, but he’s not smiling or laughing.

  His shoulders remain strict. We’re about to cement one of our futures, and Ryke believes neither is good. I don’t know anymore. This elevator doesn’t seem like a ride to hell or to a cage. Somewhere from the beginning to now, I’ve changed.

  “Ryke—”

  “I tried to be different so I could beat you at this,” he suddenly says. “To help you. And I could barely stomach it.”

  “For what it’s worth,” I say, “I’m glad you changed back.”

  He nods repeatedly, staring at the floor while we stand side-by-side. The elevator doors have already closed, and we’ve begun to rise. “I need to tell you something,” he breathes. He turns his head to me. “I got tested, at the hospital.”

  My brows pull together. “To see if you can donate?”

  “Yeah.” He waits a second, struggling to explain himself. “I’m a match.”

  I open my mouth, not sure what to say.

  “Crazy, right?” he says roughly. “Who would’ve fucking thought that I’d be Dad’s one chance at life?”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” I remind him, my stomach at my knees.

  Ryke runs his fingers through his hair, not confused or uncertain. “Regardless of what happens today,” he says, “I’ve made a decision about the transplant surgery.”

  “Yeah?” I frown. I can’t place what I hope he’ll say. I just want everyone to live, but the cost of my dad living is high.

  Then he stares right at me, with that stubborn self-confidence Ryke possesses, and he says, “I’m not doing this for him. I’m fucking doing this for me.” He points at his chest. “Because I can’t live with myself knowing that I could’ve helped him and I did nothing.”

  I’m surprised but then I’m not. He’s the most compassionate person I’ve ever met. Without asking, he helped me stay sober for years on end. He became friends with a lonely girl who needed one. He watched over her when no one else did.

  He will always be the biggest hero in my world. “I’ll be there,” I tell him. “Every step of the way.”

  Relief floods his dark features, no fight between us. “Good,” he says, “because I’m going to be bored shitless in recovery.”

  I laugh once, and then I reach out, clasp his hand, pulling him closer for a hug. I pat his back. I’m about to say thanks or maybe you can always back out if you need to. It barely hits me that our dad might be able to watch my kid grow up. Ryke’s too if he has any.

  But Ryke draws ba
ck, his hand firmly on my shoulder as he says, “It’s a long process, but it’s fucking happening. Sometime after your wedding, I’m thinking.” His lips lift in a fraction of a smile. “When I made this choice, it felt fucking right. So I’m doing it.”

  I can’t talk him out of it, he’s saying. Not that I can talk Ryke out of anything. “Should I buy board games? Operation?” I flash a wry smile.

  He messes my hair with a full-blown grin, reminding me that I’m the little brother again.

  And then the elevator stops. The doors slide open, and our smiles fade. Reality just a foot away. The meeting room down the hall, in sight.

  “I’m right behind you,” Ryke tells me.

  I take the first step onto the seventy-fifth floor of Hale Co.

  This is it.

  { 69 }

  LOREN HALE

  Ryke and I sit on either end of the long table, seven board members on one side, seven on the other. While passing around sandwiches and coffee, they’ve been going over Hale Co. financial reports, business relations, without mention of the CEO title yet.

  They’ve finally reached the end of their laundry list of topics. Focusing on the one that’s haunting me.

  Daniel Perth rises from his seat and buttons his suit. “We appreciate how much work you’ve both put in towards heading this company.” He looks to Ryke. “As you’ve come to respect us, so have we to you. You’re multilingual, quick to understand our approaches, and very receptive to new ideas. Your father boasted about you. He said you were too smart for your own good.”

  The board members collectively chuckle. Daniel smiles, “That’s a decent compliment from Jonathan Hale. He doesn’t give many.”

  Ryke stays quiet, but his eyes flicker to me more than once. We’re far away from each other, separated by the length of the long wooden table.

  My muscles bind the longer I sit here without answers. God, I want this. For so many reasons. My foot jostles, and I rub my lips. Waiting.

  Then Daniel turns to me. “When we first met you, we weren’t sure if you’d want to be involved with this company. Through your initiative, you’ve proven to us that you do.” He pauses. “You’re a lot like your father, but you’re not him.”

  I clench my teeth, and I can feel my jaw sharpening. Right. I break eye contact, staring out at the floor-length window. The one that overlooks Philadelphia on a muggy afternoon. In the silence, I say, “What were you expecting exactly?”

  “Let’s see,” Daniel says, “the son of Jonathan Hale: what he’d call a little shit. What Jonathan is. Someone who’d throw a bottle of wine at a wall, toss papers around, yell in an employee’s face if the job didn’t go as planned. Degrade a person so he’d feel better.”

  I frown and meet his face again.

  “Don’t look so shocked. We know the terrible parts of your father. We’ve been around him long enough. And we’re all more than impressed to see that you didn’t inherit his habits.”

  I did though. I inherited all of those things.

  I stare dazedly at the table. My therapist told me something once.

  He said, “Sometimes the person we think we’ll become is the person we already are, and the person we truly become is the person we least expect.”

  I’d been terrified of becoming my father for years. It’s why I never wanted to take Hale Co. It’s why I pulled against everything he threw at me.

  And all that time, I was already him.

  But I’m not my father anymore. I’ve become a better version of the person I once was. Someone I can stand to be around, someone I can live with.

  Yeah. It took long enough. “Have you decided then?” I ask Daniel.

  “We’ve voted, but ultimately, we realized that the decision should be left with you two. We want someone who truly wants to run this company. If that’s both of you, then we’ll be damn happy to have the Hale brothers as the face of Hale Co.”

  Hale brothers. Ryke’s jaw hardens. He considers himself a Meadows, not a Hale.

  “You want us to be CEOs together?” I ask.

  “Only if that’s what you want,” he emphasizes.

  I lock eyes with Ryke, and I lean forward, cupping my hands on the table. I’d do this with him, if he’s up to it. But I still doubt he’d enjoy this life. I doubt he even wants it.

  “Just tell me one thing,” Ryke says to me, the board overhearing. But I block out their stern expressions. It’s only me and my brother. “Will you be happy?”

  My smile stretches my face. I can’t contain it. “I already am.” I’ve proven to myself that I could reach this point without a crutch. I’m sober. I’m healthy. I’m so goddamn alive.

  Ryke smiles back, like he’s proud of me. “It’s yours, little brother. I believe in you.”

  For months, those last four words are all I’ve ever wanted to hear. From Ryke, they mean everything to me.

  { 70 }

  LILY CALLOWAY

  While I’m seated at the vanity in a hotel suite, Rose clips the front strands of my hair back into a diamond barrette. My three sisters and my mom flutter around me like bluebirds in Cinderella. I never thought I’d be a princess of any fairytale. I’m more like the pumpkin that lies sadly on the wet pavement.

  “What if he says no?” I suddenly spout my billionth fear of the morning.

  “I’ll rip off his penis,” Rose says flatly as I stand up from the vanity bench. That is not something I’d enjoy. I love Loren Hale’s cock, very much so.

  Our mom rolls her eyes and then rests a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t listen to your sister.”

  I never thought I’d be on speaking terms with my mom for my wedding day, but we are. We really are.

  “He’ll say yes,” Poppy chimes in as she straightens out my white tulle skirt and silk fitted top. It’s not a traditional wedding dress. I tried on almost all styles: mermaid, ball-gown, A-line, empire. It wasn’t until I found the skirt and shortened top combo that I felt like myself.

  Daisy nudges my side. “And not because he knows his manhood is on the line.”

  “That’ll only be two percent of the reason,” Rose butts in. She splays the rest of my straight brown hair on my shoulders and glances at the clock on the hotel nightstand. “We should head to the roof.”

  Now? I must be a deer caught in headlights because everyone starts spouting encouragements at once. My mind whirls in a thousand different directions. I haven’t seen Lo all day, and maybe that’s what scares me about this impending ceremony. What if I arrive and he’s not there? What if it starts raining? What if lightning strikes a guest down?

  “Lily.” Rose snaps her fingers in my face. She’s standing right in front of me. My high-octane maid of honor. She lifts my chin up so I meet her eyes and she says, “He’s waiting for you. Don’t be afraid.”

  I inhale a strong breath. I’m about to marry my best friend. If I repeat it too many times, I start crying. So I pocket that thought, and I follow my sisters out of the hotel room and to the elevator. They’re all my bridesmaids, dressed in lavender one-shoulder gowns. What Rose called Grecian-inspired.

  As we rise to the rooftop, she passes me my bouquet of purple flowers, the fancy name for them escaping my mind.

  I am flooded with thousands upon thousands of memories that contain Loren Hale. In each one, some part of our bodies touch. Our hands. Our legs. Our hearts. Subconsciously, he guides me to the rooftop where he waits.

  * * *

  I hear the violins through the hallway door. Poppy, the last bridesmaid, just pushed through, leaving me in the Philly high-rise with my father.

  “Is Maximoff outside?” I press him for information, maybe to prolong the mystery behind the door.

  My dad avoids the answer. “We’re next.” He places his hand on my back. “Ready, Lily?”

  Am I ready to marry the man who has my entire soul?

  The nervous anxiety subsides. I am. But it’s not until my dad opens the door that I fully believe I’m marrying him. That this is my weddin
g day. October 10th.

  On our terms.

  At long, long last.

  The skyline glitters in the sunlight, the air crisp and cool. And my sisters, in their purple Grecian dresses, stand in a diagonal line by an ivy arch. White flowers booming around the structure. Their smiles could light the sun.

  Purple petals decorate the aisle, and our few family members, seated in white wooden chairs, turn their heads at my entrance. My mom with Jane. Willow. And Jonathan.

  The dapper men beside the arch stand tall and poised: Sam, on the end, and Ryke, who cradles my son. Maximoff dressed in a red superhero cape and onesie, the letter M embroidered in black. Tears nearly burst forth, but I try my hardest to suppress them.

  Make it to Loren Hale.

  Make it to Loren Hale.

  I repeat the mantra with each step forward. Connor stands behind Loren, officiating the wedding, but I focus solely on my best friend, shutting out the surroundings for an extended moment.

  In a perfectly fitted tux, Lo waits at the end of the aisle for me, his hands cupped in front of his body. Those intoxicating amber eyes never diverge from mine, never break or part or leave me.

  He is ice and scotch, sharp and dizzying—breathtakingly gorgeous. And when he looks at me, I see those thousands of memories course through his gaze. The seven-year-old us performing a backyard ceremony. The nine-year-old us racing around his father’s mansion.

  The fifteen-year-old us flipping through comic books on his bed.

  We have consumed each other from day one. And we truly never let go.

  Only a few paces from Lo, my dad kisses my cheek, returns to his seat next to my mom. Rose collects the bouquet from me, and I’m whisked by my own feet to Lo’s side

  Magnetically, we cling together, his hand slipping into mine, our legs knocking as they find each other. We stand so close, like we fear someone else pulling us apart. I subconsciously tune out the music, and Lo cups my face, his eyes dancing across my features.