Текст книги "Addicted for Now"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

“Nonono,” she says, slurring the word like me when I’m trying to cover up a lie. “That has never happened. Mom comes with me. She wouldn’t let anyone touch me inappropriately.”

Rose believes her. She nods, but I stare at Daisy for a long time, not as trusting. Maybe because I have lied for so long that I can see right through it.

Daisy meets my worried gaze and she wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I’m okay, Lily.”

I don’t feel like she is.

I remember being young, trying to navigate what’s wrong and what’s right in a place where lines blur so very often. But I had Lo to fall back on—to make sure I didn’t fall off the deep end and drown.

Daisy is thrust into this modeling world without all of us there to catch her. She’s alone and confused. And I’m not sure how to fix that without telling her to quit. But she would never leave—not because of the money but because her career is related to our mother’s happiness. And keeping our mother happy makes Daisy happy.

My phone vibrates, and I check the caller ID. Poppy.

I click off the phone and slip it back into the pocket of my jean shorts.

“Who was that?” Daisy asks, talking over the loud blender.

“Poppy.”

Rose glares at the bartender for being so slow, and Daisy’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why would you hang up on her?”

“I just don’t feel like talking.” It’s the truth. And anyway, my relationship with Poppy is distanced at best. She’s six years older, so by the time I entered ninth grade, she was two years into college and engaged.

Rose’s phone rings, and she answers the cell on the first chime. “Hello, Poppy.” She gives me a sharp look, but nothing nearly as upset as Daisy right now.

“Is that why you don’t answer my calls?” Daisy asks. “You just don’t feel like talking?”

The accusation hurts when I remember Daisy is four years younger than me—five years in August when I turn twenty-one. Almost the same age gap as Poppy and me.

But any ability to heal a relationship with my eldest sister has sailed long ago. She’s married. She has a baby and started a family of her own. I have a chance to be a sister to Daisy, and I’m trying my damned hardest.

“No, that’s not it, Dais.”

“Yes, Poppy, we’re having fun. The mojitos are weak, but the margaritas are usually good.” Rose’s sight is still planted on that sluggish bartender, taking ages to squeeze lime into the frozen slush. “Yes, Lily is with us. She couldn’t hear your cell because of all the noise.”

Daisy bumps my arm. “Then what is it?” she asks, waiting for a viable excuse. This is it, I think. This is the moment where I should come clean and tell her I have a sex addiction, and that, in the past, I preferred sex over anything else—even talking to her.

My throat tightens for a minute, and then I say, “I’m just all awkward on the phone. I guess I prefer texting.” The lie tastes bitter and rolls my stomach.

Daisy stares at the bar, quiet, which I’m not sure is a good or bad sign.

“What?” Rose says over the phone, perplexed. “Are you sure it was addressed to Lily?”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Hold on, let me ask.” Rose cups a hand to the receiver and tugs me away from the bar, separating from Daisy a little, but she joins us, curious. I would be too if I was her. “Did you mail a package to the Villanova house?” Rose asks. Villanova…my parent’s house? Why…

“Why would I do that?”

Rose’s bony shoulders stiffen in sharp angles.

“What package?” Daisy asks.

“Here talk to her.” Rose hands me the phone.

I press the cell to my ear, my nerves spiking. “Hey, Poppy. What’s going on?”

“Lily, I’m at the Villanova house for Maria’s birthday party,” she explains in a hushed tone, as if she’s afraid someone will hear. “Harold just brought the mail in, and there’s a package addressed to you. It’s from a website called Kinkyme.net. There are literally X’s all over the box. He was going to give it to Mom, but I stopped him before he could.”

 “I didn’t order that,” I say quickly, my heart beating out of my chest.

“It’s fine if you did,” Poppy says gently, “I’m just wondering why you would mail something like that here. Mom would have your head.”

“Honestly, I really didn’t.”

Rose seems a little skeptical, and I wonder if she thinks I sent the package there to hide it from her and Lo or something. She trusts me about as much as Ryke trusts Lo.

I make a sudden decision. “Poppy, can you open it and see what it is?”

Rose’s eyes go wild, but now she can’t possibly believe I sent the package.

“Yeah, hold on,” she says. I hear her fumbling around and then the rip and tear of tape. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “It’s a dildo.”

I grimace.

“Wait, there’s a letter.” She pauses and the silence is agonizing. “Oh my God.”

“What-What does it say?” I stammer.

Rose taps her foot, annoyed that she can’t hear. Daisy rests a hand on my shoulder, comforting me even though she’s blind about the origin of my distress. The guilt starts creeping in almost immediately. I should have told her. Maybe not. Yes. No…I don’t know. My head hurts.

Poppy reads quietly, “‘Dearest Lily, here’s something to keep you full at night.’” She pauses. “There’s no signature. Is it from Loren?”

“Why would Lo buy me a dildo?” I say out loud, unthinking.

“Dildo?” Daisy’s mouth falls open, connecting some of the dots.

“Who else would send something like this to you?” Poppy asks.

“It must be a stupid prank,” I say. From the blackmailer. “Can you throw it out before anyone else sees it? And can you tell Harold not to mention it?”

“Of course,” Poppy says. “If you’re having problems making friends at school—”

“It’s not prep school, Poppy. It’s college. No one is stealing my lunch money.”

“Then why would someone do this?”

“They must think it’s funny. I don’t know,” I say quickly. My throat is starting to close up with a lump and my voice threatens to shake. “Hey, do you want to talk to Rose?”

“Sure.”

I hand the cell to Rose, and she engages in a cordial conversation.

“Hey.” Daisy squeezes my shoulder in a side-hug. “It’s probably just some loser from Penn who’s pissed you never put out for him or something.”

Tears prick my eyes. She couldn’t be any further from the truth.

“Oh no, please don’t cry.” Daisy spins me around and grabs my hands, swinging my arms like she could dance with me at any second. “We’re in Cancun. Spring Break. The best week of the year. Don’t let some asshat get the best of you.”

She’s right, so I sniff and wipe my eyes. She pulls me in for a real hug, and her fingers go through my hair. She sighs enviously. “So short and pretty,” she says with a smile.

I rub my nose as we separate a little. “It’s greasy.”

She waves me off and her eyes wander towards the stage. I follow her gaze and spot the guys plus Melissa retiring from the huge crowd. I’ll have to tell Lo what happened. Not only does the blackmailer know I’m in Cancun, but they know my parent’s address.

He’s trying to unnerve me.

It’s kind of working.

{ 28 }
LOREN HALE

On the balcony, the music blasts from the pool below, but at least it’s more private than the bedroom. Everyone throws on nice clothes for the club tonight—our last outing in Cancun before we travel back to the real world with responsibilities and commitments.

I stare at the screen of my phone. Five missed calls from my therapist. I should call him back, but talking to Brian makes me feel like a failure. He carries this hypersensitive tone like I’ve already fucked up, and I can’t listen to that. I don’t want to hear him try to calm me down or to tell me that I should be tucked in my bed at home where alcohol doesn’t exist, where my vice isn’t staring me in the face.

Lily has made a better effort to stay in touch with her therapist. When I see her on the phone, Allison is usually on the other end.

I sit on the plastic chair and open a text message that my father recently sent.

Emily Moore

789 Huntington Drive

Caribou, Maine 04736

Whether he was feeling particularly generous, forthcoming, kind—he spontaneously gave me my birth mother’s address. I asked him for it only once. When he denied my request, I wasn’t about to grovel for it. Now that I know where she lives, I don’t know what to do. Seeing her will open new gates that may crash me backwards.

I’m not sure I’m ready to handle that.

My hand trembles, and I glance over my shoulder. No one watches me, but if I dial a number, they’ll believe my therapist is on the other end. No one will disturb me. That’s my hope at least.

I punch in a familiar number, and when the line clicks, he speaks before I have a chance. “Long distance calls aren’t fucking cheap. How do you expect to pay for it?”

My father’s words drill into me, bringing up an insecurity with such ease. “That’s really not your concern.”

“Greg Calloway gives his daughters an allowance. Lily can’t afford to support your apathy forever.”

I clench my phone tightly in my hand, trying so hard to focus. I had a reason to call him after all. “Well, since I am paying per minute, can you stop talking about money and let me speak?”

“Make it quick, I have to get back to a meeting.”

He stepped out of his meeting to answer my call?

That’s all that processes. Greg would have never stopped a meeting for one of his daughters. If Lily needed her father, he’d send an assistant and then find her after his work was finished. My father—he dropped everything for me growing up. If I called him at school, he was the one walking into the principal’s office. But I only needed him when I was in trouble, and he’d yell at me for causing it.

“Have you found the guy?”

“These things take time, Loren,” he says curtly. “Answers don’t just fall down from the goddamn sky.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a sharp breath. “Look, something else happened,” I say quickly. “He sent a package to the Calloway’s house.”

I hear rustling on his end like he’s looking for pen and paper. “Okay, give me the details.”

I explain the dildo and the note, trying to be specific, even though all I want to do is find this guy and make his life a living hell. He’s torturing her.

“He hasn’t asked for anything? Not a dime?”

“No.”

“This sick fuck is making it clear he doesn’t care or want to be found, but I’ll try my best.” He pauses. “How is she?”

I laugh bitterly. “Since when do you care?” He wasn’t fond of Lily when we were teenagers. He believed having a female as a friend was like girl repellent, and if she wasn’t putting out for me, then I should kick her to the curb. But I knew once I started a fake relationship with Lily, he’d be pleased. And he was. Only because she suddenly became of use to me.

I never saw her like that—an object that I could fuck or toss away. My father’s perception of women is demented.

“Please, she’s practically my daughter-in-law,” he says defensively. “And if Greg and Samantha Calloway ever find out she’s a sex addict, don’t think they won’t react accordingly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means when you’re both fucking broke and homeless, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces. Just like I’ve always done with the two of you. Cleaning up your goddamn messes.”

I narrow my eyes at the ground. That’s his fucked up way of saying he’ll be there for me when everything goes to shit.

“Just find this guy,” I snap.

“Of course.” Voices puncture the other end and then he says, “I have to go. The partners are getting restless. Impatient, fucks. I’ll see you next week?”

I don’t know what for, but I just end up saying yeah. We hang up, and I feel as paranoid and anxious as I did before. Obviously, that did not help. No conversation with my father ever really does.

{ 29 }
LOREN HALE

The nightclub transforms into a live show, complete with impersonators, dancers, and flying trapeze artists. A huge square-shaped bar fills the center floor where girls dance and take body shots. Ever since I was ill from the fish tacos, I don’t even flinch when a drink passes by. I have no desire to be sick again.

The Calloway girls made a goal to drink and dance tonight, which I translated as: We’re getting drunk.

Connor, Ryke, and I promised them that they could go crazy and we’d be the responsible ones, fit to take care of them. For once, I’m on the other side of things. And it feels pretty good.

I like knowing that I have the power to keep Lily safe. Before, all of that seeped away with each whiskey I downed. So yeah, this is new. But it’s a good new.

The crowds aren’t as large as the concert yesterday, and Connor bought a balcony table so we can keep an eye on the girls. We’re seated on the highest level, and the psychedelic lights strobe around us—well, around Connor and me. Ryke is still in the bathroom.

I have a clear view of the three Calloway girls, all of them hovering around the square bar. Rose carries two glasses of some pink concoction, handing one to Daisy.

“Have you ever seen Rose drunk?” I ask Connor. The event has to be like a lunar eclipse or something.

“I don’t think she’d allow herself to exceed her limits.”

I nod in agreement. I’ve never even seen her beyond tipsy. “She’s probably too afraid she’ll get wasted and lose her virginity to a guy with an IQ less than hers.”

Connor breaks his usual placid expression, his mouth opening in slight surprise.

Oh shit. “What did I say?”

He takes a small sip of his wine and his face resumes its normal composed regime. “I didn’t know she was a virgin.”

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Lily is going to kill me. Hell, Rose is going to have my balls first. I should have known better than to open my goddamn mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “I thought you knew.” I scratch the back of my neck.

He stares at his glass and shakes his head. I can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking. So I have to ask. “Is this a bad thing?” My heart crushes instantly at the thought. As much as Rose and I bicker and fight, I’d never want to ruin her relationship. Especially not with Connor, a guy who is pretty damn perfect for the girl.

He doesn’t say anything, and all my guilt suddenly morphs into anger.

“Hey, she’s a virgin, not a fucking leper.” I point a finger at him. “And if you dump her because of this then you’re a fucking prick. There are a million guys who would gladly be with Rose. For whatever reason, you met her incredibly high standards, and if you hurt her because she’s not experienced, I swear to God, Connor, you are going to wish you never met me.” I finish my rant, surprising myself as much as Connor.

I’ve learned a lot about myself being sober.

I guess I’m kind of protective of Lily, Daisy, and even Rose.

“Lo,” he says my name like I’m five years old and just threw a tantrum. “I don’t care that she’s a virgin. I care that we’ve been dating for six months and she hasn’t told me. Obviously, I’ve overestimated the progress in our relationship.” His eyes flicker down to Rose as she sways to the music beside Lily, and then he looks back to me. “And while I appreciate the sentiments behind that threat, it’s really unnecessary. I have no intention of hurting Rose.”

He pacifies me with a few sentences as if his words are liquid morphine, but I still feel obligated to defend Rose since I divulged her secret. “She likes you,” I say quickly. “She’s just...” She’s Rose. I don’t know how else to explain it.

“I know.”

Of course he does. He knows everything.

“When she was twenty, I had a suspicion that she lost her virginity to someone on her Academic Bowl team,” he opens up, sharing information that he usually keeps to himself. “She used to slide out of hugs, but she let him rest an arm around her shoulder. I even saw him kiss her in a hallway. She didn’t recoil.” He shakes his head, staring at Rose from faraway. “Turns out she was playing me.”

“What do you mean?”

“She knew I was watching. She knew that I could tell how inexperienced she was, so she stomached whatever revulsion she had towards male contact—just so I would form the idea that she was no longer a virgin.” He sips his wine. “I shouldn’t be surprised. She was never ashamed of it as a teenager, but whenever her virginity was brought up in front of me, she’d get defensive. I think she assumed I’d use it against her.”

He sounds more genuine than usual. I wonder if this is the real Connor Cobalt, a guy not saving face for investors or future contacts. Just him. “You knew Rose when she was a teenager?” I ask.

Connor sets down his empty wine glass. “Since she was fourteen. We’d both attend the circuit of academic conferences with our schools, Model UN, Beta Club, National Honor’s Society.” I feel like I hardly know him. We’ve been friends for months now. How could I not know this? “I’m a year older than her, by the way.”

“Wait, what?” I frown. “I thought you’re twenty-two.”

“Twenty-three.”

“Were you held back as a kid or something?”

“Fifth year senior,” he says. “I triple majored, so I had to stay an extra year at Penn to finish my courses.” He keeps his gaze on Rose.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“You never asked. And really, is it that important?” I’m beginning to think that Connor Cobalt only lets people into his life halfway. Maybe he’s more like us than I believed.

 We drop the subject as Ryke returns from the bathroom. Melissa rejoins the girls on the dance floor, which she wasn’t willing to do when we first arrived. She was clinging to Ryke pretty fiercely, so I assume Ryke went down on her in the toilet stall. She seems appeased at least.

I want to change the topic off of Rose’s sex life, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “What kind of a name is Ryke?”

He sinks into the seat beside mine, a can of Fizz Life in his hand that I’m pretty positive doesn’t have any alcohol in it.

“It’s a middle name,” he says like I don’t know. But last year at the Christmas Charity Gala, when he admitted to being my brother, I made him show me his driver’s license. Jonathan Ryke Meadows.

“What kind of a middle name is Ryke?” I clarify.

He lets out an aggravated noise. “What the fuck did Jonathan give you as a middle name?”

“I don’t have one. I think he realized sticking me with Loren was torture enough.” My name was the target for teasing in elementary school, despite the guy-version spelling.

“Ryke,” Connor muses. “From Middle English, a variant of the word would mean power or empire. Though, your spelling is a little off.”

“Yeah, my father is an egotistical douchebag,” he says roughly. “My name literally means Jonathan empire.”

I can’t help but laugh into my next sip of water. For the first time, mine doesn’t seem so bad.

“I don’t know why you’re fucking laughing. You have a girl’s name and no middle name.”

I flip him off.

“Speaking of names,” Connor says casually, and yet, I sense his mischief as his eyes set on Ryke. “You realize if you ever married one of the Calloways, she’d have a porn star name.”

“And which Calloway would that be?” I snap. “Poppy is married, I’m dating Lily, you’re dating Rose, and Daisy is sixteen.”

“Hypothetically.”

I don’t like hypothetically, but maybe this will deter Ryke from even thinking about a possible future. So I play into it. “Daisy Meadows,” I say, inwardly cringing at the idea. “Sounds like someone who knows her way around a—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Ryke glares.

“I was going to say camera. Why? What were you thinking?” My voice remains edged and cold.

The lights flicker as the show begins to start and we both sit back, trying to calm down. We know how to push each other’s buttons, and I wonder if that’s a brother-thing or just because we’re both products of Jonathan Hale.

The room darkens except for the stage and the servers—the latter of which walk around with flashlights to take drink orders. An Elvis impersonator struts on stage and starts singing with dancers gyrating beside him. The oldies song is remixed so it beats with the hypnotic atmosphere.

I sit a little straighter, watching Lily who dances in a small space with her sisters and Melissa. The lights flash brightly, illuminating the dance floor in a wave of colors.

It doesn’t take long for some guy to approach Lily from behind. I stiffen but stay in my seat, trusting her as I should. His hands slide along her hips, and all these memories of seeing her dance with strange guys flood me cold. I would settle at the bar, keeping a trained eye on Lil so she wouldn’t get hurt, watching as she led some half-witted man to the bathroom. And I’d drown my misery in Maker’s Mark.

As soon as his hands plant on her, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of her blouse and another falling to her skirt, she flinches and darts right into Daisy’s chest. I can’t help but smile. Some months ago, she would have played into his advances. Finally, she’s chosen me.

But my happiness is popped when the guy approaches her, not taking the clear hint. His half-lidded, droopy gaze drives worry into my gut. He is drunk and definitely prepared to dance right on Lily’s ass again.

I’m about to rise and descend to the dance floor, but Daisy shoves his arm hard and points a finger in his face—a Rose move that I wouldn’t think possible from the youngest Calloway.

I glance at Ryke, and he rubs his lips, curiosity swimming in his eyes. She intrigues him as much as her actions concern him. The mix is not good, and I don’t need to remind him of that. He’s heard me shout it in brutal warning.

Lily slinks behind Daisy’s body and then spins around, looking up and meeting my gaze. She gives me a small wave and then turns back to her sister. Daisy physically moves him out of their area. He has his hands up in peace, but he’s staring at her breasts that are pushed up in a short strapless dress. He licks his bottom lip.

“This is killing me,” Ryke says under his breath.

“You can’t play hero to her,” I remind him. “If she was in trouble, I’d go down there. You can’t.”

He runs his hands through his hair and sits forward with his hands on his legs, watching carefully.

Daisy thrusts the guy back again, and then she gestures to a group of girls in bandage dresses about ten feet away. She breaks from Rose and Lily’s side to bring him over to the girls who bounce up and down. He’s too obliterated to protest, and it’s not long before he’s mesmerized by four more sets of tits.

He forgets about Daisy, and she leaves him to return to her sisters easily.

Lily hugs Daisy in thanks and whispers something in her ear. Both girls smile wide before they laugh.

“Do you trust her?” Connor asks me. I’m sure I look ready to spring down there and glare at any guy who so much as hits on Lily. But I don’t want to be that guy, the one who is so insanely overprotective that he suffocates a woman. There’s a happy medium somewhere. And it does come with trusting her.

“She’s a sex addict,” I remind him.

“Does correlation warrant causation in this instance?” Connor asks.

“English.”

“Does being a sex addict automatically make her untrustworthy?”

“I don’t know,” I say, “but I’ve spent more time seeing her with other guys than being with her, so I guess I can understand how it might be natural—for her—to just fall back into that.”

“To cheat,” Ryke clarifies.

I give him a glare. “Yeah,” I snap, “but if it happens, it happens, right?” Even the thought, though, devastates me.

“I don’t think it will,” Ryke says.

I jerk back in shock. He’s never been an advocate for Lily. “And why is that?”

“Because I think she loves you more than she loves sex. And you love her more than you love alcohol, but you two just haven’t let yourselves believe it yet.”

Maybe he’s right, but allowing myself to process that is harder than it seems.

Female servers start carrying out blue glowing bottles on the dance floor, flashlights held underneath the bottom to add the luminosity effect. They offer willing guys and girls straight shots. One of the servers stands in front of Rose and Daisy.

“They aren’t…” I say with furrowed brows. Do they know what they’re about to drink? I thought they wanted to get crazy-fun wasted, not “holy shit, what’s that” wasted. But they have to know what they’re drinking. Rose probably has the highest IQ in the club—not counting Connor. If I recognize the alcohol, she would too.

 I watch Daisy nod excitedly, and my stomach tosses as she leans back against the bar. We’re going to have our work cut out for us tonight…

The server pours the liquid into her mouth, and Daisy spills not a drop. She licks her lips and motions to Rose. She goes next, without much prodding from Daisy. Maybe all the lights and music have warped her mind.

She finishes off the first shot, and surprisingly, she leans back for another.

One of my short-term goals is coming true. Rose Calloway is definitely going to be drunk tonight.

I’m not as happy about it as I thought I’d be.

“What kind of liquor is that?” Connor asks. My whole face falls. Wait, if Connor can’t tell…

“Look who doesn’t know something,” Ryke pipes in, capitalizing on Connor’s question.

“Types of liquor aren’t high on my priority list. But that’s sweet of you, Ryke, to think I know everything in the world.”

“Absinthe,” I tell Connor. “It’s blue absinthe.” How could he not know? If he doesn’t, then what’s the probability that Rose does?

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Connor is on his feet, and he can’t hide the concern on his face this time.

“You worried, Cobalt?” Ryke calls, but I can tell Connor’s sudden ruffled composure is making Ryke equally alarmed. Because Daisy is the other girl downing the liquor—and she doesn’t have a boyfriend here to look out for her. But she does have me.

Even so, my eyes latch onto Lily more, hoping she doesn’t join her sisters if she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.

“Absinthe contains thujone,” Connor tells him.

“So you don’t know what it looks like, but you know what chemicals are in it,” Ryke says.

“It’s usually green, and it’s also banned in the United States because thujone has hallucinogenic properties.”

“Yeah,” I say, rising to grab his arm to stop him. Rose has to know, I keep telling myself. She wouldn’t drink something foreign to her. “I’m sure Rose knows what’s in it.”

His concern doesn’t waver. “The bottle isn’t labeled.”

What? I look back down to the girls, where Daisy is taking another shot of absinthe. The bottle glows from the light underneath it, and sure enough—there’s no label on the slender glass.

They don’t know it’s absinthe.

Shit.