Addicted for Now

{ 17 } LILY CALLOWAY

I hate flying.

Not like Superman flying. But plane flying—trapped in a metal tube in the air.

Add in my fear of heights and the prospect of being in a small, confined space for a long period of time, and I begin to freak out a little. I need the option to dash into a room and burrow underneath the covers, to hide from everyone and escape to my sanctuary.

Privacy, that’s my bread and butter (besides porn).

And now that I’m on the road to recovery, I can’t even join the mile-high club. I should already be in the prestigious sex-on-flight clan. Being denied for the umpteenth time aggravates me and cranks up my already intolerable sexual frustration.

Lo doesn’t fare much better. He used to love flying because of the mini-bottles of vodka. Now he just looks like someone stole his favorite toy.

The only upside is that we’re flying somewhere fun for Spring Break. Initially, I didn’t want to go anywhere. Traveling to a party locale during the wildest week of the year seemed like a disaster zone for a recovering alcoholic, but Lo basically forced me to concede. He said he wants to test himself, and there’s no better place than Cancun—with Ryke tagging along. Because we all know his half-brother would stand in front of a bus before letting Lo drink.

I would too. But I haven’t been put in that kind of situation yet.

My father’s private jet resembles a presidential living room more than a commercial plane. I lounge on a long plush couch with blue pillows. A television is mounted on the wall and plays a newer thriller film with Nicholas Cage.

Lo is sprawled out long-ways, his head in my lap as I give him a mediocre head massage. He reads a comic on his tablet, flipping the pages with his finger every so often.

Over on leather recliners, Rose slides her rook across a chess board. Connor leans forward with his fist to his lips in contemplation before he makes a move with his measly black pawn. The little alcove is nice for four people. And there’s another set of chairs and a table top to our right.

My eyes drift from the movie to the bathroom, hidden behind the same wall that the television occupies. “She’s been in there a long time,” I tell Lo in a soft voice. I am jealous of everyone in that bathroom. I just want to drag Lo by the arm and let him do whatever he wants to me in there. Preferably something that makes my back arch.

Lo expands a panel of his comic, his attention absorbed by persecuted mutants. I stop rubbing his temples, and then he follows my gaze. “Maybe she has to actually use the bathroom.”

“True.” An insensible part of me thought that tall, athletic volleyball players are immune to natural bodily functions.

I pause and glance over my shoulder, expecting to find Ryke to the right set of chairs. But that alcove is empty, only a couple bottles of water and splayed magazines. My eyes widen in realization. I gasp. “Ryke is missing.” I point to the bathroom door. “They’re screwing.”

Lo sits up, rising off my lap. I realize I am done giving him a terrible head massage. I’m surprised he hasn’t fired me before.

“They are dating,” Lo reminds me, powering off his tablet and tossing it on the cushion.

Ryke brought his “somewhat” girlfriend on vacation with us. In truth, Ryke doesn’t have real girlfriends. He just “dates” which is a loose term for seeing someone and having sex for a short period of time. At least, that’s how he explained it to me when Melissa stood at the airport with her rolling suitcase in tow.

Really, if I think about it, that’s what Lo used to do before we became an official couple.

I squint at the bathroom door, wondering when my X-ray vision will kick in.

It doesn’t.

“Why do I have the sudden urge to put my ear to that door?” My eyes grow big. Did I just say that out loud?

“You’re staying on the couch.” Lo tugs me onto his lap and kisses me lightly on the neck. I smile into our next kiss, his mouth meeting mine, but he draws back before I can deepen it. Damn.

My eyes flash back to the bathroom. “Can we? Later?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, love.” He places a small kiss on the edge of my lips.

The bathroom door swings open, and I watch as Melissa struts out first, combing her fingers through her shoulder-length, honey blonde hair. I spring from Lo’s arms and rush to the bathroom as though I have to pee.

I don’t.

I just really want to catch Ryke red-handed. I think both Lo and I can agree that it’s overly fun trying to make his brother uncomfortable. I have yet to be successful. But one day, I’ll figure out what makes Ryke Meadows squirm.

When I look through the door frame, I find Ryke at the sink, washing his hands. He doesn’t even recoil in surprise.

“You are so busted,” I say. “I just saw Melissa leaving here.” I waggle my eyebrows for further effect, but he stays unblinking. Catching someone in an incriminating deed is not as fun when they don’t act like they’ve been caught. My mission: to make Ryke flinch for once.

“So?” He dries his hands on a cotton towel.

Being a cop can’t be nearly this annoying.

He says, “I’m sure you’ve spent plenty of time in a plane’s bathroom with someone else.” I have tried. None have been successful. But that’s not the point…right?

“We have a no-sex policy on this flight.”

“For you.” He gives me a stern look, and then his eyes float over my shoulder.

“You’re making her paranoid,” Lo says from the couch. “Wait until we land.”

My cheeks redden. Maybe confronting Ryke wasn’t the smartest idea. But at least Melissa has stuck earbuds in and flips through a magazine, settling in her chair among the empty alcove.

I shake my head at the guys. “No, it’s fine. Ryke, you can fuck Melissa all you want. Do it in the bathroom. On the couch, well not on the couch, I’m sitting there. The point is…” I take a breath. “Don’t let me stop you.” Because really, it’s my only distraction right now. Or maybe I just really want to hear it or something. No, I don’t. Okay, I miss porn way too much.

Ryke stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder if he senses my longing for porn too. Then Lo says, “Unless you want to start being in her fantasies.”

Ryke grimaces. “It won’t happen again.”

He slides out of the bathroom, and I return to the couch, and slap Lo lightly on the arm. There’s no way that Ryke would ever fill my fantasies, desperate or not.

Only when my gaze drifts, do I realize that the couch is lower than the chairs that Ryke, Melissa, Connor, and Rose sit on. I can clearly see their legs underneath the table. And while Connor’s knees knock with Rose’s, her ankles are modestly crossed.

Melissa and Ryke are a different story. It’s like the angels on my left side and the devils on the right. I should watch Connor and Rose’s chess tournament. Connor has won two games and Rose has won three. By Rose’s pursed lips, I can tell she’s losing the current round.

But I can’t deny the call of the bad.

Melissa may think she’s stealthy, but her hand runs up Ryke’s leg and towards the inside of his thigh. I even catch her unzipping his jeans. They sit side by side, and I have a worse view of Ryke, but his hands aren’t on the table either, if you know what I mean.

A sudden burst of jealousy infiltrates me. Because she can have sex on the plane. Twice. Or three times. She can even grope her somewhat-boyfriend, and he can run the bases with her.

“Try not to think about it,” Lo says. “And that probably starts with not looking at it.”

I turn to meet him, and he gives me a sympathetic smile. But he looks just as tweaked as me. “How are you doing?” I ask.

“I’d feel better if I knew you were okay.”

“When we land do you think we can…?”

He doesn’t answer me. He just pulls me to his chest and strokes the back of my head, his fingers lost in my hair. He finds the remote and turns the volume up on the television. I take his silence as an answer anyway.

I’ll have to wait.

The gold ornate lobby has dark green floors and large Mayan statutes along the tiled walls. Decked out with four pools, more than a dozen restaurants, and even more clubs, the resort is much fancier than I feel.

Melissa waits with me by a totem fountain while the others join the line to the front desks, hoping to check us into our rooms in a reasonable hour. Ryke’s somewhat-girlfriend runs her fingers through her blonde hair again. She wears no makeup, which reminds me a little of my youngest sister. Daisy can pull off that fresh-faced look but still be pretty enough to pose for a magazine. Melissa looks prepared for the cover of Sports Illustrated—perfectly toned arms and clear complexion. Beauty and brawn.

I’m still trying to nail down the beauty bit, and with my chicken legs, I don’t think I’d stand a chance to achieve the brawn part.

“Do you have a brush?” she asks. “My hair always tangles in the humidity.” She flashes an outgoing smile, and I suddenly feel badly for never instigating a single conversation before now.

Lo and I mostly kept to ourselves on the plane. I did cheer on Rose at one point—that was before she lost her chess tournament and knocked over Connor’s king in frustration. Connor tried not to gloat, but even the appearance of a smile irked Rose. She called a Scrabble rematch, which she won. So in Harry Potter’s epic final words, “All was well.”

But even in a tight, cramped space, Lo and I blocked out the rest of the world and whispered to ourselves. We have to work on that. So from this moment on, I make it my goal to be a better friend…or person…whatever you call someone who needs to work on her social skills.

And that starts with a brush—that I don’t have. I cringe. “Sorry, I didn’t pack one.” Has she seen my hair? “I’m sure Rose does.”

Melissa shrugs. “I can wait.” She snaps a blue band off her wrist and ties her hair into a small bun at the base of her neck.

“So…how did you meet Ryke?”

“At the gym. One of the machines wasn’t working, and he helped me.”

“Sounds like Ryke,” I say with a nod. He’s a fixer. “Did he punch the machine into submission too?”

She frowns, and I immediately regret my words. Oh my God. I’m an idiot. “I mean, because he’s kind of aggressive…” I cringe again. What is wrong with me? “Not in like a woman-hitting way. I don’t think he’d ever do that. He just, you know, punches first and asks questions later.” Lily, shut up!

She looks mildly freaked out—which isn’t too bad. She could be horrified to the point of darting away. “We haven’t been going out that long, but I’ve never seen him hit anyone.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” I lie, trying to find an out from this situation. She frowns again, because I’m obviously not making any sense. But it’s better that she now finds me insane and not Ryke.

I have seen Ryke throw a punch. First to protect me when some guy didn’t understand the word no, and then to protect Daisy at an out of control New Year’s Eve party. In fact, the only time I’ve ever seen him be aggressive is when women are treated badly. But I don’t tell Melissa this. I’ve already dug myself a big enough hole.

“What’s going on over there?” Melissa nods to the front desk. A long line spindles across the lobby, the place jam-packed from the Spring Break festivities. Three hotel staff in green collared shirts left their posts to talk to our group, and Rose’s hands are moving wildly in the air.

Something is definitely wrong.

I pay one of the bellhops to watch our luggage, and Melissa and I make our way to the front desk, weaving in and out of angry stares that think we’re cutting the line.

“Sorry,” I apologize a couple times.

I don’t dare near Rose, who is having some sort of verbal battle with the hotel staff, Connor right by her side with a narrowed gaze. Instead, I slide next to Lo and Ryke who stand off to the side. “What’s going on?” I ask Lo.

He runs his hands through his hair like he’s fixing it, but I think he’s more anxious than anything. “There’s a problem with the room,” he says casually. “It should be resolved soon, or so they say.”

“What kind of problem?” Melissa asks.

“They double booked,” Ryke says, leaning an elbow on the counter.

“Is there another room?” I ask.

“That’s what Connor and Rose are trying to figure out.”

Just as he says this, Rose pulls out her phone and walks off towards the exit. I frown. Where the hell is she going?

Connor slips past hoards of sweating tourists who just want their room keys, and he stops in front of us. He looks about ten times less stressed than my sister. “So bad news. The three-bedroom suite that we had booked is unavailable due to scheduling issues. Rose is going to call other resorts, but the probability of getting a last-minute suite during college Spring Break is slim to none. This resort, however, does have a room available. Two queens and a pull-out, so it sleeps six.”

His eyes flicker to Lo and me as he delivers the last line.

The bottom of my stomach drops down and down and down.

I can’t have sex.

I hate, hate, hate that I’m most worried about that. I hate that Connor and probably my sister are concerned about my sexual cravings. I don’t want to make this a big deal.

“That’s fine,” I say quickly, adding an assured nod. Even though I fiddle with my fingers and focus on not biting my nails.

Melissa’s lip twitches. I bet that she’s peeved by the change of plans. She says, “Well this sucks.” Yep, I knew it.

Ryke’s features harden. “You realize that if you went with your volleyball team to Panama City, you’d be sleeping on top of each other in some dingy motel room anyway.”

“I just qualified for the Olympics,” she reminds him. “I’m pretty sure I can afford to rent a condo in Florida.”

Ryke tugs her into his arms and then whispers something soft (and I imagine sexy) into her ear. She sighs exasperatedly, but her shoulders relax.

Connor ushers Lo and me away from them and over to the totem fountain. His voice lowers. “Rose is trying her best, but seriously, we can go anywhere else. The Alps. Canada. Bermuda. We don’t have to stay here if it’s going to make you both uncomfortable.”

Running away from this situation sounds enticing. I’ve never even been to summer camp. And as a girl who likes her privacy and avoids social interaction, I do not take pleasure in the idea of sleeping in one room with five other people for an entire week. Add in my sex addiction status and everything becomes a big pile of this is going to blow.

Lo reaches out and takes my trembling hand in his. His gaze tells me to be strong. “It’s up to you.”

I don’t want to run. I don’t want to put other people out because of my stupid addiction. It’s time to work through this instead of scampering away like a squirrel caught in traffic. “We should stay.”

“Are you sure?” Lo puts his hand on my neck and a breath hitches in my lungs. Maybe we can have sex in the bathroom or…on the beach at night. We can find somewhere to do it surely. It won’t be that bad. I just nod over and over as I try to convince myself.

“Lily,” Connor cuts in, “where did you leave the luggage?”

“With the bellhop…” I turn to look at the place I stood. Which would be right here by Mr. Totem Fountain.

“What bellhop?”

“Um…the one I paid to watch it.” My heart sinks and my palms go clammy.

“You mean the guy you paid to steal it.”

Oh no.

{ 18 } LILY CALLOWAY

After two hours and a police report later, we come to the conclusion that our bags are officially lost—or rather, stolen.

Lo, Ryke, Melissa and I have to spend one of our vacation days at the U.S. Embassy to replace our passports before we can return home. It’s not by luck that the only two people responsible enough to keep their passports on them were Rose and Connor.

Losing our bags is just another headache, and I’ve apologized so much that my throat has gone sore. Rose is mostly upset that she no longer has all of her clothes and her products and everything that makes her feel comfortable away from home. To make matters worse, our room doesn’t even have a pull-out couch with a bed underneath.

It’s a normal sofa.

And to rectify the situation, Connor called room service to bring up a cot. Ryke offered to sleep on it with Melissa on the couch. But she wore the “I hate this” expression that she had in the lobby. She did not want to be volunteered for the sofa and cot. She planned to cuddle with her somewhat-boyfriend, and that’s unachievable if they’re on separate pieces of furniture.

I can totally understand her frustration right now. Even though I was lucky enough to snag a bed, Connor and Rose’s queen sits not even five feet from ours. It’s not as if I can have a quickie without them noticing. And Melissa would catch us too. The couch faces the beds, and Ryke somehow wedged the cot between both.

It’s as if Ryke Meadows is sleeping at the foot of our mattress. Such an unsettling thought.

The silver lining has to be Rose and Connor. During disaster situations, they’re the two people you want in your squadron—able to think under fire. They both went to the gift shop and bought essentials like toothpaste and toothbrushes. For pajamas, Rose picked out extra-large neon shirts that say I LOVE CANCUN.

When she showed me those, I immediately remembered how this week was supposed to be a big step in her relationship with Connor. She asked him to sleep in the same bed as her, and when we had the three-bedroom suite, her plan didn’t seem as scary. But now that the sleeping arrangements have altered drastically, and everyone will be in clear sight of their bed, she’s more nervous. Tackling this level of their relationship in front of other people is not something she had imagined.

Even in my twenties, I still find sleeping in a bed with a boy a kind of intimate affair. Maybe because it usually coincides with sex for me, but I think Rose can agree that the act is not so friendly.

Darkness blankets the room, but I can still distinguish the outline of bodies. Rose and Connor lie underneath their maroon comforter, facing one another but not touching. They were whispering softly before, but their voices have quieted, leaving the room in an uncomfortable stillness.

I flip over and turn to Lo, his arm wrapped around my waist.

His eyes are already open, and his foot slides against the bareness of my ankle. The silence envelops us and makes me hyperaware of every small noise, my breathing too loud in the quiet. I’m sure Ryke believes all my little movements coincide with me attempting to screw Lo.

But I just…can’t sleep.

Anxiety crawls under my skin like a bed bug. I start playing scenarios in my head of being denied sex over and over. Where I can’t do anything for an entire week. Where I can’t escape to a bedroom to disappear from other people for five minutes. I’m surrounded. Suffocating.

“Lo,” I whisper, trying to be as silent as I can. But my voice sounds like a megaphone in the quiet.

He tugs me closer, and his hands lower to my hips and then lower. He cups my butt with one palm and rubs my back in a circular motion with the other.

He tries to be quiet, even as he kisses my lips gently, encouraging me to relax with each one. But his tender kisses do the opposite, building need so deep inside of me. And a horrible part of my brain clouds the reasonable side. I fling my leg over his waist, and then his lips immediately depart from mine. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to touch them again.

After a couple minutes of Lo stroking my hair and watching my breath begin to calm, my eyes grow heavy and I think I’m finally about to drift to sleep.

And then my phone glows and vibrates on the pillow that I’ve abandoned to be closer to Lo. I roll away from him, and he props an elbow on the mattress, worried about me.

“I’m fine,” I whisper and cradle my phone in two panicky hands. I swipe the lock on my cell, and I’m met with a brand new text.

Have fun sucking cock in Cancun. – Unknown

I blink a couple times, the brightness from the screen hurting my eyes. Bile rises to my throat as I reread the words. I’m less affected by the “sucking cock” part as I am by the “Cancun” bit.

He knows where I am…

Quickly, I shut it off and swing my legs off the bed. My heart pounds in my chest, and I really just need to think for a second. I try to navigate the room in the dark, but I end up tripping on the end of the cot and fall to my knees.

“Fuck,” Ryke groans. “That was my foot.”

“Sor-ry.” My voice shakes and I pick myself back up, stumbling to the bathroom. I feel a hand on the small of my back as soon as I retreat inside.

Lo closes the door behind us, and I flip on the lights. He squints from the blinding fluorescence, and I splash some water on my face. The bright neon blue Cancun sweatshirt stops at my thighs and feels so hot on my body right now.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laces his voice. I haven’t told him about the texts. I meant to, but every time I’m about to mention it something else comes up.

Tears prick my eyes, and I manage to hand him my phone anyway. I turn back around to the mirror and the sink, not wanting to watch his face as he reads them. This already feels so out of my control. Every breath falls heavy against my chest. I just want to be unsaddled from this anxiety. Is that at all possible?

Yes it is, the bad part of me says.

I’m not wearing any pants or shorts, and my hand just seems to naturally direct itself to my panties. I slip my fingers below the hem while I have an elbow planted on the counter, hunched over with my forehead buried in my arm. Everything feels so, so, so wrong and out of my control and I just want to feel good again.

“Lil,” Lo says behind me. He drops my phone, the cell clattering to the floor. He instinctively grips my arm and presses his chest hard against my back. “Shh, you’re okay, love.”

I want to listen to his voice, but I’m more focused on how that feels, my ass rubbed against him. He removes my fingers from my underwear, and I let him bring both of my hands underneath the warm water. He washes them quietly.

I sniff a little, emotions bubbling, things I really hoped I wouldn’t feel at all on this trip. Guilt, shame—failure. He brushes the tears from my cheeks, and I finally hear his voice.

“We’re going to find this guy. You don’t need to worry about it, Lil.”

“He knows we’re in Cancun…” My voice comes out in a whisper.

Lo spins me around after he dries off my hands. He cups my cheeks and tilts my head a little to meet his eyes. “No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

I love—more than anything—that he doesn’t bring up the fact that I just touched myself. That I fucked up in a tiny immeasurable way. He brushes it off, moves on, and makes me feel like I should too.

{ 19 } LOREN HALE

“Just drink more water.”

That happens to be Ryke’s brilliant advice whenever I tell him that I feel like a car ran over me. This morning is no different. I stand on the patio, the crystal blue beaches in the horizon, but right below lies the congested pool. Sloshed college students splash in the clear waters to the beat of some techno rap remix. Amps sit beneath a white stretched canopy, shaded from the dangerously hot sun. Sometimes a DJ arrives to fuel the crowd’s drunkenness, but right now, the station stays vacant. The leathered skin DJ downs tequila shots at the tiki bar with two girls in G-string bikinis.

It’s definitely Spring Break.

I chug more water, but it doesn’t cure the pounding headache or the exhaustion that aches my muscles. By the time Lily and I went back to bed, it was near three in the morning, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the text and calling my father. I replayed an entire conversation about what I would ask him. How I would frame my words…just to check up on the progress of everything.

“Are you okay?” Ryke asks.

If I say yes, he’ll know I’m lying. So I don’t know why he asks me. “I’ve had hangovers that have felt better than this.” I stretch my arms and legs, loosening up my joints.

Ryke sits on the patio chair and smears cream cheese on the bagel that he ordered from room service. “But this type of pain isn’t accompanied by horrible drunken memories. Consider yourself fucking lucky.”

“Yes, I’m feeling overwhelmingly lucky right now,” I retort bitterly.

“We’ll find that guy,” Ryke tells me. I showed him the texts this morning before Lily woke up. “And then I’m going to put my fist in his fucking face.”

“HEY! THIRD FLOOR!!”

I lean an arm on the balcony railing and spot two American girls in string bikinis, their breasts hardly contained. Like the locals, they’ve tried to adopt the scarce bottom look, asses fully exposed. Both girls hold brightly colored plastic cups, their hair braided across their shoulders.

Ryke stands and puts his forearms on the railing, taking in the sight. He bites into his bagel nonchalantly, watching as the girl in the green bikini waves us down.

“Come swim with us!!” she shouts with a smile.

“Remind me why I came here with a girl,” Ryke says with a longing look. He checks out her ass, and the girl only grins wider.

“Because you didn’t want to be the fifth wheel.” I smile at his distress.

A loud scream echoes from the room, and we both quickly peel away from the balcony and rush inside. Without much room, I bump straight into Connor’s back. He almost trips over the cot that blocks the hall, but he grabs onto the dresser before falling.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to maneuver around the fold-out bed.

Ryke is so annoyed that he kicks the entire thing. It slams into the wall and somehow efficiently makes room for us to walk.

“Daisy is here,” Connor says.

“What?” Ryke goes rigid. Probably thinking the same as me—that was a happy scream?

I frown and search the room with a hesitant gaze. But I only spot Melissa on the couch, eating a bagel and typing on her cell phone. Her lips are downturned, not having as much fun as she probably imagined.

“They’re in the bathroom,” Connor explains. “Rose wants to put makeup on and use Daisy’s flatiron. She’s actually excited, but the luxury of name-brand hair products will probably wear off when she realizes that her sixteen-year-old sister just arrived to Cancun during college Spring Break.”

“So no one knew she was coming?” I ask.

Connor shakes his head. “She wanted to surprise her sisters.”

“She can’t stay,” Ryke says roughly. “I nearly died trying to chaperone her sweet sixteen in Acapulco.”

I heard the story from Lily, who also chaperoned Daisy’s birthday. Apparently the fearless Calloway jumped off a cliff into the ocean and Ryke felt the need to jump in after her.

“I won’t let her jump off anything,” I tell him. “I happen to be a damn good chaperone.”

He glares. “You couldn’t chaperone a fucking sloth. And that requires remedial skills like sitting and watching.”

I shoot him a hard look. I honestly don’t care if Daisy stays or not. One more person in an already crowded room won’t change anything. “Daisy blends in. You won’t even notice she’s here.”

His brows harden and his jaw sets, equally as firm. “When’s the last time you’ve fucking seen her?”

I want to say last week, but I’m certain that’s wrong. I strain my mind. I guess I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back from rehab. In fact, I don’t think I ran into her at the Christmas Charity Gala last year. Granted, I didn’t stay long. The last time I saw her must have been during the yacht trip to the Bahamas—when Lily and I became a real couple. Jesus.

That was a long time ago.

“Daisy doesn’t blend,” Connor says.

“When have you seen her?” I snap accusingly. I don’t like that these two guys have spent more time with my girlfriend’s sister than me. I’ve been around the Calloways longer. I’ve known Daisy since she was a kid. I’m supposed to be the interim “big brother” figure. Though, I’ve done a pretty shitty job of it so far.

“I go to the Calloway Sunday luncheons with Rose,” Connor tells me. Oh. Shit.

If I marry Lily, I am easily going to be the worst son-in-law.

And then I pale at the idea of Connor and Rose.

Connor Cobalt cannot marry Lily’s sister. He’ll set unattainable standards that I will never be able to meet.

Loud, happy squeals resound from the bathroom. I relax at the mere thought that Lily is smiling. Last night she was near tears, and anything that can change her mood is something I wholeheartedly approve of. “I’m going to check on them,” I say.

Ryke takes a seat on the edge of the bed, scowling at the carpet. He seems deep in thought. About what—I have no clue. Could be Daisy. Could be Melissa. Could be me.

As I pass, I point at him, “You know what would make you feel better?” I open my mouth to finish, but he cuts me off.

“I’m fine.” And then he crosses his arms.

“Sure.” I give him a once over. He’s probably pissed that he’s stuck with Melissa. The girl wears impatience like it’s her job. “A beer.”

“A what?”

“A beer would make you feel better.”

He glares. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“You better go to the bathroom before I punch you, which will actually make me feel better.”

I mock gasp. “But I thought you were fine.”

He actually stands off the bed. I don’t badger him anymore. But Christ, his annoyance made me feel better. Sans beer and all. With a wide smile, I walk over to the bathroom. The giggles grow in octave, and I rap my knuckles against the door.

“Who is it?” Rose calls from inside.

“Lo.” I glance over my shoulder. Ryke and Connor watch me in curiosity by the balcony doors, not attempting to infiltrate the exclusive club that the Calloway girls have. For the first time, I’m a little nervous that the girls won’t invite me in. I’ve always been allowed to be with them. I’m Lily’s other half.

But things have changed, I realize. Rose has a boyfriend. I have a brother. Two more guys have been added to our dynamic, and I could easily be grouped off with them.

So when the door swings open and Lily grabs my shirt, pulling me inside, I can’t help but grin. I feel kind of fucking special. I kiss her almost immediately and while my tongue slides into her mouth, she pushes the door closed with her foot.

Rose clears her throat, and I break away, wrapping my arms around Lily’s waist. She leans back into me with a deep breath, and I finally take in the room. Hair products and makeup have exploded across the counter. Rose sits on the bathtub ledge with a flatiron in one hand and a tube of lip gloss in the other.

“Did Saks Fifth Avenue vomit in our bathroom?” I ask.

They all laugh, and Rose is even too happy to retort with her usual ice. She looks like someone saved her from a deserted island. When Lily untangles from my arms and kneels down over a huge suitcase, I see Daisy for the first time.

She sits on the other side of the suitcase where clothes upon clothes pile high, the stack threatening to topple over. Shopping bags are smashed into available corners of the luggage.

“Hey Lo,” Daisy greets with a warm smile.

And as I truly look at her, my face slowly falls. All I can manage to say is this, “You’re…blonde…” A million other thoughts cross my mind. Most of them circulate around one thing: Me, warning Daisy to stay far away from every guy on the fucking planet. And I have a flash of having to beat the shit out of someone on this trip—just to protect a girl who easily looks as old as her two sisters. She can fit in with our group of college-aged kids. And she shouldn’t. She’s sixteen, despite being a high fashion model.

Great. Now I know exactly why Ryke was scowling. He knew she was going to be trouble. Not because of her personality. But because…she’s beautiful and too young to be here.

Daisy runs her fingers through her insanely long hair. “The modeling agency wanted it blonde.” She drops the strands, and they splay past her breasts. Fuck. I hate that I’m even looking there. I fix my gaze on Lily instead.

She tosses bathing suits from the shopping bag. She looks like she’s digging to China through clothes. It’s kind of adorable.

“So what are you doing here, Dais?” I ask, my eyes staying on Lily. It helps keep my mind off dragging Daisy to the nearest airport. I just want to make sure she’s safe. Three years ago, I’m not sure I would have even cared. Being sober definitely shifts my priorities.

“Well,” she says, leaning against the sink counter. “I always miss out on Spring Break with Lily and Rose. Seeing as how this is Rose’s last official college Spring Break, I thought I’d just kind of tag along. But don’t worry, you won’t even know I’m here. Promise.”

I must be glaring because she smiles again for sincerity. I believe her. That’s not what I’m worried about.

“What about high school?” I ask.

“The teachers gave me extensions on all of the assignments like they do when I have a photo shoot out of the country.” Before I can protest, she adds, “And Rose texted me last night about the stolen luggage, so I had time to stop at the mall and pick up some clothes for everyone.” She grabs a Macy’s shopping bag and hands it to me. “I picked out some swimsuits for Connor, Ryke, and you. I didn’t think you guys would want to suffer through shopping on your first day at the beach.”

“Yessss!” Lily cheers from the floor.

Everyone turns to see her raising a one-piece bathing suit like it’s baby Simba.

“I thought you would like that,” Daisy says. “It’s Billabong.”

“You need sun,” Rose says flatly. She claps her iron at Lily. “Drop. The. Suit.”

Lily clutches the black one-piece to her chest, half the suit multicolored with layers of diamond patterns, like a psychedelic Native American print. “I have Daisy on my side,” Lily reminds her. “She’ll tackle you.”

Daisy nods confidently. “I will.”

Rose is in such a good mood that she concedes. “Fine.” Her eyes flicker to the one-piece that Lily covets. “It is cute in a beach bum, ‘I’m going surfing because I can’t read’ type of way.”

I dig through the Macy’s bag that Daisy gave me, and I pause.

There are five swimsuits, all different bright neon colors but the same style. A mankini.

“Uh…Daisy.” I raise my brows. I hold up the banana hammock on the end of one finger.

Daisy tries not to smile too wide, but she’s enjoying this. “The store clerk said those were the most popular.”

“For children maybe. I’m not sure my dick can fit in this.” And I instantly wince at my choice of word. “I mean, my stuff.”

Lily is distracted enough that she drops her bathing suit, her eyes gleaming between my crotch and the suit. Her imagination is just too fucking vast. I cannot keep up.

Daisy looks at me like I’m the weird one. “It’s okay to curse in front of me. I won’t tattle on you.” Yeah, she definitely makes me feel stupid for trying not to warp her young, fragile mind. But she’s a model. I can’t even begin to understand what goes on after a photo shoot, during one, or before. I’m pretty sure they talk about dicks and breasts and a whole lot of other shit that would be inappropriate around easily influenced kids.

She’s not twelve, Lo, I remind myself. She’s sixteen. There is a difference. She’s in high school. Hell, she’s probably had sex.

I stop myself. There are some things I just don’t want to know.

I twirl the suit around and focus on Lily. I fling it at her and she catches the mankini in her hands.

“Yeah,” she says, far away with her naughty thoughts that I definitely wish I could hear. “I don’t think he’ll fit.” She flushes like she didn’t mean to say that aloud. I just want to kiss her.

“Unnecessary information,” Rose says.

“Actually that was necessary,” I say. “If I can’t fit, then I need another bathing suit.”

Daisy bends down and starts digging through the suitcase beside Lily. While she rummages around, I remember that she shouldn’t be here in the first place.

“So she’s staying?” I look between Rose and Lily, waiting for one of them to be the mature older sister and set guidelines, rules, whatever and send Daisy back home.

But the most responsible girl—maybe in the entire universe—gives me the worst kind of reprimanding glare and says, “She can stay.”

I think they’ve gone nuts. They obviously don’t understand what Daisy looks like or realize her age and the fact that just outside our window are hundreds of horny fucking guys. “Can I talk to you and you”—I point at Lily and Rose—“in private. Thanks.”

From the suitcase, Daisy glances up at me. “I’m sorry about the swimsuits. It was just a joke, honestly. Here.” She tosses a new shopping bag to me, and I hesitate, mostly because I see how much Daisy wants me to be okay with her here. She doesn’t want to put anyone out since she’s essentially crashing our Spring Break. And I think if I told her that she’s not welcome, she would be on the next flight without argument.

Before I search in the plastic bag, I keep my gaze trained on Rose who has the most sway in whether or not Daisy stays in Cancun. “What happens when a guy offers her a drink?”

“I’ll turn it down,” Daisy answers. She rocks on the balls of her feet, prepared to answer more questions.

“Are you going to drink?” I ask her.

“If it upsets you, then no.”

My muscles twitch. I don’t like the idea of people being sober just because I am. That’s ridiculous. “It doesn’t upset me, but you’re underage, Daisy, even in Mexico.”

“Since I was fourteen, my mom has always let me drink during vacations. Ask Rose.”

Rose unplugs her flatiron and brushes her glossy hair. “Just the fruity drinks,” she says. “And only because Mother trusted you not to go crazy.”

“I won’t,” Daisy says. “And if it makes you feel better, I won’t drink at all.”

I shake my head and wear a deep frown. I’m not sure what the right call is. I know that most kids drink at sixteen. And I wouldn’t want to baby her just because I’m an alcoholic. But is twenty-one the magical safe age or something? I don’t know.

I internally groan. She may not be staying here at all so it won’t even matter. “What happens if she breaks from our group, Rose?”

“She won’t,” Rose retorts. “I’m not going to leave Daisy alone in a foreign country. While the big brother routine is flattering, Loren, she has two sisters in Cancun who care for her just as much, if not more. She’s safe with us.”

I watch Lily glance between me and Daisy, and I see the worry so apparent on her face. She wants her little sister here just as much as Rose does. Maybe they want to spend time with her, to reconnect together in ways that they haven’t in a long, long time. And if Daisy can put a smile on Lily’s face, then maybe the hassle will be worth it.

“Okay,” I nod.

“Are you sure?” Daisy asks. “If you’re upset, then I can go…”

“No,” Rose cuts in.

I glare at her. “So glad to know that you consider my feelings, Rose. We now know who the nicest sister is.”

“I thought that was me,” Lily pipes in with a coy smile.

“You’re the best everything, love, that’s unspoken and true.”

She bites her lip, and I can practically hear her chanting for me to come over there and kiss her. I would, but Rose is searing holes in my forehead.

“What about Connor and Ryke?” Daisy asks hesitantly.

“Connor won’t care,” Rose tells her.

Ryke will. I flash her a comforting smile that feels a bit false for me. I just hope I’m not grimacing. “If Ryke isn’t nice to you then I’ll take care of him.” I actually turn to Rose for approval, not sure why hers means so much to me. But she nods in appreciation, or as close to the sentiment as that girl can come.

“Thanks, Lo,” Daisy says.

Lily stands up and sidles to me. I wrap an arm loosely around her shoulders while she sinks into my body. This is a hug that should turn into something more. I can feel her aching for it as her fingers dig deeper in my waist. But she can’t. I just hope she can withstand a week without sex. She’ll need to be satisfied by kisses. Whereas normal people take a kiss as real affection, Lily sees it as nothing more than teasing if it’s not the means to a good fuck.

I rub her back while I dig through the plastic bag with one hand. I find three appropriate male swimsuits in black and navy-blue. “Are these the only other guy suits you bought?” I ask Daisy, a wicked thought crossing my mind.

“Yeah. Are they bad?” She comes to my side and peeks in the bag. “These Ralph Lauren ones should fit.”

“I know. I’m just thinking that you only bought two of them…for me and Connor.” They all catch on to my ploy.

Rose shakes her head repeatedly, but Lily is nodding fiercely. Daisy’s lips pull into a devious smile, definitely up for a bit of harmless fun.

If Ryke and I are going to be brothers, I might as well start reaping the benefits. And it starts with a prank.

{ 20 } LOREN HALE

We took one step onto the beach, and I thought my eyeballs were going to burn out of their socket. The sun was inescapable, too hot to even breathe properly. And all the beach cabanas are first-come-first-serve, so we have to wake up earlier to claim one tomorrow. We end up finding seven lounge chairs around the crowded pool. On the elevator ride down, Daisy asked me again if it was okay if she drank around me. Personally, I feel worse if people stop having a good time on my account. I’ve forced Connor to order wine—his drink of choice—on numerous occasions.

But I thought I’d be a little more creative in my reply to Daisy since she is sixteen and I’m still trying to understand what’s appropriate for teenagers. I told her that I didn’t mind if she drank, but she shouldn’t drink more than Rose. In fact, she should try to loosen Rose up this week. If there’s anything I’d pay good money to see, it’s Rose Calloway drunk.

Daisy easily agreed. She seems to want to please other people, and I wonder just how much of her life has been dedicated to appeasing her mother.

Both Daisy and Rose wade in the pool with piña coladas in their hands. An engulfing rock fountain swamps one circular alcove where a pool-side bar lies, but we’re a good distance from that mobbed area.

Ryke climbs out of the pool and nods to the rest of us who idly stand in the water. Lily is the only one on dry land.

She lies alone on a lounge chair, not wanting to join us. I get it. She touched herself the first night, and I’ve been repeatedly telling her that she’s not going to have sex this week. Now we’re at a pool with half-naked guys, a half-naked me.

I can spot several couples groping underneath cabanas, and even a few cling to each other in the water, making out, the guy’s tongue deep down the girl’s throat. There’s no shame there either. And I think she’s probably just as jealous of that too.

She’s craving sex badly, and I understand wanting to drift off with music and take a nap in the sun. So I let her have her space and try to talk with our friends.

“I’m going to go buy some tacos,” Ryke says. “If you want to eat one, you better come with me.” He stands confidently in his hot pink mankini. When I told him it was the only suit left, he literally shrugged and put it on. Tan skin, ripped abs, and stylish wayfarers—he instantly looked cool even wearing that damn thing. And the girls playing water volleyball even gawked at his ass.

That’s not exactly the reaction I was looking for.

Melissa swims to the edge and climbs out, always attached to Ryke in some way. And whenever she’s forced to untangle herself from him, her mood flips. A part of me wonders if that’s what Lily and I look like when we’re in someone else’s company—bored and aggravated. Probably. I guess it’s something we’re working on.

“Ready?” she asks, hooking her pinky with his fingers.

He lets go of her hand and nods to the pool again. “Calloway,” he calls. All three girls turn to look at him, even Lily on the chair. He rolls his eyes and points at the tall blonde. “Daisy. You coming?”

She shakes her head and sucks on the straw of her piña colada. For lunch, we all ate handmade pizza, but Daisy picked at a salad instead. I think it’s a success that she’s even sipping a fruity drink that contains a shit ton of calories, but knowing Ryke, he no doubt believes alcohol is the equivalent of bark on a food pyramid.

“Come on,” he prods, gesturing her to follow him. “You’ll like the taco, I promise.”

“I probably will,” she says, “but that still doesn’t mean I should eat it.”

Melissa clutches Ryke’s hand and begins to pull him towards the outside grill behind a set of palm trees. “She doesn’t want a taco,” she says, tugging him like a child would a parent. “Let’s go.”

Ryke’s jaw locks, and I think he would try to convince Daisy until she relented, but not with Melissa yanking his arm. So he leaves with that failure. Ryke inserting himself in other people’s problems is nothing new. I’m not surprised that he would take interest in Daisy’s diet, one that she maintains only to please her mother—I’ve known that since she started modeling.

Connor holds a mojito low in his hand and watches Melissa disappear behind the palm trees with Ryke. “He’s going to regret bringing her.”

“He already does,” I say. I didn’t think being around alcohol would affect me as much. My attention zones in on the plastic cup, and it takes a great deal of energy to concentrate on other things. Like my brother’s sex life, not that I particularly care about it.

“What’d you do last year for Spring Break?” Connor asks.

I strain my mind and shake my head. “I can’t remember.” I’m sure I spent my nights at a bar while Lily fucked other guys. Our old routine. It’s all so hazy, even trying to crawl back through the memories is like walking through fog. “Probably something stupid,” I mutter under my breath.

Connor takes the hint and doesn’t prod. “If it makes you feel any better, my last three Spring Breaks were in Japan trying to convince angel investors to capitalize in Cobalt Inc.”

I let out a short laugh. “Now I just feel like an underachieving loser.”

“I tried,” he says with a casual smile.

Rose swims over to us and she elbows me in the ribs.

“Hello, Rose,” I say with a grimace.

She points to our lounge chairs where Lily lies.

“Do you see what she’s reading?” Rose asks me, not even slurring yet.

I frown and study Lily. Sure enough, in her hands is a Cosmo magazine. “Where did she get that?”

“Daisy probably bought it from the airport.”

“Is she not allowed to read trashy magazines?” Connor asks.

Rose tilts her head like he asked a stupid question. “Not ones that describe sexual positions and have romance stories in the back.”

I raise my eyes at him. “You’ve never read Cosmo before?”

“I never needed to know the top fifty ways to pleasure a man.”

I splash him, and he lets out a laugh, and I actually smile. I swim to the ledge, knowing full well that if I had whiskey today, nothing would have stopped me from uttering a biting response. And for once, I truly feel like I achieved something.

I hop out of the pool. Lily doesn’t even see me coming, too immersed in a dirty magazine.

{ 21 } LILY CALLOWAY

5 Sex Toys Perfect for Traveling. My little bullet vibrator survived the bellhop-impersonator-thief since I stowed it in my purse, but there’s a slim chance I’ll be using it anytime this week.

Vibrating panties even made it on the list. I have those too (back home), but I never actually tried them out. I flip the page and land on the sex tips from guys. Some make me laugh, while others are actually helpful. I skim the list and smile at the advice from Brett, 24. “Wet your lips. Then tell me you can’t wait to taste me.” Thank you, Brett for making it seem like girls have to give blow jobs to please a guy. Not true. In fact, if I didn’t like giving Lo head, I wouldn’t do it.

“Hey.”

I jump a little at the voice and press the magazine to my chest, flushing in a rosy shade. I relax when I see it’s Lo, dripping wet in his swimsuit. I try to focus on his face and not his body, but even the striking jaw and dark, wet hair looks extremely sexy right now.

I lick my bottom lip and say, “I can’t wait to taste you.”

He narrows his eyes, not amused, and grabs the magazine from me. My shoulders slacken as his eyes flit over the page. They roll dramatically when he reads Brett’s advice. Lo folds the magazine in his hand and sits down on the foot of the lounge chair. I realize I’m probably not going to be getting that Cosmo back.

“It’s not porn,” I defend immediately.

“You still shouldn’t read it. You’re trying to go a day without thinking about sex, and flipping through a magazine that highlights the ten best ways to go down on someone is not going to help.”

I just nod, and then my eyes drift to Ryke who walks back towards our area with an aluminum foil wrapped taco. He licks his fingers, so I assume he already ate one on the way here. Melissa says something, and she leaves his side, heading back to the hotel room. It’s strange that she would ditch him when she’s made it clear that he’s the only reason she’s withstanding the rest of us.

My gaze drifts to the bright pink mankini that leaves nothing to the imagination. He fills it out too well. One wrong move and everything may just pop out. “That kind of backfired, didn’t it?” I say to Lo with a smile.

Lo places a hand on my bare calf, which sends tingles down my spine. Even the simplest touch right now, I covet. “How was I supposed to know he was so comfortable in a banana hammock?” Lo says loud enough for Ryke to hear when he approaches. “We’ve only been brothers for four months.”

“We’ve been brothers for twenty-one years,” Ryke refutes. He sits on the pool ledge beside our chair, sticking his feet into the water. “You only knew about me four months ago.”

“And that’s supposed to make me like you more?”

Ryke flashes a dry smile and nods to the magazine in Lo’s hand. “Beach reading?”

Lo tosses the magazine on the wet cement beside Ryke. “Here, maybe you can learn how to go down on Melissa. She seems incredibly displeased by you.”

“I can lick her just fine. That’s not why she’s mad.”

I tear my eyes off the hand that Lo keeps planted on my ankle. I would like, dearly, for his fingers to run up to my thigh. Especially after all this sex talk. “Why is she upset?”

“Same reason you are.”

“She’s a sex addict too?” I say brightly. I’m not the only one out there. Wow, that feels good.

“No, she’s just a normal horny girl.”

Oh, damn. My shoulders droop.

Lo starts rubbing my calf. That feels even better. I sink against the back of the chair, relaxing. Lo scrolls through his cell phone for a moment, and I watch as Ryke motions to Daisy in the pool without calling her name.

She swims over to his spot by the pool wall, and since he sits out of the water, he towers above her and hunches slightly to look down at Daisy. He holds the taco out to her.

She sets her empty cup beside the sopping magazine. “I thought you said I could only have a taco if I went with you.”

“I’m making an exception.”

Her eyes flicker between the taco and Ryke, and I don’t like where this is headed. It reminds me of the time where he tempted her with a piece of chocolate cake. She ate it, but only after a string of inappropriate events. Lo didn’t see that. And he’s too focused on his phone to look up and watch Daisy and Ryke.

But maybe…maybe it’s all in my head. I mean, my thoughts circumnavigate to sex all the time. Maybe these past three months without Lo, their time together has been innocent and not as bad as I believed. And I do want Daisy to eat that taco.

“What will you do for me if I eat that?” Daisy asks, a scheming smile lifting her lips.

“We’re bargaining now?”

She swims a little closer to him, her shoulders the same height as his knees. “It’s only fair. You want me to do something. So I think I should get something in return.”

“You get the nutrients of this fucking taco,” he tells her. “That’s a win-win.”

She tries hard not to smile and just shakes her head. Oh, she’s learned how to play his games since the last time. I should break this up, I think. But I’m hypnotized by their easy banter.

“What do you want?” he asks.

I nudge Lo with my foot. He needs to see this! They’re about to strike some deal that is not going to be pretty. I try to find Rose and Connor too, but they’ve drifted over to the pool-side bar.

Lo reluctantly tears away from his phone and follows my gaze, watching my sister and his brother.

And then Daisy’s sly smile falters. “I don’t know what I want,” she realizes.

“Well that’s a problem.”

Lo gives me a stare like that’s what you’re freaking out over? Really? It’s all in my head, isn’t it?

“And I don’t have time for you to figure it out,” Ryke tells her. “The taco will be cold by then.” He peels the aluminum foil back and holds out the end to her. “Come on, just one bite.” His tone isn’t kind or soft. It’s rough and forceful, something that Daisy is not used to, I think. Her curiosity twinkles in her eyes.

Daisy stares at Ryke for a long moment. “Why do you want me to eat this so badly?”

“Because your body needs something more than fucking rum, ice and piña colada mix.”

“My agency would disagree.”

“Your agency fucking sucks,” he says.

“You would try to make every model eat cake, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

She smiles. “You know they’d just throw up afterwards.”

“You better not—”

“I’m not bulimic,” she says. “I’m not even anorexic. I just know what I should and should not eat. And trust me, when I’m not counting down the days to a photo shoot, I’ll pig out. But I have a runway in three weeks. Everyone will be pinching my fat, and you won’t be there to see their disappointed, disgruntled looks. I will.”

“I think,” Ryke says slowly, trying to process the words, “you need to realize that this taco isn’t going to add an inch on your waistline. If you have as great willpower as you say, then eating this won’t cause you to binge tomorrow.”

I kind of want to clap. He actually makes complete sense, and Daisy contemplates his whole statement with high regard. And then she nods in acceptance.

“Okay,” she says. “But just one bite.”

“Unless you love it.”

“Like I said—”

“You like many things, that doesn’t mean you should eat them,” he finishes. “I heard you.”

“You listen,” she says mockingly. “What kind of guy are you?”

“The rare kind.”

My shoulders tense. Are they flirting? Does Lo see this? He is watching, but I can’t read his expression at all. His muscles, however, pull tight.

“Okay,” Daisy says, eyeing the taco. “I’ll eat it.”

“Stop talking about it and do it,” he says.

She sets a hand on his leg and the other on his wrist as he holds out the taco. She leans forward to take a bite, and I swear, her eyes connect with his the entire time. There’s something incredibly dirty about this—I see it, does anyone else?

Lo says nothing.

When she takes a bite, her eyes flutter closed and she lets out an audible moan. “Oh my God,” she mumbles, chewing.

Ryke wears a satisfied grin, like he won the best prize, seeing her happy (or making an orgasmic noise, I have no idea). Sauce leaks onto her chin, but her head is tilted back, too absorbed in food bliss to notice. He uses his thumb to wipe the sauce right below her lip.

“Good, right?”

She swallows. “The best.”

Okay, maybe I’m the only one processing the event in a phallic way. Ryke and Daisy act completely innocent about the entire ordeal. Maybe they don’t even realize how sexual it all was. (At least it wasn’t a hot dog.)

“Here.” He holds out the rest of the taco.

Surprisingly, Daisy accepts the food, taking the foil from his hands. “Thanks,” she says in genuine appreciation. And then she swims off towards Connor and Rose.

Lo opens his mouth, and I wonder if he’s about to chastise Ryke. But how can he when Daisy ate something healthy for once? That has to be a win, right? Before Lo says a thing, Melissa returns and we all go quiet. Well, technically Lo and I were already quiet, but the air stretches in an uncomfortable way.

Melissa sits beside Ryke on the cement, and she leans a shoulder into him. He wraps his arm around her.

“The maids are done with our room,” she tells him, practically batting her eyelashes.

That’s where she went—to check on the status of our room? If I’m not allowed to have sex there, then why can she? I look to Lo for answers, but his gaze has permanently fixed on Ryke.

“I already talked to you about it,” Ryke says evenly.

“Yeah, but the public bathrooms are so gross.” She looks up at Lo and me. “You guys don’t care if we fool around for a couple minutes back in the room, right? We’ll stick to the cot.”

“Daisy is sleeping on the cot tonight,” I remind her. Daisy offered to sleep on the floor, not wanting to ruin our arrangements with her impromptu arrival, but Ryke refused to let her crash on the ground. He was nice enough to take the worst spot.

“Then we’ll use the couch,” she says with a shrug. “You two are free to go back and have fun whenever. Really, it doesn’t bother me.” Hope surges through me. This is my opportunity to have sex later this week. Just when I’m about to tell her to frolic right on over to the room, Ryke has to speak.

“It bothers Rose and Connor.”

Her face falls. “Oh.”

An awkward silence soaks the air, and Daisy swims over to cut it right up. “Rose and Connor are fighting,” she exclaims. She lifts her body out of the pool and sits on the chair next to me. “It’s kind of scary. I don’t understand half the words coming out of their mouths.” Her hair looks almost brown now that it’s wet. She wrings it out in her hands.

I glance at the pool-side bar. Sure enough, Rose and Connor square off, their mouths moving in such rapid succession that they look as if they’re on a debate team. People surrounding them watch in amusement and even awe.

“Anyone want a refill?” Melissa asks. She stands and waves her empty cup.

“I could take a daiquiri,” Daisy says.

“Virgin, right?”

Daisy doesn’t even blink. “No, I’m drinking rum.”

“I don’t really condone underage drinking. You’re what, seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” she says, still unaffected by Melissa’s edgy words. “In some countries, I’m old enough to be married and sold into prostitution, so hey, I think a couple of drinks won’t necessarily kill me.”

“Well life is different here. We’re in America.”

“We’re in Mexico, actually.”

Melissa’s throat bobs, but she tries to brush off her snafu with a shrug. “Yeah, whatever.”

Ryke hardly suppresses his grin, and when he meets Daisy’s gaze, she gives him a look like you’re going to get in trouble.

Ryke does not care what anyone thinks of him, even his somewhat-girlfriend.

Melissa sets a hand on her hip. “Want anything, babe?” she asks Ryke with a little force.

He doesn’t drink. We all know that, and so her power move is completely obvious.

“No, I’m good,” he says. When she struts off in her black bikini, Daisy tilts her head, watching Melissa’s butt bounce all the way to the tiki hut. “She does have a nice ass.”

“Yeah?” Ryke says casually, eyeing Daisy as she observes Melissa.

“Oh yeah,” Daisy says. “But I’d put my ass in contention too.” I think she’s testing Ryke.

Lo stiffens beside me, and he waits to see how his brother is going to respond. Shut it down, Ryke—I can hear Lo recite in his head. Or I’d like to think I can hear him. I still haven’t developed that superpower yet.

“Her ass is better. Sorry,” he says, but he never looks back at Melissa. Daisy has stolen his attention.

She shrugs. “You’re probably right, but if I had to rank asses, Rose’s would be number one. She has the best hair too.”

“Your hair is pretty,” Lo tells her.

“Don’t,” Ryke warns him with the shake of his head. If Daisy is insecure about anything it’s the hair she cannot cut or dye, per her agency’s rules.

Lo’s face sharpens, resentful that Ryke knows more than him. Being out of the loop for three months has been a disadvantage. Ryke saw exactly what went on when Lo was in rehab. Lo did not.

I scoot to the foot of the lounge chair and rest my head on the crook of his shoulder. He draws me into his arms. But my presence isn’t enough. I can’t give him back all those days he missed.

“My hair is fine,” Daisy says. But she braids it subconsciously. Then she rises and sets her toes on the pool edge. She splashes into the water, and surprisingly, Ryke joins her, dropping in. He breaks the surface and runs a hand through his wet hair. Both of them cling to the wall, facing us.

“Is she good in bed?” Daisy asks him.

My eyes widen to saucers.

“Why, you want to fuck her?” he asks.

“Sure why not,” Daisy says. I can barely tell she’s sarcastic, and Lo grinds his teeth a little. Ryke, however, finds it way too amusing.

“Then have at her, Daisy. She’s all yours.”

“You would just ditch your girlfriend like that,” Daisy says with the cluck of her tongue.

“She’s not my girlfriend. I’m just passing through.”

“Wow,” Daisy says flatly. “I hope for her sake she knows that.”

“She does, but I may have promised her a week of mind-blowing sex in exchange for ditching her volleyball team.” No wonder she’s so grabby.

“You better find a way to make good on your end of the deal,” Daisy says, her gaze past our chairs. I turn my head and spot Melissa coming over with two drinks.

“Why is that?” Ryke asks.

“If that’s how pissed off she looks now, imagine what she’ll look like on the seventh day of abstinence.” For some reason, I only see my distressed, manic face staring back at me. “I’m glad I’m not you,” Daisy tells him with a laugh.

He gives her a bitter smile and then puts a hand on her head, submerging her underneath the water. She splashes underneath, trying to surface.

Lo shakes his head at him.

“What?” he says.

“You’re walking a thin fucking line.”

“I always am, little brother.” And then he releases Daisy so she can come up for air. When her head breaches the surface, she spits a mouthful of water right at Ryke’s face.

He splashes her back, and underneath the water, Daisy must hook her ankle to his because he almost slips backward. Instead, he grabs ahold of her so he stays above the water.

“Hey,” Melissa says. Little umbrellas are plucked into both of the piña coladas. She scrutinizes Ryke and Daisy, the way Ryke is basically hugging her in the water, but it’s really accidental. Or so I keep telling myself. It makes me feel better about the situation.

Ryke drifts from Daisy, and she swims to the ledge where we sit. They both look completely innocent again, as though no flirting just occurred. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I’m just the pervert, thinking with my downstairs far too much.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Daisy holds out her hand for the drink.

“It’s a virgin daiquiri,” Melissa says, passing her the white slushy-like mixture.

“Oh.” Daisy holds the clear plastic cup. “Why is that?”

“They didn’t understand me when I told them my order. We’re in a foreign country.” I can’t tell if this is a ploy to keep Daisy sober, but I don’t see what she would have to gain from that.

Daisy hikes her body out of the water and stands from the ledge, sopping wet. She’s dripping water onto the foot of my lounge chair, and she glances at Ryke. “How do you say in Spanish, no virgin drinks?”

Melissa frowns. “How would he know?”

“He’s fluent,” Daisy says. She discovered that during her sweet sixteen in Acapulco. Ryke has a proficiency in Spanish due to his prep school upbringing.

He climbs out of the pool and grabs the cup from her. “I’ll order you a fucking drink. Wait here.” He leaves, and whatever Melissa was expecting to happen, this was not it. She pout-glares, which is a scary combination.

While I love that I’m not the only one who’s going to be sexually frustrated this week, Melissa is like a storm waiting to break. And with Lo being surrounded by never-ending drinks and the threat of the blackmailer still lingering, this trip teeters on the brink of chaos.

My only hope is that Rose and Connor, the two level-headed people of our group, can keep us afloat. My gaze hits the pool again. They’re still bickering.

God, help us.

{ 22 } LILY CALLOWAY

Sleep hates addicts. At least that’s my theory on the matter. While everyone else is well rested and off to explore Mexico, Lo and I have to drag ourselves out of bed.

My frozen muscles barely even stir when a burst of water douses me in the lukewarm shower. I raise my half-asleep arms to scrub the shampoo in my hair, and I find myself leaning a hip against the coldness of the tiled wall for extra support.

Being late sleepers means having the room all to ourselves. We haven’t had sex (and aren’t planning to) but the privacy is nice for a little while.

As I rinse the shampoo, the bathroom door creaks open. Even though I know Lo is the only one still at the hotel, I cling to the tiled wall, wondering if the fog will magically hide my naked body.

I spot Lo through the shower glass door, not enough mist to conceal me. And if I can see him, surely he can see me. I even catch a glimpse of his sharp cheekbones and devilish smile, his eyes flitting up to mine for a brief moment. Then he turns to the sink.

My mind switches into imagination mode. Thinking about all the ways he can do me.

“Morning, love,” he says, watching me through the mirror. He combs two hands through his disheveled brown hair.

That’s so not helping.

“You could have knocked,” I tell him as he pulls off his T-shirt. His muscles ripple down his chest, and he even has those defined ridges that lead towards his cock. “Or, you know, announced your entrance like they do on Downton Abbey.”

He steps out of his drawstring pants, now completely naked. He walks towards the glass shower door and stops. And then he knocks on it.

I have petrified by the tiled wall.

“It’s Loren Hale,” he says, a smile spreading across his lips. “May I come in?”

“We can’t…” I hesitate. No. I do not want to finish that sentence.

“We can’t shower together?” he says in disbelief. “Says who?” No one. Definitely not me.

“You may enter, but I have to warn you the water is being stubborn. There are moments where it’d rather be cold despite my demands.”

He opens the glass door. Don’t look, Lily. My eyes plummet against command, and once I’m staring, I can’t stop. Sensitive-filled places pulse as I imagine him inside of me. His fingers press against my chin, lifting my gaze.

“If I have to, I’ll take a shower with my bathing suit on,” he tells me.

I shake my head fiercely. “It’s okay. I won’t look.” But even as I say the words, I impulsively glance down. Shit. The magnetic force pulls and my eyes betray me for a split second. I look back up, and I throw my hands in the air. “That’s the last time! I swear!”

His lips rise in amusement before he sidesteps to grab the washcloth and soap off the ledge. I now have a perfect view of his butt.

“Same goes for my ass,” he says with a small laugh, his back still turned to me. The lightness and humor in his voice relaxes my shoulders.

“I like your ass,” I tell him as he rotates to face me, a washcloth in hand.

“I know you do,” he murmurs. He laces his fingers with mine and draws me to his body. My thigh brushes his cock, and a breath catches in my throat. “You’re okay, Lil,” he whispers. That’s not what it feels like.

He runs the cloth along my arms and in between my fingers, soaping my skin. I am hypnotized by the slow, lingering movements. And then the cloth dips to my belly and rises to my breasts, circling each one with meticulous care. I stagger forward a little and grip onto his arm.

“Easy,” he breathes. “Think of this as a test.”

“Showering with you?” My eyes widen.

“Showering with me,” he confirms with a nod, “without sex at the end. I’ll wash you and then you can wash me, okay?”

I don’t know what comes over me. I just…don’t think this is real. So I reach out and pinch his arm.

He flinches. “What the hell?” And he retracts his hands. No, come back!

“I-I was making sure this wasn’t a dream,” I explain. “I’m sorry!” I lean down and plant two soft kisses on the reddened skin.

His chest rises and falls with full-bellied laughs. “You’re supposed to pinch yourself, dummy,” he tells me.

Oh, right. I squeeze the skin above my elbow. Ouch, that does hurt.

He draws me back to his chest, and his hands slowly skim my arms, lighting every part of me. His eyes flicker to mine. “Am I real enough for you?”

Dear God, yes.

He talks easily as he returns to soaping my body, as though he didn’t just blanket me with Loren Hale seduction. “Today we can do touristy stuff alone together. Whatever you want.”

It’s our first vacation where Lo is sober and I’m in recovery. Our last trip by ourselves, we spent the weekend in Prague. We never even made it to a museum or Prague Castle. Lo wouldn’t let me wander the streets alone, so our time was spent in the hotel bar where I could pick up a guy and he could drink without us dying in the process. Now the memory just seems sad. We missed out on all the good aspects of traveling.

“We should see the Mayan ruins,” I say, excitement bubbling in my stomach. “Oh and turtles! I want to see turtles.”

“Sounds like a date.”

A date. A date in a foreign country with my boyfriend. A date in foreign country with my sober boyfriend. It sounds amazing.

And then the washcloth descends and all my thoughts whoosh right from brain. I hold onto Lo’s arms as he rubs the cloth on the spot between my legs. It aches for a deeper touch, for my body to burst with that familiar euphoria. But I remember something: This. Is. A. Test.

I plan to pass it. No matter how hard it is. I focus on his eyes and not his hands. “Hey boyfriend,” I say easily, testing out the word. I rarely say it aloud to his face. Maybe it will distract me.

“Hey girlfriend,” he replies. “You okay?” His brows rise, a little teasingly. I think he understands my physical state better than I do at times.

The washcloth ascends, leaving my tender flesh, and I nod in reply, words escaping my head. The water beads our skin and caresses us in its warmth, provoking me to take him every which way. But I won’t. My sex life is in his hands. I won’t jump him. I won’t hike a leg around his waist. I’m restraining myself. Willingly.

I feel a little good with the fact.

And then the shower chooses to have a manic episode, the water spurting in ice-cold sheets.

Holy shit!

I shriek and spider Lo’s body to avoid the chilly spray. So much for not jumping him.

His feet slide against the wet tiles, and he almost falls. But he catches his balance and rights himself, his arms wrapping around my hips to keep me from toppling.

I just realize that my arms are flung around his shoulders and my leg is most definitely midway up his waist. The position is not so innocent. But any arousal is smothered by Lo. He is laughing his ass off, his voice echoing in the boxed shower.

He cannot stop. Seriously.

“It’s not funny. This shower is a demon,” I tell him.

He tries to hide his smile, but fails. “If you’re scared of a little cold water, how are you going to pet snapping turtles?”

“I’m not petting snapping turtles,” I say, lowering my leg to the floor. “I only want to pet the cute ones.”

He passes me a bottle of shampoo from the ledge. “Oh, so the ugly ones don’t get any love from you? They’re left out all alone, cold, un-petted?”

I frown deeply. He’s right. I should pet all of them. Even the scary ones. “Okay, I’ll pet the snapping turtles, but only if someone holds their muzzle.” Before I run my fingers through his hair, I soap his abs with the cloth and follow the taut ridges across his body, being methodical but not too focused on where this could lead—which is nowhere. I tune into our conversation instead.

“I don’t think turtles have muzzles,” he says with another laugh.

“Snouts?” I ask, a little confused now. What do you call the nose of a turtle?

“That’s a pig.” We debate the existence of a turtle’s nose and the difference between Mayan and Aztec ruins while we finishing washing, and then we both step out of the shower and dry off. After a long moment, I realize that I’m okay. That I’m more excited about spending the day with him than I am about having sex.

I don’t know if I’ll feel this way tomorrow.

But today…it feels nice.

{ 23 } LOREN HALE

My Nike soles sink into the sand, digging hard into the uneven surface as I run. The sun beats against my bare chest, and I hope that I sprayed enough lotion to avoid a nasty burn.

Even in the boiling heat, Ryke sprints beside me, keeping up with my lengthy stride. I try to run every morning. It helps with my cravings, especially in Cancun. I can’t take one step out of our hotel room without seeing a sloshed college student or a bottle of beer. Seventeen bars are on this resort alone. I knew coming here would test me to the limit, but I never anticipated how I would feel.

Yesterday with Lily was literally the only day that alcohol never crossed my mind. Not once. We snorkeled with the turtles and climbed to the top of a Mayan ruin. She never asked me for sex, and I never craved a drop of whiskey. But that was one good day out of many shitty ones. I want to improve our statistics, to lessen all the bad days until they’re nothing but a dream.

I push harder, the humid air squeezing my lungs. Sweat beads my skin, and the pain that ripples through my muscles feels better than my nagging thoughts. So I keep driving farther. I keep bending my knees and pumping forward. And Ryke never breaks from my side.

I know that if I didn’t care so much about Lily—or have Ryke here to glare at me—I would have already broken my sobriety. And then Connor makes me want to be a better person—however lame that sounds.

But today we all split up.

Lily is shopping with Rose and Connor, which gives her a break from obsessing over having sex. Surrounding ourselves with other people is still new for us, and kind of exhausting, but we’re making it work.

I glance over my shoulder, and we slow down to a jog almost immediately. Melissa and Daisy are barely a speck in the distance. They were the only two that wanted to join us on a run. Unsurprising, since Lily looks like the Big Bad Wolf huffing and puffing after a minute sprint, and I’ve never seen Rose wear sneakers in her life. Connor would have come along, but he didn’t want to leave Rose and Lily shopping alone in Mexico.

Our feet slow to a complete stop. “Connor’s investigator still hasn’t come up with anything new?” Ryke asks, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, shirtless like me.

“Connor says he’s looking into it as quickly as he can.” And if his contacts don’t pan out, hopefully my father has better luck. But I wouldn’t tell Ryke that I’m talking to Jonathan Hale. Nothing good can come from that.

“Let’s say, worst case scenario, it gets leaked that Lily is a sex addict,” Ryke says, uncapping his water bottle as we wait for the girls to catch up to us. “What happens then?”

My stomach churns at the thought. “I don’t even want to entertain the idea.” All I picture is Lily sobbing and unable to be consoled. Watching her in that kind of gutted agony would kill me, but if we do go down that road, I can’t resort to booze. For once, I have to be there for her. She’s my best fucking friend. And she deserves the type of guy who can make her feel better, not worse.

If I can’t do that, then we really shouldn’t be together.

Ryke studies me. “You still taking Antabuse?”

I give him a bitter smile. “One pill a day keeps the demons at bay.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Yes, Dad.” I stretch my muscles, pulling my arm over my chest, trying to relieve this built-up pressure. If the pill bottle wasn’t in my pocket—if I had left it in my suitcase with the other stolen luggage—I would have more temptations to drink. I was lucky for once.

I also hate talking about that medication. Talking makes me think and thinking makes me want to fucking drink.

“I wish you would have told me about Mason Nix sooner,” Ryke admits, changing the subject once again, this time to one of our top suspects. Ryke is good at that—talking and revolving around different topics. I find myself zoning into something, being immersed by his roundabout discussions like a whirlpool.

“Why is that?”

“We share the fucking gym at Penn. I see him almost every day. If I knew what he did, I wouldn’t have…tolerated him.”

“So what does you not tolerating him look like?” I ask with furrowed brows. I picture him ramming his fist into Mason Nix’s conceited face. Granted, I already did that.

“We may have had words,” Ryke says.

I still imagine a fist fight.

“You know,” I mutter, staring at my water bottle, “for the longest time after our freshman year, I kept thinking that I was in the wrong. I can’t even tell you how many tires I slit. And Lily told me that she didn’t expect what happened that night, but she didn’t mind it either.” I shake my head, thinking back to our first year at Penn. We both went to a frat party, the entire soccer team in attendance. Most of it is still a giant blur. But I do remember hearing guys near the kitchen discussing some girl on the second floor. Someone named Mason convinced a freshman to screw each guy on the soccer team.

One after the other.

I didn’t have to be told it was her. I just knew.

I grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam, pulled out my serrated hunting knife, and paced manically in the parking lot. I lost it on any car with a fucking soccer sticker, badge, identification, whatever. They would have to find another ride home.

That morning, she was dazed and hung over, but somehow I pulled the truth from her. Mason Nix asked if she wanted to have the night of her life, and she agreed as long as no one watched. As long as each guy came in and went out like a factory line.

It was one of her fantasies, she told me. And it came true, but I saw how much shame gnawed on her after that. She shrunk into herself and waited for me to stare at her like she was gross and dirty. But I just wanted to hold her and tell her that she was worth so much more than whatever she was searching for.

But I was a selfish prick back then. I wasn’t willing to change our dynamic just yet. I thought if she overcame her addiction, then she’d make me overcome mine.

And now that’s all I want for us.

“I remember how you explained it,” Ryke says. “But fuck that, Lo. I didn’t know Lily before you two became a couple, but it doesn’t matter if she wanted it or not. No self-respecting man would offer something like that to a girl, especially one that’s drunk. You had every right to be upset and go after the asshole.”

“Yeah…maybe.” But now Mason Nix could be the one terrorizing Lily.

Melissa bounds over in a steady jog, not winded in the least. She’s closer and closer to us, but Daisy doesn’t run beside her. My stomach knots, and I scan the beach quickly. I couldn’t have already lost Lily’s sister. It’s barely been an hour.

“Ryke…” I slap his arm and gesture to Melissa who’s alone.

Ryke searches the beach with a hard gaze, on alert. But we don’t show panic. We both look like we’re about ready to enter a UFC match, muscles flexing, spine straightening. Must be a Hale thing.

He taps my shoulder and points to a spot by the shore where the waves lap into the sand. I can barely make out the head of a tall blonde, chatting up two local guys who carry strings of jewelry looped on their arms.

Shit.

Before I can even move a foot, Ryke has taken off. I follow close behind, hoping he doesn’t antagonize the locals. That image that I had of protecting Daisy—yeah, I thought the fight would be between drunk, stupid guys. But these two probably wouldn’t mind whipping out a knife if things turn heated. I don’t want to be thrown in jail in a foreign country without a fucking passport.

Luckily, Ryke slows once we reach them, his eyes dead-set on Daisy, not the guys.

I join them as Daisy holds up two chain necklaces with silver Mayan coins on the ends. “These are supposedly handmade. I can’t tell though.” She shrugs. “I think I’m going to take Pablo’s word for it.”

My gaze drifts to the two Mexican guys, standing passively back with their backpacks and strings of jewelry, skin dark and weathered from walking up and down the beach. They look harmless, and I have a suspicion that Daisy approached them first. She’s a little wilder than I remember. Crazy, even. I’ve missed so much since rehab—or maybe she’s always been like this and I was just too drunk to really notice.

“You can’t run off and talk to strangers,” I tell her. It sounds stupid and parental—nothing I would normally say. When did I become a person who lectures someone else on responsibility? Fuck—I’m turning into Rose.

“We’re not strangers,” Daisy says quickly. “That’s Pablo and…” She squints in thought. “Ernesto…I think.”

The bigger set guy nods at this and holds out a plastic bag to Daisy, filled with more pendants and stones. “Onyx. Rubies. Sapphires.”

I narrow my gaze. “Do you have a gold brick in their too?”

Ryke catches Daisy’s wrist and tugs her to his side. She shrugs off Ryke’s hold, and her eyes flicker behind her. “Melissa is glaring at you.”

Ryke doesn’t even check over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about her.” Melissa is about twenty feet away, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for Ryke to rejoin her. But he’s abandoned his girlfriend to help me with this situation. I won’t admit it out loud, but I’m pretty thankful.

“I’m just trying not to get you in trouble,” Daisy tells him.

“I can take care of myself.” His eyes bore into hers.

I cut in, “Daisy, let’s go.”

“Wait,” she says, raising her hand to show off the two necklaces. “Which one do you think Lily would like?” And now I feel like an ass. She just wanted to buy her sister jewelry.

Lily doesn’t wear necklaces often, and the fact that I know this over Daisy makes me feel kind of good. But an uneasiness spins my stomach—because it means that our isolation has strained her relationship with her sisters. And I have to remind myself that this trip is about rebuilding everything we’ve ignored.

I think Lil would like anything that came from Daisy. I inspect both necklaces, one with a black rope and the other with a chain.

Daisy brushes her finger along the rope necklace. “This pendant has a guy sticking out his tongue. I thought she’d get a kick out of it.”

“Definitely,” I say.

Daisy spins back to Ernesto and hands him the chain necklace. “Just this one.” She holds up the rope necklace to buy. “How much?”

“Two-hundred-and-sixty,” he says with a thick accent.

She gapes. “What?”

“Pesos. Pesos. Pesos,” he says quickly, afraid of losing a sale. “Twenty dollars. Two-sixty pesos.”

“Ohhh.” Daisy’s eyes light up. She laughs like she didn’t know any better, but she spent all morning helping Lily understand the peso-dollar conversion before she went shopping. Daisy said that she became an expert at currency calculations in Europe during shoots and Fashion Week.

“Daisy,” I warn. And here I thought Ryke was going to cause trouble.

Ryke cocks his head at me, brows raised like I told you. Yeah, he told me she jumped off a cliff, I didn’t think that equated to conning a local on the beach.

Daisy waves me off. “One minute, sweetie.”

Ryke stiffens and I just frown. What the hell is going on?

“I only have…” She pulls out a wad of cash from her bikini top like it’s nothing, like Ernesto’s eyes haven’t just zoned in on her breasts. She counts the bills one by one, really fucking slowly. “…Two-hundred pesos.” Her big green eyes rise innocently to Ernesto, but he’s still looking at her tits.

I step forward, irritated beyond belief. “Hey.” I snap my fingers at him. “Two-hundred pesos?”

Ernesto finally looks to me and begins to shake his head.

“Oh no,” Daisy says quickly. She wraps her arm around my waist and presses her head against my chest. I immobilize. “We’re on our honeymoon, you see, and I promised my sister I’d bring her back something. She’d just love this. I know it. Could you make an exception just this once, please?”

My eyes widen at Ryke, but he’s just glaring, and when I mean glaring, I mean he has the whole Frankenstein’s monster routine down. Hard set jaw, clenched fists, taut shoulders, and tight lips. He looks about ready for a fight. But I’m not sure who he wants to pummel.

“No. Two-sixty,” Ernesto repeats.

Daisy’s shoulders slacken and she turns to me, her hands on my chest. “Do you have any pesos on you, sweetie?”

“No, so maybe we should cut our losses, dear.”

“Give me your money,” Ryke says, holding out his hand to her.

Her face lights up and she thankfully steps away and returns to Ryke, out of earshot of the locals. I follow close behind. “Are you going to haggle in Spanish?” she asks him, sliding the bills into his palm.

“Sure,” he says. “First give me the rest of your cash.”

“It’s all in your hand.”

“It’s in your boobs.”

I scowl, not wanting him to say anything about her boobs. Ever. She’s Daisy Calloway.

Daisy looks down at her breasts with a frown, and I turn my grimace to the sky. I’m blaming this situation on you, God. For allowing little sisters to have breasts.

“I don’t see anything in there.”

“I would check myself, but I’m here with a girl,” Ryke says dryly.

Okay. No. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s speaking my fucking mind. “There are actually a million other fucking reasons you shouldn’t,” I say coldly, my blood turning to ice.

Daisy just ignores me and says, “Melissa left three minutes ago when you refused to go to her side. What’s your excuse now?”

She challenges him.

And he’s the type of guy willing to take it.

I stand between them before Ryke can answer her. I raise my eyebrows at Ryke in disbelief. I seriously thought I was dreaming what happened at the pool. It wasn’t fucking anything, I told myself. He was being nice, prodding her to eat a taco, even though he should have passed it to her rather than let her bite it from his hand. He shouldn’t have rubbed sauce off her chin. He shouldn’t have joked with her about fucking Melissa. There are so many things he should not do. But I let myself believe that he’s just an idiot. He doesn’t understand boundaries. That is Ryke’s biggest problem.

But now, how do I explain this.

“What?” Ryke growls in defense at me. “I’m trying to get us out of this fucking situation.” He locks eyes with Daisy again and steps forward to try to reach her. I put my hand on his chest to stop him, and then I quickly turn to Daisy.

“Give me the rest of your money.”

“I don’t—”

“Now.” I can’t even hear my own voice or how mean it sounds. All I hear is my half-brother offering to feel up my girlfriend’s little sister. I don’t even fucking care if it was a joke or sarcasm or fucking anything. I think I’m going to kill him later.

Daisy’s smile instantly vanishes and she reaches into her bikini top again. I look at the sand, the sky, anywhere but her breasts until she places the money in my hand. I grab the rest of her cash from Ryke and start counting out two-hundred-and-sixty pesos.

“I was just trying to have fun,” she says softly, her voice layered with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

She’s apologized, and I know I should drop it. But I’m fuming. “There are other ways to have fun.” I hand Ernesto the money. Both guys nod in thanks and they walk off towards the resort near the string of straw huts and white cabanas. I look back to Daisy, and my nerves haven’t settled yet. “You’re the fucking daughter of a multi-billion dollar mogul. Bartering with a man that makes a thousand times less than you is the equivalent of stealing.”

Her eyes go big and round and a little glassy, and it hurts to know that I’m causing her distress. The pain in my chest only intensifies because I can’t stop speaking. I don’t know how. “Next time rent a fucking jet ski.”

“I just wanted to do something normal.”

“You’re not normal. None of us are.”

“Lo,” Ryke says, his tone warning. But his voice sends razorblades down my back.

“Don’t you even fucking speak to me,” I snap. I hate him right now. I hate me, most of all. I hate that I just bitched out Daisy, who didn’t really do anything wrong. At least, nothing that warranted my harsh words. The remorse tastes like acid, and I usually drown it with whiskey.

My next breath comes out ragged and Ryke focuses on me for a long moment. But when Daisy inhales strongly, staring at the sand with tears brimming, trying to bottle her emotions, he turns his gaze on her. I watch his face change. If he was concerned for me, I don’t even know what to call the expression he has for her.

What the hell did I miss when I was in rehab?

“I have to get out of here.” I cringe when I realize I said it out loud. I start walking.

Ryke awakens and follows me. “Where the fuck are you going?”

His anger fuels me and I stop suddenly. He nearly knocks into my chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss. “She’s sixteen.” I see Daisy in my peripheral, standing off to the side, looking on but not wanting to interrupt.

“I’m not doing anything,” Ryke refutes.

My forehead hurts from frowning so hard. He can’t be serious, but I think he believes he is. That’s fucking terrifying. “Don’t be stupid.”

Ryke sets his hands on his head for a second. I’ve never seen him unravel, and I can tell he’s trying hard not to. “I’m blunt and abrasive,” he says. But he knows that’s not the answer I want to hear. “I can’t turn that off.”

“You’re going to turn it off around her,” I sneer. “And you know what, I invited you to Cancun, and I can uninvite you.”

“Are you uninviting me?”

“No, but I don’t want to talk to you or be around you right now.”

He grabs my arm before I turn around. “Wait.”

“What? You’re going to blame everything on the fact that you’re blunt? When Connor wants to be, he’s just as honest as you, and he would never say the things you do.”

“Because I’m a fucking asshole,” Ryke says.

“That’s not good enough.”

Ryke’s nostrils flare and he points to his chest. “I was raised by a single mother, Lo—”

“So was Connor,” I retort. I give Ryke such a hard time. I make him hurdle the highest walls, and he’s taken each test without complaint, but I can tell this one is tearing him inside. And a little part of me likes that he’s finally breaking down. The other part hates that I take pleasure in someone else’s pain.

“Stop comparing me to him,” Ryke sneers. “His mother was the head of a corporation. My mother sat around all day and plotted ways to fuck over my father. I spent years being torn between the two of them, having to choose sides, and I chose her.” He points at his chest again, his eyes blazing with heat. “I was made to believe that she was a saint and he was the sinner, when they’re both guilty of things that I can barely even stomach. Do you know what that’s like—to defend someone so vehemently out of love and then realize they were no more innocent than the man you hated? It fucking sucks.”

My chest is so tight that each breath takes force.

Ryke steps forward. “I love women and care about them more than you even fucking realize, Lo. But I saw my mother turn callous from that divorce. I say things that I shouldn’t because I stopped giving a fuck what people thought of me. I stopped trying to play the doting son—the role that that girl is going through right now. And it’s fucking killing me to watch it happen.”

I’m assaulted with so many emotions that I almost can’t see straight. I just keep nodding, trying to understand his point of view, trying to get it. “I need some space…” to think.

“I can’t leave you alone like this.” Ryke breathes heavily, and he hesitates to put a hand on my shoulder. If he sets one finger on my body, I’m going to jerk away. I’m so full of hate, resentment, and blackness—everything that normally sends me right to a bar.

“I’ll go back to the room with Daisy,” I say. “You go find Melissa. You know, that girl that you came here with.” I don’t want to butcher him anymore, but it’s so easy to cut people, especially my brother.

Ryke takes the hit, not moving one inch. “You almost made Daisy cry. You really want to spend time alone with her?”

“It’ll give me a chance to apologize,” I say. “Either you take that scenario or I’m walking out of here on my own.” My hands shake, and I clench them into fists. Ryke would never leave me alone right now. I want to relax. To sit at a bar and just float away.

Ryke motions to Daisy, and she jogs over. When she stops by his side, he says, “Don’t let him drink.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates before heading farther down the beach. We walk towards the resort in a heavy silence that weighs on my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I end up muttering while we wait for the elevator.

“No, don’t be,” Daisy says. “You were right. What I did—it was wrong. Sometimes I just forget about money. I’m going to try to be better about it.”

“Yeah, but I do it at times too. And I’m not your dad. I shouldn’t be lecturing you.” Or anyone.

She smiles. “It’s nice to know you care.”

We stop on our floor and she walks in front of me, leaving me to think about that.

I do care. Is that because I’m sober or is it just because things have changed? I wish I knew.

Daisy waits by the door, and she suddenly pales with worry. “Are you going to tell Lily?”

She’ll ask me what’s wrong as soon as I get inside. We’ve been around each other enough to pick up body language, and mine says I’m losing my shit. I hadn’t intended on lying to her. “Yeah,” I say, “but I don’t think she’ll be mad.”

“Really? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lily in beast mode, like Rose’s eternal setting, and I’ve always been kind of scared to see that.”

I smile as I try to recall an angry Lily. She does kind of look like a little monster, but I find it more adorable than frightening. “You’ll be fine.”

I don’t know if Daisy thinks I’m actually this upset just because of the bartering, or if she realizes I caught onto her flirting with Ryke, both at fault, I believe. But I will never have that conversation with her. Lily can handle her sister, and I’ll handle my brother.

Daisy lets out a breath of relief before edging out of the way. I slide in the keycard, and we enter the room.

Rose refolds clothes on the nearest bed while Connor organizes various bags that surround the room. Between what Daisy brought and now what Rose purchased, I think we’ve officially clothed seven people for the week.

“How was the run?” Connor asks.

“Hot,” Daisy says.

I scan the room for Lily, unable to find her, and then I look through the glass door to the patio. She’s curled up on a chair, her legs to her chest, watching the birds or something.

I move towards the door, and Connor suddenly blocks my exit like he wants to have a conversation. All I really want to do is talk to Lily. I need to know if she knew about Ryke and Daisy’s... Jesus, I don’t even know what to call it.

“What?” I snap.

Daisy focuses on us, filled with curiosity, and this causes Rose to pat her mattress. “Daisy, come help me fold,” she insists.

Daisy answers her sister’s call—reminding me of what Ryke said about her. And I cringe a little, not wanting Daisy to be affected by her mother. All these girls have complexes, and I can see how most people would get one just from the freedom of our lifestyle and the pressure to maintain it. I feel like we’re all a little fucked up in our own right.

Connor leads me to the furthest wall from the girls. And I instantly understand what’s going on. He’s moving me away from Daisy so she can’t hear. Whatever Connor wants to tell me—it’s about Lily.

The worst thought crosses my mind.

She cheated.

She slept with some cashier at Bloomingdales.

She fucked another guy.

I feel the color drain from my face.

I feel my stomach roll in on itself.

My world slowly begins crashing down. I should have been with her. I try to move past Connor and reach the patio, wanting to talk to her, wanting to make this right, wanting to be alone again.

Connor steps in front of me once more and puts his hand on my shoulder. He reads the panic on my face, and says, “Nothing happened, not like that.” I don’t know Connor well enough to know what that entails and this just heightens my nerves.

“What did happen?” I ask quietly.

He stays resolute, calm, and for some strange reason it feeds into me. His casual attitude makes me believe it’s not that bad, and I wonder if this is a Connor Cobalt gift. To pacify people with his demeanor rather than words.

“Look,” he says easily, “Rose didn’t want to tell you, but I convinced her, I think.” He lets himself smile at the accomplishment. “She wants Lily to handle these things on her own. In a feminist’s perspective, I guess it seems like when you help Lily, you don’t give her a chance to be strong on her own.”

It feels like he knifed me, even though those are Rose’s words. “I’m not her fucking cure, I know that,” I say, trying to mimic Connor’s easy tone, but my voice comes out strained and edged. I’ve let Lily succeed on her own, but I am the person having sex with her. All I can do is tell her to stop, to guide her. She’s the one actively making the choice to ask me to have sex, to want to have sex, to give into cravings enough to let them control her thoughts. That’s on her.

“I know, and Lily will never be completely on her own. That’s what I told Rose. You’re sleeping with her, and sex addiction is a two-person recovery process. She sided with me on this one.” I think he keeps gloating to postpone the news.

“Connor. Just tell me.”

He nods. “I noticed that Lily can sometimes zone out,” he says, “and I actually thought she was just a little slow. But then I found out she was a sex addict, and I know fantasizing can be a huge issue with the addiction.”

I know where this is headed, and I shouldn’t be relieved. But a pressure lifts off my chest. “And?”

“And it was fine. She zoned out a couple times and Rose would reengage her with conversations. Then Rose had to try on practically every pair of heel in her size, and we both forgot about Lily…until we heard her.”

What? She wouldn’t masturbate in public. That’s beyond what she’s ever done. My chest starts to hurt again. “Heard her? Was she masturbating?”

“No,” Connor says quickly. “No. Not at all.”

Good.

“But we heard her orgasm.”

What? “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

“There have been numerous studies about the female orgasm. It’s not fully understood, but many scientists have shown that it can be brought on by thought alone.”

She fantasized and had an orgasm. Out loud. In a fucking store. I know how embarrassed she must feel and it floods me, seizing my ability to even form words right now.

Connor takes my silence as an opportunity to keep speaking. “Rose made her call her therapist.”

I nod, but my feet are glued to the floor. I want to go outside and be with her, but Rose’s words…or Connor’s reiteration of them haunt me. I want Lily to be strong on her own. I can see her through the blinds, hiding in her body, and it doesn’t seem like she’s looking at the birds anymore.

She’s looking for a way out.

I turn to Connor, suddenly so relieved that he’s here. That I have someone that I can ask this, “Should I go out there?” I want someone to tell me what’s right. To put me on the correct path. I don’t want to keep making bad decisions.

“She needs you,” he tells me in a single breath. “Just don’t have sex with her. Easy enough, right?”

“Yeah, it’d probably be difficult on that chair,” I say, trying to smile, trying to lessen how much I empathize with her hurt.

“Not for you two.” He taps my shoulder, unfreezing me from my state and I find myself moving onward. Towards the door. Towards her.

{ 24 } LILY CALLOWAY

The door opens and I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t speak. I want to disappear from this chair, this country, this planet.

Lo walks in front of my view of the balcony ledge, where I had literally considered testing my ability to fly. He’s shirtless, but not even the curve of his abs could entice me right now. He remains a few feet away from me, not closing the distance that draws tension like a black hole.

I finally look up to meet his gaze, my body numbing.

His eyes have become glassy, and he grips the railing behind him for support. On a normal occasion, before rehab and before recovery, he’d be sweeping me up into his arms. I’d wrap my legs around his waist and wish for sex to take away my humiliation, to remind myself that I’m good at something. I’m not worthless or alone. With every thrust and every climax, I’d be gone.

But now, the thought of doing that drives a hammer into my heart. I know with certainty that it’s wrong. I wonder if he’s keeping distance, afraid of that path that I might choose for us.

I don’t want it.

So I say, “I don’t want sex.” Tears gather in my eyes. “I just want you to hold me.”

They are magic words.

In one quick motion, he is in front of me and then I’m in his arms and on his lap. He blankets me with his body, wrapping his arms around my small frame. I bury my head into his chest, the tears pooling out as he rubs the back of my head. I feel safe here.

We sit like that for a good while, until his heart steadies and my breathing evens. What happened feels like a failure on my part. I screwed up and let my addiction win.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Lil.”

“I feel like I let you down…let us down,” I admit. “We’re supposed to be getting better.”

“And there will be roadblocks and setbacks,” he tells me, “just because you hit one doesn’t mean you let me down. If anything, I’m proud of you for handling it like this.”

“Because the alternative is me attacking your body.”

He smiles. “Something like that, yeah.” He tucks an escaped piece of hair behind my ear. “What did your therapist say?”

Connor must have told him more than I thought. I’m glad. It saves me from reiterating the most embarrassing moment of my life.

“She said that I need to start coming up with ways to stop myself from fantasizing. Like focusing on homework or American presidents.”

“Basically what every teenage boy does to avoid a hard-on.”

I frown. I didn’t think about it like that. “I guess…” Then I shake my head. “But it doesn’t sound that simple. I understand how to stop myself from looking at porn and from self-love, but how do I stop myself from thinking. How does someone control that?”

“Practice,” Lo says. “I’m trying too. Believe me.”

I nod, knowing it can’t be much easier for him. At least thinking about booze doesn’t lead to an involuntary orgasm. I flush at the memory and groan into my hands.

“Maybe I’ll just remember the look on Connor and Rose’s face. I think that will keep me from fantasizing about anything for the next solid two-hundred years.”

He pulls me closer, rubbing my back soothingly, and then he kisses my lips in one quick second, testing it out.

We’re worse together when things are out of control, and during these moments we have to be careful. It’d be so easy to enable each other just to make us feel better again, but being a couple also means being intimate. Comforting someone normally involves touch—a hug, a kiss, a hand on a leg—things that send me off the deep end. We just have to find a balance.

“How was that?” he asks.

It felt simple and right. “Good.”

“I have a question, and I want you to know that I won’t be offended if the answer isn’t what I want it to be. I just…I’d like the truth.”

“Okay.”

He takes a small breath and then his eyes drop to my lips again. He plants another soft kiss, longer this time. I don’t move or force it into something else. I let him take the lead, and I don’t wish for anything more either. What he gives me is enough.

He draws back and looks from my body to my lips to my eyes, taking in every detail. “You okay?”

I nod again. “Just waiting for your question.”

“Right.” He takes another trained breath. “Your fantasies—who was in them?”

“Me,” I say. “And you.”

“You answered so quickly,” he says in worry.

“That doesn’t mean I lied. I haven’t fantasized about anyone but you since you left for rehab. You’re like…the best I’ve ever had.”

His face seems to glow at the last line, taking it as truth and fact. As it is. His hand glides to my neck, caressing me gently. For the first time, I feel in a different state of mind when he touches me. In part, it has to do with my talk with Dr. Banning. I asked her what I should expect when I see Lo, and she told me that he’d want to touch me, to comfort me. And that’s what I have to accept it as. Not all touching leads to pleasure.

A hug is just a hug, not the pathway to sex.

This type, it’s new to me because I’ve never allowed myself to be touched this way, at least not without the desire of it progressing to other things.

I think I like it.

His lips press against the tender skin below my ear, and I can feel the hesitation in his body when he pulls away. “How was that?”

“Good.”

“You don’t want anything more?”

“No,” I say sincerely, “not unless you do.”

He kisses my lips again, but this time parts them a little with his. I don’t deepen it. I wait, and he deepens it himself, his tongue gently slipping in. His thumb strokes the back of my neck. When he breaks the kiss, he slowly rubs my wet bottom lip with his finger. I don’t even shudder.

I’m letting him comfort me without having sex, without the fear of enabling me. We’re trying to be a better couple, and I think this is what progress feels like.

His eyes glimmer with possibilities. “Is this your new superpower, Lily Calloway?” he asks me sweetly. “I can touch you now without feeling guilty?”

“It may not last forever.”

“Then I’ll enjoy it for now.”

For now.

I like that too.

{ 25 } LILY CALLOWAY

We remain on the patio to watch the sun set. The only time someone disturbs us is when Rose comes out to ask if we want anything from room service for dinner. I fear that they’re only eating-in because they’re nervous to leave us alone, but I don’t question her about it. Instead, I tell her to order us a couple burgers, and then she slips back inside.

Lo still has his arms wrapped around me as I sit on his lap. The sun fades into different shades of oranges and yellows. The opulence must spark my memory. “I forgot to ask how your run went,” I say.

“Oh…that.” His tone is dry and edged, not at all what I was expecting.

I swivel a little so I can see his face. He’s glaring at the sky. The pretty sky. This can’t be good. “What happened?”

He grimaces. “I feel like if I say it out loud it will come true. Can you try to inherit some telepathy in the next five minutes?”

“I can try to guess.”

“That doesn’t sound like a fun game either.”

I narrow my eyes at him and try to put the pieces together. He was on a run, a perfectly normal run, with Ryke, Melissa, and…oh shit.

“Daisy. What did she do?” My little sister has a habit of seeking danger. I know I land on the right answer because tiny stress-wrinkles crease his forehead. It takes him a quick minute to tell me about the bartering on the beach, but when he finishes, he doesn’t look relieved.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, and it’s the part that makes me want to jump off this balcony.” He stops before spoiling the news, which only makes me curious and nervous.

“Are you going to tell me?”

He lets out a long sigh and rubs his eyes in slight distress. “I don’t even know what to call it, Lil. There’s so many words for it, but none of them really describe the situation. Inappropriate and fucked up are my favorite ones though.”

I frown. “Are we still talking about Daisy?”

“And Ryke.”

His eyes flicker to mine, taking in my reaction as he lets this sink in.

“Wait, what?” It can’t be what I think. That was all in my mind, wasn’t it?

“Daisy had cash in her bikini top,” Lo says. “Ryke made some offhanded comment about it and it led to…other comments.” His jaw tightens at the memory and then his eyes land back on me. “Why the fuck are you smiling? I just told you that my half-brother was flirting with your little sister.”

I press my lips together, to try and hide it, but I soon surrender to the fact that I’m happy. “Do you know how long I’ve thought it was all in my head?”

This doesn’t amuse him. In fact, he straightens up like he’s ready to go assault his brother. “How long?”

I put my hand on his chest to calm him. “January…but I didn’t want to worry you if it wasn’t true.”

He lets out an angry breath.

“Do you know how many times Ryke has called me a pervert?” I continue. “I thought this was just another illusion from my dirty mind, like I was interpreting something out of nothing and making it all up.”

“You’re not. Now move past that achievement and bring yourself down to my level.” He turns his body a little more, so that we’re looking straight on at each other. “My twenty-two-year-old brother is flirting, apparently not deliberately—I’m not even sure how that fucking happens—with your sixteen-year-old sister.” He waits for it to sink in.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. So what are we going to do? I’m worried that your sister is going to like him in a bad way. I mean, most girls are like babbling fools around Ryke. The fact that she’s not…I can’t even.” He runs a hand through his hair. “All I’m saying is that Ryke is smart enough not to make a move on her, but Daisy probably doesn’t know any better.”

“I’ve already talked to her.” On numerous occasions, but she keeps saying the same thing to me. “She knows that she can’t do anything with him. And…” I snap my fingers at the realization. “Ryke brought Melissa here, so he is clearly putting off the right signals.” Showing up on vacation with a girl screams “taken” and should let Daisy know not to act on her feelings, if she does have any that extend beyond a friendship.

I kind of hope we’re blowing this all out of proportion and no chemistry really exists there. Because they have to know that nothing can ever happen.

Our mother would be more than just furious if she learned that Daisy even had a crush on Ryke Meadows. For one, his age. And two, he’s the spawn of Sara Hale. After the separation between Jonathan and Sara, my parents chose a side—Team Jonathan all the way. And with our mother’s incredibly high standards, I can see her wanting something more for Daisy. Something better.

Someone as affluent as Connor Cobalt or Loren Hale. Someone that has more to offer than a trust fund inherited out of a quiet divorce and hurt feelings.

Lo tilts my chin so that I meet his eyes and come back to the present, pulled straight from my thoughts. “Then Ryke needs to stop ditching Melissa for Daisy,” Lo tells me. “I’ll have another conversation with him…when I’m not picturing tearing his head off his shoulders.” His jaw locks at another thought. “He’s older. He has to be the one to take responsibility.”

“Can you blame him though?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can catch them. I’m so not used to defending Ryke Meadows, but being in his company for three months maybe opened me up to his ways.

My eyes widen, and Lo looks equally shocked by the words. “Explain,” he says.

“Well, it’s just…” I stumble. “Daisy is a high fashion model. She’s always around older people, and she doesn’t look sixteen. She has a career. She makes money and travels the world. Sometimes she acts her age, sure, but most of the time she’s basically twenty.” There are moments where I even feel younger than her. I’m less worldly, less cultured, and less experienced (not sexually but for everything else, sure). “I can understand how that might be confusing for someone who’s attracted to her.”

Lo presses his hands to his face, more distressed than I’ve seen him in a long while, at least in moments that don’t involve craving booze. “That word, don’t say that word.”

“What?”

“Attracted.”

Oh. “I think my fear is that the more we keep telling them to stop, the more they’ll just do it to spite us.” And what if nothing’s there but friendship and we involuntarily push them together. “…like two rebellious teenagers or something.”

He groans. “She is a teenager.” He drops his hands and lets out another breath. “This is so fucked up.”

I smile at this and nudge his side. “Doesn’t it feel good to not be the only ones?”

He meets my gaze with a tilt of his head, and his lips try hard not to rise. “No, I like being alone on the fucked up island with you.” He nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck. I laugh, a sound that I didn’t think possible an hour ago, and he responds with two light kisses on my collarbone.

“So what do we do?” he asks me, intertwining his fingers with mine. I appraise our hands for a moment, trying to come up with a plan.

“Maybe…maybe we just keep them separated for the rest of the vacation. Or try to.”

“But what about when we go home? What do we do about them then?”

“How many times are they really around each other?” Daisy has school, and modeling occupies most of her time. Without her knowing about my sex addiction, she’s invited to less and less outings with our group. Sometimes I imagine telling her, but I don’t think it will improve our relationship. And that’s what I’m trying to repair.

“Then we have a plan.”

He extends his palm like we’re closing a business deal. As I go in for the shake, he drops his hand and plants a surprise kiss on my lips. It takes me aback, but it sends little happy flutters in my stomach. The kiss lasts longer than the others as he cups the back of my head and gently opens my mouth with his. I feel the brush of his tongue and more flapping fills my belly.

He edges back after a moment and I curl up in his arms. One thing is certain.

Surprise kisses are the best.

{ 26 } LOREN HALE

Four days of pool and beach have left me a little sunburned, tan, and tired. Lily and I have succeeded in separating Ryke and Daisy for the majority of the trip, at least enough where they haven’t had any opportunity to really talk.

Tonight we’re all eating at an authentic Mexican restaurant in the city. Chips and dip overflow the table, and the noise gathers by a stage, which sits close to the bar. I draw back at Daisy’s threat to make us all do karaoke later tonight. Not going to happen, even if the youngest Calloway girl can be highly persuasive. She seems to bat lashes, give us those big green puppy-dog eyes and everyone falls under her spell. The frightening part, I think she knows she has this power too.

If I was Greg Calloway, I’d have her ass on the next flight home. But I know her father: a workaholic who pours his time in business, who believes love equates to money and the luxury he can provide his family. I’ve watched Lily accept that kind of love and move on, as I’ve done in a sense. My father wasn’t always around. You don’t achieve this lifestyle without sacrificing something.

I ask Daisy what her mother thinks of her being in Cancun. Lily confirmed that she has permission, but I’d like to hear it from Daisy’s mouth.

She hasn’t touched a single chip. Her hands busy themselves with folding a paper napkin into a flower. The one downside to separating Daisy and Ryke, she seems less inclined to take bites of food without pressure from him. His persistence is useful sometimes. And I’ve tried to do the same “eat this” bit, but she gives me a look like I’m crazy for suggesting an avocado, and then she dodges me with word games that spin my head. Ryke can keep up. I can’t. My lingo is clearly meant for sex addicts, not adrenaline junkies.

“Well, you know…” Daisy starts and trails off as if I didn’t ask a question. She looks around and taps a waiter on the back. “Hey, can we get a margarita pitcher?”

He stares at her blankly, and with Ryke in the bathroom, Connor takes the lead and translates for her. Apparently, I’m the only guy who slept in Spanish class.

“Daisy,” I say. “You didn’t answer the question.”

We sit at a circular table, so it doesn’t take much strain for Daisy to turn back to me. “Oh, sorry, what was it?” she asks innocently.

“Samantha, your mother,” I say dryly, already knowing where this is headed. “She doesn’t mind you being out here all week?” Samantha’s ways have always eluded me. She digs her nails into Poppy’s daughter, Rose’s fashion line and Daisy’s modeling career but leaves Lily alone. It’s strange and something I couldn’t quite comprehend before rehab. Being around them, I’m starting to understand it even more.

Daisy is about to answer when Ryke and Melissa return from the restroom. No shame on their faces. Way less guilty than Lily and I ever were when we screwed during a meal. Melissa plops into her chair and grabs a napkin, wiping her lips.

Daisy sits between her sisters, and she basically stares straight at Melissa and Ryke across the circular table. I try to read her expression, but she stays guarded and nudges her rice with her fork.

Ryke motions to the suddenly silent table as he takes a seat beside me. “Don’t let us interrupt you,” he snaps. His eyes land on Daisy, who stares blankly at her rice, very interested in a pea that she unburies. It’s the first time Ryke has shown interest in Melissa with Daisy present. Usually Melissa just hangs all over him.

“Daisy,” I say, urging her again to answer the question. My arm slides around Lily’s shoulders beside me, and she surprisingly keeps her hands to herself. Normally she’d have me unzipped by now. Yes, even at a restaurant. Her restraint is admirable, but I can’t deny that a horrible (mostly horny) part of me wishes for it.

Daisy blinks a couple times. “Right. And no, my mom doesn’t mind. She was really happy that I could have a whole week to bond with my sisters. I just have to abide by my normal rules.” She shrugs at the last bit and claps her hands. “Should we start karaoke early?” She begins to rise from her chair, but both Lily and Rose put their hands on the frame to stop her. Rose pushes her back in.

“What are we talking about? What rules?” Melissa asks. She reaches into the basket of chips.

Lily cringes beside me, and I can see Rose’s icy demeanor turn even frostier at the topic.

Daisy eyes the chips longingly before putting on another smile. “It’s nothing.”

Ryke is slouched, leaning back on only two legs of his chair. He looks like an asshole. “You brought it up,” he reminds her. “So clearly you want to talk about it.”

Melissa rubs his thigh, smirking now that he took her side for a change. I should feel good about it too, but for some reason, I just feel really fucking awful.

“I did bring it up,” she nods to herself. And then she shrugs. “I guess the rules are simple. You know, no getting fat. No ruining your hair. No getting too tan. And no tattoos.” Her lips twitch. “So good news is—I’m free to contract an STD.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ryke says under his breath, only loud enough for me and Melissa to hear.

“That’s not funny,” Rose tells her, “and our mother may not kill you, but I would.”

“Only joking,” Daisy says, sporting a goofy face before she turns to Lily. “How’s school?”

Bringing Lily into any conversation usually deflects attention, and it’s like watching a little perceptive mastermind at work. Daisy’s good, and I wonder who else has caught onto her tricks. Which is why I look to Connor.

He watches quietly, observing everything like some analyst ready to type the social dynamic into a spreadsheet. He probably knows more than he lets on. I wonder if he’s predicted the outcome of everything, if our lives are neatly mapped out in his head with probabilities and statistics. Then again, he didn’t figure out that Lily was a sex addict.

Regardless, I think being inside Connor Cobalt’s head would be both terrifying and strange, and yet the most expensive amusement ride there is.

Lily begins to spout off some story about a professor with a bowtie and lisp, trying to avoid any topic about Stats and her exam grades.

“…so he was old.”

“That’s not a story,” Rose tells her pointedly.

“It is. Just not a good one.”

“How are you doing in classes, grade-wise?” Connor stirs up the topic. “Sebastian is still tutoring you.” He doesn’t ask it more as confirms what everyone already knows.

Lily’s eyes dart to a man carrying a huge bottle of liquor. “Tequila!” she exclaims.

He turns to the table.

“You don’t drink,” Ryke reminds her, almost growling, even though the alcohol was, obviously, a distraction. I don’t think she wants it, but I’m feeling a little defensive today.

I shoot him a look. “She can have some if she wants.” I don’t want her to think she has to be sober because of me. I wouldn’t ask her to do that.

“No,” she says, wide-eyed. The waiter comes over and she physically pushes him away.

I grab her arms. “Keep your hands to yourself,” I tell her easily, not wanting her to get in trouble.

“You’re on Antabuse, right?” Melissa asks me. “My step-mother took that for a while. She couldn’t even kiss my dad when he had a glass of wine. It made her so sick.” She motions to Lily. “Is that why you don’t drink?”

“What? No,” Lily says roughly, offended. “I never liked drinking, really. But if I did, I wouldn’t care if I couldn’t kiss him.” She cringes. “I mean, kissing doesn’t matter to me. In general. Not just with Lo. So…yeah. I could give up kissing.”

“I think she gets it,” I tell her with a smile. She turns bright red and takes my hand in hers. I lean over and whisper, “I’m glad I can kiss you.” I put another soft one on her temple. Ever since her involuntary climax in public, she’s been allowing me to touch her without desiring more. We’ve even slept in bed without a pillow wedged between my cock and her ass. She doesn’t grind on me or ask for more. It’s just sleep. In a way, something amazing came out of something terrible.

The waiter starts taking everyone’s orders, and when I place mine for the fish tacos, I just barely catch Daisy’s words.

“I think kissing is overrated.”

Oh no.

Ryke tenses beside me, and I hope he’s hearing my fucking voice raging in his head right now.

“How so?” Melissa takes the bait.

Rose chokes on a bite of rice. She clears her throat and puts a hand to her chest. “This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation.” Rose isn’t a complete prude. She swears and talks dirty like the rest of us. I’ve heard her curse out a three-hundred pound redneck for slapping a girl’s ass. Her language was vulgar and kind of hilarious. Rose just knows this is headed to a bad place.

Melissa rolls her eyes, not the biggest Rose-fan considering Ryke blamed her and Connor for shutting the room down for sex. “I, for one, would love a sixteen-year-old’s perspective,” Melissa says, turning right back to Daisy. “I want to know how the younger generation feels.”

“Totally,” Daisy says with a head bob. “So my theory about kissing—”

“There’s a theory?”

“Oh yeah. And my theory is that not kissing is sexier than actually kissing.” She holds up her hands. “Just go with me on this. Say you’re with a guy and you can tell he’s interested. There’s some heavy petting, some under the bra fondling.”

“We get it,” I snap.

“And then,” she continues without missing a beat, “he goes in for the kiss. You pull back, refuse him an intimate piece of you. Tension builds, and every other touch, flesh against flesh, feels illicit and intoxicating.”

“So you’re a tease,” Ryke says.

I’m about to curse him out, but Daisy cuts me off. “No, we end up having sex.”

Ryke doesn’t even flinch. “If I’m not fucking mistaken,” he says, “you mentioned sex being overrated as well.” When?! Rehab. I fucking hate rehab. I missed everything.

“That was until I took your advice.”

This is a train I cannot stop, and I selfishly want the information I lost more than trying to halt it. “What advice?” I ask, my voice edged.

Lily taps my leg repeatedly in fear. She knows, but I don’t want to wait until later to hear myself.

Daisy opens her mouth and Ryke interrupts, seeing my anger begin to boil. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

It’s bad. Whatever he said to Daisy involved sex, and my mind is already reeling. “No, I’d like to hear,” I say, motioning for Daisy to continue.

“Me too,” Melissa adds, shooting Ryke a side glare.

Lily buries her head in her hands. She’s the only one who knows what they said to each other. She was the only one who went to Acapulco besides Daisy’s friends.

Daisy hesitates now, and she tries to backpedal. “Just so you all know, my sexual experience before was less than stellar, and I had planned on warding off the male species entirely before Ryke talked to me.”

“That’s comforting,” Connor says flatly. He has a finger to his cheek in contemplation, but his gaze is directed on Ryke, not Daisy.

I turn to my half-brother. “Thank God for your advice, Ryke.” I wear a bitter smile and slap him on the back, hard.

He jerks forward and almost tips over his glass of water, but he grabs it before it spills.

“Honestly, his advice worked,” Daisy continues, trying to dig him out of a hole, but he’s buried too deep. “So really, you can’t fault him for saying it if it helped me in the end.”

“Seriously,” I say between clenched teeth, “if you don’t fucking tell me what he said, I’m going to flip the table.”

Ryke winces and gestures to Daisy. “Just say it.”

He gave her permission, but she’s still wary. Slowly and cautiously, she says, “You shouldn’t let any guy fuck you until he makes you come at least twice.”

The table practically silences with Rose giving Ryke an unparalleled death glare.

Ryke and Daisy are both in the wrong. I know this, but I’m putting all my frustration on Ryke. I don’t even know what to do or say, but if I look at him, I think I may lose my mind.

Melissa breaks the quiet. “What great instruction for a sixteen-year-old.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

Ryke lets out a breath. “What can I say? I give good advice.”

Melissa slaps him across the face, the sound like a gunshot, and most of the restaurant quiets.

Ryke sets his chair legs on the ground, his cheek red. That had to sting like hell.

“I need to talk to you,” Ryke says. At first I think he’s speaking to Melissa. “Lo.”

I shake my head, unable to meet his eyes.

Melissa lets out a low laugh. “Really?” She rises and throws down her napkin. “I’ll be back at the hotel, not that you’ll care.”

“Wait…” Ryke stands up but he glances at me and falters.

“I’ll talk to her,” Daisy says, rising from the table. Melissa hates Rose. She’s not that fond of Lily either, but I’m pretty sure it’s Daisy that she despises. And I can’t say a word. I sit in my chair, replaying Ryke’s advice to Daisy. I don’t care if it helped her or if it was good—there’s a line there that I think he knows he crossed. Like he told me before—he just doesn’t give a shit.

“You won’t be able to,” Ryke tells her. “Just let her go. I’ll talk to her when we go back to the hotel.”

Daisy shakes her head, not taking this as an answer. She sprints after Melissa.

“Fuck,” Ryke curses, running his hands through his hair. He turns to me. “Please, just give me a fucking minute, Lo.”

I’m about to curse him out when Lily says, “Go on.” She nudges my side, and I find myself rising off the seat and following Ryke into the bathroom.

When the door closes, he turns to me and opens his mouth. But for some reason, I have to be the prick who has the first word.

“You could have told me that story about your stupid advice on the beach when we were having a fucking heart to heart,” I fume.

“Clearly it wasn’t stupid if it helped her, and I didn’t think you’d take it well, obviously.”

“I am so close to punching you, and I can promise that it will hurt a hell of a lot more than Melissa’s bitch slap.”

He holds up his hands in peace, which doesn’t ease my temper.

“Let’s hear your apology,” I say.

He glares. “I wasn’t going to apologize.”

I make my move towards the door, fuck this shit, and he steps in front of me. “You can’t be that angry at me. Not over this,” he says coldly. “She’s not your little sister. You couldn’t even tell me ten facts about Daisy if you tried.”

“Fuck you,” I shoot back. “She’s Lily’s little sister. I remember her in diapers, so don’t try to defend yourself based on a goddamn family tree.”

Ryke has had enough, his fists clench and he looks ready to fight me. Instead, he actually uses his words.

“Don’t make me into the villain because you’re upset you lost out on a human fucking relationship with her,” Ryke almost screams, pointing towards the door. “Blame booze, blame our father, but don’t you ever fucking blame me.”

I stand my ground, seething. He’s right. I’m partly upset over all I’ve lost by drinking, and maybe I am being too hard on him. But I can’t stop what happens next.

“Do you want to fuck her?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and his tone softens, less defensive. “No. I don’t,” he says. “She’s the last person…ever. I promise, Lo.”

This is where I have to trust him.

“Can I explain at least?” Ryke asks. “There is a reason I said those things to her.”

I run my tongue over the bottom of my teeth and shake my head, a laugh caught in my throat. “Since when do you have to have a reason?”

“Usually, I fucking don’t,” he agrees. “But that time, I did. So can I talk now or am I going to get the third-degree?”

I motion for him to continue.

“It was Daisy’s sweet sixteen and we were on the boat. Her friends were discussing sex, and I was not a part of that conversation, believe me. They roped Lily into it, and she looked ready to fling herself off the yacht. I mean, she’s a fucking walking oxymoron: a sex addict who’s uncomfortable talking about sex.”

“She’s working on it.”

“That’s what I thought too, but she ran away from the girls. And when Daisy confronted her to talk about sex, she was flustered again. I was just trying to show her that it’s okay. That people can be comfortable about it. I knew I was going to cross a line, but I thought it was going to be fucking worth it. For Lily…and a little bit for Daisy too.” He pauses. “It just happened, Lo. I can’t take it back, and I honestly wouldn’t.”

I think that should be Ryke’s motto. It just happened. Or better yet, throw in his favorite word. It just fucking happened.

I’m strangely calmer—mostly because I can picture Lily turning a shade of red, crawling into herself over all discussions about sex. Even with her sister.

“Are we good?” he asks hesitantly.

Saying yeah feels like a complete defeat, so I just nod.

When we return to the table, everyone is gone. The plates are scraped clean and the chairs are empty. We exit the restaurant and spot Rose and Lily by a taxi van that hugs the curb. They hold Styrofoam to-go boxes and wait for us. Connor has the passenger door opened, speaking to the driver over the seat.

Daisy climbs out of the cab, her eyes set on us. She jogs to reach our sides. “So Connor couldn’t get the limo service to come pick us up early,” she says, catching her breath. “They were all booked, but I hailed a cab—”

“Why’d everyone leave?” Ryke asks.

Daisy gives him a stern look. “We weren’t going to let Melissa go home by herself. We’re in Mexico.”

I can’t help what I say. I’m so pissed at everything and everyone. “That’s funny, last time you were in Mexico, you had no problem leaving Lily and your friends to go jump off a fucking cliff.”

Ryke shoots me a glare to drop it.

“That was different,” she says to me. “I wasn’t storming off angry. And I already apologized…I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

“It’s fine,” Ryke tells her. “Where’s Melissa?”

“In the back of the cab, waiting for you,” Daisy says, “I calmed her down a little. She’s no longer looking at flights to go home, and I think if you make out with her, she’ll forgive you.”

Ryke rolls his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“She wants to know you care.”

“I do care!” he shouts, frustrated.

“You don’t act like it,” Daisy says. “Girls want to be the sole focus of your attention. They want to be all you think about, all you look at and see. You’re more fixated on chicken tacos than Melissa.” She pauses. “But if you’re sick of her, you know, you don’t have to do anything. She’ll just leave…”

Ryke stares at Daisy for a long moment, his features hardening.

I think he does want Melissa gone, but that will give Daisy the wrong impression—that he’s saying goodbye to Melissa for the youngest Calloway girl. And I don’t think that’s it at all. I think Melissa is annoying as hell, and he’d rather be alone than deal with her any longer.

He meets my hot gaze. He only has one choice, and the fact that he’s considering leading Daisy on makes me want to go back into the bathroom and strangle him.

“Fucking fantastic,” he says under his breath and walks past both of us towards the cab.

Daisy shakes her head repeatedly, but she stares at Ryke’s back, her eyes pinned to the spot even after he climbs into the cab. Maybe Lily is right—the farther you push two people away, the more they’ll pull together.

When we reach the cab, I kiss Lily on the cheek and take the box from her.

“I saved your fish tacos,” she says.

I’m glad since I had nothing to eat. I was too concentrated on unnecessary drama than my food. She keeps her hands cupped in front of her, but I’d like nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and kiss her for a long, extended moment.

She bites her bottom lip, which shallows my breath and beats my heart. All my anger suddenly depletes as I imagine what I can do to her. How I could take her so hard and so fast that she’ll cry in such searing pleasure.

I am used to having sex with her every single day. And I know she fears that I’ll resent her for withholding sex, but the new frequency only makes the next time we fuck even headier.

I draw her to my chest and lean my head low, my lips brushing her ear. I want to whisper how she makes me feel and how I plan to take her so many different ways. But I can’t promise her things that won’t happen. I can’t even bring her to the beach to screw because that would be considered public sex.

So I just land on the truth, “I love you,” I whisper.

She stands on the tips of her toes and kisses me sweetly on the lips. I run my hand through her hair and then bite her shoulder playfully before setting an equally chaste kiss on her neck. She shivers in my arms, and I don’t tempt her anymore. I fear that one kiss may drive her to want more. It hasn’t since her public humiliation, but I know it can be all too easy to go back there.

We climb into the cab, Lily and I on the middle seat, and Daisy squeezing beside her sister. Rose and Connor take the front, and Ryke and Melissa are happily snug in the back.

Ryke has Melissa pinned against the back of the seat. I can barely see her behind his broad shoulders. Sitting up, her legs wrap around his waist, and his body melds into hers. His hand disappears underneath her shirt, and his lips devour hers hungrily. She can’t stifle a sharp breath as he sucks her neck.

She grips his back, lost to his hands and his tongue. Lily is going to be jealous. Fuck, I’m jealous. While Melissa has her eyes shut, Ryke’s are open, and he meets my gaze while he bites her bottom lip. And he glares at me, basically saying, I hate that I have to do this. But it’s the right thing to do. And frankly, I don’t care that he’s pissed about it. Leading Melissa on—that’s fine (all she wants is sex anyway). Leading Daisy on—that’s not okay.

I turn my back to him just as Daisy leans over to slide the door closed. If she notices Ryke and Melissa’s make-out session, she doesn’t say a word about it.

The cab bumps along the uneven street, the strip lit up in the darkness, club signs blinking and twinkling. Constantly calling me.

I open the to-go box and pull out a fish taco, taking a bite while Lily rests her head on my shoulder.

Connor spins around in his seat to face us. “Did you get your test score back?” he asks Lily.

She sits up immediately. And I curse him for causing her to drift from me. Even though Lily is technically the cheater here, studying old exams. “I’m doing well,” she says vaguely.

“That’s not really what I asked.”

Her cheeks redden. “Yeah, I got the test back.”

“That bad, huh?” He turns to Rose. “I told you that Sebastian isn’t that smart. He bought his way into Princeton. You should have let Joseph Kim teach her.”

“Sebastian is smart,” Rose refutes. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Connor wears a blank face, but if he’d show true emotion at all, I think he’d be upset by that.

“I actually did well,” Lily says.

Connor can’t hide his frown. “What’s well? A 75?”

I cut in, hating to beat around this bush, but Lily is too nervous to come out and say it. “She made a 95 on her Statistics exam.” Before Connor opens his mouth, I add, “She didn’t want to hurt your tutoring feelings.”

Rose beams and tilts her head at Connor. “What were you saying about Sebastian?”

“Wait…” Connor holds his hand at her face. Rose’s eyes grow, incensed by the hand. I think she’s going to bite his fingers off. “Was there a curve?”

“No,” Lily says.

Rose grabs Connor’s hand. “Why can’t you believe that Sebastian is a good tutor?” she asks.

He covers her mouth with his other palm, not done grilling Lily. “Did you take Adderall?”

Rose smacks her purse at Connor’s chest, beating him with the damn clutch until he drops his hand from her mouth. “That was unnecessary.” She points a finger at him.

And I swear, he tries not to smile. I think he’d like nothing more than to tackle her on the seat and make out with her as much as Ryke is doing to Melissa. “Rose, darling,” he whispers. “Let’s not jump to conclusions because of personal bias. I don’t know Sebastian like you do.”

“Exactly,” she says as though she won.

He ignores that and nods back to Lily. I think he may be a tad bit smarter than Rose. If I told her that, she’d probably rip out my lungs.

“Lily, did you take Adderall?” Connor asks again.

She shakes her head quickly. “Nonono,” she slurs together. “I studied, Connor. The normal, natural way like you taught me.”

“And Sebastian clearly helped,” Rose adds.

Connor shakes his head. “No…something’s not right.”

Rose pokes his arm. “You can’t admit that you’re wrong. That’s the problem.”

“I know when I’m wrong, Rose, and I don’t think I am here.”

“How many times have you even talked to Sebastian?”

“A couple,” Connor says. “He runs out the door the minute I walk in, and he barely looks me in the eye. Only liars and cheaters can’t meet my gaze.”

Lily sinks deeper into her seat.

“Lily didn’t cheat,” Rose snaps back, her glare darkening.

I chime in, afraid that we’ve suddenly fissured their relationship, “Lily isn’t as stupid as you think. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Connor says. “I spent months tutoring Lily, and she never did better than a C.”

“Maybe I’m just good at Statistics,” Lily shrugs.

“You bombed your first two exams.”

Rose raises her hand to cut in like we’re in class. “Or maybe,” she says, slinging her cold voice back at Connor, “Sebastian is just a better tutor than you.”

Connor cocks his head at her like she’s being foolish. “No, that can’t be it.”

She lets out an exasperated growl. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me,” he says matter-of-factly.

She gapes. “I never said such a stupid thing.” That’s her go-to response. But she has turned bright pink.

Connor raises his brows at her and then pins his attention back on Lily. “Did you cheat?”

Oh shit.

Instead of interrupting, Rose waits for Lily to answer this time. Lily needs to stay strong here. Even if we’re inadvertently siding with Sebastian rather than Connor, those tests are important for her future at Princeton. We spent years lying to people about our addictions. We’re fucking good at it, but I remember all the times where I had to calm her down, to placate her anxiety about fibbing in front of Rose and her parents. Lying eats her up inside more than it does me.

Lily clutches my hand tightly, and with a steady voice, she says, “I’m being honest, Connor. No cheating, no drugs, no nothing.” She nods to herself. “Things have changed. I’m just more focused now.” Her tone is sincere, something hard to reject.

I put my arm around her shoulder and watch Connor go quiet. But he doesn’t look a hundred percent satisfied. I’d say he’s at least forty percent, which is good enough for now.

Before he says something more, Rose smacks Connor on the arm, and the two begin arguing in French. I can’t make out any of it, but I’m sure they’re flinging curse words.

Lily cringes, watching Rose’s eyes puncture holes into Connor, her words sounding nasty. And he’s quick to retort back. Lil leans into my side and whispers, “I don’t like lying to her.”

I squeeze her arm. “We’ll make it right.” Eventually.

And then the cab hits a pothole and my stomach starts to twist in on itself, sending a shooting pain right through me. I touch my abdomen as it intensifies. I retract my arm from Lily and grip the door handle of the cab. What the fuck is happening?

“Lo?”

I open my mouth to speak, but a wave of nausea crashes into me.

“Lo?!” Her high-pitched voice quiets the car.

“Pull over,” I hear my brother say. “Pull over now!” My head is a blur. I plant my hand over my lips, and as soon as the cab stops and the door flings open, I am on the road retching. My throat sears and my muscles burn.

Everything starts coming up. But for each heave, my head pounds, my body aches, and I think some animal wants to crawl out of my stomach. It claws and scrapes and tears up my insides.

“Did he drink?” Rose’s cold voice pricks my ears in the background.

“What the fuck did you drink?!” Ryke yells at me, his voice louder.

I shake my head and puke again, cars whizzing by and honking their horns like I’m another drunken college student on Spring Break. But I didn’t have one fucking beer. Not even a drop of whiskey. I don’t understand. I don’t get it. I did nothing wrong.

Lil clutches my arm, and I briefly meet her eyes, and the flood of disappointment feels worse than this pain.

I did nothing wrong.

But I don’t have the voice to say it.

I’m too busy throwing up.

{ 27 } LILY CALLOWAY

I spend the entire night with Lo in the hotel bathroom, wiping his clammy forehead with a warm washcloth and making sure he isn’t sick enough for a hospital.

I think we all overacted in the cab. But it was clear that his illness wasn’t from food poisoning. He literally just took a bite of his fish taco. Food poisoning doesn’t work that fast. So we all figured Antabuse was to blame—which meant one thing.

He had alcohol.

Ryke yelled at Lo while he puked his guts up on the side of the road, but I didn’t believe that Lo could have been secretly tossing back whiskey shots or some other concoction. Not when we were all sitting at the table. He’s not that stupid.

But there was an inkling of doubt creeping in. The what if taking over my mental process. Addicts lie. I just never thought Lo would start lying to me too. We have been a unit for so long that I didn’t realize I could be pushed out so easily—and without warning. I wondered, for a short moment, that if he could lie all this time about being sober, then he could be keeping other secrets from me. And I wouldn’t even know it.

Connor was the one to shush everyone’s doubts, including mine. He said there was a high probability that the fish was beer-battered, a detail that Lo may have overlooked before ordering. So Rose called the restaurant, and sure enough, the fish were not only fried with beer but tequila too.

Lo moves sloth-like this morning, brushing his teeth, practically hunched over the sink. He looks a little like he used to before his sobriety—like he just woke up after a night of binging.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly. “We can stay here if you want.”

A stage is set up on the beach for an outdoor Spring Break concert, and we’re all supposed to be headed down there soon. I can’t imagine the chaos and noise being pleasant for him.

While I wait for his answer, I start the bathtub to shave my legs, normally I’d just do a quick shave-and-go in the sink, but we share it with five other people.

He spits into the sink. “No,” he says and wipes his mouth on a towel. “I want to go, and honestly I feel better than I did last night.”

The bathroom door opens, and Ryke slips in, already outfitted in a neon blue mankini. Lo confessed about the bathing suits a couple days ago, and oddly Ryke would rather wear the scantily clad ones than the trunks that Connor and Lo chose. He claims he gets a better tan, but I think he likes the way all the girls stare at his ass.

I grab a razor, focusing on my prickly calves rather than his…area.

“How are you feeling?” Ryke asks as Lo starts applying sunscreen along his abs.

“Like shit. Must have been that bottle of whiskey I guzzled while you were all sitting around me,” he snaps. “Oh wait, no, that’s what you accused me of.”

“I already apologized.” His voice remains rough and he looks to me, distracted. “Lily, what the hell are you doing?”

Lo follows his gaze and rolls his eyes. “She’s just shaving her legs.”

“What he said,” I say, trying to concentrate so I don’t knick my kneecap or ankle. Those are the tricky spots. And since I’m only lathering my legs with a bar of soap, I have less suds to work with.

“Why don’t you take a shower?”

I let out an exasperated breath. “That’s so much more work.”

“You’re as lazy as Lo.”

I shrug, not denying it. Ryke puts his attention back on his brother. “Did you take your pill yet?”

“Yeah.” He holds out the sunscreen bottle to me. “Can you do my back when you’re finished shaving?”

“I’ll do it right now. I’m done with this leg.” I rinse off my right leg and spin on the porcelain ledge. He sits down beside me so I don’t have to get up to reach his height. I squirt some lotion into my hand and start rubbing it along his bare back.

A sinful thought creeps into my head—of Lo turning around and taking me right here on the ledge. I straddle it already, the spot between my legs against the coldness of the tub. This is just bad. I try to smother my longing and any attraction quickly. No sex. Not today. Not this week. The words don’t devastate me as much as they would have before.

Ryke keeps his gaze on Lo, skepticism creeping into his eyes. “Where’s the pill bottle?”

His shoulders tense. “Under the sink.”

I smooth out the white streaks along Lo’s skin, my fingers dancing along his back. I wish I could touch him other places, which I realize is my problem. I shouldn’t want to have sex when I’m just rubbing lotion on his back. Right? Maybe it’s not so weird, but I know my persistence to go further and farther is wrong.

I’m not supposed to go at all.

Which just sucks.

And not a good sucking mind you.

Nope, this is a bad suck, which I didn’t think could exist. But it does. This is definitely a bad kind of suck.

Ryke rises from the cabinet a second later with the orange container in his hand, and then he pops it open, spilling the pills on the counter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lo asks.

Ryke moves them out into little piles, and I suddenly realize “what the hell he’s doing”—counting.

Lo goes rigid as the same thought strikes him. But he shouldn’t have anything to fear. Unless…

Ryke starts shaking his head and scoops the pills back into the bottle. “Why do you fucking lie to me?”

“When did you start counting my pills?” Lo asks, brows furrowed.

“When you got them.”

“You had no right—”

“I have every right. You’re an addict, Lo. You lie, you cheat, you fuck around the rules to get what you want. I go behind your back because I fucking care, not because I’m trying to undermine your privacy.”

“Tell me what I haven’t already heard!” Lo yells. “I’m a cheat. I’m a liar. I get it. And if that bothers you so damn much, there’s the fucking door.”

Uh-oh. I should go back to shaving my leg. But I can’t stop watching.

Ryke’s face turns to stone. He grabs a bottle of water off the sink and hands it to Lo, along with a pill. “Take it.”

“Did you not hear me?” Lo sneers. He pushes Ryke’s hand back. “I don’t want it.”

It hurts to watch him deny something that helps him. “Lo,” I say softly. “Just take it.”

He jumps off the tub ledge like I electrocuted him, and then squares off with Ryke and me like we’re the enemies now. “You two don’t get it.”

I stand up, not caring about shaving my left leg at this point. “What don’t I get?” I ask, choking back my hurt.

“Last night, I puked my guts up from mediocre fish tacos. I couldn’t even taste the tequila or beer batter or whatever the hell was on them! Like hell am I going to have that accidentally happen again.”

“So read the fucking menu next time,” Ryke tells him. “Ask the waiter, ask the fucking chef. Don’t make excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses, but staying sober shouldn’t be this much goddamn work. I shouldn’t have to set an alarm clock to remind myself to take a pill. I shouldn’t have to spend five hours a week in therapy.” Lo’s chest rises and falls heavily. “And you…it’s not fair that it’s so goddamn easy for you. Drinking your water every day, making it look like it’s nothing.”

“I’m not you, Lo. Don’t try and compare us.”

“How can I not?” Lo says, running two shaking hands through his hair. “You stand there telling me what to do, what’s best for me like you’ve been through this all before. You’ve never even taken Antabuse, Ryke. You don’t know how this fucking feels!”

I’m not sure what to say or do right now.

“I’m just trying to help,” Ryke says. “Stop pushing me away.”

Lo grips the sink tightly.

I agree with Lo, staying sober takes more work than either of us thought possible, and obviously Lo and I are the type of people who only give ten percent of our energy. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve always been lazy, or if we’re just apathetic. But right now, in this moment, I care. I just hope Lo does too.

“It doesn’t even make the cravings stop,” Lo says, motioning towards the pill in Ryke’s hands.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, “but you just felt what it’s like to drink when you’re on it, and I’m pretty sure that’s enough to motivate you to avoid booze.”

Lo hesitates. “Fuck,” he curses, rubbing his eyes.

“You should take it,” I tell him. “If I had a magic pill that made me puke whenever I looked at porn, it’d probably help.”

I don’t know if it’s me, or Ryke, or his own warring conscience, but something wins out. He turns around and accepts the pill from his brother.

The remixed rap song bleeds into the crowded area, swimsuit-clad college students pumping their fists in the air and chugging vodka straight from water bottles. I have the best seat on the beach.

Right on Lo’s shoulders.

The height gives me an advantage from the sweltering body heat and sweaty stench. I also have prime view of the stage, where the rapper in shiny shades saunters around and jumps in unison with the riled crowd.

Lo hasn’t left my side the entire concert. Not to buy a beer, go to a bar or to find his way to liquor. I haven’t made a move on him or asked for sex.

We’re having unadulterated fun.

The song ends and I stick my fingers in my mouth, letting out a loud whistle as everyone claps and cheers and hollers. Below me, the rest of our group tries to remain together and not be pushed too far away.

Rose wears a black sheer bathing suit cover-up and stands rigidly among the crowd, petrified by the closeness of so many bodies. Connor couldn’t be more composed. He’s like a chameleon, adapting to the drunken, party-like atmosphere with ease. He keeps her close, his hands on her hips, and normally she’d probably push him off. But I think the fear of ramming into someone and beer being spilt all over her cover-up and chest outweighs her fear of intimacy with Connor.

Melissa has all but forgiven Ryke. The make-out session helped in the cab, but the below the panties groping solidified her plans to stay in Cancun. I would have been more jealous last night if Lo wasn’t sick. But his clammy skin and pale hue literally rerouted my whole mind. Even as I heard Melissa’s giggles from the deck, pitch black outside—I didn’t care all that much. I just wanted Lo to feel better.

Melissa is in a good mood now. She sits on Ryke’s shoulders, clapping beside me as the next song starts.

A gust of smoke plumes up by my nose, and I sniff the salty air. Joints are lit all over this beach, the smells overpowering, but this one is so near that I look down. Daisy stands directly in front of Ryke and Lo, a cigarette pinched between two fingers. At least it’s not pot. So there’s that.

She effortlessly keeps the cigarette from burning anyone in close proximity, and she lifts her head to blow the smoke into the air away from other people. Except me, of course.

I’ve let Daisy smoke on numerous occasions. I didn’t know my place to tell other people to stop when I can barely stop myself. I hate the thought of being a hypocrite. But I’m under the impression that Daisy only smokes recreationally. I imagine that recreation turning into a habit, which turns into an addiction. I just can’t bear for Daisy to go through what I am.

Before I can say anything, Ryke plucks the cigarette right from her fingers and tosses it into the sand.

I don’t see her reaction because the rapper has stopped singing and starts talking, the music still going on behind him. “Now I want to see more ladies in the air! On shoulders now! Let’s go!” Girls start climbing on random guys’ shoulders, being lifted into the air like Melissa and me.

Connor doesn’t even ask Rose, probably knowing she would prefer to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground. Daisy taps a bandana-wearing guy in front of her. He gives her a long once-over from head to breasts—mainly staying on her breasts that fit in a neon green bikini, the fringe accentuating her boobs from a small B to a C.

“I’m light,” she tells him. And then she whispers in his ear.

Melissa is watching Ryke with the utmost scrutiny, but he doesn’t say a word.

The guy breaks into a big dopey grin, which is not good. I am thinking sexual things—like Daisy whispered to him that she will return the favor of sitting on his shoulders. Sexual favors, of course. But maybe that’s just my dirty mind playing tricks on me again.

I put my hands on Lo’s head and glance down at him. He is glaring at the guy. So…Maybe everyone is just as dirty as me. I grin at the idea.

The bandana guy bends down to let her on his shoulders.

When she’s at my height, she turns a little and gives me a high-five, oblivious to the overprotective guys below me.

“Ladies! Say yeah!” The rapper chants.

“YEAH!” This is kind of fun. My smile takes over my face.

“Guys! Say fuck yeah!”

“FUCK YEAH!”

He continues a portion of his song, the beat pumping and my view officially gone with the amount of girls on shoulders.

“Now ladies!” He goes back to his talking. “It’s Spring Break! Let’s see those titties!”

Wait. What?

I go still while the girls around me respond by flinging off their bikini tops, as though the rapper said a magic word.

All I heard was titties, which has the opposite effect on my willingness to free-boob. Everyone hollers in drunken excitement, eyes wide at the sight of nipples and springy parts.

Boobs of all sizes jiggle and bounce around me. I’m slapping Lo’s face, his nose, his cheek—get me down. Down. I need down. Now.

Beside me, Melissa has already pulled the string to her top. Which is cool. She has pretty boobs. She drops her top on Ryke’s head. He grabs it and looks up, exactly what she wanted.

I have nothing much to show off, and I am easily embarrassed. Clearly.

I do see a few other girls lowering from the air, not wanting to take part in this either.

“Daisy!” Rose screams from the ground.

Just as Lo sets me on my feet, I crane my neck and spot Daisy fingering the clasp on her back.

“Daisy!” I shout with wide eyes, equally as mortified as Rose. I do not want anyone to see my sixteen-year-old sister’s boobs. If she wants to tear off her bikini top in two years then so be it—but not now.

Lo plants his hands on my shoulders. “Jesus Christ,” he curses, trying to divert his eyes.

Daisy just looks at me, grinning from ear to ear.

Rose is about to swallow her anxiety and push through all of these bodies to reach Daisy and wring her neck. But then Daisy drops her hand with a laugh.

“Scare you?” she asks, waggling her brows.

Yes. She scared me, but at least she had no intention of doing it. That has to count for something.

Her eyes flicker beside me. Not to Lo, but to Ryke. His normally hard features are darkened slightly. And I think he’s trying really, really hard not to call Daisy a tease, just to piss her off and start something.

It’s what he does.

The longer she stares at Ryke, the more her smile fades. She turns her back to us, hunches forward and says something to the bandana guy. He lowers her to the ground, safely on Earth, and before she returns to our group, she continues talking with him, even with the loud music.

She nods a lot. He smiles even more. I don’t like it. Because he looks in his late twenties and she’s just a teenager.

And then his hand rests on her hip and starts traveling to her ass.

“I’m thirty seconds,” Lo says under his breath, his eyes flickering to Ryke.

“I’m fifteen.”

I frown. For what? To intervene?

Connor looks between them. “You both can’t be serious.”

Ryke glances at his watch. “Five…”

“She’s a smart girl,” Connor reminds them.

“She’s sixteen,” Lo says.

“Three…”

And then the guy slaps her ass, and Ryke is about to drop Melissa on the ground. But Daisy just smiles and waves goodbye to the guy and comes over to us. When she meets our faces, her smile contorts into a frown, confused like I was. Now I’m pretty positive there’s too much testosterone pumping in this area.

“What’s up with all of you?” Daisy asks. “Lo, you look like you’re going to pop a blood vessel.” He does. But she tries to shrug it off. “That guy told me a good place to swim with sharks. Anyone up for it?”

Everyone stays quiet.

And she deflates again. “What? What did I do?”

“That guy practically stuck his hand down your bathing suit,” Ryke tells her, “and you didn’t care.”

Melissa has her arms crossed over her chest. Her mood is slowly tanking.

Rose shoots me a harsh look and mouths girl time. Yes. Definitely.

I take Daisy’s hand, wanting air too but mostly wanting Daisy out of their judgmental gazes for a second.

“Wait, I didn’t do anything wrong,” she says. “He was just being nice.”

“Are you really that naïve?” Lo questions. “Because if you are, we should consider sending you home before something terrible fucking happens.”

“I’m not naïve,” she says. “He was happy.”

Ryke cringes. “You let him slap your ass because it made him happy?” Yeah, that doesn’t sound right.

“Okay,” I interject. “We’re leaving. Right Rose?”

“Yes.” She sets a glare on each of the guys.

Connor raises his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

Her eyes soften at him. “You’re exempt.”

“Daisy,” Ryke says with so much emotion to the name that shivers run down my arm. And it’s freakin’ hot out here. I think he wants to say a lot of things to her—give her some sort of pep talk about how she doesn’t have to please other people to make herself feel better—that doing so will hurt her in the end. But Melissa leans her head down and starts whispering in his ear, deterring him from speaking his mind.

So Daisy says, “I’ll see you around.” And she actually drags me off towards a tiki bar that sits on the beach. Rose races behind us, wanting out of the mobs of people too.

We rest our elbows on the counter, and I buy a water bottle while Rose and Daisy wait for the bartender to blend their margaritas.

Rose raps her nails on the counter, antsy as always. “Daisy,” she says. “Do you have something you need to tell us?”

Daisy stands between Rose and me, and she rocks on the balls of her feet. “I’m not going to sleep with that guy,” she says. “I wouldn’t. I just told him I thought he was good looking, and then afterwards, I asked him about sharks.”

I frown. “Really?” It was that PG? Maybe all of us are so focused on sex. We’re the gross ones.

“I mean, he said some suggestive things, but I wasn’t trying to flirt back. Honest.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m used to it.”

“Which part?” Rose asks icily. “The touching or the flirting? Because if you’re going on photo shoots where the crew is putting a hand on you—”

“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.

{ 30 } LILY CALLOWAY

Daisy steps forward for another shot, and she stumbles a little. I do not want her to be sick tonight. I put my hand on her shoulder and wave no to the server. “We’re good here.”

Daisy doesn’t fight me on the decision. When the server saunters away, I snatch Rose’s arm, and she wobbles in her four-inch heels.

My eyes bug.

I’ve only seen Rose break her stride once. Her heel caught in a metal grate in New York, and she burned those shoes afterwards to rid herself of bad joojoo. I think if Connor knew that she’s truly superstitious, he’d tease her for a solid century.

Melissa sidles next to me, and I must be giving off a distressed look because she says, “Your sisters are sloshed.” Announcing the obvious does not help.

The music changes into the theme song from Superman and it totally disorients me. I whip around, and impersonators on the stage are now dressed as various superheroes. Superman and Captain America stand on the tall balcony, a spotlight shining on them.

People start trying to edge closer to the stage, and someone bumps me from behind, almost losing my grip on Rose. “Watch it, buddy,” I snap at him, but it really loses its effect when my focus is on the superheroes. It’s my catnip.

The tempo starts to rise, and as the crescendo hits, Superman and Captain America leap from the balcony and fly to the square bar only feet from us.

Bullshit.

Cap cannot fly.

I’m so angry that they made Captain America have a superpower he really doesn’t possess that I don’t see the incoming body from my right. His arm rams my side so hard that I teeter, and Rose’s heels slide out from under her. She completely falls, dragging me with her. We’re both on the ground before I can make sense of anything else.

My bony hip digs into the hard concrete floor, and my skirt soaks in sticky alcohol. I don’t even want to think about what else could exist down here. I sit up and lose sight of Rose. Has she risen to her feet? But that’s unlikely considering she could barely stand on her heels.

My heart thuds. “Rose!” I call. The bodies cage me in, and I suddenly fear being stepped on and squashed like a little bug. But more than that, I fear the same thing happening to my inebriated sister. Before I make a move, two pairs of hands slide underneath my armpits and lift me right off the ground like I weigh as much as a bag of apples.

It has to be a guy.

A guy is touching me.

Abort. Abort. My mind has flashing signs, picturing some flirtation on his part as soon as I turn around. He helped me up, after all. I’m sure he’ll expect the damsel in distress to kiss him for his chivalry.

I contemplate running off, but he spins me around and places his hands on my cheeks. I jerk away on impulse.

“Lil.”

“Lo.” I take a breath of relief and willingly slide into his arms, my heart practically beating out of my chest. When my thoughts realign, I pull away quickly. “Where’s Rose?”

As soon as I say the words, confetti bursts from cannons, blocking my vision and coating the floor in slick paper. I take a step and slip again, Lo reaches out and catches me before I fall to the floor.

His arms are tucked behind my back, and the music pumps and streamers fly. I feel like it’s midnight on New Year’s Eve. He stares deep into my eyes, and he says, “Did you drink anything?”

I shake my head. I wouldn’t. Because then I wouldn’t be able to do this. I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. He pulls me into his body and lifts my back completely straight, swept up in the way our tongues dance together. But I retract first.

Even though I love Lo, even though I’d like nothing more than to kiss him—my sisters are lost somewhere. And I need to find them.

Lo sees the panic in my eyes again, and he gives me a look like I won’t let anything happen to them. I believe him. Now, more than ever, I believe that he’s here for me.

He grabs my hand and leads me through the congested area that’s teaming with bodies. “They’re really drunk,” I tell Lo over the music.

His cheekbones sharpen.

“What?” My pulse speeds. “What is it?”

He tugs me in front of him, his hands on my shoulders as we move, and he lowers his head so that his lips brush my ear. “They were drinking absinthe.”

What?! I don’t think the server mentioned what was in the glowing bottles. Rose would never be crazy enough to drink absinthe, something that’s too crazy for America.

On Halloween, Lo’s eighteenth birthday, we took a plane to Amsterdam just to buy a bottle. He claimed he wanted to get drunk with a green fairy, thinking he’d hallucinate. He ended up passing out within the hour, leaving me to watch over him in our hotel room.

I go into sister-mode and walk faster, my eyes open and alert for any signs of my effervescent blonde sister and my fashionable brunette one.

We find Rose first.

By a high table littered with empty cups and bottles, Connor holds her tight around the waist while she presses two firm hands on his shoulders, unsteady in her heels. He whispers in her ear, probably trying to convince her to take them off.

But a tiger would birth a baby lama sooner than Rose would be barefoot in a dirty club.

We approach them, and I hold onto Lo like a kid clutching the wall in a skating rink. “Is she okay?” I ask.

“I’m just fine, thank you,” Rose says. “But we need to contact the staff and have this mess cleaned up. The floor is filthy.” She motions to the floor that’s covered in sticky liquor and now little strips of confetti. Her nose crinkles at the table nearest her. The staff already starts sweeping streamers so that people don’t slip. “Ah, right on time.” She sways with a loopy smile, and then she stumbles without even taking a step. Connor rights her back up.

Lo can’t stop grinning.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“For once, that’s not me.”

I can’t help but smile too.

“Don’t…patronize me, Loren!” Rose points her finger at him. “I’m calling my lawyers. Have you arrested for…” She hiccups. “…public indecency.”

“I’m pretty decent right now, actually,” Lo says, still smirking.

“How about we call it an early night?” Connor asks, his hands firmly on her hips. She doesn’t even seem to care. In fact, she leans back into him. This is probably the closest they’ve ever been, and yet it looks so natural.

“Yes, we have to tuck you into bed,” she tells him.

“No, darling, I’ll be tucking you into bed.”

She lets out a puff of air. “I’m perfectly fine. Look.” She holds out one hand and it shakes like she’s on crack. “Steady as rock.”

Connor looks to us. “I’m taking her to the car.”

“Connor Cobalt,” Rose says with a cluck of her tongue. “Is that a made up name?”

He sweeps his arm underneath her back and then, in one motion, lifts her effortlessly into his arms.

She plants her hand onto his chest, her eyes going wide. “Whoa. We need to tell the manager to slow down the carousel.”

His lips rise as she swings her legs and inspects the style of his buttons. I watch him carry her through the exit, just to make sure she’s safely out.

When she leaves, I spin around again, scanning all the girls, but none are blonde or tall enough to be my youngest sister. “Where’s Daisy?” I ask Lo. The last time I remember seeing her was before the superheroes took to the stage and hypnotized me.

He searches the club with a narrowed gaze. “I don’t see her.”

I spot Ryke by the bar, discussing something with Melissa.

And this one time, I do wish Melissa wasn’t here to distract Ryke from Daisy. Because he would have kept an eye on my sister during that confetti madness and the rush of people pushing to the stage. But instead, he was busy placating his somewhat-girlfriend. Just like we told him to.

This is our fault.

I am frantic with horrible feelings. I push my way ahead to Ryke, and Lo braces me with a hand on my waist so I don’t slip again.

“Hey,” Ryke says, turning to us when we arrive. His eyes flit around us really quickly. “Where’s Daisy?”

“We were going to ask if you saw her,” I say, more frightened now. He didn’t even go looking for Daisy as soon as he came down from the balcony. That would be a Ryke thing to do. Did we really scare him off that much? I bite my nails. We made a person who is so deeply caring become uncaring. How is that possible?! I am freaking out. Just a little. “I thought that you would know where she was.” My high-pitched voice causes his face to break.

And then he turns his attention to Lo. “You said you were going to get Daisy.”

Lo rubs the back of his head. “Lil fell on the ground. Everything was crazy…”

“Fuck,” Ryke curses, the word harsh on his lips. His muscles tighten.

Lo keeps rubbing his neck in anxiety.

“It’s okay,” I tell Lo before he’s assaulted by guilt. “No one is to blame.” We’ll find her. Hopefully.

He nods.

And before we can go search for Daisy, Melissa chimes in, her expression sour. “She’s probably running around here somewhere. I’m sure you and Lo can find her yourselves.”

No, we need Ryke. Lo will be worried about me falling on my ass so much that his attention will be split. I need someone who’s focused solely on finding her. And I’m too short to see much of anything in the crowd.

“Come on,” Melissa says, tugging Ryke towards the stage to dance.

He scowls darkly. “If you’re not going to help, you can go to the car.”

Melissa drops her hands. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not leaving a sixteen-year-old drunk girl in a fucking club!” he shouts at her like she’s not listening.

“They can take care of her! She’s not your sister or your responsibility, Ryke!”

“You don’t know me,” he sneers. “You don’t fucking get it.”

She steps into his face. “I didn’t come here to babysit!”

“Then leave!”

“Fuck you,” she snarls. Then she storms off, pushing through the mass of people with ease.

My heart is about to spring from my chest with every second we lose. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Ryke looks between Lo and me. “If I help, this is it. You two can’t be hounding me about her anymore. You can’t have it both fucking ways. I’m either ignoring her or I’m her friend. That’s it.”

“You’re her friend!” I exclaim, practically throwing my hands up in the air. I don’t want to waste any more time. “Okay, let’s go, please!”

Ryke doesn’t move. His eyes pin to Lo, waiting for his answer. I am tossing daggers into his eyes. I don’t have time for this. Daisy may not have time for this. I picture her drunk in the bathroom being gang raped by other people high on the green (or in this case blue) fairy. I shouldn’t have lost her. I should have kept her tethered to my arm.

“Lo!” I yell.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine.”

Ryke revives like someone struck him with a hot torch. He moves faster than I could have ever imagined. He slams bodies out of his way, on a mission from hell. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I chant each time he makes a new path for us.

“Don’t let go of my hand!” Lo shouts over the music, his fingers intertwined in mine.

We wind through the people, following Ryke to the bathrooms where a long line swerves. He walks towards the men’s bathroom and ignores the angry stares as he passes the line.

“Hey!” a guy shouts. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes!”

Ryke glares. “I’m not pissing; I’m looking for someone.” He reaches the door, and the guy grabs him by the arm. Ryke literally throws his body weight at him, just to push him off. The guy topples backwards, giving Ryke enough time to open the door and disappear inside.

“I’m going to look in the girl’s bathroom,” I tell Lo, leaving him in the hallway. The girls stare with hot anger, their lips upturning snidely. My explanation blows over just about as easily as Ryke’s, but no one physically assaults me.

When I make it inside, the line extends here, the girls crammed in a row, waiting for an open stall. “Daisy!” I shout, checking each face. No, no, no. I peek beneath the stalls, searching for her gold sandals.

Red heels.

Black flats.

Sparkly platforms.

No, no, no.

I run back outside at the same time that Ryke exits the bathroom—without Daisy on his arm. He doesn’t hesitate or stop. He guides us to a long narrow hallway that appears reserved for staff.

“We should check outside,” Lo tells him. “She may have found the exit.”

“I want to be sure she’s not here,” Ryke says.

A door ends the hallway. And it’s literally marked employees only. Lo grabs Ryke’s arm before he rushes inside.

“We’re going to be thrown out of the club, and then we’re never going to find her.”

I pale.

And they both look down at me. I realize I squeaked, a petrified sound escaping.

“You two stay out here then,” Ryke says. “I’ll go in. If someone throws me out, then you run down the fucking hallway and disappear in the crowd.”

“Fine.” But I hear Lo mutter, “I’m going to have to bail my brother out of Mexican jail.”

Ryke turns the knob, and he peeks inside a little. His chest rises in a strong inhale, and he motions for us to come inside with him.

We trust Ryke enough to listen, heading through the doorway. And then we stop.

The door clicks shut behind us.

We must be in some sort of break room. Red couches fill the large space, a television and pinball machine on one side. Graffiti—or really nauseating neon-colored artwork—is sprayed on the walls.

The room is empty except for one blonde girl who has her feet on the couch cushions. She bounces a little and slaps the graffiti image of a window on the wall.

I’m just really, really glad no one is in this room. And that all of her clothes are on.

Ryke nears my sister. “Daisy,” he says slowly.

She glances over her shoulder and smiles weakly. “Hi, Ryke.” She points to the painted window. “Did you know this window doesn’t work?” She tries to grab at the picture. “It won’t open.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

She plops on the couch and touches her head like she’s spinning. “Well…” She swallows hard. “I learned that the blue stuff was absinthe…so…I think I might be high.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah…” She blinks a couple times, trying to force open her heavy eyes. “And that door…that door was not the exit.” A spike of fear breaches her voice. She knows she’s not completely coherent and she was all alone.

My fearless, daring sister is afraid.

Because this was not her choosing.

I’m about to go to her, but I stop. Ryke has already reached the couch, and when her gaze trains on him fully, her face begins to break in slow, liberating relief.

“Hey,” he says, gauging her state.

“Hey.” Her eyes fill with tears.

“Dais, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He brings her to her feet, and her legs quake.

She nods repeatedly, trying to believe it herself.

Lo lets out a breath. “It’s weird,” he says softly. “I thought Rose was going to be the one like this.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Terrified,” he clarifies, “of not being in control.”

Daisy is naturally wild, but I don’t think she was expecting to be this drunk. I don’t think she wanted it, and that was a different kind of unknown than jumping off a cliff or house or plane.

Ryke cups her face. “Hey, you’re safe, Dais.”

She nods again, biting her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

And then Ryke shifts uneasily. “You didn’t run into anyone before you got here, did you?” Oh my God, he doesn’t think…no one touched her, did they? I am going to throw up with worry.

She shakes her head, a couple tears falling. “I don’t know.” She rubs her face before anymore tears slide down.

Ryke is more concerned than I’ve seen him in a while, and that includes when Lo was puking on the side of the road.

Daisy stares at her hand as though it leads to a magical portal. “I think…I think I’m high,” she repeats what has already been said.

“Fuck,” Ryke curses under his breath. He gently leads her to where we stand. She looks up, and her face brightens a little when she sees me. “Lily. Lo.”

I hug her instantly, and she clutches onto me, her hand disappearing in my hair. “Whoa!” She shrieks and jerks backs into Ryke’s chest.

“What?” My eyes widen.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Daisy asks, panicked. “Ryke, something’s wrong with her face.”

“You’re high,” he reminds her.

“Oh…yeah.”

“The sooner we get out of here the better,” Lo says.

Daisy breathes heavily. “I can’t feel my feet.”

“Great,” Lo says, a nervous hand combing through his hair.

“Anything else you can’t feel?” Ryke asks.

She runs her tongue slowly over her upper lip before saying, “My face.”

Ryke rests a hand on Daisy’s spine. “Daisy, look at me.”

She can’t find the source of his voice. “Ryke?” He’s standing right in front of her.

He pinches her chin and turns her face so she meets his eyes. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

He lifts her in his arms—one on her back, the other underneath her knees.

And she clutches his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers. “I can’t find the exit…”

“I have you,” he assures her.

We navigate our way out of the club, and I constantly glance back at Daisy to make sure she’s okay and not ill. She buries her face in Ryke’s chest, and when we pass the threshold of the club, safe on the sidewalk and out of the hazy atmosphere, we can talk more freely.

“Daisy,” Lo says. We head to the parking deck, and Lo has his arm tight around my shoulders.

Her head rises to look at Lo. Her eyes are bloodshot, and Ryke’s shirt is wet with her tears. She’s upset, and I wonder how much she’s going to remember in the morning.

Probably nothing at all.

Maybe that’s good.

Lo hesitates to ask her something.

“What?” she murmurs.

He gives in. “What did you think you were drinking if you didn’t know it was absinthe?”

“Curaçao.”

Ryke readjusts his hold on her, and she rests her cheek on his arm. “How the hell do you know what that is?” he asks.

“A Brazilian model.” Her eyelids flutter a bit, hopefully just out of sleep.

Ryke lets out a low breath. “He sounds like a winner.”

“She was pretty awesome,” Daisy says sadly. And then more silent tears start streaming, her gaze faraway as though she’s lost in a very bad trip.

Lo’s face twists in guilt and hurt. I squeeze his hand, worried that he’s going to be possessed to drink now. Alcohol is not the answer to fix his pain of not finding Daisy sooner, but I’m sure he’s fighting the temptation.

Ryke looks between his brother and my sister, and then his eyes falls to me, and I think he sees a girl who can possibly help his brother rather than send him down that dark road.

I won’t let Lo drink.

I am here for him, just as he is for me. So I turn to Lo and poke his arm. “Did you see Captain America?” I ask.

And his face lights up. He stares down at me as we walk, and the guilt begins to wash away. “Yeah, who the fuck thinks he can fly?”

I smile. I love him. More than sex.

More than anything.

{ 31 } LILY CALLOWAY

Seven days of abstinence, being surrounded by drunken college students and booze, and we’ve survived. The private jet flies us back to Philly. My panic and worry has subsided into a puddle. After enduring Spring Break in Cancun, the biggest obstacles seem like little hurdles.

Not everyone had a pleasant experience.

Melissa has officially broken up with Ryke. I secretly think she’ll make a hate-shrine of him once we return home. Partly, I’m sure it’s because he welched on his deal to give her mind-blowing sex. But last night at the club was what really cemented her anti-Ryke status. She gave him the classic ultimatum. Me or her. And he chose to protect my sister.

So she isolates herself to a corner chair, flipping through a magazine and wearing earbuds, tuning out the rest of us. I suspect she’ll call a taxi when we land, putting considerable distance between herself and Ryke.

The source of her agitation sits by the window. Ryke plays poker with Daisy. She woke up this morning remembering nothing from the club, and no one had the heart to tell her what happened—that Ryke had to carry her home, that she was crying. I think the truth would have shattered her spirit more than any of us could bear.

And after last night, Lo and I have no say in separating Ryke and Daisy without turning into hypocritical monsters. All we can do is trust them at this point—the same way they’ve tried to trust us with our addictions.

Rose is passed out on the bed in the back cabin, working off her killer hangover. Connor slips in the room every so often to check on her, but right now, he types away on his laptop on a plush seat and table. He’s working on his thesis to graduate with honors.

His diligence reminds me that I have to start memorizing old exam questions for my next Stats test. A task I have been avoiding. While memorizing isn’t as hard as studying (or writing a thesis), it still takes a great toll on my poor brain. Last exam, I thought it might explode from being gorged with numbers.

I flip aimlessly through the channels on the television, sprawled on the couch with Lo. My head rests on his chest and a slow contentedness washes over me. I never thought I’d be able to feel so…still. He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, and I feel his warm breath on my forehead. “We made it,” he murmurs.

I smile as he plants a kiss on my temple. Tonight, we’ll be home. Alone again. Free to have sex.

I don’t want Lo to think I’ve been obsessing over it, so I don’t say a word about sex. Even though the thought has crossed my mind. I fantasized a little in the shower this morning, but I tried really hard to just wash and step out. No self-love. And that accomplishment feels sort of good, but I know sex would have made me feel even better.

“You know what tonight means?”

He’s bringing it up?

“Lil.”

“Huh?” I turn my head, my eyes wide with anticipation. If he instigates this conversation then I’ll gladly take part in it.

“Tonight,” he says again. His eyes stay on mine, never leaving. I don’t break our gaze, filled with seven days of need and want and tension. I refuse to stare at his lips or his abs or any other part of him. I want Loren Hale. The man, the lover, the guy who fills me with happiness and bliss. Not just the body.

His hand reaches out and cups my cheek, his thumb skimming slowly over my lips. I wonder if he’s testing me.

I want to pass.

His thumb pulls gently on my bottom lip, and I let out a short, ragged breath. His hand slides down to the back of my neck before he whispers, “I’m going to fuck you.” Oh. God.

Now? No, that can’t be right.

He must sense my confusion because his lips quirk. “Tonight, love.”

“Right.” I nod, flushing from the foolish presumption. I don’t think it would go over well with everyone if he took me right here on the couch. Even the image—of Lo on top of me, of his hardness pressing so deep inside of me—steals the air right from my lungs.

He holds me tighter in his arms and lowers his head to murmur dirty things in my ear. My arousal grows, and he must believe I have the strength to last the whole plane ride and the drive to the house. So he’s tempting me little by little. My peak tonight will be so freakin’ intense when we finally do have sex—the walls will not be able to silence my screams.

I squirm a little, the tension a good kind of tension, the kind where I know I can wait to release it. Months ago, I don’t think I could have. But I’m learning restraint.

I flip through the channels while Lo holds me on his lap. I try to find a movie that won’t put me to sleep or a television show that won’t draw my attention back to Lo’s cock or my nefarious thoughts.

Lo rubs my shoulder, and his gaze drifts to his half-brother. “Are you losing?” Lo asks, a smile at the idea. I perk up a little with equal amusement.

Ryke stares at his cards with pinched brows. On the table is a pile of hundred dollar bills, what looks like his Rolex and her hemp bracelet.

“No,” he snaps.

Lo laughs under his breath. “Hey, bro, did you fail remedial math? That watch is worth five times more than that bracelet.”

“Can the peanut gallery please shut the fuck up?” Ryke says. “I’m trying to concentrate here.” He accidentally flashes his cards at Daisy.

She covers her eyes quickly. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Fuck,” he curses, shooting us another glare like we made the fumble. He goes back to concentrating really hard. Brain power must hurt Ryke as much as it does me.

Daisy puts her cards to her lips, trying not to smile too hard. She glances at us. “There’s a diamond in my bracelet, by the way.”

“Well then, I take it back,” Lo says. “Ryke is only half the idiot I thought he was.”

Ryke flips him off.

Daisy says, “You should fold.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not. I saw your cards, remember?”

“You said you didn’t see a fucking thing.”

“I lied.” Oh she is good. I can’t tell if she’s bluffing.

“Fuck it.” Ryke slides off a gold ring from his middle finger and throws it in the pile. “That’s worth two grand.”

Daisy pales a little. She has to match that or fold and then he’ll take what’s in the pot.

“Let me see…hold on a sec.” She searches in her nearby bag.

And Ryke looks a little worried. He thought she was going to fold.

But her face falls. “I don’t have anything worth two thousand, but…” She snatches her journal and scribbles something on a piece of paper. She tosses that into the pile.

“Lo,” Connor calls from the back of the plane, still staring at his laptop. “Can you come here?”

“In a second,” Lo says, entertained, like me, on the poker game.

“Now would be best.” Connor’s voice pitches from its usual steady tone.

Lo sighs and slides out beneath me. “Catch me up when I come back?”

I nod, and he kisses me tenderly on the lips. As he retracts, he has that twinkle in his eye like more later.

Yes.

When he leaves, I prop myself on my knees to try and see the paper in the poker pile. “Read it out loud,” I tell Ryke.

“She’s tossing in her two Ducati Superbikes.” His eyebrow quirks. “I already have a motorcycle, Dais.”

“These are faster than your Honda.” Clearly they have talked “motorcycle” before if she knows what sits outside his apartment.

“Wait,” I interject. Ryke said her two superbikes. That means she already has them. “When did you get a motorcycle? And why would you buy two?”

“A client at a shoot bought them for set decoration, and he gave them to me.”

“He just gave them to you?”

Ryke fingers the piece of paper. “That’s what I said.”

“It was a thank you for doing a good job is all. It doesn’t happen often, but it did then. And now I have two motorcycles begging to be ridden. I’ve only taken the red one out on the road, so I put some miles on it.”

“You don’t have a motorcycle license yet,” he tells her flatly.

“Yeah, I know. But in order to get a license, I have to practice.”

He lets the paper go, and I see a sort of longing for those bikes in his gaze. They must be really nice. “You do realize that these are a lot more than my ring?”

“You don’t have to match me. I’m not trying to up the bid, but it’s really all I have that you could want.”

I glance at the rear of the plane. Lo’s back faces me, but he’s hunched over, his hand to his eyes. Something…something’s really wrong. What happened? Is it his father? I go to stand, but Connor meets my gaze and shakes his head, as though I should sit back down.

I do. He has some sort of power in his assuredness. It’s like Jedi mind control.

But I want to go comfort Lo. My chest hurts just watching the back of him. I bite my nails, catch myself and drop my hand.

“What the hell, let’s do it,” Ryke says.

I turn back to the poker game. Maybe it’ll keep my mind off something horrible. But I’m so antsy that I start scratching my arm. I catch myself doing that too.

“So the motorcycles are fair then?”

“Sure. Just don’t cry when I take them from you.”

She grins. “Okay. Let’s see your hand.”

He turns over two cards and compares them to the ones flipped on the table.

My attention is split between the game and Lo, and I don’t want to focus on him anymore. I’m about to go against Connor’s wishes and dart to the back of the plane. In order to stop myself, I switch the television channels to find a show that can preoccupy my mind.

“So you have two eights,” Daisy says, a smile to the words.

“You beat me, didn’t you?”

“Two jacks,” she says.

“You were dealt two fucking jacks?”

“You shuffled.”

He groans.

“You can have the ring back if you want.”

Boy Meets World? No. Sabrina the Teenage Witch? No. Soccer? Definitely not.

“No, you won it. It’s yours.”

“I’m going to feel weird if it’s a family heirloom or something.” She tries to shove the ring into his hand. He holds them up in the air.

“It’s from a jewelry store, and I was going to retire the thing anyway.”

“Why?”

“It’s ugly.”

“So, you gave me an ugly piece of jewelry.”

“It’s worth two thousand fucking dollars.”

She smiles wryly. “Oh yeah.”

Ryke crumples the paper with the Ducati arrangement on it. He lost those bikes, and there’s a bit of disappointment in his eyes from not being able to snatch one. I wonder if they’re rare.

“How about…” Daisy folds the cash and stuffs it in her wallet. “…I’ll let you keep the black Ducati if you teach me how to ride.”

Law & Order? No. X-Men cartoon? Possibly. I hover on this channel a little, watching Wolverine in his original yellow and blue spandex.

Ryke taps the pen to the table. “I’m not going to teach you how to kill yourself.”

“That’s dramatic.”

He glares. “Knowing you, you’d run the fucking bike off a damn cliff for the hell of it.”

She spreads her arms. “Then teach me how to stay on the road.”

He shakes his head. “No, if I show you how to ride, you’re going to do something stupid on the interstate.”

She touches her chest. “I would never.”

He throws a hundred dollar bill at her face. And it flutters into her lap before hitting her nose, not the effect he was looking for.

X-Men is not helping take my mind off Lo. I glance back at him again. Same hunched position. Same sadness. What is going on? I sigh and switch channels quickly.

“I’m not killing you,” Ryke repeats.

Her smile fades. “Ryke,” she says, “I’m going to figure out how to ride a motorcycle with or without you. I was just giving you the opportunity to have one of the bikes. I know you want it.”

He stares off, deep in thought, and then he shakes his head repeatedly, cringing. “Fuck.”

“What?”

He covers his face with his hand. “I can’t stop picturing you flipping the bike over.”

“I haven’t fallen off yet,” she reminds him.

“Have you tried to do a wheelie?”

She stays quiet. “No,” she mutters.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, not believing her one bit. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And is it not processing in your head or you just don’t give a fuck?”

She unfurls the crumpled piece of paper slowly. “I think…that I’ll be okay,” she sidesteps his question with more confidence than I could even possess. “But if you change your mind about the bike, here’s my number.” She writes down her cell on the paper.

I wonder if a premium channel is playing a Marvel film.

Before I click into special programming, I land on a newsfeed.

I see the word sex.

Huh.

It’s like a big flashing light in my eyes. I stay on the channel in curiosity. Maybe some senator had a sex scandal.

“Lily, wait!” Lo shouts.

My heart stops as my mind tailspins, trying to digest the program and Lo. Wait, wait, wait. Tears brim. Lo was upset.

And that’s not a senator.

He was upset because of this.

It’s me on the screen.

I shrink into a ball on the couch, my knees tucking to my chest. My hands are fixed on my mouth, my eyes too wide to shut.

I think…I think…I don’t know what I think.

The news stations are congregated outside Penn, and the bottom of the screen reads: Fizzle heiress has over fifty sexual partners and counting. Rumored sex addict.

Is this national news? How is this a national issue? What the hell is going on?

I don’t hear Lo call my name again. I turn up the television, and I’m shaking so badly that I have to hold the remote with both hands.

The news anchor is a petite blonde woman with bright red lipstick. “We just confirmed from a source that Lily Calloway, daughter of the founder of Fizzle, is a sex addict. As well as the fifty plus known men she’s slept with, she’s also been known to hire male prostitutes.”

My throat closes up, but I manage to barely breathe a word. One word. “Lo.”

He doesn’t come to me, and I can’t tear my eyes from the television.

“Lily, what’s going on?” Daisy asks, her voice tight.

Daisy, my parents—Oh my God, my father? His company…the guilt plows through me. They’re watching this. Everyone is watching this.

Melissa stirs from her corner, tugging her earbuds out and eyeing the screen. Oxygen refuses me. I shake my head again and again like this is a dream. I want to wake up. This can’t be real. But the words on the TV run through my head over and over and over. Sex addict. Sex addict. Sex addict.

This can’t be happening.

How much shame have I brought to my family?

“Lo,” I say a little louder, fixated on the TV as tears begin to scald my cheeks. “Lo!” I cry, terrified about what this means, as I process just how badly this is going to hurt everyone.

My phone buzzes beside me and the first text sends a knife in my gut.

Whore – Unknown.

It begins to explode in a rapid-fire wave of inflammatory messages. My eyes burn, and I choke on either a breath or a sob. “Lo!”

“I’m right here, Lil.” How long has he been on the couch? He turns me so that I face him, no longer absorbed by the newsfeed.

His hands touch my face, and he tries to wipe away the tears but I can’t stop crying. My chest constricts, and I sob into my palms. He draws me to his chest.

“You’re okay,” he says, rocking me a little, but there’s pain in his voice.

The plane feels too small. I don’t have enough air or space or lungs to battle this kind of affliction. I have ruined my family. It’s all I can think. It’s all I feel. I have spent years keeping my addiction a secret so that they wouldn’t bear the humiliation and disgrace. Their daughter is disgusting. I’m disgusting…

My mother…how will she look at me after this? How will Daisy?

“Lo, it hurts.” I try to take full breaths, but they’re sporadic and filled with so much desperation. I just want it to end. I want to fly the plane back and start over. We were headed home in triumph. We defeated Spring Break without giving into our vices.

Tonight was supposed to be about Lo and me together. And now…this…

I want to disintegrate, to flutter away and never wake up again.

“You’re okay,” Lo says, pulling me onto his lap. His arm swoops around my waist as he holds me tight to his chest. I can’t look anywhere but at my hands. They seem so empty all of a sudden. And then he grabs them and squeezes tight. “I have you.”

But I am falling so quickly.

I am drowning, Lo.

I don’t think I want to come up for air this time.

I’m not sure I can.

“We have a former captain of the Penn soccer team, Mason Nix, here to give a statement about Lily Calloway.”

This can’t be happening.

“Turn it off!” Lo yells.

But as Lo and Ryke struggle to find the remote that is lost in the depths of the cushions, I hear the past bleed into my ears.

“I slept with her when she was eighteen. My entire team did. She wasn’t just willing—she wanted it.” This is his payback. Was he the leak? We still don’t know. This one statement could just be revenge for being thrown over the hood of my car.

I can barely move. A single tear slides along Lo’s cheek. He wipes it quickly as he catches me watching. “Hey,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Lil.”

But my tears brim and burn. “You can’t be sad if it’s true,” I whisper back.

He stays strong and reaches out to touch my cheek. He kisses my lips, but I don’t feel the power in them that I usually do. My heart does not flutter. I am just sinking.

“And was she dating Loren Hale at the time, the heir of Hale Co.?” the news anchor asks.

“Lily, come on, love,” Lo pleads, kissing me stronger. “I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” Mason says. “She’s cheated on him this whole time.” The news anchor wears a look like what a poor bastard. I feel so sorry for him.

I turn my head from Lo, crying, my lips separating from his as I bury my head into my knees.

“Lily.” His voice breaks.

What have I done? I didn’t realize that my addiction would hurt him if it became public. He’s now the sad sap who was fucked over by the slut. By me. How do I make this right? There’s no way to change this. How do I erase years and years of mistakes?

I want to go back in time. I want to tell myself that I don’t need to sleep around to satisfy this emptiness in me. That the guy I love is right there in front of my eyes. That he can be more than a friend. That I don’t need anyone else in the whole universe but Loren Hale.

And if I had just done that, everything would have turned out right.

I would not be sitting here listening to my past mistakes. I would have spent four years with Lo like I’m doing right now. Committed. Fulfilled.

Happy.

My voice is stolen, and the words stay in the back of my throat. But I manage to say something.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, muffled into my knees and incoherent with my sobs. I’m so fucking sorry, Lo.

He rubs my back. “Lil, it’s okay.”

It’s not okay.

Someone finds the remote because the voices silence. My phone vibrates manically on the floor, and I cover my ears with my arms now, a ball that cannot be unfurled. The noise pierces me, each rumble is another slut or whore that I have yet to read.

I truly want to disappear. I want my superpowers to kick in, right now. I want to never, ever exist again. I want Lo to live in a world where I don’t hurt him. Please, someone, make that come true.

Lo untangles me a little. He kisses my forehead and tries to let me cling back to him and not my bony legs. I slowly crawl onto his lap and press my cheek to his chest, listening to his unsteady heartbeat. I remain hidden, not vacating the safety of Lo’s shirt and avoiding the look of hurt and betrayal on Daisy’s face that I am sure exists tenfold.

I should have just told her on the beach.

And I don’t know what propels me to do it—maybe thinking that one simple thing, maybe feeling the regret—but I pop my head from my burrow. “Daisy?” I look around and find her standing by her chair.

She is crying.

And I’m not sure if it’s because I am or because she’s mad at me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I meant to tell you.”

“It’s true?” she asks, wiping her face quickly like Lo had, not wanting me to see. It’s as though they can’t cry because I am. I hate that. It makes no sense, and it drives me to dam my waterworks sooner rather than later.

“I’m…” I can’t say it. Why can’t I just say it? My sister deserves more than me weeping and hiding away. I wipe my nose with the back of my arm and sit up straight. I slide from Lo’s lap, but he intertwines my fingers with his. It helps. It makes me not want to drown so much.

“It’s okay,” Daisy says what Lo has been repeating. She rubs all of her tears. “It’s fine, you don’t have to explain.” Daisy hates to see people upset. I forgot that about her. She just wants everyone to be happy.

But all the pain that it’s going to take to admit this to my sister—I need to feel it. Telling Rose was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but this is worse. Because I told Rose on my own accord, but in this instance, someone has played my hand, forcing me into it.

There is no compassion in telling her my secret. It’s just…necessary.

Very softly, I say, “I’m a sex addict.”

Her tears have dried up. And she nods. My strong, fearless sister. “And Mom…does she know?”

I shake my head once.

“Dad?”

“No.”

Daisy glances at Ryke. “You knew.”

“It’s complicated.”

Daisy nods again, trying to understand, I think. Her eyes go to Connor. “And you knew.”

“And Rose. That’s it,” Connor says.

Rose. My eyes flicker to the back cabin door where the bed lies. I wish she was here. She’s like a prickly iron chair that will weather any battle.

“But not Poppy?” Daisy asks me.

“Not Poppy,” I say, “and I only told Rose six months ago. I would have told you sooner, but I was…am—I’m ashamed.” Tears build again. “You’re my little sister. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” I am the fuck up. The broken, pathetic one now. I can no longer dole out sisterly advice and expect the same admiration in return. Everything will change.

Her dark eyebrows bunch together, such an ugly expression for someone so beautiful. “You’re still the same person, Lily. I just…I have to get my head around this.” Her eyes flicker to Lo. “How long have you known?”

We meet each other’s gaze. How long has he known? How long have I known? Setting a date seems like trying to pin down when a growth spurt begins and ends. Immeasurable time.

Thinking about it reminds me of all the moments we’ve shared. From childhood to adolescence to adulthood. We have lived together, loved together, and fucked up together. I’m not sure many people can truly say that about someone else.

His eyes soften and he turns to Daisy. “Awhile.”

Awhile. That seems right.

Daisy opens her mouth to ask another question, but a Bob Dylan song starts playing from her pocket. She pulls out her phone the same time something vibrates near my leg. Lo fishes out his own cell.

A chime and another vibration go off and both Connor and Ryke look at theirs. We must have hit an area in the sky with good cell reception. Who knows how long people have been calling?

“It’s Mom,” Daisy says.

“My therapist,” Lo tells me.

“My mom,” Ryke adds.

We all look to Connor. His eyes flit up to Lo’s. “The private investigator. I have to take this.” He retreats to the back cabin where Rose sleeps. We still don’t know who leaked the information, but maybe we will now—not that it matters. What’s done is done.

Daisy’s phone keeps playing “Shelter from the Storm” and everyone sits on edge the longer they ignore their calls.

“Go talk to them,” I say.

Daisy sniffs and stares at her phone. “I just like this song.”

Ryke puts a hand on her shoulder. “Rose should talk to your parents first anyway.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay.” She clicks the green button and puts the receiver to her ear. Daisy risks sitting by Melissa since she’s secluded in the most private alcove of the whole plane. (Besides the bathroom, that is.) Melissa stays frozen in her seat, uncomfortable and bit stunned by everything.

“I have to go pee,” I mutter, about to stand up. I can imagine the sheer horror on my father’s face. On my mother’s. I don’t think I can ever confront them.

Lo grabs my wrist before I rise from the couch. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I just have to pee,” I tell him again, tugging his hand off me.

He gives me a look like do you really?

No, I don’t. I want to cry in solitude. I guess he knows this, and I understand his fear that I’ll avoid my emotions with self-love like I’ve done in the past.

It’s tempting.

I stay put and stuff my face into a pillow. The news replays in my head again, and I’m on the verge of tears once more.

“Hey, Lily.” Ryke comes over and nudges my side. “I don’t want to talk to my mom, so how about we play cards?” He glances to Lo. “And you need to talk to your therapist.”

“I can stay here.”

Ryke gives him a firm look.

He sighs, resigning more easily than normal. I must have drained him of energy. Lo rises and disappears to the bathroom.

“Lily? Cards?” He pulls out the deck from his pocket and shuffles.

I lower my pillow, sensing his tactics to distract me. “What kind of card game?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Go Fish.”

He looks like I’ve almost stabbed his soul.

“You said whatever I want,” I remind him, trying to wipe silent tears that keep falling against my will. I need permanent tissues stuck to my tear ducts. Like when you staunch a bloody nose. Would it work?

“That’s not even a two-person game,” Ryke tells me.

“But it’s still possible to play with two people.” I want the distraction without having to bust my brain learning a new game.

“Fine,” he says, relenting when I sit on the floor since there’s no coffee table. He deals the cards on the carpet, and I try not to dampen them with my tears.

“We’re flying over Georgia right now,” I hear Daisy say. “We shouldn’t be long.” Her voice shakes really badly. I don’t like that she’s talking to our parents first.

Ryke’s concerned gaze flits between Daisy and his cards. “Do you have a king?”

“Go Fish.”

“Lily’s taking a nap,” Daisy says.

Ryke picks up a card and then kicks my knee. “Your turn.” Right.

“Do you have a…” I stare at my cards. “An eight?” I look at the bathroom door, not hearing a peep from Lo. But he leaves the door cracked so we know he’s not doing something rash, like chugging alcohol or…worse. My chest hurts, like someone decided to stand on my diaphragm.

Ryke hands me his eight and grumbles under his breath about how this is the stupidest fucking game. But he’s partially concentrated on my sister in the corner.

“I can’t wake her up,” Daisy says, her voice growing more frantic and low. “Wait, please…I don’t want to…Mom.”

Ryke stands up before I can find the strength to put weight on my gelatin legs. He goes over to the four-chair alcove. He has to lean over a glowering Melissa to reach Daisy. “Give me the phone,” he whispers, but I can still hear his hostile voice.

“Mom,” Daisy says. “I have to go…But…I…Wait…I…”

Ryke grabs the phone from her before she has a breakdown. And at the same time, Rose is halfway across the plane aisle, her eyes dead-set on me with so much confidence and power that I immediately wish I was her. Strong and built like a fortress—able to withstand anything that’s thrown at me.

I meet her gaze, but I point to Ryke who now clutches my mother—or the phone that contains my mother. Rose understands. She grabs Daisy’s cell from him and immediately goes into crisis management mode.

“Mother, calm down. No,” she snaps. “No.” And that’s all I hear as she struts back to the cabin to talk in private. She said the one word that Daisy couldn’t.

I’m not sure I could either.

Daisy stares out the window. Ryke whispers something to her, and she just nods and gestures to me.

Ryke comes back to the floor, collecting his cards and fanning them in his hands. “It’s my turn, I think,” he says. “Do you have a ten?”

“Ryke?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, you’ll take care of him, right?”

He goes rigid. “I don’t know what that fucking means.”

“It means what it means,” I breathe. “He doesn’t have anyone besides you and me. I just need to know you’ll be there.”

“And so will you,” he snaps.

“Not if my parents force me into rehab or halfway across the country.” My mother will want to bury away this problem by transporting it to a different time zone.

“You’re almost twenty-one. You’re a fucking adult. Your parents can’t make you do shit, Lily.”

“I owe them—”

“For tarnishing the Fizzle name? For bringing you up with cash and luxury?” He keeps shaking his head. “You and Lo have it so warped. You think you’re indebted to your parents because they gave you everything you have. But they didn’t give you what fucking mattered. They owe you. They owe you for not asking why their daughter isn’t home. Why she looks distant and sad. Why she has barricaded herself in a fucking apartment with her boyfriend. They have failed you, and if they tell you to get on a fucking plane or go to rehab—where we all know you shouldn’t be—then you need to tell them to go to hell. And if you don’t, Lo and I will. I promise you that.”

The right words stay at the back of my throat—thanks, Ryke. It’s a hard phrase to produce, especially when he delivers his opinions with such fervor and force.

I land on something though.

“Go Fish.”

He lets out a short laugh as he reaches for the deck. “You’ll be fine, Calloway.”

At least one of us believes it.

{ 32 } LOREN HALE

I lean against the bathroom wall, staring at my pallid face and sunken eyes. I look like utter shit. I feel even worse. My left hand keeps shaking, and I have to clench my fingers into a fist just to make it stop. My father bitches me out on the other line for ignoring his previous calls.

“I’m in the goddamn air,” I remind him curtly, keeping my voice low so Ryke doesn’t hear. “Unless you’d like reception to magically be invented over the ocean.”

“Hey, I’m just as fucking livid as you are.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I say, my voice slightly breaking. I don’t want to be talking to him while Lily looks one second from opening the hatch and jumping from the plane without a parachute. And every time I picture her crying like that—goddamn, I can’t start. I rub my eyes to push back the emotions. I want to kick the wall so fucking hard, and I swallow a scream that needs to escape.

“Whoever this motherfucker is,” my father says, “I will personally rip him a new asshole, Loren. You hear me? He’s not getting away with this shit.”

I have to ask. “Did you do it? Did you leak it?” One week after I told him, the news exploded across the globe. Is it really all a coincidence?

There’s a long pause. And then this: “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Did you not hear what I just said? I have busted my ass trying to find this fucker.” He growls a little. Yeah, it’s not him.

“Then who?” I ask. “Who would do this? What do they possibly have to gain?”

“Money,” my father says flatly. “We’re still working on some leads.”

I bring the phone away from mouth and struggle between not shouting and screaming my head off. No sound escapes, but I catch myself in the mirror, and I look like I’m fighting an invisible battle against a shadowed enemy. I look crazy and tortured.

“I have to go,” my father says quickly. “Greg is on the other line. I’ll talk to you soon. Keep your head up.” Words of encouragement from my father. Those don’t come often. So I take them.

We hang up at the same time. I lean over the sink and splash some water on my face. Trying to get my shit together.

I should call Brian, the therapist that Ryke and Lily believe I’m talking to about my deep inner thoughts. But I can’t discuss alcohol. Even the thought makes my stomach turn. Because Lily shouldn’t be worried if I’m going to relapse. The world is crashing down on her shoulders, and I don’t want to add to that weight.

I let out a long breath, bearing her pain that feels so much a part of me. We’ve become entangled, years and years of lies and childhood memories and stories all wrapped into one. I know her better than her sisters. I know her sometimes better than she does herself. I know just how much this is killing her inside.

And then one thought punctures me.

I’m here.

I could be at a bar. Passed out cold.

I could be in rehab. Away from her.

I have the chance to be by her side through all of this.

So go, you stupid bastard.

That’s what it takes. I’m out the door.