Addicted After All (44 page)

Ryke turns the doorknob, and I step out onto the brick porch with my brother.

The minute my foot hits the welcome mat, liquid suddenly cascades in violent sheets, dousing Ryke and me. It’s slow motion. And I shut my eyes as the warm liquid tries to sear them. The smell is overpowering, sharp and too familiar.

“
What the fuck!
” Ryke yells, horrified.

It’s not water.

We’re drenched in something worse. After the gushing stops, a bucket tumbles a second later. I marbleize in realization. Fully processing what just happened.

We were just showered in alcohol.

By inhaling, I can tell that it’s bourbon.

I slowly open my eyes. I’m shaking, too stunned to do anything. I’m swept up in years and years of bad deeds and terrible nights. I look to Ryke, and his hair is wet, his gray shirt plastered to his chest. He’s breathing unevenly, filled with fury. “This is so fucked up.”

And then he meets my eyes. His features burst with too many emotions. Panic for me. Rage at the teenagers.

The smell is killing me. On instinct, I lick my lips. It’s bourbon, for sure.

“Lo, don’t fucking taste it,” Ryke says quickly, grabbing my arm like he can stop me. He can’t.

“We’re soaked in booze,” I state like he can’t see it. “It’s too fucking late.” It doesn’t mean I broke my sobriety. Not again. I have to believe this. No matter how much my brain wants to say I fucking lost a battle today. I didn’t.
I didn’t.

My face twists with my stomach. God. Dammit. I squat for a second, collecting my breath.

“Hey,” Ryke forces, bending down to me. He clasps my shoulder. “You’re okay.”

“No matter how much you say it, it doesn’t make it any fucking truer,” I retort in an agitated voice. I’m pissed. At the situation. Not at him. I grimace. “Just…” I’m trying not to lose it.

“Take off your clothes,” Connor says from the doorway, with an inexpressive voice.

It almost makes me laugh, but my features only morph into hurt. “How forward of you, love.”

“He’s right,” Ryke actually agrees with Connor. My brother lifts me up, so I’m standing straighter. And then he starts removing my sopping shirt since my joints are locked tight. When I unfreeze a bit, I pull my crew-neck over my head. Ryke tugs off his own shirt and tosses the wet fabric on the brick with mine.

I instinctively run a hand through my hair. I pause at the smell. At how much it’s seeping into my skin.
Christ.

Ryke is saying something. My mind is on a hundred paths, speeding. I stare off at the road, expecting to find an audience. No one is there. Not these stupid, bored teenagers that’ve turned malicious. This is low. The girls TPed one of their houses. And in return they decided to shove me a thousand steps back in my recovery.

Ryke is right. It’s fucked up.

It’s really,
really
fucked up.

“Lo!” Ryke shouts, lightly slapping the side of my face to get me to concentrate.

I inhale a deep, strained breath that burns my muscles. “Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’m not going to pass out and die.”

“You’re shaking,” Ryke says.

“I’m
pissed
,” I sneer, putting some distance between us. “Just like you are.”

He nods, but the concern never leaves him.

I turn to Connor, who wears a similar expression as my brother now. “I’m not the Wicked Witch, okay?” I snap at him. “I’m not about to melt onto the floor.” My body binds the longer I stand here. Anger doesn’t accurately describe the feeling coursing through my veins.

I wasn’t ready for this type of retaliation. But it doesn’t mean that I can’t handle it. I’d give anything not to be the weak one right now. For them to look at me like I can take this.
I can take it.
I know I can.

“You should go shower,” Ryke advises.

“In a second,” I say.

“Lo.”

He’s not going to let up. Fine. “You need to take one too,” I say with an edged voice. “You reek.”

“I’m right behind you.”

I pass Connor into the house, kicking off my shoes. And then I run up the stairs, two at a time, while Ryke disappears to the basement. As soon as I slip into my bedroom, Lily pops up from the comforter where she’d been napping.

“Lo?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, aiming right for the bathroom. I disappear inside and start removing the rest of my wet clothes. I’m not surprised when Lily follows me, my black V-neck tee covering her thighs. “I have to take a shower.” I sound more detached than usual.

She clutches onto the door frame as she watches me strip. “What happened?” Her nose crinkles. “Is that…?”

“Bourbon,” I say under my breath.

She catches the word. “What?” Her voice spikes.

After stepping out of my boxer-briefs, I enter the glass shower. “The teenagers used the water bucket trick. I’m just going to wash off and then head to lunch.” I don’t wait for her to respond. I switch on the faucet, the hot water pouring down on me. My muscles tense, and I rest a hand on the tiled wall, trying to relax before I grab the soap.

The juvenile pranks, I understand. The malicious intent, I get even more. That’s me. All of those teenagers are
me.
And I should call the cops like my father would, but how can I? It’s a waste. I’ll make it worse with their parents, enrage them more, ruin their lives before they’ve even started. This feels like my final test. To be a better person than I was.

I keep waiting for my self-preservation to kick in. To say:
fuck you all.
To tap into the selfish, dark parts of my soul.

But I give a shit. I think about that young guy I held the night of the paintball shooting. I think about my son and Lily. Her sisters. And I can’t find an answer that solves everything—the happy ending that I’ve been fighting for.

It’s there. I know it’s there. Just one last shadowed road. One more bout of pain. I can take it.

“Lo?” Lily peeks through a crack in the glass door. “Can I come in?”

I give her a stiff nod, and she slips into the shower, still half-clothed. The water rains on her small frame, suctioning the black tee to her body. I watch her snatch a washcloth and bar of soap. I’m caught in a tornado of memories. Of Lily trying to drag me into the shower while I was hungover.

My lips begin to rise. Back then, I could wash myself fine, but I liked how Lily tried to help me. Her being that close meant more to me than she ever knew. She was my best friend—
is
my best friend.

After she lathers the washcloth, she gently begins scrubbing my abs. And then her eyes flit up to mine for the first time. She pauses. “What’s so funny?” My smile is full-blown. From cheek to cheek.

“I’ve always loved you, you know,” I breathe.

 I can’t stop staring at her. She’s been through every piece of my life with me. And it’s overwhelming and incomprehensible. The universe that I want to be in is the one where Lily walks through that shower door. Every time.

She opens her mouth to speak, but emotions pummel her first. She wipes her eyes, which is silly and adorable since beads of water roll down her cheeks from the showerhead. “I have something in my eye,” she mumbles.

“Sure,” I whisper. Then I draw her closer, kiss right outside her lips, and just hold her for a second. It’s like embracing the happiest parts of yourself. I can’t quite explain what it feels like—but I’m certain it’s somewhere near heaven.

{ 45 }

LILY CALLOWAY

After the shower, Lo changes into clean clothes, and I take the opportunity to scoop his bourbon-soaked jeans and toss them into a trash bag. I want to eliminate any temptations, and I worry the pungent smell of alcohol will trigger his cravings.

I clip the baby monitor to the band of my leggings and check that it’s working properly (a constant habit) as I head downstairs. Daisy and Rose are huddled around the kitchen stove,
whispering.

I step on the metal foot of the trashcan. “What are you two gossiping about?” I take an extra-long minute to shove my bag in the overflowing trash, smashing boxes of empty cereal.

Rose straightens up, her hands perched on her hips. “Retaliation number two.”

Daisy twists her hemp bracelet, a Ziff bottle under her arm. “They can’t get away with what they did.”

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach like a hollow pit. “Retaliation number one ended badly,” I remind them. “I’m not sure if we should do it again.” And I love a good stealth mission.

“I agree with Lily.” The commanding voice originates from the hallway, Connor’s loafers clapping on the hardwood as he emerges in the kitchen.

Connor Cobalt just agreed with me.

This is a monumental occasion. I almost start cheering, but Rose’s yellow-green eyes have penetrated Connor’s incoming six-foot-four body.

“You don’t have a vote here,” Rose dismisses him easily. “Girls only.”

He steps nearer. “Are you asking for special privileges because of your gender?” It’s a question that causes Rose to cringe. Her husband faces her, only a few feet apart.

“So what do you want us to do?” Rose combats. “Nothing? Wait for them to attack again? Next thing you know, they’re going to throw dildos in Lily’s face!”

“That’s already happened before,” I mumble.

“Not from your own neighbors.” She makes a good point. No sex toy projectiles have landed my way while around the house. “This is supposed to be a safe place for everyone. It’s why we’re living together. I’m not torturing myself with Ryke’s constant mess and Loren’s presence for nothing.”

Daisy spins the cap on her Ziff bottle. She claims the flavor is better the longer you suffer through the iron-like taste, but deep down, I know she’s drinking it to be a supportive girlfriend. The Ziff rock climbing event is soon, and Ryke will officially become the face of the sports drink.

“Can we call the cops? Or file a report?” Daisy wonders.

“Not without evidence,” Connor explains. “And as soon as one of us makes a claim, it’ll be on the front page of every tabloid.” This is a big reason why I hesitate to run to the police. I ping-pong between protecting Moffy at home—from the teenagers—and then protecting him from the rabid media, which’ll explode with the new headline. They always swarm after a good story.

The neighborhood teenagers seem harmless compared to the psychological damage that the media can cause. I don’t want my son to be five-years-old, afraid to go outside and be berated with cameras…like I was when we first entered the public eye.

 The doorbell rings, and I jump. “OhmyGod,” I slur “What if it’s them?” Maybe they’ve come to apologize? Yeah, okay, fat chance.

Rose’s heels clap as she marches to the door.

“Rose,” I call out, eyes wide. “It could be a trick.” Like another bucket or worse.

Daisy hops off the stool, but she hesitates and lingers back. My fearless sister is frightened right now. I clasp her hand and watch Connor take a few lengthy strides, his legs much longer than Rose, and before his wife can protest, he’s in the foyer and opening the door.

Very softly, Daisy whispers, “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

Chills prick my arms. “You won’t be…one day.” I nod resolutely at this idea. “It’ll just take time.” From someone who’s battled pieces of her mind, I know this fight. We can wish for it all to be better, but it’s bigger than us. It feels out of our control, but somewhere deep down, it’s in reach.

I want to express this to my little sister, but the new voice in the foyer extinguishes my thoughts.

“I should really have my own key. Three of my four daughters live here.” My mom—she shows up unannounced all the time, but never to see me. I usually hide out in my room or the nursery. Maybe that’s my fault too. I should be more sociable.

“I’ll have one made for you,” Connor says as he returns to the kitchen. Rose looks ready to claw out his eyes. Then again, Connor could be lying to our mom. Trying to win her over.

In two quick seconds, Samantha Calloway appears: her strand of pearls choked against her neck, her brown hair pulled into a strict bun. She places her white designer purse on the bar counter.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Rose asks unenthusiastically.

“Don’t be so hostile, Rose,” our mother refutes. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello. It’s Saturday.”

“So it is,” Rose grumbles.

Our mom spots Daisy, and her demeanor lightens, like she’s found a purpose for visiting. “Oh honey, I thought you were planning on dying it back to honey-blonde.” She approaches Daisy and inspects the platinum-blonde strands between pinched fingers. “I’ll make an appointment for you at the salon—”

“No, it’s okay,” Daisy cuts her off quickly. “I’m not sure what color I want yet. But the next time I dye it will be the official color.” She shrugs. “No more changes for a while.”

Our mom purses her lips, as though concocting ways to convince Daisy of the honey-blonde color. I squeeze my little sister’s hand, supportive of her decisions. Whatever they are, as long as she makes them herself. I’m standing very close to my mom now.

My chest tightens as I prepare for the inevitable cold shoulder. Very little eye contact. Even less conversation. It’s her go-to with me for the past few years.

“Where’s Jane?” our mom asks, avoiding my nearby presence. “I’d like to see my granddaughter before I leave.” Her silver bracelets clank together as she fingers her pearls.

The exclusion of my son rings in my ears like a blow horn. It’s been plaguing me for some time. I can handle the silent treatment directed at me. But I envision a future where Maximoff is ostracized by his own grandmother. I’d rather him be surrounded by love than know that kind of pain.

My words overflow, too strong to contain. “I have to talk to you.” She startles like I yelled in her ear. My voice is almost a whisper. “In private.”

Her shoulders constrict, her collarbones jutting out, but she nods anyway. Not shutting me down. It’s a start, I think. I make a point to do this on my own, leading my mom into the bright sunroom without glancing back at my sisters.