Addicted After All (49 page)

“Can we please get back to the real problem here?” Lo asks with a narrowed stare. “You talked to the Patricks, and you haven’t even said how it went.” All Connor mentioned was that he spoke to the Patricks that live three houses down from ours, and that was enough to put my mind in a tailspin.

Connor seems casual and calm, but his smile has vanished from sight. “If I knew that I was trying to reason with a household full of morons, I would have dumbed down my opening speech.”

It went badly then.

Lo glares at the sky like
why, God, why?
Our son wiggles in a navy-blue sling across Lo’s chest, and he rocks him a little.

I have to catch myself from staring too hard. Lo holding Moffy in the sling has topped the cuteness charts. Even
Celebrity Crush
featured photos of them calling Lo “one of the hottest celebrity dads.”

It’s undeniable.

“I don’t like paraphrasing, but the conversation was honestly too aggravating to repeat,” Connor says, adjusting his daughter as she wakes from her nap. Just before Jane lets out a boisterous wail, Rose digs into her black Chanel diaper bag and retrieves a soft stuffed lion. The moment Jane’s tiny arms cling to the animal, she quiets.

I think we’re all glad Jane has grown attached to the toy.

“The cliff notes version.” Lo waves Connor on.

“They repeated the same phrase at least five times.
It was a water-gun, not a real gun.
” He pauses, and I can kinda tell that he’s struggling to remain composed. “Their argument was that all teenagers like to have fun, and I should remember being their age and doing the same exact things myself. As a result, I should let this pass.” Connor lets out a weak laugh, and he shakes his head. “But I was never a normal teenager. I didn’t do the same exact things, and a deep part of me believes I
shouldn’t
let it pass.”

“But you’re going to?” Lo says like Connor needs to stick to the original “wait it out” plan. The uneasiness makes me queasy. I just don’t want this to escalate any further, but I also don’t want to cause a media uproar.

“I’m not going to file a complaint,” Connor says. “If a tabloid hears the story, their headline will make me seem juvenile and obtuse, and it’ll help no one.”

Lo nods a couple times, digesting this news. And then Sam and Poppy approach, the former dressed in khaki’s and a white-collared Fizzle shirt. They both have Ziff bottles in hand, and I notice their daughter staying back by the shady picnic tables with our mom.

I spot cameramen and just regular people with crossbody purses and hats walking down the dirt path towards the roped off area. Food vendors are set up underneath white tents, and the sweet smell of kettle corn fills the breezy air.

“You all ready?” Sam asks us. His gaze darts around our bodies, as though searching for—

“Where are your drinks?” Poppy asks with a frown. She shields the sun with her hand. Apparently Maria snapped her sunglasses on the ride here; a sign, Rose said, of their daughter being a bigger terror than hers.

“My hands are full,” Lo lies. But he demonstrates by wrapping his arms underneath the navy-blue sling. Moffy smacks his lips together and then gurgles a noise like
ahh.

My smile cannot be stopped.

Connor adds, “Same.” He lifts Jane to illustrate his predicament. Her lips part in a half-sleep, cuddling with her stuffed lion and then tucking into her father’s chest for warmth and security.

Rose scoffs. “You both are seriously using our children as scapegoats?”

Lo flashes her a half-smile. “You’re only bitching because you
wish
you were holding Jane right now.”

She crosses her arms but doesn’t deny it. Ziff tastes
that
gross. Last week, Ryke goaded me into trying a sip, and afterwards, I gargled mouthwash for a solid ten minutes to avoid gagging.

It’s not to be sipped a second time. Nope.

Sam collects two bottles from the pyramid, and my eyes pop out again.

“We can’t break the pyramid formation!” I suddenly shout. I even wave my arms spastically. I heat all over in embarrassment.

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. He shoves the bottle in my hand. “There are plenty more to rebuild the pyramid.”

The silver label crinkles against the plastic as I clutch the bottle. The Blue Squall flavor is more like
Blood
Squall. Maybe if I try imagining myself as a vampire, I’ll have a more delightful experience.

Sam lowers his voice. “You don’t have to drink much. You can even pretend to take sips. We just need pictures, and the public needs to see you too.”

“Wow, Sammy,” Lo says, “you’re a modern day crook.” Lo touches his chest with a
free
hand. “I’m too honest to associate with people like you.”

 Connor arches a single brow, his grin growing. I’d stay to hear Sam’s reply, but I have a feeling he’ll stick with the eye roll.

“I’m going to check on Daisy and Ryke.” I don’t think I said the words loudly enough, but I dart away regardless. I plan to carry the Ziff around and act like it’s delicious.

I near the cliff where Ryke stands. He’s shirtless with low-slung gray shorts and a chalk bag around his waist. He also holds a
brunette
girl’s hand.

My heart skips, and the sight takes me aback. I stop dead in my tracks.

{ 52 }

LILY CALLOWAY

I focus on the brunette girl.

She rocks on the balls of her feet, restless while she faces the State Park Ranger and my dad.

I blow out a breath.

It’s just Daisy
, I remind myself.

It’s been years since her hair has been light brown, her natural color that matches mine, and so I’m still trying to grow used to it.

The color suits her though. Maybe because she’s been smiling more often with the change, and while Ryke has stayed impartial about the whole hair-color process (to avoid influencing her decision) he let his thoughts slip to me yesterday.

His exact wording: “I was afraid she’d look too much like you, but she doesn’t. I didn’t realize how fucking attracted to her I’d be.” Apparently Daisy met him at a quarry, took off her motorcycle helmet, and revealed the finished product. Then they had outdoor sex.

The idea is better than reality. I know firsthand.

As I near, I watch the State Park Ranger shake his head fiercely at Ryke, trying to push a harness and rope at him. Ryke raises his hands.

I reach hearing distance just as he says, “I’ve already signed a fucking waiver. If I die, it’s not the park’s responsibility.”

“It’s windy and still dangerous. If you’re looking for a challenge, you can try for a second pitch. Not a lot of climbers do it on this rock face.”

Ryke growls in frustration.

My dad steps in between them. “If Ryke says it’s safe to climb, he should be able to climb. He understands the risk involved.”

The Ranger asks, “Is he repelling down?”

“Yes.” My father nods. “Two people are already at the top with gear for him.”

The Ranger sighs, resigned from the fight. “Fine. I’ve said everything I can.” With this, he walks off, and my dad pats Ryke’s shoulder and mutters a
good luck.

I realize I’ve frozen halfway there, and I anxiously shift my weight from one foot to the other.
No sex
, I chant over and over as a familiar urge attempts to sweep me. The Ranger’s warnings seem logical. This is dangerous. It is windy. And what if he falls? Ryke said it himself.

He’ll die.

While Ryke whispers with Daisy, he turns his head and catches sight of me. His usually hard features soften a fraction. And I read his eyes well enough:
I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me, please.

Ryke never wants anyone to agonize over his wellbeing, but he’s so much a part of my life, of Lo’s, that if he disappears, it’ll be like severing a foot. Moving forward will be hard. 

“Hi, Lily,” my dad suddenly says next to me.

I almost flinch by his presence, and I’m even more surprised when he chooses to stay put. “Do you…want to watch the climb with Mom?” I ask.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, dressed in an identical white-collared Fizzle shirt like Sam. “I’m good here.”

I take a glance over my shoulder at Lo. With concerned wrinkles along his forehead, his eyes are trained solely on his older brother. Ryke kisses my little sister and then picks up his bottle of Ziff, about to chug it before he ascends.

The chatter escalates from reporters and more people, drowning out the buzzing wind.

“Lily…” My dad starts but then hesitates and his lips close. He smiles nervously like he’s unsure of what to say or how to say it.

A lump rises in my throat, and for a split-second I contemplate clearing it with Blue Squall.

But he speaks again before I venture down that road. “I was upset for a long time.”

My bones lock, and my eyes widen in surprise. I can’t say anything. He hasn’t mentioned my sex addiction to me
ever
, and I have a feeling that’s the direction he’s going.

“I just couldn’t find a reason why you’d do…that.” He pauses, his eyes dropping to the grass. “…when I’d given you so much.”

A violent breeze tangles my hair and waters my eyes. I’m going to blame the wind as my father finally admits to blaming me. The pain wells like a pit in my ribs. “I’m sorry,” I barely croak.

He shakes his head, and his reddened eyes meet mine. “Don’t be. I felt betrayed and hurt because I couldn’t face the reality.” He gives me a saddened smile, and I’m more aware of the gray strands that salt his brown hair. “I spent over half my life working for my daughters, to provide you with a better life than I had, and it’s a very hard realization to admit—that what I worked so hard for ended up doing the inverse of what I dreamed.”

I shake my head. He blames himself. For my addiction. Tears threaten to fall, and I try desperately to suppress them.

He takes my hand in his and says, “You’ve been my shy little girl for so long, and I should’ve recognized that you weren’t all there. As an adult, as a parent and as your father,
I
am so sorry.”

Hot liquid rolls down my cheeks. Why here? Why now? I ache to ask these questions, but I see the answers in his watery gaze. And as he wipes my tears. No one can really pinpoint a reason why and when someone grows courage.

It happens over time, and my father has cemented this painful, raw reality—the one I have always been living in. And what’s funnier, it’s more peaceful with him here. It doesn’t hurt as badly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, sniffing and blinking back more tears. I have to ask… “Would you want to…maybe come to therapy one day with me? If you don’t want to, I completely understand—”

“I’d like that, Lily.” And then he hugs me, my heart bursting. A moment passes and he asks, “Now how do you like Ziff? Be honest.”

Oh no. I rub my nose with my arm, very unladylike, but my father doesn’t care. “Uh…” I wince like I can’t exactly say my thoughts aloud.

“That bad?” he asks, his brows shooting up his forehead in worry. He steals my bottle and inspects the label. “The recipe did well with kids your age.” I remember Sam saying as much about the multiple test groups.

“Maybe it’s just me.” I shrug.

He gives me a tight squeeze. “With Ryke as the face, it has a good chance to succeed. That’s what I’m hoping.” He never intended for Ryke to fail. All this time, he was hoping Ryke could help Fizzle, a company that my dad considers a fifth child. It’s nice to know that he’s had good intentions, even if we all predict a Mountain Berry Fizz 2.0, with a short shelf-life.

After another brief second, I focus on the cliff with my father. The tension is nearly gone, and he keeps his arm around my shoulders. The waterworks almost start up again.

In a matter of minutes, Ryke scales the rock with speed and precision. Twenty feet high. Then fifty. He’s to the top faster than those bottled pyramids probably took to build. With a sweaty chest and slicked back hair, he chugs another entire bottle of Ziff again.

The crowds roar in enthusiasm. It’s a picture-perfect moment, a brilliant ad for a magazine or a commercial. Everyone claps and cheers. Even my father. With a prideful smile, his palms smack together.

He likes Ryke. He may not want him with Daisy. But it’s hard not to admire Ryke’s bravery. He defies the impossible every time he climbs.

I try to let out a breath, but it tightens the moment Ryke begins to put on a harness, preparing to repel to the base. Ryke once mentioned that the most dangerous part of rock climbing isn’t the ascent but rather the descent. So my stomach flip-flops all over again.

And then he repels.

Down.

And down. And down.

When a big gust of wind blows through, the crowds seem to shush at the exact same moment. But it’s nothing to Ryke. Within seconds, he safely touches the grass. Then he stumbles over his own feet and reaches out for the rock face as a support.

I don’t understand what’s wrong.

Daisy sprints over to him, and when Ryke raises his head, I notice the color lost in his skin.

I find myself walking quickly towards him with my father, and I sense Lo, Connor, Rose, Sam and Poppy in tow.

If Lo didn’t have Moffy, he’d most likely run over to his brother, but we all end up surrounding Ryke around the same time. He’s hunched over with his hands braced on his thighs.

“Give  me…a fucking…minute.” He breathes heavily through his nose.

“You’re really pale,” Lo says, worry spreading across his face. “Was it that hard of a climb?”

Ryke shakes his head repeatedly. And then it hits me. He chugged two bottles of Ziff: disgusting, putrid, Blood Squall, Ziff.

The nausea surfaces in his features and he gags.

“Alright, let’s back up.” My father waves all of us to move away from Ryke. “Give him some room—”

He pukes, an avalanche of blue liquid.

All over Rose’s heels.

“Jesus Christ,” Lo curses.

Rose is horrified, and she immediately shuts her eyes. “This is not happening.
This is not happening
.” She inhales strongly, her collarbones protruding.