Ricochet (21 page)

And then she puts her back against the ledge and says
something to the local man. He nods, and Ryke screams at her, “NO!” We can all
hear the fear and anger writhing in his voice.

But it’s too late.

She dives.

Right.

Off.

The fucking.

Cliff.

Headfirst.

I hold my breath, my lips parting as my jaw drops. Not even
a full second after she dives, Ryke impulsively jumps right in after her.

This…is not good. Both Lo and I are going to lose siblings
in one day.

I wait for them to come to the surface for what seems like
hours.
Waiting. Waiting.
The water
rushes in and then back out of the ravine in a systematic cycle. White foam
smacking slick black rocks.

Where is she?

Ryke pops up first in the center of the water, hitting the
right spot. His head whips around, searching for Daisy. He spins in circles.
From where I stand, I can see the panic lacing his eyes, and my stomach does a
thousand summersaults.

“Ohmygod,” Cleo mutters. “Where is she?!”
 

The other girls keep out their cellphones, still
videotaping. I should have realized that Daisy would be in more danger doing
something potentially life-threatening than being kidnapped. I should have had
a discussion about
no cliff diving to
your death
before the trip began.

And then, her head breaks the surface of the water, a few
feet from Ryke.

In what seems to be a deep, safe region.

I let out a small breath of relief.

Ryke looks ready to burst a blood vessel in his neck. He
takes his aggression out on the water and splashes her. She splashes back, and
they start screaming again. She shakes her head and ends up swimming away
towards the rocky bank.

Ten minutes later, they appear near the top of the hill,
waiting for us and dripping wet. Ryke runs his hand through his thick, soaked
hair. And Daisy’s green tank top sucks to her slender frame while her jean
shorts sop. We all start walking, and I hear their argument the closer I
approach.

“He told me where to land!” she shouts “I took diving
lessons in seventh grade. I was fine, Ryke!” She did take lessons, I remember
now. Our mother made her do a ton of things, trying to find her talent until
she ended up modeling.

“You left all of your friends at a fucking restaurant!” he
shouts back. “Your sister thought you’d been kidnapped! How selfish are you?”

Her cheeks grow red. “I didn’t think anyone would care…”

“Bullshit,” he sneers. “You knew we’d come after you. You
knew we’d track you down and ruin our plans to make sure you were alive. You
wanted us to chase you.”

She shakes her head rapidly. “No. I just wanted to do this,
but I knew Lily wouldn’t let me. This is why I chose Acapulco—for this cliff.
It’s famous. And I’m sorry for ruining everyone’s day, but it was worth it.”

“You could have died,” he growls, his eyes narrowing with
such anger—I would have already cowered back. Daisy has her shoulders locked
tight, her head held high, resolute. Ryke is right. Nothing scares her.

“I know.”

He stares at her for a long, long time, and as I reach, I
hesitate on breaking up their heated fight. “Did you want to die?” he finally
asks.

Daisy blinks for a couple seconds, not in confusion. It’s as
though she expected this reaction. She shrugs and then says, “How’d you find me
anyway?”

“Freefalling,” he tells her. “You said it’s better than
sex.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. “Do you agree with me now?”

“As fun as that was,” he says roughly, “it’ll never be
better than
fucking
someone you
love.” He adds, “Don’t do that shit again.” And he turns around and motions to
the pack of girls to follow him back to the parking lot.

I catch Daisy’s arm before she goes to Cleo. Her weak smile
immediately falls to the wayside at my near-tears frown. I’ve never been more
terrified.

“Lily…I’m sorry. My intention wasn’t to scare you.”

“What if you died?”

“I didn’t.” She touches my arm and shakes it. “Come on. Be
happy, we’re in Mexico.”

“That’s not okay, Daisy,” I say. “You can’t just sprint away
without telling someone where you’re going.” I have never read the Big Sister
Handbook, so I decide to just tell her what I feel. That has to be enough. “We
could have found a cliff that was supervised, not one clearly meant for
professional, local divers.”

“I wanted to jump off this one.”

I sigh heavily. “Do you hear yourself? You
wanted
this one? You sound like Cleo and
Harper, spoiled and entitled.”

She cringes. “I’m sorry. I really am.” She shakes her head.
“I shouldn’t have…If I’d known your reaction beforehand, I would have stopped.”

The scary thing—I don’t believe her. Not one bit.

“Okay.” Nothing else can be said. Ryke grilled her. I gave
her the disapproving, brokenhearted look.

“I’m not on your shit list, am I?” she asks. “Honestly, I
didn’t even think you had one.”

“I didn’t.”

She gasps. “So I’m the
only
person on it?”

I can’t help but smile. We begin to walk back together, her
friends farther ahead of us. “I guess.”

“What can I do?” she asks. Her eyes brighten. “I know! Cake.
Cake fixes everything.” She shouts at the girls, “Cake time!”

They let out cheers and clap and spin around to record Daisy
for the end of their videos. I’m sure those will be circulated around her prep
school for quite some time. She’ll be a superstar. For all the wrong reasons.

Ryke turns his head at the announcement and still looks
pissed. He rolls his eyes and shakes water from his hair with a firm hand.

“You know what he said to me?” Daisy says. “He told me that
I was going to crack open my skull, bleed into the ocean, and be eaten by
sharks. And then he goes and jumps in after me.” She lets out an irritated
laugh. “I didn’t need him to be my hero, showing up, scaling the cliff and
speaking Spanish to the locals—”

“Wait, they didn’t speak English?”

Daisy realizes she let that little part slip. She winces as
she flashes an apologetic smile. “They were telling me stuff, and I just
replied back with, ‘Sí,’ over and over again. I got the gist of what they were
saying when they moved their hands. You should be more surprised by the fact
that Ryke is
fluent
in Spanish.”

“I’m not,” I snap, “because he grew up with a mom as
neurotic as ours.”

“He did?” Her brows furrow.

“I don’t know her personally,” I clarify. “But she kept him
busy.” I refrain from saying
like you
because she does not need to be attracted to him anymore than I think she
already is. Their age difference is no-no territory. Ryke understands this, and
I’m afraid, Daisy may not.

“Oh.”

I hesitate. “Daisy, you don’t…”
have a crush on him.

She meets my eyes and reads them well. “Like you said
before, Lily, he’s seven years older…well, about to be six.” She tries to give
me a reassuring smile before she breaks from my side and catches up to Cleo,
but I’m not satisfied. Because she glances back at Ryke as he peels off his wet
shirt and wrings it out. Her eyes flit over his body, and I see a not-so good
future.

I’m not sure how Lo would react to a Daisy and Ryke
scenario.

All I know is that he wouldn’t be happy.

MARCH

{10}

Back in the states, the March chill makes it near
impossible not to layer up. I devise a plan to stay at the house until the very
last second. Usually I arrive seven minutes late to class when I decide to go,
but I think everyone should have a ten minute grace period. Seriously. It’s
cold.

The only other time I brace the weather is for my therapy
sessions with Dr. Banning. Today went decently well, I think. I feel like I’m
on the road to uncovering
why
I have
this addiction, and she gives me some much needed perspective and guidance.

To preoccupy my thoughts and not obsess over sex, I watch a
romantic comedy on Netflix in my bedroom. I closed my canopy so I feel a little
like I’m in a jungle, my net keeping me safe from mosquitos. Which is kinda
fun. I’d make some safari jokes, but I remember that I’m alone. And no one is
around to appreciate them.

The laptop rests on my stomach while I munch on a Twizzler.
After abstaining from self-love, I’ve turned to sugar and sweets and generally
anything that will rot my teeth. It barely helps, but it’s better than
succumbing to the urges.

My phone rings, and I wiggle from my Marvel throw blanket.
When I grab my cell, I notice the unknown number on the screen. My chest
lightens as I mute my computer and press the receiver to my ear.

“Hey, it’s Lo.”

That’s enough to make me grin from ear to ear.

“Lo who? My boyfriend’s name is Loren.”

“Your jokes have gotten progressively less funny without
me.”

I mock gasp. “No way. You should have been here when I made
the
best
giraffe joke. It was
hilarious.”

“Doubtful,” he says, but I can sense him breaking into a
smile.

I bite a Twizzler, trying to contain my own silly look, even
if he can’t see me. “What are you doing? How’s rehab?” Before he called, I made
a plan to ask more about him. Last time, the conversation revolved around me,
and I don’t want that to happen again. Even if my recovery takes effort from both
of us, it doesn’t make his any less important.

“It’s fine,” he says. I imagine him shrugging. “What about
you? Did you go to therapy today?” So I have a boyfriend who doesn’t like to
talk about his problems. This may be harder than I thought.

“Don’t change the subject. I want to know how
you’re
doing.” I braid three Twizzlers
together to form a giant, delicious piece.

“My life is boring,” he sighs.

“No, it’s not,” I refute. “You’re probably doing all sorts
of cool things. Like talking to people. And…playing pool. And…” I have no idea
what the hell he does in rehab, which I think is the problem.

“And nothing fun,” he tells me. “I’m not there. I’m not with
you.”

“I thought you said we have to start
talking
,” I emphasize. “That goes two ways you know. We can’t just
discuss my addiction and not yours.”

Silence bleeds through the receiver for an excruciatingly
long moment before he says, “I was talking to Ryke the other day…he asked me
who Aaron Wells is.”

My Twizzler slips out of my hand. I feel like Lo is
deflecting, and it’s kind of working considering Aaron Wells makes my stomach
curdle. And I was planning on
never
telling
Lo what happened at the Fizzle soda unveiling, especially while he’s in rehab.
I didn’t want to give him a reason to turn to booze.

Lo says, “I asked him why he wanted to know. And he wouldn’t
give me a straight answer—just said something about how he went to a family
event with you. And I thought, why the fuck would she ever want to bring that
douchebag to a party? And then I remembered your mother and how she used to set
you up before we were dating.” He pauses. “Something happened, didn’t it? Aaron
knows I’m in rehab. He probably decided now was a good time for payback, right?
You’re defenseless while I’m basically trapped here.”

“You’re not trapped,” I say. I don’t want him to think of
rehab as a prison. Not when it’s helping him.

He groans, and I picture him rubbing his eyes warily. “I
want to be there with you,” he says. “I don’t want Ryke to be the one to
protect you. That’s my job, and I plan to be a hell of a lot better at it than
before...” He trails off, and I read the rest:
before you almost got raped.
Yeah, he was a little too consumed by
alcohol to come to my rescue that night. Thankfully I escaped that, but it
still hurts to think about. I’ve tried to avoid public restrooms since then,
and I try not to be plagued by the fear of being assaulted. Sometimes it creeps
in, and I sink into myself in large crowds, but I’ve always been a little
recluse in that sense.

I wish I could reply back
I didn’t need protection.
But that would be an utter lie. Aaron was
aggressive that night, and I did need some sort of reinforcement to help me.
“Ryke didn’t protect me,” I say softly. I open my mouth to elaborate, but Lo
has already jumped to conclusions.

“What?” His breath deepens. “If he fucking hurt you, I’m—”

“Lo,” I cut him off. “I just meant to say that Ryke wasn’t
the one to help me…your father was.”

The silence buzzes through the receiver again.

I elaborate, “He saw Aaron giving me a hard time, and he
threatened him. It worked. Aaron left me alone after that.”

The phone crackles.

“Lo?”

Then I hear him exhale. “My father?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It took a great
deal of strength to walk away from someone he loves but has hurt him. And to be
caught in the grayness of Jonathan Hale makes it difficult to cut him
completely out. Even though that may be best for Loren right now.

“Yeah.” Right now, there’s a slim, hopeless chance he’ll
open up about his father, and I kind of think he doesn’t even know how he feels
about the man. I’d talk to him about it, but he’ll end the call before I even
begin to prod. So I want to change the topic before he hangs up. “So what about
rehab?” I ask. “You can’t keep dodging this conversation.”

I imagine him squeezing his eyes shut with that familiar
agitation, and he groans again in annoyance. “You just put my head on a
Tilt-a-Whirl, and you want to know about rehab?”

“Yes,” I say, not backing down. I have to push him.

He lets out a long breath. “I’m sober. I just thought it’d
feel different being sober for this long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was so miserable drunk, and I convinced myself that being
sober would be the flip-side of being miserable. I guess, I thought sobriety
would be ninety-nine percent knock-your-socks-off amazing. Don’t get me wrong,
it is nice. I can think clearer sometimes and filter some bullshit that I’d
normally have no problem saying. But it sucks too. It hurts more.”

He has to face the pain now. I’m going through something
similar. All of the situations I’d drown with sex and a high are things I have
to confront head-on. It’s difficult and makes the urges even harder to
restrain.

“But I’m not going back to
before.
Not for anything or anyone…”

“Your father?” I ask, knowing that has to be the “anyone”
he’s referring to. Jonathan Hale took away Lo’s trust fund, his inheritance,
and everything that financially secured Lo’s future. All because Lo won’t
return to college and live up to his impossible standards.

“Yeah. Him,” Lo mutters. “He’s my therapist’s favorite
topic.”

Maybe I can ease into this… “Are you going to talk to
Jonathan when you get back?”

“I don’t know anymore…” He pauses. “He’s one of my triggers
to drink, but I didn’t need rehab to figure that out.”

My chest constricts. “Am I…” What if
I’m
a trigger. Oh God.

“No, Lil,” he tells me with a short laugh. “You’re the
opposite. You’re my stability…my home.”

I inhale, his words pricking my eyes a little. He’s always
felt like home to me too. I clear my throat, not wanting to become all sappy
over the phone. I only have so long to hear his voice. And then I’ll be alone
again. “When you get back, what are you going to do?” He won’t go to college,
and he’ll need to earn money now. Ryke and I both offered to help with his
finances, but Lo’s pride squashed the idea.

“I’m not sure. I’ll worry about it later,” Lo says softly. I
wish I could hold him or hug him. Anything. He sounds a little lost, but what
twenty-something isn’t? The only difference between Lo and me at this point is
that I’m still in college. But we’re in the same place really. I’m no closer to
knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. I wish my future bachelor’s
degree could magically choose a career path that’s perfect for me. If four
years of college bought me
that
, I’d
be sold.

“Can we steer the conversation away from me now?” Lo asks.
“How have you been holding up?”

“I’m a little frustrated,” I mutter. “Sexually
and
mentally.”

“Mentally?” he asks, worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeahyeahyeah,” I say quickly. “It’s just that the therapy
sessions drain me. I want to know why I’m addicted to sex so badly. Dr. Banning
says the answer might not be so clear. And I just worry that when I find it…I
won’t like it.”

His breath grows heavy over the line, and his words come out
as a whisper. “Do you think it’s me?”

It feels like a stab to the chest. I glance down at the
Twizzler braid on my lap. “It’s
me
,
Lo,” I choke. “I can’t blame anyone else for my problems. I just have to figure
out how it started.”

“When we were nine, we did some things,” he says quietly.
“Do you remember that?”

“Lots of little kids do stupid stuff,” I defend, thinking
about what Dr. Banning told me. Experimenting, she called it.

“It was wrong,” he tells me with added confidence. I imagine
him running a shaking hand through his light brown hair. His voice remains firm
and determined. “I was older than you.”

“By nine months.” He’s being ridiculous.

“It doesn’t matter, Lil,” he snaps. “I’ve been thinking a
lot in this place, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. For everything that
I’ve ever done to hurt you—”

“You haven’t hurt me,” I interject. “You haven’t.”

“Lily,” he says, very softly. “You remember the night before
we split up and I came here? The day before Christmas Eve?”

“The Charity Gala,” I say. The night where he broke his
short sobriety by chugging mini-bottles of tequila from a hotel room.

“I hurt you,” he says. “I had sex with you so you’d stop
focusing on my alcohol addiction…so you’d stop looking at me like I was
unraveling. You were crying hysterically, and I
fucked
you. And afterwards, I was a complete dick about it. What do
you call that?”

“You didn’t…”
rape me
,
I think, knowing that’s what’s plaguing his mind. He didn’t. “I wanted it, Lo.
Please, don’t think that.” God, we’re so messed up. I listen for his reply, but
I only hear silence. “Lo?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Lil. For that
night, for when we were nine. I’m
so
sorry.”

“You don’t have to take all the blame. I was there too when
we were younger, you know. I touched you. Maybe I fucked you up.”

He laughs now, and it makes me smile. “I can assure you that
I’m fucked up, but it’s not because of you.”

“Likewise.” At least, I hope so.

He suddenly lets out a long groan. “God, I just want to kiss
you.”

I grin. “Welcome to my world. I think I’ve imagined making
out with you about five billion times since you’ve been gone.”

“And how many times have you imagined my cock in your
mouth?”

My eyes widen, and I lose breath, even though he says it so
blasé.

“What about my cock in your ass?” I hear the smile behind
the words.

Oh my God. I lick my dry lips and squirm a little on the
bed. The spot between my legs begins to pulse with his words.

“In your pussy?”

“Lo,” I croak. Are we having phone sex right now? I eye the
door. Should I go lock it?

“Have you been good?” Lo asks. “Did you touch yourself at
all?”

“No, I’ve waited.”

“I’m proud of you,” Lo tells me. And I immediately feel a
sense of accomplishment wash over me. “You’ve earned something then.”

We are having phone sex!
Yes.
I crawl out of my canopy, struggling with the net for two seconds too long,
and then jump off the bed with the phone still braced in my hand. I race to
lock the door. Pausing in the middle of the room, I look to my closet. “Do I
need…” How does this even work?

“Need what?” he asks in confusion.
Great, he can’t read my mind.
What I’d give to be dating Charles
Xavier— though the
X-Men: First Class
edition
where he’s played by James McAvoy. Bald doesn’t do it for me.

“Never mind,” I mutter.

“Need
what
, Lily?”
Lo prods again, his voice serious. I don’t answer right away, trying to gain
the nerve to say the words. “Am I going to have to guess? It better not be
lube. You’ve never had a problem getting wet around me.”

“Stop talking,” I tell him. “You’re making this hard.”

“You’re making me hard.”

I roll my eyes while my lips involuntarily rise. “Please
tell me that’s not your best dirty talk.”

“I’ve said better,” he agrees. “You know you can tell me
anything. It can’t be that embarrassing.” He pauses. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be
embarrassed anyway, but good news is that I can’t see you turn all red.”

I wish he could. I’d give anything for him to be here right
now. But then I wouldn’t. Because coming home early means failure on his part,
and I want him to succeed. I just feel so conflicted. About everything.

Maybe that’s why I’m still standing in the middle of my
bedroom, wavering on whether to venture to my closet or hop right back on the
mattress.

“Do you think I should…use a vibrator or…dildo…” I actually
stutter
. My whole face heats, and I
swear little beads of sweat gather on my upper lip. I wipe it frantically,
panicked as though someone will see me perspiring.