Addicted After All (12 page)

I can barely even concentrate on that future drama when my mind has zeroed in on Loren Hale and only Loren Hale. I need him.

I want him.

I just can’t let myself have all of him tonight.
No sex.

But it will be enough. It has to be.

Lo climbs two more stairs before the front door bursts open and bangs against the wall.

He cranes his neck over his shoulder, and every muscle in his arms and abdomen tenses against me. I peek from the crook of his bicep and make direct eye contact with a stern, severe man. Dark brown hair that’s grayed by the temples. A jaw as hard and intimidating as Ryke Meadows’ and a glower as deathly as Loren Hale’s.

Jonathan Hale is the scariest parts of both his sons.

“Meeting,” Jonathan Hale says roughly, his voice husky and foreboding. “Now.”

My arousal still exists. I can’t just extinguish it because of Jonathan’s worst timing. So I recognize that I’m in serious trouble.

{ 12 }

LOREN HALE

I want to fucking scream.

At no one in particular.

If I could, I’d disappear in my bedroom with Lily and try to get her to a better place than the one she’s at. I hate that she’s anxious, and I hate that she’s scared of herself. And I recognize what just happened—that she became aroused from someone other than me. It’s not a new development. Since she’s been pregnant, she’s gotten hot from almost everything.

What’s different is that she’s starting to let her addiction fuck with her mind. Affect our relationship. I won’t let anything tear us apart. Especially not something we’ve both been fighting for so long.

“Loren!” my father calls.

I stand on the stairs uneasily, about to drop Lil on her feet, but she spiders my body, terrified more of herself than of my dad in the living room. After years of dealing with her sex addiction, I know how to help her, but I can’t respond to him and her at the same time.

“Lo,” she breathes.

“Lil,” I say, cupping her face with one hand and her ass with the other. I force her gaze to mine, and she cuts me off before I can speak.

“I’m only attracted to you. You know that, right?” Fear spikes her voice.

I can feel my face sharpen in aggravation. Not at her. Just the situation. I wanted time to take her upstairs and talk to her. “I know, Lil—”

“Loren, come here,
now
,” my dad interrupts again.

“One second!” I yell back. This is my only moment to get her on the same page as me. “Lil, you know how much you love porn?”

She nods, and I wipe some of her silent tears. My stomach twists the longer she’s upset.

“That’s all this is. You’re turned on by a lot of stuff, love. We live with two other couples, and one is into PDA…” I watch her face scrunch as she tries to understand. I figured out that she’d be aroused by the PDA quickly, and I mentioned to Connor that I was concerned she’d become scared of Ryke and him.

It’s a small regression, a speed bump.

So we tested it out. He stood behind her for a few seconds. Not even that close. I’ve seen Lily freak, but never about Connor—someone she used to think was gay.

Lily shakes her head repeatedly at me, confusion seeping in her green eyes. “I’m
not
turned on by your brother,” she whispers with wide eyes, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

“He could’ve been
anyone
, Lil. Do you understand?” The pain in her eyes—pain for
me
, thinking she’s hurt me somehow—breaks my heart into too many goddamn pieces. I just want to hold her tightly until it’s just us left. No one around us. Drown everything out.

She rubs her eyes. “Ryke is like a porn star?”

I almost laugh, but her chin quivers. “Lil?” My lungs drop.

“I’m not allowed to watch porn,” she says with worry. “So…if everything is like porn, then…”

No. Christ no. “Lil, don’t be afraid of the fucking world, please.” I can’t have her scared to go outside again. I’m screwing this up, really badly. And this isn’t like a failed grade on a test. I am holding my girlfriend’s wellbeing in my hands right now.

“I just…how do I fix this?” she asks me.

“LOREN!” my dad calls, like a knife in my gut.

My fingers slide into her straight brown hair and I say, “You just have to accept that what you feel is okay.”

Tears squeeze out of her eyes. “Lo…” Her throat bobs. “…it doesn’t feel okay.”

I kiss her cheek, and I whisper, “After we get done talking to my dad, I’m going to show you that it is.”

“LOREN!”

“Give him a fucking break,” Ryke retorts downstairs.

My veins pulse hard. I trust that if I leave her alone, she won’t touch herself. But in this moment, I don’t want her to face a challenge that she’s already hurdled fifty million fucking times. It’s one that’s never easy, and she doesn’t need to prove herself after an agonizing hour.

I’d rather her not be in pain at all. That means I enable her and have sex. I can’t do that. I have to settle for somewhere in the middle of pain and ecstasy. Between a high and a low.

It sounds easier finding that place than it really is.

I bring her downstairs with me, carrying her in a front-piggyback. When we enter the living room, the fireplace is lit, and outside the fogged windows, snow falls. The air is strained, especially as Ryke and my father stay standing while Daisy fidgets on the suede loveseat, crossing and uncrossing her long legs.

I sit on the couch with Lily, and my father scrutinizes her for too many seconds.

“You could have called,” I tell him, “or texted me.” None of us needed a spontaneous meeting with him. Before, we had all worked up to it.

“But I didn’t. Shit happens every day that you can’t prepare for, Loren,” he says, like I’m not familiar with that.

I’ve walked through life with a blindfold, hoping I didn’t crash into things, sometimes praying that I did. Preparation has never been my thing. My life is a “toss this dart at me” kind of random. Let’s see which body part it pierces.

My dad disinterestedly inspects hardbacks on a tall wooden shelf, all belonging to Rose and Connor. “Think of this as a life lesson,” he says.

My jaw tics in irritation. “Like I need any more of those.”

I wait for the,
don’t be a little shit.

He buries his fists in the pockets of his black slacks, no whiskey in hand. And he faces the couch. “You’re probably right.” No insult for me. I lean back in surprise. He’s been sober for almost four months. It still seems like a dream, but these moments make it more real.

I rub Lily’s shoulders, but she squeezes her thighs around my waist. I’d rather not move her off my lap, but I’m afraid she’s going to grind on me. I scoot her onto the cushion, and I toss a purple blanket over her. She adjusts so her heel digs into the spot between her legs.

Christ, Lil.

My dad’s gaze drifts over to the foyer. “This is just between the four of us.”

“I’ve never fought with you about anything,” Connor says easily, Rose by his side. “Let’s not change that.” It sounds like a threat.

I’ve never seen anyone really hold the same power in a room as my father. Lily’s dad is submissive towards Jonathan.
Soft
, is what my dad calls him. And Connor has always played their game with a fake smile and a firm handshake.

This is different.

My father sizes him up, a literal once-over from head to toe.

Ryke says, “Let them fucking stay.”

Rose has already settled in a Queen Anne chair next to me, crossing her ankles, Connor standing beside the armrest.

My dad keeps his attention on Connor. “I understand why you like Ryke. What’d you call him the other day? Your
attack dog
.”

Ryke flips Connor off without meeting his eyes, but it’s in jest. He’s said that plenty of times to his face.

“I like him all the same,” Connor says.

“But what’s Loren to you?” my dad asks. He thinks he’s poking at a weak spot of Connor’s, but he’s doing a poor job. He can’t break the guy. He’s built of titanium or some sort of indestructible alien material. Like Superman.

I open my mouth to tell my dad to leave him alone.

But he continues, “Lo’s a college dropout, has failed at every athletic sport he’s ever tried.” My blood runs cold, and Lily suddenly clutches my hand, trying to comfort me. I can’t move. “He’s not smart or strong. Frankly, he’s a goddamn
liability
. So what use is he to you?” Through all these statements, I want to believe my dad is trying to protect me from Connor. Right? Like Ryke once did.

Connor is a user, he’s saying.

My brows knot. Yeah, I know this about Connor.

“He’s my best friend,” Connor says without a beat. “I enjoy his company.”

“Do you?” My dad glares, one that could shrivel a man.

Connor never backs down. “I know what you’re implying, and you should stop.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes,” Connor says, pokerfaced. Honestly, it’s terrifying—not being able to see his emotions.

“I’m not here to ruin you, Connor, but if you stand in my way, I will. Unlike you, I’m a man with very little to lose.”

“Jonathan,” Rose suddenly says, her eyes fiery. And it’s like my dad just recognizes her sitting right there. “You bring my husband down, you bring me down. We’re staying right
here.
” She might as well have said:
we’re in the
inner fucking circle, bitch. No one is pushing us out.

My dad grinds his teeth in distaste.

Connor won this.

Rose is related to Greg Calloway. Greg is Jonathan’s best friend. As a result, he’d never hurt Rose.

His eyes flicker up to Connor. “You aligned yourself fucking well. If I had a glass of bourbon, I’d cheers to you.”

“I’m glad you don’t,” Connor says. I wait for him to add a smartass response, but he holds back this time. Or maybe it’s the literal truth. I’ll never know. With Connor, it’s hard to discern these things unless you’re in his head.

Ryke stays standing with Connor, and my dad addresses the entire room, though his gaze lands on me and Lil the most. He starts pacing in front of the fireplace. His hands now on his hips. Then on the back of his neck. He rubs his fingers together like he’s missing his glass of liquor.

My thoughts scramble. I just don’t see what this could be about—

“You four.” He suddenly stops pacing and motions between Ryke, Daisy, Lily and me, appraising us. Like he’s tallying our worth. When his eyes land on me, they actually redden. “One of you needs to grow the
fuck
up. I don’t care which one of you it is, but it has to happen.”

A noise between pain and laughter catches my throat. “What are you even talking about?”

My dad says, “Open your goddamn ears, Loren.”

I grimace. “Right, I don’t understand
anything
. Because I’m not smart enough or strong enough, because I can’t hit a homerun or make a touchdown, I can’t comprehend sentences and words.” I give him a half-smile that hurts my face.

“Clearly you’re not stupid. You just like being a pain in my ass.” His broad shoulders lock, and he fixes his suit and checks his watch. Like he’s running out of time. He addresses the four of us again. “In the media, you all are represented about equally heinously. Now
I
think you’re all beautiful little shits, but my opinion really doesn’t matter.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a creased paper with coffee stains.

The only one who doesn’t look confused is my dad—the one with all the answers.

“There are some people whose opinions
do
matter.” He reads off the paper. “In a group of fourteen—ten men and four women, average age forty-two—every single goddamn female found Ryke Meadows, my eldest son, vulgar, aggressive, threatening, and I quote, ‘a hazard to children everywhere.’”

“What the fuck are you reading?” Ryke asks.

Our dad flashes the paper at us, and instead of typed sentences, all I see are pen scribbles. “My notes,” he clarifies. “Five men labeled you as a work-in-progress. The other five saw no silver lining with you. And a seventy-five-year-old said, I quote, ‘if he spits in the face of a cameraman, what’s to say he wouldn’t spit in our faces?’ A wise statement.”

My pulse is racing. I keep shaking my head.

No one interrupts him. He focuses now on my brother’s girlfriend, Lily’s little sister, someone who I wish was far away from my dad. “Daisy Calloway, daughter of a respected entrepreneur. Every female said you’re too young, too immature, and too reckless. The men, however, found you to be charming, alluring, and presentable.” My dad looks up from the paper. “I don’t take stock in their opinions since they were swayed by their dicks.”

Daisy’s mouth falls.

Ryke is fuming, steam practically rising off his skin.

I’m too stunned and caught off guard. I scratch the back of my neck that heats.

Before my brother actually charges forward—which is nearing a possibility—our dad raises his hands in defense. “Moving on to Lily Calloway.” Shit. I clasp Lily’s knee beneath the blanket. She’s unmoving.

“You don’t need to read what the public thinks of her,” I snap at him. “She gets it.” We’ve all heard everything before.

He pushes his finger at the paper. “These fourteen people aren’t the entire public. It’s a fraction, and they’re important.” He continues reading from his notes, “Lily Calloway has sexual relations with two of my sons at once—as stated by five of fourteen. The women like that you’re pregnant, but they find you shy, impersonal and awkward on camera. Three men appeared to admire your Princeton undergraduate degree, while the rest thought it was insignificant. One woman said, and I quote, ‘she is the most popular Calloway but also the most unpopular’ which is ridiculous but true.”

Lily has the most negative press, but as a couple, we have the biggest fanbase because of the way
Princesses of Philly
edited us. So I get that comment. What I don’t understand is
the point
to this whole charade.

My father suddenly spins to me. I freeze as he says, “Loren Hale, my second-born son…” His shoulders slacken, and when his eyes flicker to mine, I see more admiration in them, more love. “…all fourteen were first scared to criticize you in front of me, but I goaded them into doing it.”