Addicted After All (52 page)

The office door suddenly swings open, and about the same time I spin around, the wood shuts closed, the person out of sight.

“I’m sorry!” Maya calls through the other side. “I should have knocked…”

Lo laughs, like a real humored one. And he whispers to me, “She’s carrying about ten plastic Thor hammers.”

I smile at
that
image of my super geeky store manager. She’s also proven her loyalty by not sharing any personal info with the press.

“It’s okay!” I shout back to her.

Lo kisses my cheek before I climb off him. “You’re not red,” he states like a fact.

I look at my arms. No blushing elbows. No rash-like flush. I beam. “My superpowers are—”

“Kicking in?” he finishes for me, his hypnotic amber eyes right on mine. His lips pull upward.

“It’s a lame superpower, isn’t it?” I ask as I head to the door. The ability to avoid roasting from head-to-toe—it’s not very grand or epic but at least it’s something. Right?

“Horrible,” he banters. “You’re better than that, love.”

I smile. “Am I?”

He nods. “Most definitely.”

 With this nice confidence boost, I open the door. Maya lingers with a heap of plastic Thor hammers in arm. Her glasses fall to the bridge of her nose and her straight black hair frizzes like lightning struck her. “I’m sorry, Lily,” she apologizes again, her eyes permanently widened in terror.

“We weren’t really doing anything,” I tell her quickly. Heat gathers on my neck, a
red
heat. Damn. That lasted too short. “Do you need help?” I motion to the merchandise she juggles.

“This? No, no, I have it. It’s just…” She leans in close and whispers, “There’s a girl who keeps asking for Lo. She’s been here the past two weeks, and she says she’ll keep coming back for as long as it takes.”

Jeez. I gently shut the door to Lo’s office, not wanting to disturb him. He’s in a weird place, and I don’t think he should be handling super fans.

“Maybe she’ll be satisfied with just me?”

Maya nods repeatedly.

I leave Moffy with Lo and descend the twisty staircase into the Superheroes & Scones break room. A few employees perk up by my sight. I haven’t been present much since my son was born, and it’s been easier to communicate by email and phone.

Entering the store will be like slipping into a version of outside, a smidgen less boisterous but still chaotic and loud. I like coming here after closing, when everyone is gone. It’s just red vinyl booths and racks of comics. But I take the risk now, and I push through the door.

The store is packed. Every booth occupied by a group of people, some just drinking coffee, others reading too. And people really peruse the shelves, like they’re interested in comics and not just spotting the Calloways.

It makes me smile.

Though the moment I scoot behind the counter, a kitchenette as the backdrop, heads whip in my direction. And the line outside the door suddenly rushes to the store window. People pull out their phones and snap photos. Inside the store too.

I shrink only a little. I’m used to the constant gazes now. Maya trails me, some plastic hammers swinging by their price tags and clanking together. “Where is she?” I ask her.

But the moment the words escape, a girl springs up from the floor near a rack of
X-Men
comics. Her light brown hair in a messy braid, she slings an old jean backpack on her shoulder and walks slowly towards me. She fixes her large round glasses on her nose with shaky, nervous hands.

I thought she’d be excited, like the girls who shriek outside every time I glance their way. Instead, the color drains from her face.

With the checkout counter separating us, she’s not too close. “Hi,” I smile, but she doesn’t return it. Oh…what if she hates me and only loves Lo? I didn’t think this through.

“Is Loren around?” she asks. “I really want to see him.” She pushes her glasses up again.

“He’s working,” I say with the scrunch of my nose. “It sucks. But I’m here.” I smile again, but her frown deepens. I’m a shit alternative to Loren Hale’s six-pack and sharp-as-ice cheekbones. Daisy is also better at small talk than me. But she’s taught me some things through our Hale Co. competition. Compliments get you far. “I like your pin,” I tell her.

“What?” she asks in a daze.

This is not going well. I point to the well-worn pin on the strap of her backpack. The blue words are half-scratched off but I can read the saying:
Mutant & Proud.
I add, “
X-Men: First Class
is one of my favorites too.”

Her clutch tightens on the strap and she adjusts the weight of her bag. “Is there any way I can see him? Tomorrow maybe?”

I can’t promise her a one-on-one meet-and-greet with Lo. He’s dealing with so much that it’s just not a good time to be shaking hands with strangers. But I want to give him the option. “I’ll have him email you,” I tell her. “That’s as much as I can offer.”

Her shoulders rise in shock. “Yes,
please
, thank you.”

I find a notepad beside the register and slide it to her with a pen. “Write down your email address for me.”

While she scribbles, the chimes on the door ding, and the noise level increases. Loud, obnoxious boys enter the store, a group of four stumbling through. One knocks into a cardboard cutout of Cyclops, which is just rude.

Maya groans in distress beside me. “They’re awful.”

I frown. “They’ve been here before?”

“Twice. And they always make a mess.”

They can’t be any older than seventeen. One of them clutches a brown paper bag. They’re drunk. A guy with a black hoodie trips into a not-so-empty booth. A couple girls curse them out as they leave the table, and the guy slurs, “Bitches.” He even flips them off.

My heart speeds as I text my bodyguard:
Superheroes & Scones needs your assistance, Garth.
He took a bathroom break ten minutes ago and said that the Lucky’s chili isn’t sitting well with him. I warned him. I love Lucky’s but that chili is never to be eaten.

And then I text Lo:
There are some rude guys down here. How should I kick them out?

When I press send, the girl hands me the note with her email. She seems like she’s genuinely interested in comics, so I’m not surprised when she says, “I’m going to stick around if that’s okay? I was in the middle of
Messiah Complex
.”

“Of course,” I say with a smile. She slowly retreats back to the floor and row of
X-Men
comics. I read the note before I pocket it:
[email protected]

My phone buzzes.

I’m coming down with Moffy and Ryke.
– Lo

What? No. I quickly text back:
No, I have this…wait, what’s Ryke doing there?

I called him when you left. He was in town. I’ll see you in a second.
– Lo

Before I reply with a more forceful text or even process Ryke being here, the break room door swings open, and Ryke and Lo emerge. It’s like the floodgates open, shrieking and screaming from outside. And the chatter escalates in the store. Almost everyone has their phones pointed at us, except the employees.

Moffy cries in Lo’s arms like he’s being attacked. My heart catapults, and I instinctively pry him from Lo and tuck him to my chest. Lo hardly even notices, his eyes plant on the booth of rowdy, drunken guys.

“No fucking way,” Ryke curses, his tone more shocked than angry.

“What?” I gape.

“Those are the guys,” Lo tells me with gritted teeth, “the ones who’ve been pranking us.”

Oh.
Oh.
Shit.

{ 57 }

LOREN HALE

Ryke and I squeeze into either end of the red booth, blocking all four guys from a quick, easy exit. “Hey there,” I say with the most agitated half-smile.

The teenager in the hoodie sits closest by the window, and he makes a show of swigging from the paper-bagged bottle. Ryke rests his forearms on the table, itching to trash it, but he forces himself to stay seated. 

Most of the teenagers wear normal clothes: jeans and a nice shirt. I can’t stereotype them as anything more than bored rich kids. Something I’m pretty familiar with.

Next to Ryke, a guy with jet-black hair speaks first, “Where’s your prick friend?”

“Yeah,” a redhead next to me asks, “is he going to show up and lecture us for an hour?”

“Let me guess.” I point at the redhead. “Your last name is Patrick.”

He crosses his arms and slouches. “So what?”
So Connor talked to your parents and only pissed everyone off.
This has to go better than that. But maybe it’s a lost cause.

Regardless…I still plan on trying.

“I’m not going to lecture you,” I begin, but the guy in the hoodie leans forward.

He sneers at me, “You
can’t
kick us out. We have a right to be here like everyone else.” He’s the one I remember most, with tousled brown hair and a soft face. The one I grabbed when they shot paintballs at our house.

A guy with a buzz-cut pipes in, “Yeah, it’s our first amendment right to be here.”

They’re lucky Connor isn’t at Superheroes & Scones. He’d tear into that statement, and he’d probably make them feel small.

Ryke rolls his eyes dramatically. “You all smell like cheap fucking vodka.”

“Sorry,” the hoodie guy says dryly. “We’ll buy better stuff next time.”

“That’s not what I…” Ryke growls in frustration as two of them make crude gestures with their hands and tongue. He loses his patience, and his eyes flit to me, tagging me in.

“Come on, you all look no older than seventeen,” I tell them. “Drinking underage is illegal, so you’re not in a power position here.” I nod to the guy in the hoodie. “What’s your name?”

“Fuck you,” he curses and then switches his V-shaped fingers into one middle finger, flipping me off.

Ryke and I exchange a look like this isn’t going anywhere. What’s worse, the booth is pressed against a window, and people keep snapping photos of us.

“How was that bourbon bath?” the jet-black hair guy asks with a laugh. And then he high-fives his friend across the table.

Ryke’s eyes flash hot. “You think it’s funny?”

“Ryke,” I interject and shake my head.

The hoodie guy mutters, “Pussy.” It was directed at me. One-hundred percent.

The redhead snickers. “Nice, Garrison.”

“
Dude
,” Garrison gapes, his hood falling off his head. And when he catches me watching him, he practically spits at me. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” I say, with just as much venom. And his guard lowers an inch, hurt flares in his eyes. Instinct guides me to a new place. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You all have two options.” Surprisingly they quiet to listen to me. “You can stop the pranks,
never
come around our house again. If you’re
that
bored, I wouldn’t mind hiring some of you to work here. If you don’t want a job, I get it. You can have a discount on comics, if that’s your thing.”

Ryke adds, “And I’d be willing to teach all of you to rock climb at the gym. But you can’t drink.”

“Sounds like so much fun,” the redhead says with the roll of his eyes.

Garrison picks at the paper bag, his gaze faraway on the table. “And the second option?” he asks.

“You vandalize our house again or harass our girls, and we’ll press charges. The minute we even see your goddamn pinky toe on our lawn, I’m calling the cops. Take it from someone who’s been in jail, you don’t want to be there. Even for a couple hours.”

Garrison lets out a short, irritated laugh. “When were you in jail?”

Without blinking I say, “I doused some asshole’s door with pig’s blood.”

“No way,” the redhead gapes.

Garrison sits up straighter. “Yeah? Where’s that asshole now?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. That shit is long gone, man. You’re going to leave prep school and you’re only going to take your mistakes with you.” I eye the bottle of booze. “You can stay here if you hand that over and don’t cause any commotion. Otherwise, you have to go.”

 “We’ll go,” the buzz-cut guy says and then nods to Garrison. “Let’s buy that six-pack and head to the elementary school playground.”

My stomach twists, but I can’t force anyone to do anything. I know this. I stand up the minute the rest of them do, and they all gather to leave. As he passes me on his way out, Garrison gives me a long once-over, his lip either curling in distaste…or maybe something else.

And then he pushes the bottle in my hands. “Here, you won’t be such a pussy if you drink.”

“If that’s what you think,” I say without falter. And then I chuck the bottle in the nearby trash.

His bewildered face is priceless.

I turn my back on them, hearing the chimes to the door as they exit. I feel Ryke next to me. And to my brother, I ask, “Do you think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” I ask.

He pats my shoulder. “That I’m really fucking proud of you.”

It takes me aback for a moment, and I breeze through the previous conversation. I wasn’t malicious or hateful or vindictive. I didn’t treat those teenagers how my father would’ve treated me. I was just honest.

I let out a breath, and then I scan the store for Lily and our son, not spotting her behind the checkout counter. “Maya,” I call out as I see her zipping down an aisle. “Where’s Lily?”

“Break room. Garth is with her. Thank you for handling those guys!” She gestures to the now empty booth.

“If you have trouble again like that, text me.”

She bows and then she shouts a phrase in Korean. I’ve learned that it’s actually supposed to be in English, a saying from
Battlestar Galactica
: “So say we all.”

Just as I’m about to leave Superheroes & Scones, someone says, “Loren?”

Ryke goes rigid as a girl sneaks up behind him and slides closer to me. My face falls as I get a good look at her.

No.

It can’t be…I shake my head in a daze. She’s older, I guess around seventeen now. The first and only time I’d ever seen her—she was in middle school.