Addicted After All (56 page)

“Yeah, you do that,” I tell Rose. “Fly in your magic bubble, Glenda.”

“Shut. Up. Loren.” She huffs as she gets ten feet from Connor. And then he catches up to her, and he hooks his arm around her waist.

“They’re gone, darling.” He tugs her to his body.

“Richard—”

“You can’t run after them,” Connor says. “But he’ll rat out his friends.”

The redhead lets out a pissed laugh. “Like
hell
, you prick.”

Connor’s lip tics, and he straightens up, his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders while he holds Jane. She cries into his white button-down, soaking the shirt.

In a controlled voice, he says, “Burglary is a felony. In case the severity escapes you, I’ll clarify. You will now have
severe
trouble obtaining a job and applying to colleges. That Ivy League you dreamed about is now scratching you off their lists. And inside your social circle, you better hope you have loyal friends. Because those that care about status will write you off just as quickly as everyone else. You’re a social carp, a bottom feeder. You take the meager scraps that the more fortunate hand out to you.”

Rose opens her mouth to pipe in, hopefully not to call him a penis again. I wait for her retort, but her lips tighten closed and her shoulders constrict. She cautiously looks to Connor.

I frown and inspect the redhead.

He’s crying.

His eyes redden as tears streak his face. If I was more callous, I’d feel good right about now. I’d feel justified in his pain. He fucked with us for a while. He deserves this, right? But the pity that surfaces belongs to a guy who’s been there. Who’s hated everyone and everything. Who just wanted to go and drown.

I didn’t want them to choose this. But I will
never
have another night like tonight. There will never be another shadow passing through our hallway. No amount of empathy will change my mind.

Connor’s demeanor softens as he says to the redhead, “Or you can make a deal. Reduce your charges, try to turn this felony into a misdemeanor.”

I see where Connor is headed with this one. “You’ll just have to give up your friends.”

He laughs weakly, and then he nods a few times in agreement. Right then, the police burst through the front doors with handguns outstretched and bullet proof vests, shouting multiple things at once.

It’s over.

I release my clutch on the guy, and he staggers forward with his hands in the air. I immediately lift a terrorized, wriggling baby out of Lily’s gangly arms. He latches onto my chest and I press a hand to his back, rubbing him as he settles down.

Lily hides her eyes behind her Wampa cap, like she’s hiding from me.

“I’ll talk to the police first,” I barely hear Connor say. One of the officers is about to near me for questioning.

“Can I have a minute?” I ask him.

With two authoritative hands on his belt, he nods once and steps back.

“Lil?” I whisper, watching her cross her ankles with anxiety. She’s not doing well. I put two fingers in her waistband and pull her to my chest.

She shuffles forward and sniffs loudly.

My ribs bind around my lungs. And I lift the furry white cap higher on her head. Lil’s green eyes well with tears, her delicate, round face as splotched as our son’s.

“I disappeared there for a moment, didn’t I?” I realize. She must’ve heard us banging into the walls. They could’ve been armed. Lily Calloway’s imagination fucks with her on a daily basis, and I bet it constructed a pretty devastating end.

She wipes her nose with her arm.

If I provoked them longer, I think they would’ve tried to jump on me, to shove me down the stairs. But they were more scared of me than I was of them. I didn’t feed their hate with my own. I just let it rest.

“Don’t do that again, okay?” Her chin quakes.

“Love,” I breathe, my heart aching. I hug her closer, melding her small, wiry frame to my body. And my lips brush her ear. “You and me.”

She chokes on a laugh. “Lily and Lo.”

My chest swells. “We’re going to make it in the end.” I smile wide because I can see it now. God, I can see it.

It’s closer than I ever realized.

* * *

After the police write down our statements, a few of them scour our house for any signs of the other four who escaped. I think they all ran down the street, to their homes. And I have more than a gut-feeling the cops will knock on their door within the hour.

The redheaded guy, Nathan Patrick, ratted out every single friend that was here tonight. The names burn in my brain as I sweep glass off the kitchen floor, a couple flower vases shattered.

Dillon, Kyle, John, and Hunter.

“What was that guy in the hoodie’s name?” Lily asks me at the bar counter, her laptop open in front of her. I briefly mentioned that the guy wasn’t here tonight.

“Garrison.” I brush the glass into a dustpan and instinctively check on Moffy by the fridge. He’s quietly awake in his bouncer beside Jane, both entranced by dangling mobiles. Hers: stars and planets, a solar system. His: lightning bolts and stuffed superheroes like Wolverine.

I smile as he focuses on the red Spider-Man. Even though my kid has the cards stacked against him with addicts as parents, I think he’s going to turn out all right.

“Do you think he planned to come tonight?” Lily asks me.

“No clue.” I dump the glass in the black trash bag and check my cell for missed calls. None. I’ve called Ryke about five times, and he texted back:
I’ll call you in a second.
It’s been an hour. I pick a green wrapped present off the ground, the box smashed.

I open it and inspect the damage.

The wooden picture frame is bent, a fissure running along the glass. I carefully slip out the photo that I framed for my brother. One of the few we really have that’s ours, not taken by paparazzi. From this summer, we’re sitting on the edge of the pool outside. Daisy called our names, and we turned our heads the same time she snapped the photo.

Even caught off guard, we look happy. It’s in our eyes, in our fleeting, rare smiles. We even look like brothers.

“Did you pick one out yet?” Rose’s voice cuts into my thoughts. I put the picture in a drawer and chuck the rest of the broken present.

“I like the dark gray leather since the cream suede gets dirty,” Lily says.

Rose hovers over her sister’s shoulder, peering at the laptop screen. “It’s ugly.”

“It’s a couch,” I tell her. “It’s not fine China.”

“It still has to match,” Rose retorts. “What’s your second choice, Lily?”

Lily bites her nails and shifts on the stool. My muscles tense as I walk around the bar counter, and I notice she has her heel pressed up against her crotch. At least she’s not in an ice cold tub, crying. In our fucked up world, she’s doing pretty good tonight, all things considered.

I can tell that this is our forever. Lily won’t ever be one-hundred percent. I won’t either. But these small bumps are easier than any brick walls we’ve faced.

“This one,” Lily says and squints at the screen. “…the beige tufted sofa.”

“Can we have it shipped tomorrow morning?” Rose asks and unsurprisingly slides the computer in front of herself, typing away as she discovers these details. We all wanted to piece back our house as much as possible for Daisy.

And Rose has been pouring her energy into these preparations since Daisy hasn’t returned her calls either.

Screw it.

I’m not waiting for another hour. I dial my brother’s number for the sixth time and press it against my ear. On nearly the last ring, the line clicks.

“Hey, I’m fucking sorry. I’ve just been…” He takes a deep breath like he’s expelling the night. “Are you okay? Is everyone—”

“We’re all fine.” The minute I say the words, Rose lets out a surprised gasp.

“You got ahold of them? Put it on speaker.”

I shoot her a look. “No
please
?”

“Loren,” she snaps.

I talk to Ryke in the receiver, “Queen Rose wants to be on speaker.”

“That’s fine,” he says.

I drop the phone and press the speaker button. Connor even slips into the kitchen, leaning a shoulder on the door frame. “Where are they?” he asks us.

Ryke must hear the statement because he answers, “We’re spending the night in a hotel downtown. We’ll be back in the morning.”

I nod at this. That’s good. We’ll have time to really fix this place up before Daisy returns.

“How is she?” Rose asks, her voice higher than normal. We all moved in together
for
Daisy, so that we’d offer her a better kind of security. It hits me all of a sudden.

We failed her. Our whole plan went to shit.

Story of my life.

You think you’ve figured it all out, the one gear in the cog that’ll solve your problems. And it only makes a mess of everything.

Life is a big shitty bag of trial and error. And the error always seems to come at someone’s expense.

“She’s still fucking rattled,” Ryke tells us. “I’ve calmed her down some…but I think she’ll be better in the morning.”

Lily practically whispers, “Is she going to move out?”

The weirdest feeling washes over me. It takes me a second to process it. Jesus. I don’t want Daisy to move out. Not alone. Not even with my brother. I like having everyone here. One house. Together.

We’re a family.

Ryke lowers his voice. “We’ve been talking about it, but we haven’t made a decision yet.”

“We can move,” Rose suggests, guilt sagging her shoulders.

I shake my head at her like she’s crazy. We’ve spent months putting up with the teenagers and now that it’s ended, we’re going to move? We’ll be dealing with the same shit all over again.
No way.

“Daisy doesn’t want you to do that,” Ryke explains.

Lily clears her throat and speaks louder. “We want you both here.”

Rose nods. “I second that.”

“I third it,” Connor says, his lips rising.

“Me too,” I add.

Ryke sounds overwhelmed as he says, “Thanks, guys. See you in the morning.” And he hangs up. I forgot to wish him happy birthday, so I end up texting it.

I can understand what he’s going through. Watching someone you love teeter on the brink of their anxieties and fears. With no real way to fix it. We can only pick them up. Each Calloway girl fights a similar battle in different ways. As I pocket my phone, I catch Lily scratching her arms and I know mine is headed towards that familiar edge.

{ 64 }

LILY CALLOWAY

I can’t sleep. I lie on my side, tangled in the sheet, and I listen to the creaks of the walls, hugging the baby monitor to my chest.

“Lil,” Lo murmurs, his hands on my hips as he spoons me from behind.

“Huh?” An ache pulses between my legs.
Ignore, ignore, ignore
, I send these signals to my brain. Even if they’re incomputable. They must go there.

“You’re grinding against my dick, love.”

Shit. I stiffen, not wanting to scuttle away from him. I like that he has a strong handhold on my hipbones and that his warm chest presses to my back. My bony butt has betrayed me. And maybe so has my nether region.

“I didn’t mean to.” Anxiety flushes my skin.

“It’s okay.” He props his elbow on the pillow and kisses my cheek. Oh God. I want those lips right on mine.

“Lo,” I whine. I hate my needy voice. I turn my face into my pillow and moan in distress. I’d like to escape my mind tonight. And the best, easiest way to do that is sex. The problem is: I fear for Moffy’s safety, and
why
do I have to be the weird girl who’d like to drown those worries with a climax?

Lo climbs over me, resting either of his knees on my sides and he flips me on my back. I stare up at him, his sharp jawline that’s visible in our dark bedroom.

Very softly, I say, “I’d like to be normal tonight.”

His brows knot in concern. “You are normal, Lil.”

I shake my head a little. “I want to fuck you.”

“Funny, I want to fuck you,” he retorts.

I laugh weakly into an even weaker smile.

“It’s true,” he says in a playful tone. “My best friend—” he pinches my cheeks “—has turned me on since I hit puberty. I love everything about her, and there’s not
one day
that I go without thinking,
I’d like to fuck that girl.
” He lowers his lips, those beautiful pink lips to mine, a breath away, and whispers, “So there.”

I tremble beneath him. “Lo.”
Fuck me.
I shut down my brain’s naughty request and press the baby monitor to my ear, just in case I missed something.

Lo watches me tentatively. “He’s okay, Lil.” The seriousness floods back to his voice.

“I’m just making sure.”

Before I even finish the words, Lo climbs off me and the bed. He flicks on the lights.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up. He’s wearing black boxer-briefs and sweatpants. Normally he wouldn’t have those, but he’s trying not to dangle the goods in front of an addict. Still though, I stare at his butt and his bulge, depending on which why he turns to me.

Dirty habit.

“I’ll be right back.” And then he opens the door and disappears.

I wear one of Lo’s baggy black shirts. I catch myself biting my nails that sting. The moment I drop my hand, Lo returns, and I perk up as I see who he’s brought with him.

Maximoff Hale. Our baby, dressed in a red onesie that says: Avenger in Training. His little tufts of dark brown hair are smoothed down, and he sleeps in Lo’s arms with his mouth open. We no longer poke at him to ensure that he’s alive.

Lo is holding our son. The baby that we created together. Half of him and half of me.

It’s the most beautiful image my brain has ever received. And I’m afraid of turning it into something dirtier. So I swiftly roll onto my stomach and hide beneath the comforter.

“Lily,” Lo chides. The bed undulates beneath his weight, and he rests beside me. “Come out, love.”

“I’m not coming anywhere,” I say immediately, the red-rash of embarrassment hot and cruel.