“She called the cops on you, Ryke,” she murmurs. “It’s not okay.”

“I’m already fucking over it,” I say. My publicists have been blasting the media, denying the allegation, and reminding people that Greg Calloway confirmed to People that our relationship started after Daisy turned eighteen. It was his way of apologizing for his wife’s rash, emotional decision.

But the pictures of me going to jail—the headlines that circulated through every major magazine—those won’t ever disappear. Not even with a public statement. The backlash—I felt it, even if I don’t read tabloids. The nasty stares at the gym, the glares at the fucking grocery store. Time magazine pulled that issue of us off the racks.

There is a whole lot of fucking hate towards me. And a lot towards Daisy too, for sticking by my side. I don’t care what anyone thinks except the people in this room and our families. But the more people attack “Raisy”—as the press has called us—the more she blames her mom.

The more her hate stirs.

“How?” she asks. “I watch you get handcuffed, all because of her.”

“It was her way of protecting you and saying fuck you to me. That’s it, Dais. She loves you, you know that.” I pause. “And you love her.”

Daisy stares at her cellphone with a watery gaze. I hug her close and kiss her head. Our mother problems have always been similar; mine are just a few more years down the road from hers. I took a wrong turn, and I don’t want her to follow me this time.

I tilt her chin up, and she says, “I’ll think about what you said.”

“Okay,” I nod. My voice lowers even more. “Are you going to talk to your sisters about your sleeping issues?”

Her face falls. “After this?” This past week, she’s been more open to the idea of sharing all the details of what happened in the past, even the most painful one.

“Yeah.” I give her a look, to make sure she knows what I mean.

Her shoulders slacken a little and she nods. “Okay, after this.”

Lo opens his mouth to speak again, but Connor interrupts, “We’re offering a solution. It’s nothing to be upset about.”

Lo presses his hands to his chest. “I’m not going to live with you. You’ve been a great roommate for these past two years, but you’re having a baby, man.” He shakes his head. “You don’t need to be dealing with our shit on top of that.”

 “You’re not ready,” Rose butts in like she did before. “You relapsed only a few months ago—”

“I’m never going to be ready, Rose!” Lo yells. “If you’re waiting for me to be cured, then you might as well give up now. This is going to last forever. Not a month. Not a few years. I’m an addict. I could very well stay sober for ten years and relapse again. You gotta accept that.”

Her lips draw into a thin line. “And what about Lily?”

“I can take of her like I always have,” Lo snaps.

“Oh, you mean when you spent years letting her have sex with different men every night,” Rose refutes. For fuck’s sake—she has less of a filter now that she’s pregnant. She just says whatever’s on her fucking mind.

Lo scowls, so coldly that I’m surprised Rose doesn’t shrivel back. I’m ready for him to tear her apart with something completely nasty. But then he says, “That’s your pregnancy pass for the fucking night. Whoever is growing in your belly is a demon. Straight up making you evil.”

Rose narrows her eyes, ignoring the slight to get back to the topic at hand. “I don’t care about the baby. I want Lily to live with us, and if she wants to, then you shouldn’t be fighting me on it.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Yes!”

I look to the couch beside Lo, where Lily used to sit. But she went to the bathroom…

I turn my attention to Connor.

He’s checking his watch. The same thought must be crossing his mind. “How long has she been gone?” My voice cuts Lo and Rose’s fight, silencing them.

Lo rotates and notices the bare cushion to his left. “Shit,” he curses and stands up, his eyes wide with worry.

“Twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen,” Connor says, following my movement as I rise to my feet.

Lo doesn’t even hesitate.

He just runs.

< 63 >

RYKE MEADOWS

“Kitchen bathroom!” Rose calls out before Lo sprints up the staircase.

I’m right behind him, my hand on his back as he rushes through the house. Connor follows close behind, and I just think…please fucking God be okay. Please let everyone be overreacting. It wouldn’t be the first time someone barged in on Lily taking an extra-long piss, reading her magazines. She lost Lo’s trust a long time ago. I think when he realized her recovery is a lot fucking bumpier than smooth.

The shower pipes groan through the walls.

Fuck.

Lo picks up his speed, and when he reaches the door, he slams his fist against the wood, trying the locked knob.

“LILY!” he screams, his voice full of unadulterated fear. He told me yesterday that he tried to kiss her, and she turned away. For Lily, rejecting a kiss isn’t a small thing. Her reasoning was that she didn’t feel good, and he let her go back to sleep.

She’s been doing that a lot too—sleeping.

Lo keeps jiggling the knob. “LILY!”

“Move,” I tell him.

He does, and I slam my shoulder into the wood. It takes two hard rams before it swings open. I run ahead of Lo, and I whip the shower curtain aside.

Lily is fully clothed, sitting in the tub as shower water sprays down on her. She shivers, her arms clinging around her legs, and her knees pressed to her chest. Her black long-sleeve shirt is wet and suctions to her thin body.

As I shut off the faucet, the shower pours on my arm, the water freezing cold. It almost jolts me backwards.

What is Lily’s fucking obsession with having meltdowns in tubs?

Lo jumps in, soaking his pants, and he holds Lily’s colorless cheeks steadily. “Lil, talk to me.” His voice is choked, pained beyond belief. Before the shower cuts off, it douses him, his light brown hair wet, and beads of water rolling down his razor-sharp cheeks.

She looks fragile in his clutch, but my brother seems just as broken, just as dark and pained. My heart pounds as I watch her hurt exchange between them. Without the water gushing, her sobs echo in the high-ceilinged bathroom. Heavy sobs that morph into cries.

“Lil, shhh,” Lo says. “You’re okay.”

I step into the bathtub behind her and feel around with my foot, the ice cold soaking through my jeans. Then I squat and use my hands, searching for anything: razors, sex toys, all of the fucking above. I find the closed drain and lift it up so water begins pouring out.

“I’m…sorrrry…” Her teeth chatter and she buries her face into his shoulder.

“Sorry for what, Lil?” he whispers, rubbing her back to warm her body.

Rose is pacing by the sink, her phone at the ready, one minute from speed dialing either an ambulance or a psychiatrist.

I climb out of the tub, and Connor nods to me. “Anything?” he asks.

I shake my head and stand beside him on Lily’s purple bath rug.

“I meant to tell you…” Lily says under her breath, her tears still dripping, but they’re silent, accompanied by deep fucking sorrow. “Yesterday, I was going to… I got scared…” Her entire body quakes from being soaked with ice cold water, most likely done to combat her cravings. I’ve seen her do it before, but not like this. She usually jokes about it, making an ice bath, jumping in for two seconds before shrieking and running away. “Sexual urges be gone!” she’d say with a smile.

This is fucking different. This is way more intense.

Connor hands Lo a towel, and he wraps the soft purple cotton around her trembling frame.

“Lily…you can tell me anything,” Lo says.

“Not this.” She shakes her head, tears pooling down her cheeks. “Not this.”

She fucking cheated on him? I set my hands on my head at that gut prediction. She fucking cheated on him.

But then Lo takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers slowly, as if each one is more important than the next. His eyes stay focused on their hands, as if he can’t bear to look anywhere else. And I wonder if he thinks the same thing as me.

“You have to tell me, Lil,” he murmurs. “I can’t guess.” His voice turns into a choked whisper. “Please don’t make me guess.”

She nods repeatedly as if working herself up to it. No one speaks, too frightened that she might crumble into nothing at someone else’s interjection. She opens her mouth and then something must click because her expression flips from realization to complete devastation. “Do you think…you think I cheated?”

Lo looks heartbroken. “I don’t know, Lil,” he whispers. “You’ve been acting distant, and you didn’t come with me to Paris, so you had all that time alone… I just, I don’t…I don’t know.”

“I didn’t cheat,” she says with so much fucking conviction. “You have to believe me.” She searches his eyes for it.

I let out a breath. My brother exhales a fucking bigger one than me.

“I do, Lil.” He touches her cheek. “But you have to fucking tell me what’s going on.”

“I was upset…overwhelmed. And I wanted to do things and I just thought…this would help.” Her eyes flicker to the showerhead and back to her kneecaps, closing up again.

“Just spit it out,” Lo urges. “Whatever it is. Just get it off your chest right now, love.”

It’s her turn to stare at their hands. “I didn’t know how to tell you…I thought while you were in Paris, I’d figure out a good way to say it, but I don’t…I don’t think there’s a good way. And I just kept putting it off, thinking tomorrow will be the day.” She wipes her eyes quickly and with a deep breath, she says, “I’m eight weeks pregnant.” She barely looks at him.