Ricochet (ADDICTED SERIES)
Ricochet: Chapter 4

Assigned seating. I curse you.

Fifty tables fill the grand ballroom, and my mother wedged us near the front under the brightest lamp. Not only do we have to endure our dates, but we have to do so under the scalding heat of a spotlight. While we wait for the guys to find us, I play with the glittery napkin ring on my plate and try not to anxiously scratch my arms.

My mother’s party planner had too much fun with the black and gold decorations. A black sparkler centerpiece fits in the center of every gold clothed table. Photos of gold Fizz cans with black carbonation bubbles are framed along the walls. Diet Fizz is the reverse color scheme with black cans and gold bubbles.

At least Fizzle’s logo isn’t lime green and puke pink—two colors that would induce an instant migraine. Still, you think she could have branched out a little bit. Maybe added a splash of blue or red. But no, those are Coca-Cola and Pepsi’s colors. No Fizzle-loving person would dare touch them.

I’m going stir-crazy waiting for our dates, but at least Rose and Daisy sit next to me, not allowing any room for a guy to settle near me. I also choose not to glance around for them like Rose, who scans the floor trying to speculate who the hell our mother invited to be our arm candy. Anyway, too many people mill about the ballroom for me to play that guessing game. They congregate by the open bar or eat fancy hors d’oeuvres as servers pass.

I feel like I’m at a million-dollar wedding reception.

Daisy leans back on the legs of her chair and folds her cloth napkin into a flower, clearly bored. “How convenient that Maria suddenly came down with a stomach bug.” Poppy never even made it out of the limo. The nanny called her as soon as Maria threw up, and she turned around to take her to the doctor. “I need to have a baby so I can use it as a way to bail.”

Rose clenches a champagne glass firmly in her hand. Her eyes shoot to our youngest sister. “Let’s not talk about children.”

“Yeah,” I say with a small smile. “The word baby gives Rose hives.”

Rose sips her drink, not disagreeing.

And that’s when I feel a hand plant on my shoulder. And by the force and the size, I know it’s male.

“Lily Calloway,” he says with added pleasure. I know that voice. I just can’t place it. I rarely can.

I slowly crane my neck over my shoulder, and my eyes widen in horror. I recognize the All-American build, blue eyes, and swept back brown hair. Even outside of prep school, he looks like a star quarterback—even if his sport of choice was lacrosse.

I didn’t sleep with Aaron Wells. I didn’t touch a hair on his head, and I never would. Because this douchebag tried to stuff Lo into a locker in ninth grade. Lo spun out of his grasp and sprinted down the hall, away from Aaron and a pack of restless bullies. Aaron wasn’t fast enough to catch him.

Lo fights indirectly with people. So I knew he wouldn’t retaliate with a baseball bat, swinging at Aaron’s head in angry retribution. There are some things that hurt worse than a punch. I think his father taught him that. Lo paid a guy to break into the school and alter Aaron’s exam grades, and his GPA fell. For guys like Aaron, reputation is everything and being on the bottom of the graduating class can ruin status. He must have realized Lo was the cause, so one day after school Aaron tried to confront him with fists bared. He clocked him. Lo escaped. As he always did. Four years passed and their feud escalated.

I became a target.

Aaron would try to trap me in the bathrooms, and I vehemently dodged him. I stayed glued to Lo’s side during every hour of the day. In those couple months, I remember being really scared to go to school. I didn’t know what Aaron wanted to do to me, but since their rivalry already became physical, I didn’t necessarily want to find out. I remember skipping often and fearing moments in between class. I’d jump even when it was just Lo who approached, and when he could tell I was becoming psychologically fucked from Aaron’s threats, he decided to do something more drastic to protect me.

He threatened Aaron’s future. Not just a little drop in his GPA. He would contact the colleges that planned to scout Aaron and pay them off so they’d reject him on the spot.

And it happened. Aaron’s dream university denied his application because Lo reached them first. And with the Hale name and a hefty donation, they couldn’t refuse Lo’s offer.

So Aaron shut up. He got accepted to his safety school, and he left us alone.

Until now.

I don’t greet him. I turn back to give him the biggest coldshoulder. I don’t care if I’m rude. Because if my suspicions are correct, he’s only here to make my life hell.

“Not going to say hi?” Aaron wonders. I watch him circle the table and sit across from me. He actually takes the centerpiece and puts it on the floor so I have a direct view of his smarmy face.

I hear Rose beside me. “How old are you?”

I glance at her, and nearly laugh at her date. He’s a twig, and his suit is two sizes too big.

“Nineteen,” he tells her, fixing his bowtie, but he makes it even more lopsided.

Rose raises her glass with a bitter smile. “Wonderful.” My mother set her up with a guy three years younger than her.

He takes the open seat to her left. “My father is your father’s lawyer.” He scratches the back of his longish brown hair, his skin a golden tan, probably half-Italian. “I’m Matthew Collins.”

“Nice to meet you, Matthew,” Rose says, motioning for the server to bring her another glass of champagne.

Daisy’s date sits to her right. I don’t catch his name, but he’s too distracted by his phone to even acknowledge my sister. She doesn’t look like she cares either, refolding her napkin into a rose.

The food starts parading around the room, sea bass and winter squash making rounds on each circular table.

My appetite is gone. Especially as Aaron leans his forearms on the table, practically hunched over to force my attention to him.

“What have you been up to, Lily?”

I shrug and then spit out, “Why would you want to even come here?” It’s almost been three whole years since I’ve seen him. Why now?

“I heard your boy was out of town. I thought I’d check up on you, make sure you were safe and doing okay.”

I glare. “I’m fine.”

He nods, his eyes skimming the length of me. Thank God, my body stops at the edge of the table.

“Did my mother really call you?” I ask tensely.

“She called my friend first. She seemed a little desperate to get you hooked up, and I told her I was available.” He flashes an ugly smile. “I have nothing better to do.” And so the truth comes out.

“That’s why you’re here? You’re bored?”

He shrugs. “Now that I’m almost graduated, Loren has nothing on me. And I think me and you—we have unfinished business.”

I go cold and look to Rose for backup, but she’s in a heated discussion with her younger date. Well…she seems to be educating him about the stock market, as though he said something inane and she has to correct him.

Daisy is watching me carefully, but I don’t have the heart to explain my history to her. Not now anyway. Plates of sea bass slide onto our placemats, and I stiffly pick up my fork. I can’t eat, not until I let some words loose.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I immediately blurt.

His eyebrow quirks and I realize that might not have been the “unfinished business” he had in mind. And then he says, “We’ll see.” Okay, maybe it was. Or maybe he’s just planning on cornering me, putting me in some provocative situation and then snapping a few pictures, taking a video, and then sending them to Lo.

Oh God.

Daisy butts in. “Hey, back off. She has a boyfriend.”

Aaron snorts and says to Daisy, “Do I look like I give a shit?”

“I do,” a new voice enters. And this time, I internally cheer at the sound of Ryke’s deep, threatening tone. He slides into the seat between Daisy’s date and Aaron, closing the circle. He wears a fitted charcoal suit with a skinny black tie. His brown hair is styled, but he’s not clean-shaven. How did he get invited to a Fizzle event? Better yet, why would he accept it and come here?

I don’t really care. I’m just glad he is.

“Who the fuck are you?” Aaron spits.

Ryke motions to a server and points to his placemat, silently asking for food. Then he faces Aaron with narrowed eyes. If Lo were here, I think he’d appreciate the backup. We’ve never had it before, and I have to say, it’s kind of nice.

“Loren Hale’s brother,” Ryke tells him.

Aaron chokes on a laugh. “Bullshit. Lo’s an only child.”

“Then don’t believe me. I don’t really fucking care. But you start messing with his girlfriend, and then I will care.” A server places his plate in front of him, and Ryke digs into the mashed potatoes, not giving Aaron any more attention.

Aaron looks back to me, and his eyebrows jump up, but he mouths, later. No, I don’t like later. He even winks.

Shivers run down my arms.

Daisy squints at Ryke. “Why are you here?” she asks over her oblivious date, still texting. “Did my mom call you?”

Ryke cuts into his fish. “Nope. My father did.”

I frown. “What?” That makes no sense. Jonathan Hale basically blamed Ryke for Lo’s decision to go to rehab, leaving him with an empty house. Why would he want to invite him?

“Yep,” Ryke says. “He called me up, spewing some shit about how we should put the past behind us. But he’s an awful fucking liar.” He swigs his water. “He wants information about Lo, but like hell I’m giving it to him.”

I try not to acknowledge Aaron, but I don’t like the way he’s listening so intently, digesting our families’ secrets and filing them for later. I sip my own water to clear my throat. “So why come?”

Ryke points at me with a knife. “Knew you’d be here. Knew Lo wouldn’t.”

Ah, yes, he doesn’t trust me. “What confidence.” I love Lo enough to restrain myself.

I glance at Aaron, who stares a little too forcefully.

But without Lo to hide behind, my only defense against Aaron is to run. And I’m not as fast as Loren Hale. Not even close.

Daisy keeps leaning on the legs of her chair. “I’m confused,” she says, tossing her rose-shaped napkin on the table.

“Eat,” I tell her.

She sighs and picks at the fish.

Thankfully, the lights begin to dim so we’re not the main focus in the room. Aaron turns around, back facing me, so that helps ease the tension in my shoulders. The stage brightens, and I try to relax in my chair and concentrate on my father.

He walks onto the stage and mans the glass podium. The ballroom quiets, except for the sound of silverware hitting dishes. He looks rich. How else do you describe a man worth billions? Even in his fifties, his gray hairs are masked by brown dye. He always has a genial smile, the kind that makes him seem approachable, even if he’s usually too busy to greet. I love him for what he’s given me, and I think he’d buy us the world just for the chance to see us smile.

“Friends, family,” he says, “I’m so glad to have you all here today to celebrate this special occasion. I founded Fizzle in 1970 with an extremely ambitious—and somewhat naïve—plan to create the next best soda that could rival the likes of Coke and subsequently Pepsi. With the help of angel investors and some faith, Fizzle became a household name in just three short years.” Everyone claps. I join in, admiring my father for his drive and passion. I can’t imagine coming out of college and starting my own business with such fortitude and strength. I’m not him. Or Rose. Or my mother.

I’m just so very lost.

He holds up a hand to shush us, and the noise settles to silence. “Almost fifty years later, Fizzle products are sold in more than two-hundred countries. Just in the United States, we’ve taken away the title of the northern soda of choice from Pepsi. By next year, we plan to steal southern hearts with our brand new soda. We believe the taste and contents of this drink are unlike any Coca-Cola product and we’ll have diehards choosing…Fizz Life.”

He steps back from the podium and a screen behind him shows an animated graphic of a Fizzle commercial, a gold background with dark colored bubbles rising up. A silver can spins in the center with gold writing that reads FIZZ LIFE, white bubbles decaled at the bottom. No black on the can at all.

“Fizz Life is zero calories, aspartame-free. It’s naturally sweetened with a recipe blended by our food scientists.” Servers with gold-plated trays begin to walk around the room with cans of Fizz Life, passing them to the tables. Our waiter sets down a can in front of my plate. Hundreds of people begin popping the tabs, air expelling and carbonation bubbling, the noise so very true to the soda company’s name. “This is not only the healthiest soda on the market, but it’s also the drink of the future.”

The tagline: Fizz Life, Better Life flashes across the screen. Underneath sits my father’s exact words: the drink of the future. Maybe it is.

Daisy holds out her drink to me. “Cheers.” I clink her can with mine, and she turns to her date to do the same, but he’s scrolling through his Facebook app. Ryke already has his open, sipping the new soda.

When he notices her date and her chagrin, he says, “He’s a winner.”

The guy doesn’t even realize he’s being talked about.

“First place, pure bred,” Daisy agrees, raising her soda before throwing her head back, taking a very large swig.

I sip mine a little. The flavor tastes different than Diet Fizz and Fizz Lite. Not sweeter or bitter. Just…different. Good different, I think. I could most definitely grow to like this one more than Diet Fizz.

“Wow that tastes really good,” Daisy says. “I totally had my doubts.”

Ryke nods in agreement. “Not bad.”

I glance at Rose to see how she likes it, but her can sits untouched by her uneaten plate of food. Her fingers pinch a full champagne glass. But I just looked over there and it was half full. Which means this is a new one.

Maybe I’m hyperaware of alcohol now, but I feel like she’s drinking more than she normally does. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk or even “composed” drunk—which is what I imagine she would be, the kind where you can barely tell. Sort of like Lo. But not.

Her eyes sear holes into our mother’s back, her table adjacent to ours. This is not good.

My father continues to talk about the soda and the company’s history and each investor individually.

I don’t think I can help Rose. Not because I don’t have the strength to, but I’m almost a hundred-percent positive she would never let me. She does not see me as her equal. I am the damaged, broken sister, the one who needs repair. If I act as though she needs help, then she’ll freak out. I have to find someone that she’ll actually listen to without becoming incredibly defensive.

I make a sudden decision, silently hoping it’s the right one, and pull out my phone from a little pocket in my dress and start texting.

Where are you?

The reply only takes a few seconds. Not surprised. At my house. Everything okay? – Connor

I type quickly. No. I need you to come to the event. Rose isn’t doing so well.

My phone begins to buzz repeatedly in my hand. Connor is calling me. Before I stand from the table, I glance at Aaron. He no longer watches the stage, but his eyes set on me. If I leave the ballroom, will he follow?

I can’t answer the phone at the table. So I have to take the chance. Just as I rise, Aaron begins to push his chair back, about to stand too.

But then Ryke points at him with his knife. “You follow her, and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he deadpans. That was a little unnecessary, but the warning works because the longer Aaron looks at Ryke to see if it’s a bluff, the longer Ryke digs into his food. I can’t even tell where his head is at. Neither can Aaron. My enemy scoots closer to the table, leaving me alone for now.

And I thankfully weave around the tables and out the grand double doors.

I already missed his first call, but the phone still rings incessantly. I answer. “Hi.”

“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, his voice deep with worry that I’m not used to. He’s always confident and poised and self-assured. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say with a nod. “It’s Rose that I’m concerned about.” I falter, trying to pick the right words. “I don’t know if you realized, but my mother set her up with someone tonight. And she’s more pissed than I’ve seen her in a while…” I wonder if I should mention the drinking.

“Wait…what? That doesn’t make sense,” Connor says. “Samantha told me that she would be going to the event alone.”

I roll my eyes, not in the least surprised by my mother’s betrayal or the fact that she got caught. “She lied. My mother has never let Rose go stag. I think Rose hoped that she could go alone if our mother believed you two were still together.” But no one could have anticipated Samantha Calloway talking to Connor before tonight.

“Who’s her date?”

“Matthew Collins, the son of—”

“Robert Collins, Fizzle’s primary lawyer, I know. I’ve met him. I had brunch with him and your father.” Oh… that’s awkward.

“Are you on your way?”

“I jumped in a limo when I read your first text,” he tells me. “Rose may not be pleased to see me, regardless of her mother’s affairs.”

I hesitate, wondering if he’s right. Will she be resistant if he interferes? “She’s not used to letting someone else help her.”

“I don’t think any of you Calloway girls are,” he says. I take this in and realize he might be right about that. But I’m learning to relinquish my control to other people. I’m learning to accept help that’s been offered. I hope Rose will do the same, even if she feels like she has everything taken care of.

“Promise me that you won’t run away from her,” I say in a sharp breath. “Even if she pushes you away—”

“I won’t let her go,” Connor says. “But is there something you’re not telling me, Lily? Has something already happened?” I catch the strain in his voice, so subtle and brief but present.

She’s drinking more than usual, I should say. But what if I’m just projecting my insecurities about alcohol onto her? With Lo in rehab, this is totally plausible. Still, I’m learning to say how I feel. I inhale a deep breath and let it out. “I’m afraid by the time you get here, she’ll be drunk. And I’ve never seen Rose drunk, so I’m not entirely sure what she’ll do or how she’ll be…she just keeps glaring at my mother from across the room…”

“Okay,” Connor says. “Okay, don’t provoke Rose. Try not to set her off.”

I internally laugh. Yeah, that’s going to be a little hard. Most topics ignite fire in her eyes when she’s in a mood. And I know, without a doubt, that our mother has put her in one. “When will you be here?” I shift anxiously and rub my arm.

“Soon. Will you be okay or do you need to stay on the phone with me?”

“I’ll be fine. Ryke is here…” I trail off, knowing that Connor and Ryke have never really been friendly after Lo left for rehab. I think the only reason they endured each other’s company was because of their mutual like for Lo, and when he’s not here it becomes painfully obvious they’d rather be on separate continents.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll fuck tonight up somehow,” Connor says. I remember Connor describing Ryke as a “Rottweiler you keep on a chain in the yard, guarding your house, but something you’d rather not let inside.”

I hesitate to agree. Ryke has helped more than hindered thus far, but that could always change. “I’ll see you,” I tell Connor. He says bye and we both hang up.

I sneak back into the ballroom, the lights still dim, but no one stands on the stage. Everyone is lively with chatter, and I smell chocolate ganache cake, my father’s favorite. When I approach my table, I see Rose sitting on the edge of her seat, her nails rapping against her champagne glass. Her poor date looks like a wilted flower, beaten to death by Rose’s intelligence. I’m sure she schooled him on another subject, and he has nothing left to do but pick at his dessert.

Speaking of dessert. I sit and find a beautiful slice of cake in front of me. Actually two beautiful slices. They almost make up for the fact that Aaron creepily stares at me on the other end. I ignore him. That seems like the best solution right now.

I glance at Daisy who teeters back on two legs of her chair again. “You don’t want your cake?” I ask her. Of course I noticed that she was the one to push her plate into my area, offering me a second slice when I haven’t even touched my first.

She shrugs. “I would eat it, but you know…” She rolls her eyes and glances at Ryke, as though they’ve already had this same conversation. I shouldn’t have asked. I know she’s not allowed to gain an obscene amount of weight because of modeling. So she watches what she eats, lest our mother criticize her waistline even more.

Ryke has his plate in his hand, and he leans back in his chair like Daisy. Her date hunches forward, now playing a game on his phone. Jeez, he really doesn’t want to be here. Ryke has a good view of Daisy and vice versa. He scoops a large bite of gooey chocolate fudge on his spoon. “This looks so fucking good,” he teases her. “So moist.” Okay, I know he says that I always think sexual thoughts. But that was sexual. Moist is a gross word, and I’m a sex addict. He’s definitely trying to ruffle her.

I don’t approve of his methods.

But at least she refuses to glance at him.

I can tell he’s trying to get her to eat, and I think he enjoys pushing people’s buttons. The only problem: I think my youngest sister is made of armor—kind of like him.

He licks the rim of the spoon and then sucks the cake off it, letting out a deep, masculine moan.

My eyebrows scrunch at him and I mouth, stop. I know his plan won’t work. Daisy won’t eat if she feels like our mother’s going to scold her for it.

Ryke keeps the spoon in his mouth and he glares back at me. Then he points at Daisy’s plate. I sigh heavily and slide it in front of her.

“Oh no,” she says to me, “you are not in on his stupid plan.”

“You love chocolate,” I remind her.

“I love a lot of things I can’t have,” she says pointedly.

True. I shrug at Ryke, giving up already. I’m not so resilient. Ryke, on the other hand…

“Daisy,” he coos, waving his spoon around the air to try to get her to look at him. She barely stirs. He tries a different tactic. He dips two fingers into the gooey chocolate filling. No, I internally scream in my head. He’s not going to…

My eyes widen and my mouth falls as his fingers rise to his lips. What the fuck is he doing?! Ryke…needs to stop pushing the line with her. He might find it amusing, but I’m afraid she’ll take his teasing as a sign of something…more. This. Isn’t. Good.

Daisy frowns at my expression, and she follows my gaze for the first time. Ryke puts his two (not-so chaste) fingers in his mouth. I am screaming at him in my head. Even as he sucks the gooey ganache off, he shuts his eyes, faking a fucking chocolate orgasm just so she’ll eat the damn cake.

Daisy snorts and tilts back a little farther in her chair to act all cool and composed. And then, the legs begin to slip underneath her. I gasp, picturing her smacking backwards on the ground. But Ryke is faster than my frozen joints. His eyes have already snapped open. He reaches out and grabs the top of her chair, setting both of them on four legs at the same time.

My sister puts her hands on the table, leaning forward as though a rollercoaster just flung to an abrupt stop. She looks winded and stunned all at the same time.

Ryke barely misses a beat. He pushes an extra spoon in front of her.

And to my surprise, she actually picks up the silverware and scoops a big bite of cake on it. She hesitates for a second.

“It’s not arsenic,” he says.

Her lips rise in a small smile. “Your hips also don’t have to be measured in the morning.”

“They can be,” he tells her. “Will you eat the fucking cake if I measure my hips?”

“And your ass,” she says.

“You want to know the size of my ass?” His brow rises.

“Yep.”

“Eat the cake.”

She hides her growing smile and takes a large bite. She closes her eyes and sinks back into her chair, relaxing more than before and melting into chocolate heaven. “I wish I could eat this every day.”

“You can, but then you’d be ‘fat.’” He uses air quotes.

“The tragedy,” she says, pushing around the rest of her cake and smashing it until it’s a mushy lump.

“Okay, enough abusing the fucking dessert.”

“Do you always say fuck?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever been around you where you haven’t said it at least once.”

“What can I say? It’s my favorite fucking word.” He flashes a dry smile.

“You know what’s scary,” she says, pointing her spoon at him. “You’re a journalism major, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be a wordsmith?”

“Shouldn’t you be a voiceless mannequin?” he retorts back.

“Touché.” With this, she takes another bite, but since her dessert is a pile of goo, she steals a piece of mine.

I can’t concentrate on Daisy anymore, not when Rose springs from her chair, following my mother who suddenly stands and motions to her with an icy finger.

I scoot from my chair, tailing them as they head towards a lounge room for special guests, meaning family. A presence weaves behind me, keeping up with my pace. I glance over my shoulder and see the All-American build, the swept brown hair, the ugly blue eyes—I hate him. I wish he’d leave me alone.

But Aaron Wells isn’t going to stop me from being there for my sister. Not when she’s been around for me. I shut the door behind me as I enter the lounge area, which is filled with buttoned couches, a mini-bar, and a couple queen-style chairs. Nothing too fancy except the chandelier in the center and the gold wallpaper.

Jonathan Hale and my father sit on one of the navy couches, whiskeys in hand. They only look up when I drift farther into the room and away from the door. Aaron should be here in a matter of minutes.

I try not to approach Lo’s father. I don’t want to talk to him without Loren present. Because he wouldn’t want me to. My dad keeps him in a long discussion about stocks, but I feel Jonathan’s hot gaze on my body, most likely glaring.

Rose stands still, fingers clenched around her champagne glass, full now. A new one again? She seems utterly poised, though. A string of pearls choke my mother’s bony neck, and she has hair nearly identical to my sister’s dark chocolate. Maybe Daisy’s comment in the car has been stirring Rose too—about being so similar to our mother. No one in their right mind would want to be compared to her.

“What is your problem?” our mother snaps. “You’ve been incredibly rude to your date. Olivia Barnes heard you from across the room, scolding him like he was a child.”

“He is a child,” Rose retorts. “You set me up with a nineteen-year-old who has never switched on the goddamn news in his life.”

My mother grabs hold of the nearest chair, as though Rose physically impaled her with that curse word. “Language, Rose.”

“Grow up, mother,” she retorts. “I have.”

I take a step towards them to ease the situation, but the door opens and Aaron slips through and begins to walk over to me. In order to dodge him, I glance at my father and decide to take a seat beside him.

“Hi, Dad,” I say with a smile, scooting onto the same couch.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

I sit on the edge of the cushion, anxious and timid, especially as Aaron waits by the bar, wondering if he should approach I guess. And all the while, I feel Jonathan staring between me, Aaron, my father and my sister, taking in everything with scrutiny I do not enjoy.

“Should you break them up?” I ask my father and scratch my arm.

“They always fight,” he says. “Better to just let them work it out.” He grabs my hand. “Have you been biting your nails? You haven’t done that since you were a kid.”

I shrug, keeping an eye on my mother and sister. “With Lo gone…” I trail off, not able to say the rest or tell him the whole truth. I shrug again, a go-to response right now.

My mother’s voice escalates. “And what did he say that was so bad?! What could it have been Rose?”

“He didn’t know who David Cameron is!”

I frown. I have no idea who he is.

My mother looks equally lost.

Rose chokes on a laugh. “He’s the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, mother.”

“That doesn’t make him unintelligent.”

“It does to me,” Rose tells her. “I don’t want to share someone’s company if they can’t count to five. I’d rather hang myself.”

So dramatic. And I’m assuming family gets a pass on Rose Calloway’s incredibly high friendship standards.

I swear I hear my father mutter, “That’s my girl.” He nudges my arm. “How is Lo doing?”

Jonathan’s muscles twitch at this question, and as I look over, his eyebrows rise, waiting for me to answer.

“I’m not sure,” I say truthfully. “I haven’t been in contact with him. I’m not supposed to until he gets further into the program.”

My father nods. “I think what he’s doing is admirable. Really admirable. Not many young kids realize that they have a problem when they do.”

I glance to Jonathan. “Do you…feel the same?” I wonder, gaining a little confidence.

His lips upturn in that bitter, amused smile, so familiar that my breath knocks from my chest. It reminds me so much of Lo—that’s the scary part. “I think he should have come to me first. We could have solved it together. That’s why I’m so angry, Lily. I gave him the life he has, and he walked away from me.”

“That’s not entirely true…” I trail off, scared of his pulsing eyes. He took away Lo’s trust fund. He refused to believe that Lo had a problem. He may have wanted Lo to stay in his life, and maybe he was frightened by the idea of admitting that he has the same addiction. Maybe he didn’t want to confront his own demons. And in the end, he left Lo no choice but to leave and seek help elsewhere.

Before Jonathan responds, I feel Aaron sit by my side. His arm wraps around the back of the couch behind me, as though we’re together. I stay stiff and wiggle closer to the edge of the cushion, not wanting to touch any part of him.

He introduces himself to Jonathan and my father, and they all act cordial. But I am utterly frozen inside. To make matters worse, Rose and my mother’s fight has increased to new levels.

“I don’t need a man to fulfill me,” Rose sneers. She points at my mother with her champagne glass, the liquid sloshing onto the floor. She hardly notices.

My mother inhales, her collarbone jutting out and cheeks caving in. “You’re so naïve, Rose. You think this world is going to respect you? You’re living in a fantasy,” she nearly spits. “Women like us have a figment of power. In the end, we’re all marionettes to men. Accept it now.”

Rose’s nose flares, her cat-colored eyes piercing. “Lily is with Lo,” she says. “Why would you ever cause her such pain and make another man escort her?”

“This again?” she snaps.

“Yes,” Rose retorts. “This again.”

My mother sighs. “What if Lo never returns? What if he chooses to be single by the end of this? I am creating a backup plan for her. I’m giving her options.”

Her words sting my chest, and I hardly notice Aaron laughing about something with my father, as if they’re long lost buddies. Lo will return. Won’t he? He will come back to me. He’ll want me…but the doubt festers in my soul. And I try to rid it with a confident nod, but I’m not feeling so assured right now. Not when my mother has zero faith in the man I love.

“Options?” Rose shrieks. “You’ve never given any of us an option. You know what option I would have liked? The option to disown my own mother.”

“Stop it,” she snaps. Her chin raises, but I can tell she holds in a breath, a sign that Rose’s words have truly started to infiltrate and infect and seep and hurt. “I helped you grow your company.”

“And you never let me forget it,” Rose sneers. The door cracks open, but no one notices Connor Cobalt slipping in except me. He has on an expensive tux, but his equally expensive smile is locked away. He wears a dark frown and stands guard by the door, watching Rose with serious, calm eyes. I am so grateful he’s here. Because I’m scared for Rose. I’m not sure how to calm her. I’m not sure what words will take away the pain of tonight.

I wish my mother could hear what Rose is saying. I feel like she’s screaming to be heard, but no one can understand. No one gets it. I stand up, about to go to her, but Aaron grabs my hand and tugs me back down. He says something to Jonathan and wraps his arm around my shoulder.

I’m too fixated on my sister to push him off and start an argument over here. Connor crosses his arms over his chest and glances at me. He looks at Aaron, and he’s about to come over but I shake my head and mouth, her.

He hesitates and nods to me in acceptance.

“What do you want from me?!” our mother yells. “I’ve been there for you your whole life!”

“I want you to say you’re wrong! I want you to apologize for this evening and for putting me with Matthew Collins and for thinking I’m a tool that a man can use and dispose. I’m your daughter!” Rose screams, angry tears burning from the corners of her eyes. “You’re supposed to love me by telling me that I’m beautiful and I’m smart and no man is good enough for me. You’re not supposed to tell me I’m worth less than I am.”

My mother inches forward a little. “Can you listen to yourself, Rose? We’re at an event for your father’s company, and you’re making it about you. You think you’re a woman? You’re acting like a child.”

Rose stares directly at our mother. Unflinching, unwavering. And very coldly, she says, “Go to hell.”

My mother’s hand flies and connects with Rose’s cheek, the slap heard like a gunshot in the lounge room. Jonathan, Aaron and my father go silent.

Rose drops her champagne glass, and it shatters on the marble floor. She stares in a trance at the ground, as though she felt nothing when the contact was made. My heart hammers so hard that the only thing I hear is the pulsing in my ears.

I have never seen my mother hit anyone. Maybe because I spent most days with Lo. Maybe because I haven’t been attuned to the happenings of my family. But the shock strikes me cold. I don’t have the same relationship with our mother that Rose does. We’re not hostile towards each other. In fact, we’re…nothing really. I say hi, she asks me how Lo is, and we move on.

I don’t wish for this. To be silently boiling, having to restrain myself from spewing hateful words and from feeling a hand sting my cheek. No one would ask for that. And I want to take Rose away from it, but she’s twenty-two.

The damage is done.

I think we’re all old enough to feel the scars of our upbringing. Now we just have to find a way to heal.

My mother lets out a breath and says, “I’m sorry…We’ll talk later. Clearly we’ve both had a lot to drink…” She shoots a quick glance to my father, and he stands and excuses himself too, following her out of the lounge room and back to the party.

Aaron keeps pulling me closer to his lap, and I swat him away, keeping track of Rose in case she needs me. I doubt she’d like to be reminded that she’s losing control. My interference is like saying, “Your fucked up little sister is going to rescue you. How screwed up does that make you, Rose Calloway?” Which is why I asked Connor here in the first place.

He approaches her like a man tiptoeing towards a sleeping lion. “Rose,” he breathes. “Sweetheart…”

She’s shaking. Her arms tremble, and her eyes keep growing wider and wider. “She’s wrong,” Rose whispers. I can practically hear her chant in her head: I’m not like her. I’m not like her.

Connor closes the gap between them, and his hands touch her face, holding her cheeks, and gently soothing the reddened one with a soft stroke. “Look at me, hun.”

Rose tries to push him off. “Why…” She keeps shaking her head, but he holds her tight, trying to make her focus.

“I’m right here,” he tells her.

She weakly tries to push him off again, not really wanting to, and he grabs her hand. “I don’t need you,” she reminds him. But the silent tears start flowing. She’s crying in front of him, actually letting Connor see her cracks. I wonder if the emotions are too hard to bottle since she drank so much. “I don’t need you,” she repeats, her voice breaking.

“You’re right,” he says softly. “You don’t need a man, Rose.” He pauses and I barely hear him whisper, “But you do need me.”

She looks down and then back at him, her lashes wet and glistening, making her face look more porcelain and delicate than I ever remember. “What are you doing here?” she asks with the shake of her head. “You shouldn’t be here.” Her tears drip on his hands, both rising back to her face. He tucks a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear, and his eyes graze the welt on her cheek.

“A little bird told me you were upset.”

Rose lets out a choked cry. “Are you crazy?” She places her hands on his arms that hold her face but doesn’t force him away anymore. “You’re talking to birds now?”

His lips twitch into a weak smile. “I’d talk to any woodling creature if it gave me answers about you.”

“Would you walk through fire for me?” she deadpans.

“Yes,” he accepts the challenge.

“Brand my name on your ass?”

“Possibly.”

“Drink cow’s blood in my honor?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he says with the biggest grin.

She breaks into a smile but it’s a pained one and then she starts sobbing. Like truly sobbing. He wraps his arms around her, and she falls into the hug. He guides her to the bathroom door to the right, and they disappear inside.

The room has almost cleared out, and I just remember who I’m actually sitting next to. Aaron leans close and whispers in my ear, “I will ruin you the way Loren ruined me.”

I gape. A mixture of shock and fear prick me at the sudden proclamation. Bad timing can’t even begin to describe tonight. I try to stand, but he grips my wrist so tight that when I jerk up, he brings me right back down.

Jonathan, frighteningly the only other person in the room, sets his whiskey on the glass end table “Is there a problem here?” he asks Aaron.

“Didn’t Lily tell you?” he says with a false smile. “We’re dating now.”

I shake my head quickly. “No we aren’t.”

Jonathan stares between us, reading my closed body language and Aaron’s aggressive movement. And then he says, “Get the fuck out of my sight, kid.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron jerks back in shock.

Jonathan stands and straightens his tie. “Lily.” He holds out his hand for me to take it, and I am momentarily struck by the change of events. Is Jonathan Hale really saving me from this douchebag right now?

I shouldn’t take his hand. I should spit at it and walk away. Lo would. But he’d also kill me if I didn’t leave Aaron when I had the chance. And I’m not an idiot. I want to be far, far away from him. So I stand, and this time, Aaron lets me disentangle from him. But I don’t touch Jonathan. I walk right on past him and head for the door, my exit in view.

Before I leave, I hear Aaron say, “She’s a slut, you know that, right?”

“And you think I don’t know what my son did to you? I helped him ruin you, you piece of shit,” he says.

Lo told his father about Aaron? About how he’d tormented him? I don’t question this. Because Lo’s relationship with his father was a taboo topic between us. It fluttered in and out of our conversations, and I was only allowed a glimmer. And I know, without a doubt, that Jonathan Hale would move mountains for Lo. He just needs to be in the right mood first.

“Like father, like son,” Aaron says.

I have to leave, but I’m glued next to the door. I glance back one last time, and Jonathan’s eyes briefly flicker to me. “That girl is practically my daughter-in-law.” He sets a firm hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “If I hear you did anything to her, you’ll wish all you had to deal with was my son. Now get out of my fucking face.”

I am so confused.

I don’t know who to root for anymore.

I don’t know what sides to take or who to praise or condemn.

All I know is that my family is royally fucked up. And no amount of money or luxury can fix these problems. Maybe they even helped cause them.

I enter the grand ballroom where people wander, standing up and chatting as though it’s cocktail hour. Streamers and gold and black balloons lie on the carpet. I missed some sort of celebration. I kick them away and spot my mother by the stage.

What possesses me to approach her? I’m not quite sure. But as she talks to my father, I feel like I should just say something. Maybe help explain Rose’s feelings but in a softer, gentler manner. Maybe she’ll listen to me, I think. She never really has, but it’s a nice thought anyway.

I approach, and my father excuses himself to go mingle with some older corporate men. She looks a little stricken, her lips pinched and her hand a bit shaky. “What is it?” she asks, on edge.

“Are you okay?” Why do I start with this? Of course she’s not okay, and does she really deserve my sympathy after slapping Rose? No, not one bit. But I can’t take it back, and her domineering posture sucks my confidence dry.

“Fine,” she says, turning her back on me almost immediately. She waves to her friend and acts like I’m a piece of furniture that chose to bump into her leg.

I try again. “I think she’s just trying to express herself, but she doesn’t know how to do it without yelling…”

My mother continues to wave at her friend in the distance. She puts her hand on my shoulder, patting me once. “Sure, I have to go talk to Barbara. Find Aaron. He’ll keep you company.” With this, she drifts into the pack and wears the fakest smile. I watch her hug a bejeweled woman in a red bandage dress.

I feel like she just punched me in the gut.

Ryke suddenly sidles next to me. “There you are.” He hands me a glass of water, and I thankfully accept it with a smile. “You okay? Nothing happened did it…?” His brows furrow, and he glances behind me, probably looking around for Aaron who I’m sure has ceased and desisted. Jonathan Hale’s warning was strong enough to listen to. And Aaron isn’t that stupid.

“No,” I say, “nothing like that.” We both stare at the party that seems to relax—calm after the split tension. “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers begins playing. Couples grab their significant other, swaying to the lovely tune.

“Who was that guy anyway?”

“And old enemy,” I tell him, watching an elderly woman put her cheek on her husband’s shoulder.

Ryke stuffs a hand into his suit jacket and nods, as though fully understanding what it’s like to have enemies. I have no doubt that he has his fair share.

“My mother slapped my sister,” I say, completely detached from the words.

Ryke doesn’t even flinch. He just stares off at the dancers. “Funny, my mother did the same thing to me when I told her I was coming here.” He sips his own water.

“I think your father saved me tonight.”

Ryke stays quiet, letting this sink in.

We’re so fucked up. That’s all I can think and process.

And another batch of balloons begins to fall at the end of the song. The ceiling flickers with soft-lit multicolored lights.

I made it.

No guy touched me. I didn’t touch them. Sex was the last thing on my mind tonight.

Each day feels like an obstacle.

And a victory.