“I’m going to check on Daisy and Ryke.” I don’t think I said the words loudly enough, but I dart away regardless. I plan to carry the Ziff around and act like it’s delicious.
I near the cliff where Ryke stands. He’s shirtless with low-slung gray shorts and a chalk bag around his waist. He also holds a brunette girl’s hand.
My heart skips, and the sight takes me aback. I stop dead in my tracks.
{ 52 }
LILY CALLOWAY
I focus on the brunette girl.
She rocks on the balls of her feet, restless while she faces the State Park Ranger and my dad.
I blow out a breath.
It’s just Daisy, I remind myself.
It’s been years since her hair has been light brown, her natural color that matches mine, and so I’m still trying to grow used to it.
The color suits her though. Maybe because she’s been smiling more often with the change, and while Ryke has stayed impartial about the whole hair-color process （to avoid influencing her decision） he let his thoughts slip to me yesterday.
His exact wording: “I was afraid she’d look too much like you, but she doesn’t. I didn’t realize how fucking attracted to her I’d be.” Apparently Daisy met him at a quarry, took off her motorcycle helmet, and revealed the finished product. Then they had outdoor sex.
The idea is better than reality. I know firsthand.
As I near, I watch the State Park Ranger shake his head fiercely at Ryke, trying to push a harness and rope at him. Ryke raises his hands.
I reach hearing distance just as he says, “I’ve already signed a fucking waiver. If I die, it’s not the park’s responsibility.”
“It’s windy and still dangerous. If you’re looking for a challenge, you can try for a second pitch. Not a lot of climbers do it on this rock face.”
Ryke growls in frustration.
My dad steps in between them. “If Ryke says it’s safe to climb, he should be able to climb. He understands the risk involved.”
The Ranger asks, “Is he repelling down?”
“Yes.” My father nods. “Two people are already at the top with gear for him.”
The Ranger sighs, resigned from the fight. “Fine. I’ve said everything I can.” With this, he walks off, and my dad pats Ryke’s shoulder and mutters a good luck.
I realize I’ve frozen halfway there, and I anxiously shift my weight from one foot to the other. No sex, I chant over and over as a familiar urge attempts to sweep me. The Ranger’s warnings seem logical. This is dangerous. It is windy. And what if he falls? Ryke said it himself.
He’ll die.
While Ryke whispers with Daisy, he turns his head and catches sight of me. His usually hard features soften a fraction. And I read his eyes well enough: I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me, please.
Ryke never wants anyone to agonize over his wellbeing, but he’s so much a part of my life, of Lo’s, that if he disappears, it’ll be like severing a foot. Moving forward will be hard.
“Hi, Lily,” my dad suddenly says next to me.
I almost flinch by his presence, and I’m even more surprised when he chooses to stay put. “Do you…want to watch the climb with Mom?” I ask.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, dressed in an identical white-collared Fizzle shirt like Sam. “I’m good here.”
I take a glance over my shoulder at Lo. With concerned wrinkles along his forehead, his eyes are trained solely on his older brother. Ryke kisses my little sister and then picks up his bottle of Ziff, about to chug it before he ascends.
The chatter escalates from reporters and more people, drowning out the buzzing wind.
“Lily…” My dad starts but then hesitates and his lips close. He smiles nervously like he’s unsure of what to say or how to say it.
A lump rises in my throat, and for a split-second I contemplate clearing it with Blue Squall.
But he speaks again before I venture down that road. “I was upset for a long time.”
My bones lock, and my eyes widen in surprise. I can’t say anything. He hasn’t mentioned my sex addiction to me ever, and I have a feeling that’s the direction he’s going.
“I just couldn’t find a reason why you’d do…that.” He pauses, his eyes dropping to the grass. “…when I’d given you so much.”
A violent breeze tangles my hair and waters my eyes. I’m going to blame the wind as my father finally admits to blaming me. The pain wells like a pit in my ribs. “I’m sorry,” I barely croak.