I recognize Lo’s black swim trunks, and my world lights up. He nears me, his hands skimming my thighs, and his teeth playfully nip my flesh. My breath hitches, and for a dangerous second, I wonder if he’ll move to another spot. One that calls for his attention.
Cool yourself, Lily.
I repeat the mantra again, and his head pops out of the water, his hands sliding to the small of my back, away from the aching places. It’s better like this.
He brushes his light brown hair out of his face, pretty sexily, and I have to start thinking about hobbits. With large hairy feet. “Did I miss much?” he asks.
I avoid the subject of Twitter and just motion to his brother who’s gone on the defensive again. Ryke stays silent while my dad lectures him about protecting my little sister.
“Yeah, that was bound to happen again,” Lo says with a cringe like he wishes it wasn’t written in stone. I do too. “I’m going to go help him…” Lo is about to climb out of the pool when Ryke shakes his head at my dad, turns his back on him and literally springs off the side of the boat. Jumping into the ocean.
It’s either incredibly dumb or by far the coolest thing he’s ever done.
I think my father was in the middle of a sentence.
My dad’s face turns bright red. No one says anything. Except for Lo. “My older brother just took shut the fuck up to a whole new level.” He lets out an amazed laugh. “I would slow clap but your dad is walking this way…” My father glances at us with a huff, and Lo and Connor smile at the same time. A trained fake one that Ryke has yet to learn.
Lo waves, and my father waves tersely back before disappearing inside.
Connor leans against the lounge chair. “This is what happens when you bring dogs on boats. They jump off.”
“Greg is still hoping Ryke can be trained.” Lo kisses my cheek, a random kiss that surprises me. I cling to his side and rest my head on his chest, water droplets rolling down his skin.
Connor goes quiet before he says, “Some people are better as they are.”
My eyes grow in shock.
Connor doesn’t want Ryke to change. Not that much at least.
I don’t think any of us do, but there’s no question that he’s going to have to follow some of my father’s rules. If he doesn’t, I’m afraid it’ll put an irreparable strain on his relationship with Daisy.
And they just have to last.
Raisy is alive. I won’t believe in anything less.
{ 16 }
LOREN HALE
Even on vacation, to a country I love, my dad never lets me forget reality. He emailed me profiles of every Hale Co. board member with their likes and dislikes. He’s trying to give me an advantage over Lily, Ryke and Daisy. I rarely attempt to change people’s perceptions of me, to kiss ass. I’m afraid the minute I step through the Hale Co. glass double doors, they’re going to say, what is this fucking kid doing here?
He’s an alcoholic.
He was expelled from college.
He’s a loser.
I’m a natural-born failure.
But I don’t want my son to grow up and have these same impressions of me. I want to be known for more than all of that. I just don’t know how. Part of me believes it’s impossible. I can’t move mountains, no matter how hard I push.
Stop thinking, I tell myself. My mind won’t shut off. In the yacht’s cabin, I lie on the bed next to Lily, who’s in a deep sleep. I check the clock: 4 a.m.
Four years ago, I’d go grab a bottle of Jameson. Take more than a few swigs. Call it a night after an hour.
I let out a heavy breath and quietly climb off the bed.
The moon bathes the room in blue, and I see a direct path to the door. I sneak out, gently shutting it behind me. And then I proceed down the hallway, knowing my course and destination.
I stop in front of another cabin, lamp light glowing beneath the door. No hesitation or second-guessing, I just open it.
Ryke leans against the headboard in only sweatpants, a paperback folded in hand. His eyes meet mine with questioning and concern. He’s alone, so I close the door and walk further inside.
“Hey,” he says while I take a seat on a wooden chair that faces his bed.
I’m not surprised that he’s awake. If anyone has a fucked up internal clock, it’s my older brother. He’ll alternate between 5 a.m. mornings to 5 a.m. nights, depending on who needs his help and if he’s going climbing.
I rest my forearms on my thighs, slightly hunched. My fingers vibrate, and my leg jostles more than I like. I rub my lips, but it’s clear that he sees my anxiety.