But it’s only been four months since I last drank alcohol, and their fears have become mine. Of relapsing. I need him.
I need my brother.
I sit up and pull my shoulder back. “So how about it, Ryke Meadows, you want to be miserable with me?”
This is difficult for him to accept.
I see it in his eyes. By agreeing, he’s willfully going to subject me to a certain torture. He’d rather beat me. I’d rather beat him—but I’m not sure I can at the beginning: when I first walk through those glass double doors, when I meet the board’s judgment.
Before I run on my own, I need a crutch. It’s either Ryke Meadows or a bottle of booze. And I can’t let it be the latter.
So this is what I have to do. Please. Say yes.
He rises to his feet, and I do the same, my heart thrashing in my chest. And then he grabs my hand and hugs me, setting a palm on my back. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this together, little brother.”
My muscles finally loosen. For the first time that night.
When we break apart, something bangs into the door. We both flinch, and the sound happens again, a softer thud this time.
I step forward but Ryke holds out his hand and says, “I got it.” He cautiously heads to the door and cracks it open. Then he quickly swings it completely ajar.
Daisy stands on the other side, her eyes dazed and far off.
“Daisy?” Ryke says, concern all over his features. He waves his hand at her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Fuck,” he curses.
“She’s sleepwalking,” I guess.
“Yeah.” He moves out of the way as she shuffles forward. “She’s done this a couple times since her new meds.” He gently places a hand on her shoulders and sort of guides her towards the bed without being forceful about it.
I hang back. “Need help?”
“No, I’m good,” he says as Daisy sits on the navy comforter. He’s able to lift her legs up on the mattress. And then he tucks her underneath the blankets while she shuts her eyes. “Fucking fantastic,” he mutters and glances back at me. “I bet you Greg will notice that she’s not in her bedroom in the morning.”
“I’ll tell him that she spent the night with Lily.”
Ryke rocks back in surprise.
I head to the door. “You don’t have to do everything on your own,” I remind him. “I can help you too, you know.” I hear my biting tone again. I wish I could wash it away. But maybe that’s impossible.
He nods a couple times to himself. “I appreciate it.”
“Just don’t ask me for sex advice. I gave it to you fucking once, and you rejected me. A guy can only take so much.”
Ryke flips me off with a weak smile, and then his attention falls back to the blonde girl in his bed. Tomorrow we’re going onshore to Puerto Vallarta—Daisy doesn’t know about what Ryke planned. Neither do the girls.
It’ll be a surprise for her birthday.
Hopefully a good one.
{ 17 }
LILY CALLOWAY
“Virgin margarita,” I emphasize for the tenth time. The Spanish translation can’t be that far off from my English. I have a feeling the thirty-something bartender understands this phrase. Especially as he laughs like I should be “living it up” and drinking tequila straight from the bottle. My stomach is blocked by the bar, so it’s not like he can physically see my reasoning.
He speaks in Spanish a little bit and then begins pouring shots.
My eyes bulge. “Nonono.” I wave my hand like I have a superpower to reverse time. If only that was the case—but I’d find better use of it. When I acquire my powers, I won’t be wasting them on things like this.
The nightclub slowly amasses with people, multi-colored strobe lights swirling and Latin music booming over the speakers. Even though it’s not electronica, it’s extremely danceable. A-plus-plus.
“Pregnant,” I tell him, pointing to my belly that’s hidden behind the bar.
He pushes the shots to me, and then his gaze rises behind my shoulder. “Is that your boyfriend?” He speaks English?!
Internally, I fume. But outwardly I probably look like a washed ashore jellyfish. I check over my shoulder, and Garth, my two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bodyguard, stands behind me with his hands cupped. He’s more gut than brawn, his bald head shiny in the light. But he looks intimidating to me.
And old enough to be my dad.
Which is why I spin around and try to set a withering Rose Calloway glare on the bartender. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”