He pinches her chin and turns her face so she meets his eyes. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”
“Okay.”
He lifts her in his arms—one on her back, the other underneath her knees.
And she clutches his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers. “I can’t find the exit…”
“I have you,” he assures her.
We navigate our way out of the club, and I constantly glance back at Daisy to make sure she’s okay and not ill. She buries her face in Ryke’s chest, and when we pass the threshold of the club, safe on the sidewalk and out of the hazy atmosphere, we can talk more freely.
“Daisy,” Lo says. We head to the parking deck, and Lo has his arm tight around my shoulders.
Her head rises to look at Lo. Her eyes are bloodshot, and Ryke’s shirt is wet with her tears. She’s upset, and I wonder how much she’s going to remember in the morning.
Probably nothing at all.
Maybe that’s good.
Lo hesitates to ask her something.
“What?” she murmurs.
He gives in. “What did you think you were drinking if you didn’t know it was absinthe?”
“Cura?ao.”
Ryke readjusts his hold on her, and she rests her cheek on his arm. “How the hell do you know what that is?” he asks.
“A Brazilian model.” Her eyelids flutter a bit, hopefully just out of sleep.
Ryke lets out a low breath. “He sounds like a winner.”
“She was pretty awesome,” Daisy says sadly. And then more silent tears start streaming, her gaze faraway as though she’s lost in a very bad trip.
Lo’s face twists in guilt and hurt. I squeeze his hand, worried that he’s going to be possessed to drink now. Alcohol is not the answer to fix his pain of not finding Daisy sooner, but I’m sure he’s fighting the temptation.
Ryke looks between his brother and my sister, and then his eyes falls to me, and I think he sees a girl who can possibly help his brother rather than send him down that dark road.
I won’t let Lo drink.
I am here for him, just as he is for me. So I turn to Lo and poke his arm. “Did you see Captain America?” I ask.
And his face lights up. He stares down at me as we walk, and the guilt begins to wash away. “Yeah, who the fuck thinks he can fly?”
I smile. I love him. More than sex.
More than anything.
{ 31 }
LILY CALLOWAY
Seven days of abstinence, being surrounded by drunken college students and booze, and we’ve survived. The private jet flies us back to Philly. My panic and worry has subsided into a puddle. After enduring Spring Break in Cancun, the biggest obstacles seem like little hurdles.
Not everyone had a pleasant experience.
Melissa has officially broken up with Ryke. I secretly think she’ll make a hate-shrine of him once we return home. Partly, I’m sure it’s because he welched on his deal to give her mind-blowing sex. But last night at the club was what really cemented her anti-Ryke status. She gave him the classic ultimatum. Me or her. And he chose to protect my sister.
So she isolates herself to a corner chair, flipping through a magazine and wearing earbuds, tuning out the rest of us. I suspect she’ll call a taxi when we land, putting considerable distance between herself and Ryke.
The source of her agitation sits by the window. Ryke plays poker with Daisy. She woke up this morning remembering nothing from the club, and no one had the heart to tell her what happened—that Ryke had to carry her home, that she was crying. I think the truth would have shattered her spirit more than any of us could bear.
And after last night, Lo and I have no say in separating Ryke and Daisy without turning into hypocritical monsters. All we can do is trust them at this point—the same way they’ve tried to trust us with our addictions.
Rose is passed out on the bed in the back cabin, working off her killer hangover. Connor slips in the room every so often to check on her, but right now, he types away on his laptop on a plush seat and table. He’s working on his thesis to graduate with honors.
His diligence reminds me that I have to start memorizing old exam questions for my next Stats test. A task I have been avoiding. While memorizing isn’t as hard as studying （or writing a thesis）， it still takes a great toll on my poor brain. Last exam, I thought it might explode from being gorged with numbers.
I flip aimlessly through the channels on the television, sprawled on the couch with Lo. My head rests on his chest and a slow contentedness washes over me. I never thought I’d be able to feel so…still. He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, and I feel his warm breath on my forehead. “We made it,” he murmurs.