I accompany Lo and Ryke to the track field. Mostly because I hate being alone, and Rose has final exams this week. I finished mine yesterday. Well, sort of. I didn’t even come in for my Biology and Managerial Economics class. I’m expecting an F, but at least I have the option of a “redo.” I just may be in college for an extra semester.
I sprawl out on the bleacher and play with a new camera that Rose bought me. I’ve never had a hobby other than sex, but taking mindless pictures has filled a small void. I snap a few as the guys stretch in the grass. Both wear long-sleeved shirts and track pants, and as they laugh and banter, I catch a photo of them smiling at the same time.
They look alike. Both have brown hair, even though Ryke’s is a little darker. Both have brown eyes, even if Lo’s are a bit more amber. Ryke’s tan has started to disappear in the winter, and his skin starts to resemble Lo’s Irish hue. They could be brothers, but Ryke has broader shoulders, a stronger jaw, and thinner lips.
When they start running, Ryke takes off in a quick sprint, and Lo chases after him, catching up within seconds. They race fast and hard, their legs pumping and their sneakers pounding into the black track. Ryke stays two paces ahead of Lo, more trained, but Lo holds his own.
They run as though nothing can stop them. I watch Lo, and I start to see a new future. It’s there, still blurry, but it looks brighter and better.
I just wonder if it still includes me.
{26}
Some days aren’t good. Hours before we have to arrive at the hotel for the Christmas Charity Gala, I suspect this will be a very bad one.
Lo slept maybe thirty minutes last night, and he paces around the room until he calls Ryke and talks to him for a couple hours. Nothing seems to calm him, and I think it may be from the conversation he wants to have with his father—the one where he admits that he’s trying to be sober. But I also worry it’s something else.
Before he goes to the kitchen, he snaps at me twice when I bring up college. I asked him what he got in Managerial Econ—which I promptly failed. And he told me to worry about having to retake it in the spring and stop being so nosy. He wouldn’t be so mean if something wasn’t wrong.
Rose applies my makeup at my vanity. I already wear my plum dress with lacy long sleeves. Rose actually bought the velvet sapphire dress, even though she tried on ten more after it. The Gala works in two parts. One, the dinner where we all sit around a round table and are served five courses. Then business-types will go to the podium and thank everyone for their generosity for the night. After which will be the reception where people will drink cocktails and walk around the grand ballroom to chat and socialize.
When I go with Lo, we usually stand by the bar and try to ask the server the most embarrassing questions to see what will happen. It’s obnoxious and probably rude, but it passes the time. This year, I plan on wandering aimlessly. Which doesn’t sound much better.
In prompt Connor Cobalt fashion, we arrive a full hour early. Ryke straightens his tie and nervously looks around the bare room, mostly filled with servers as they adjust red rose center pieces on the tables and finish stringing icicle lights.
“Have you been to an event like this?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he admits. “Not this social circle though.”
Lo fidgets more than usual. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I need a drink.” He rubs his eyes and groans.
“You’re okay,” Ryke assures him. “Hey, what’s bugging you?’
“Nothing,” Lo says in annoyance. “I really don’t want to talk right now. No offense, but that hasn’t helped all day. I just have a pounding migraine.”
I reach out for his hand, and his eyes meet mine. Something bad stirs in me. “You want to…？”
“No,” Ryke says to both of us. “No.”
I glare at him. “Not that it’s any of your business—I went a full day without watching porn.” I leave out the part where I spent the entire afternoon in bed with Lo. And we weren’t sleeping.
“Congratulations,” Ryke says dryly. He gives Lo a stone-cold look. “You’re avoiding.”
“I’m helping her.”
“You know you’re not.”
I’m helping him, I want to refute. But Lo has already made his choice. His hand slips down the small of my back and he guides me out of the room and towards the hotel lobby.
He pulls his wallet from his pocket. “One room,” he tells the receptionist. I rock on the balls of my feet. Yes.