Ryke stares at me with more empathy than I thought he was capable of. “My father is an alcoholic, and I don’t want Lo to turn out like him. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
I ask a question that has been plaguing me for some time. “How can you know Lo’s an alcoholic? You don’t know him. You’ve seen him once on his twenty-first birthday, and he was passed out more than he was awake.”
Ryke shrugs. “I can just tell, especially with the way you became possessive over his flask. He’d be truly pissed if someone wasted his expensive alcohol, wouldn’t he?”
He would. I bite my nails. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Ryke edges forward. “Let me try to help him.”
I shake my head. “Lo won’t let you.”
“I figured as much, and that’s why I can start by hanging around you guys, getting to know him.”
The pieces start adding together. “Comic-Con. You want to keep up the lie to grow closer to Lo so you can try to influence him. You want me to lie?” I’m not sure this will work. We’ve already allowed Connor into our lives; another person may unsettle an already off-kilter balance.
“Yeah,” Ryke says. “I want you to lie to your boyfriend so that he has a chance to get better. You think you can do that, Lily? Or are you going to be selfish and let him continue this destructive path? One day, he may never wake up. One day, his body may shut down. And you’re going to think back to this moment and wonder why you didn’t agree to this proposition—why you didn’t try something else to help your boyfriend.”
I stumble back, punched in the gut. “I don’t want him to die,” I murmur.
“Then do something about it.”
I nod out of impulse, but I haven’t processed what this means in the long run. That I’ll have to lie to Lo. Can I do it? My brows scrunch in thought. I think I can. Lo has more to lose if I don’t try. Surviving another debacle like Halloween sounds less and less likely, and I struggle to help Lo because of our relationship and my vice. No second party has ever offered aid before. And if Lo was given the same deal to help me, would he take it?
I know he would.
I look back up at Ryke. “I still don’t like you.”
“I’m not very fond of you either,” he admits and hands me my bio book.
“What did I do to you?” I frown. Why doesn’t he like me?
He presses a button and the elevator groans to a start. We rise. “You’re too skinny. You whine too much. And you enable an alcoholic.”
I purse my lips. “I’m already regretting this.” But I’ll suffer through Ryke’s mean comments if it gives Lo a chance to get better.
“I warned you that I’m not easy to get rid of.”
I thought he was exaggerating. The elevator doors slide open, and I lead him to my apartment even though he knows the way. The thought is as unsettling as the looming situation. The last time he was here, Lo had been unconscious to the world. Moments ago, I hoped Lo would find a way to kick him out, now I have to defend Ryke, who has proved to be an annoying force in my life.
I unlock the door and toss my jangling keys in the basket.
Lo calls to me from the bedroom. “Lil, we’re going to watch Blow Hard, and I’m going to fuck you better than…” He trails off to read the label on the back of the DVD while my eyes bug, not willing a peek at Ryke by my side. “…a group of pierced thugs. Huh…”
“Lo!” I yell.
“I don’t like that one either,” he says. I hear the sound of DVD cases clattering together.
Ryke clears his throat beside me, and I glimpse at him for a millisecond, catching sight of his raised brows at me. Can this get more awkward?
“Or would you rather I sucked every part of you, love?”
Oh my God.
If Ryke’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t let on. Between the two of us, I’m the one shrinking back. After only a second, Lo emerges from the bedroom. He wears nothing but a pair of jeans, the band of his boxer-briefs peeking from the hem. On a normal day, I’d take in the ridges of his abs, the curve of his muscles that seem to lead towards something much lower and much more sinful. He would flash those bedroom eyes and tease me for thirty minutes. Then he’d lift me in his arms and carry me to his mattress. He’d draw out every movement, every look, everything to excite my body and electrify my nerves.
Instead, he freezes in the space between the hallway and the kitchen. His face sharpens, and his muscles cut into rigid lines.