Chapter 1: Ricochet: Chapter 1

I fucked up.

That’s the only thought I have when I digest my surroundings. A live DJ blasts music from wall-engulfed amps while people guzzle colored drinks. My youngest sister, Daisy, sips beer from a Solo cup, scouting her model friends. I fear that she’ll pull a guy over and try to hook us up—to take my mind off Loren Hale. Five hours ago, I believed a house party would be a safe choice.

Not true.

So. Not true.

I should be chastely tucked beneath my comforter, sleeping through the New Year’s riffraff at my place with Rose. Only days ago, Lo—my best friend, my boyfriend, literally a guy who encompasses my entire life—left for rehab. Rose and I spent a full Monday packing my belongings. And I sorted through pictures, knickknacks and valuables, bursting into tears in random spurts. Besides clothes and toiletries, what’s mine was Lo’s. I felt like I was going through a divorce.

I still do.

Only an hour in, Rose called movers and paid them to finish packing my old apartment and unpacking at our new house. She bought a four-bedroom villa near Princeton with five acres of sprawling, lush land and a white wrap-around porch, black shutters and purple hydrangeas. It reminds me of the southern homes in Savannah or the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. When I told her this, she stood with her hands on her hips, appraising the building with those powerful, yellow eyes. Then she broke into a smile and said, “I suppose so.”

The isolation from male bodies doesn’t stop my flyaway mind from traveling to bad places. Mostly, I worry about Lo. I toss and turn at night only to have to swallow large doses of sleeping pills to rest. I miss him. And before he left—I never imagined a world without Lo here. My throat closed up at the idea, my heart dropped and my head spun. Now that the moment has arrived, I realize that he took a piece of me with him. When I told this to Rose, she patted my shoulder and said I was being irrational. That’s easy for her to say. She’s intelligent, confident and independent. Everything I’m not.

And I don’t think…I don’t think many people can really understand what it’s like to be so invested in someone—to share every single moment and then to have them ripped from you. We have an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship.

I know this.

And I’m trying to change, to grow beyond him, but why does that have to be a stipulation?

I want to grow with him.

I want to be with him.

I want to love Lo without people telling me that our love is too much.

One day, I hope we’ll get there. Hope, that’s all I have to go on right now. It’s my driving force. It’s literally what keeps me standing.

The first few days in withdrawals tortured me, but it helped that I hid in my room. I refused to see the real world until I could push past the most fervent urges. So far, I’ve contained my sexual needs by drowning in self-love. I’ve thrown out half of my porn to try to appease Rose and to convince myself that I’m on the path to recovery like Lo. But I’m not so sure that’s the case. Not when my stomach clenches at the thought of sex. But mostly, I want to have sex with him.

And I worry about that fifty-percent chance where I’ll drag another guy into a bathroom, where I’ll pretend he’s Lo for a single moment to satisfy my hunger. I shouldn’t be here. At a house party. Distance from wild things has helped so far. This—this isn’t even close to my wildest moments, but it’s enough to push me someplace bad.

When Daisy called and invited me to a “house party,” I imagined a few people mixing strong drinks and huddled around a television to watch music performances. Not this. Not an Upper East Side apartment crammed with models…male models. I can barely scoot an inch without a body part invading my personal space. I don’t even look to see what kind of ligament brushes my skin.

I should have told Daisy no. I have many fears since Lo has left, but my greatest one is failing him. I want to wait for Lo, and if I’m not strong enough to squash these compulsions before he returns from rehab, then our relationship will really be over. No more Lily and Lo. No more us. He’ll be healthy, and I’ll be stuck on a destructive turntable alone.

So I have to try. Even if something in my brain says go. I keep reminding myself of what waits for me if I don’t wait for him. Emptiness. Loneliness.

I will lose my best friend.

As per Rose’s knowledgeable instruction (she’s been reading up on sex addiction—and so has Connor, but that’s another story), I should be looking for a suitable therapist before I attend any social events that’ll tempt me. Daisy has no idea about my addiction—that it surrounds the allure of hot guys and the high of a lay. Rose is the only person in my family that’s aware of my problem, and it’ll stay that way if I can help it.

Still, I didn’t tell Daisy no. Even as I was trying to say it, she used the “I never see you” mantra to guilt me into submission. She topped it off by saying that I was oblivious to the fact that she broke up with Josh during Thanksgiving. (First mistake: asking “How’s Josh?” on the phone this morning. And I thought I was being so sly remembering his name and all.) That’s how “uninvolved” I am in her life. So not only was I processing her single-status, I was feeling a torrential downpour of sisterly remorse. I had to say yes to make it up to her. This is Lily 2.0—the girl who is actually trying to be a part of her family’s world.

That means spending quality time with Daisy. And worrying about her jumping back in the dating pool. Especially if these older models are flinging in their hooks to catch her.

So here I am. Obviously not prepared for this type of party. Although, I did ditch my sweats for black pants and a silky blue blouse.

“I’m so glad we’re here together,” Daisy exclaims for the third time. “I never see you.” Her arm flings around my shoulder, pulling me into a tipsy hug. I almost eat her golden brown, nearly blonde, hair. The feathery, straight strands flow past her chest.

We separate and I pinch one of her locks off my glossy lips.

“Sorry,” she says, trying to pull back her hair, but her hands are full: beer in one and a cigarette idly burning between two fingers in the other. “My hair is too fucking long.” She sighs in frustration, still combatting with the strands. She ends up using her shoulder and neck to try to push her hair off her chest, looking like a spaz in the process.

I’ve noticed that Daisy curses more when she’s irritated. Which is fine. But I’m sure our mother would need to spend an extra three hours meditating to forget about Daisy’s foul mouth.

And that’s precisely why I don’t care if she swears a lot or not at all. Do what she wants to do, I say. Daisy needs to be Daisy for a change, and I’m actually excited to see her away from my mother’s neurotic, maternal claws.

She settles down and sets her elbow on my shoulder for support. I am short enough to be her arm-rest. “Lil,” Daisy says, “I know Lo isn’t here, but I promise that I’m going to take your mind off of him tonight. No rehab talk. No mention of comics or anything that’ll remind you of him. Nada, okay? It’s just me and you and a bunch of friends.”

“You mean a bunch of attractive people.” I use the correct terminology. I am surrounded by pretty people who could sprint along a beach, Baywatch-style, and cause a wave of boners. Or they could walk down a runway and you’d probably be staring at their face more than their clothes.

At least I would.

Does that make me the ugliest person here? I’m probably the only un-model-ish girl. I nod. Okay. I’m cool with that. Surrounded by 10s and I’m probably a 6. I’ll take it.

She blows out smoke from her lips and smiles. “They’re all not that good looking. Mark looks like a gerbil in bad lighting. His eyes are too close together.”

“And he gets booked for jobs?”

She nods with a goofy smile. “Some fashion lines like the quirky thing. You know, the bushy brows, gap-tooth sorta look.”

“Huh.” I try to find Mark and his gerbil-ness, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“I kinda wish I had a cooler signature trait.”

Signature traits? Sounds like getting a badass patronus in the Wizarding World. Though I’m sure mine would be lame too. Like a squirrel.

I try to deduce her signature trait, scanning her black leggings, long gray shirt and army-green, military-style jacket. She doesn’t wear a single stroke of makeup, her complexion smooth, fresh and peachy perfect. “You do have great skin,” I nod, thinking I’ve solved the riddle. I’m so good. I nearly pat myself on the back.

Her eyebrows rise and she playfully bumps my hip with hers. “All models have good skin.”

“Oh.” I realize I’m going to have to come out and ask. “What’s your signature trait?”

She puts her cigarette in her lips and then grabs a wad of her hair shaking it towards me. “This baby,” she mumbles. She drops the strands on her shoulder and tucks the cig back between her fingers. “Long, long, long Disney Princess hair. That’s what my agency calls it.” She shrugs. “It’s not even that special. With wigs and stuff, anyone can have my hair.”

I would tell her to chop it off, but that’ll just rub in the fact that she can’t do a damn thing about it. Not when the agency controls her look. Not when our mother would go into cardiac arrest. “You do have better hair than me,” I tell her. Mine is greasy half the time.

I should probably wash it more.

“Rose has the best hair,” Daisy says. “It’s the perfect length and super shiny.”

“Yeah, but I think she combs it a hundred times a day. Like the mean girl from The Little Princess.”

Daisy’s lips twitch with a smile. “Did you just compare our sister to a villain?”

“Hey, a villain with good hair,” I defend. “She would appreciate that.” At least, I hope so.

Daisy finishes off her cigarette and snubs it in a crystal ashtray on the fireplace mantel. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Well I am. You’re always so busy. I feel like we really haven’t talked much since you left for college.”

I feel even worse. Being so much younger than Poppy, Rose, and me must have been isolating and lonely. Me being an addict and shunning my entire family hasn’t helped. “I’m glad I’m here too,” I tell her with a large, honest smile. Even if this may be my biggest test since Lo’s absence, at least I know I did something right. Coming here, spending time with Daisy, it is progress. Just a different kind.

All of a sudden, her eyes light up. “I have an idea.” She grabs my hand before I can protest. We exit the apartment and head for the hallway. She sprints towards the stairwell, tugging me along in tow.

I’m just getting used to this new impulsive Daisy. Who, Rose informed me, has apparently been around for the past two years. When we moved into our new house, we invited Daisy to help decorate. On her tour through the four-bedroom villa, she spotted the pool in the backyard. No mind that it’s still winter. A mischievous smile warped her face, and she climbed out of Rose’s bedroom window, onto the roof and prepared to jump in the water from three stories high.

I didn’t think she would do it. I told Rose, “Don’t worry. It’s probably just an attention thing.”

But she stripped into her underwear, took a running start, and splashed into the pool. When her head popped up, she wore the biggest, goofiest “Daisy” grin. Rose almost killed her. My jaw permanently unhinged.

And she floated on her back, barely even shivering.

Rose said when our mother isn’t around, Daisy tends to go crazy. And not the I’m going to drink my sorrows away and snort some coke rebellion. She just does things that our mother would condemn, and Daisy probably knows we’re more forgiving. When Rose saw that Daisy survived the jump without a bruise, she simply called her stupid and then let the issue drop. Our mother would have ranted for a solid hour, flipping out over any injuries that could have ruined her modeling career.

More than anything, I think Daisy just wants to be free.

I guess I was lucky enough to escape my mother’s strict scrutiny. But maybe not. I didn’t turn out perfect. One could even say that I am royally fucked up.

We climb the stairs to the highest floor, and Daisy turns the doorknob, the biting cold prickling my bare arms. The roof. She took me to the roof.

“You’re not planning on jumping are you?” I immediately ask with wide eyes. “There are no pools for you to land in this time.”

She snorts. “No duh.” She lets go of my hand and sets her beer on the gravel ground. “Do you see this view?”

Skyscrapers light up the city, and people even explode fireworks off other buildings, the colors crackling in the sky for tonight’s celebration. Cars honk below, kind of drowning out the majestic atmosphere of the night.

Daisy extends her arms and inhales deeply. And then she screams at the top of her lungs. “HAPPY NEW YEAR, NEW YORK CITY!” It’s only ten thirty, so technically it’s still New Year’s Eve. Her head turns to me. “Scream, Lil.”

I rub my hot neck, anxious. Maybe it’s the lack of sex. Or maybe sex is the one thing that’ll help me feel better. So…is sex the cause or is it the solution? I don’t even know anymore. “I’m not a screamer.” Lo would disagree. My cheeks flush.

Daisy faces me and says, “Come on, it’ll make you feel better.”

Doubtful.

“Open your mouth wide,” she teases. “Come on, big sis.”

Am I the only one who thinks that sounded perverted? I look over my shoulder. Oh yeah, we’re alone.

“Scream it with me.” She bounces on her toes, preparing to say “Happy” but she stops when I don’t share her enthusiasm for the holiday. “You’ve got to loosen up, Lily. Rose is supposed to be the uptight one.” She grabs my hand. “Come on.” She leads me closer to the ledge.

I take a glance down. Oh God. We’re super high up. “I’m afraid of heights,” I tell her, shrinking back.

“Since when?” she asks.

“Since I was seven years old and Harry Cheesewater pushed me off a jungle gym.”

“Oh yeah, you broke your arm, didn’t you?” She smiles. “And wasn’t his name Chesswater?”

“Lo made up his nickname.” Good times.

She snaps her fingers in remembrance. “That’s right. Lo put a firecracker in his backpack in retaliation.” Her smile fades. “I wish I had a friend like that.” She shrugs, as though that time has passed for her, but she’s still young. She can always grow closer to someone, but then again, with our mother dragging her every which way, she probably has less time for friends than any of us did. “Okay, enough Lo talk. He was supposed to be banned from the conversation tonight, remember?”

“Forgot,” I mumble. Most of my childhood stories involve him. I can count very few where he isn’t present. Family trips, he was there. Reunions, he was there. Calloway dinners, he was there. My parents might as well have adopted him. Hell, my grandmother bakes him her special fruitcake for no reason at all. She’ll mail it to him every so often. He charmed her somehow. I still think he gave her a foot massage or something nasty.

I squirm. Ew.

“Let’s play a game,” Daisy suggests with a giddy smile. “We’ll ask each other questions, and if we get them wrong, then the other person has to take a step towards the ledge.”

“Uhh…that doesn’t sound fun.” My fate will rest in her ability to answer a question.

“It’s a trust game,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Plus, I want to get to know you better. Is that so bad?” Now I can’t say no.

She’s testing me, I think.

“Fine.” I’ll make the questions easy so she’ll know the answer and I won’t have to feel my heart pop out of my chest.

She positions us so we stand maybe four feet from the ledge. Shit. This isn’t going to be fun. “What’s my birthday?” she asks me.

My arms suddenly heat. I know this. I do. “February…” Think Lily, think. Use those brain cells. “…twentieth.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. “Good, you’re turn.”

“When’s my birthday?”

“August first,” she says. She doesn’t even wait for me to tell her she’s right. She knows she is. “How many serious boyfriends have I had?”

“Define serious.” I don’t know this one. I truly do not. I wasn’t even aware she started dating until I heard Josh’s name thrown around while we were shopping for Charity Gala dresses.

“I brought them home to meet Mom and Dad.”

“One,” I tell her with a less-than-confident nod.

“I had two. Don’t you remember Patrick?”

I frown and scratch my arm. “Patrick who?”

“Redhead, skinny. Kind of immature. He used to pinch my butt, so I broke up with him. I was fourteen.” She takes a step closer to the ledge since I’m clearly the worst sister ever.

I sigh heavily, realizing it’s my turn. “Uhh…” I try to think of a good question, but they all contain Lo somehow. Finally I land on something semi-good. “What part did I play in the Wizard of Oz production?” I was only seven, and upon Lo’s request, his father pulled strings and took his son out of the performance so he didn’t have to play the Tin Man. Lo was so happy that he never had to rehearse with the class. He slept in the back of the room, his mouth hanging open, taking an extra nap time while we tried to memorize condensed, age-appropriate lines.

I miss him.

“You were a tree,” Daisy says with a nod. “Rose said you threw an apple at Dorothy and gave her a black eye.”

I point at her. “That was an accident. Don’t let Rose spread lies…” That story is in her arsenal to use against me, I swear.

Daisy tries to smile, but it’s a weak one. I can tell my relationship with Rose is something that upsets her, so I let my words taper off. She asks, “What do I want to be when I grow up?”

I should know this. Shouldn’t I? But I have absolutely no clue. “An astronaut,” I throw out.

“Nice try.” She takes a step forward. “I’m not sure what I want to be.”

I gawk. “That was a trick question. No fair.”

She shrugs. “Wish you thought of it first?”

I look at my distance from the wall and then hers. Two more steps and she’s on the ledge. “No thank you.” I’m ecstatic she’s answering my questions correctly, but I feel a little guilty I’m sucking at hers. I think she knew I’d fail at this game.

Maybe she wants to lose, and this way, I can’t tell her to jump down. Not if it’s all part of the game. Jesus, I hope that’s not the case. But my stomach sinks at the thought. It seems more and more likely it is.

“What’s my middle name?” I try an easy one.

“Martha,” she says with a laugh. “Lily Martha Calloway. Doesn’t it suck to be named after our grandmother?”

“Look who’s talking, Petunia.” She was saddled with a second flower name.

“You know what boys always ask me?”

“What?”

“Have you been deflowered?”

I’ve heard that one before.

Her eyes meet mine briefly. “Have I?”

The cold nips my neck. “Is that my next question?”

She nods.

“You’re a virgin,” I say, hesitant. Right? The last we talked about this, we played a game on our family’s yacht, and both Daisy and Rose said their V cards were still intact.

She takes a step forward, her boots hitting the ledge.

Whaaa… “You’re lying,” I say with huge, round eyes. When the hell did she lose her virginity? To whom?!

She shakes her head and her hair flaps in the wind. She tucks a strand behind her ear.

“Was it Josh?”

“No,” she says lightly, as if it’s not a big deal. Maybe not for me, it wasn’t. I’ve actually tried to suppress the memory of my first time. It was awkward, and it hurt a little. Whenever I think about it, I start to blush. So I’ve buried it deep, deep in the recesses of my mind.

“Who? When? Are you okay?”

“A couple months ago. I don’t know…girls had been talking about sex in class, how they’ve had it and stuff. I just wanted to see what it would be like. It was okay, I guess. Definitely not as fun as doing this.” She wags her eyebrows playfully.

“But who…?” My eyes may literally pop out of my face. Please don’t be like me, is all I can think.

“A model. We did a shoot together, and he moved back to Sweden, so don’t worry, you won’t run into him here.”

I am learning so much about Daisy in one night. It’s hard to digest. I feel like I’ve just gorged myself on Five Guys Burgers and Fries, close to puking a little.

“How old is he?” Please don’t be statutory rape. I don’t know if I can hold in that secret.

“Seventeen.”

I relax. “Does Rose know?”

Daisy shakes her head. “No, I haven’t told anyone that I lost it. You’re the first. You won’t say anything, right? Mom would kill me.”

“No, but…if you start having sex, you should be careful.”

“I know.” She nods a lot. “Do you think…do you think you can take me to the clinic? I kinda want to be on birth control.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you.” Another secret I’ll have to keep from the family, but this one I’ll gladly take. Unplanned pregnancy can be avoided, and girls shouldn’t feel ashamed to be on the pill. “Just promise you won’t go crazy and have sex with a bunch of random guys.” Because I would and look how awesome I turned out.

“Ew, I wouldn’t do that.” She scrunches her nose, and the bottom of my stomach drops. And this is why I can’t tell anyone else in my family about my addiction. Rose was right. They just wouldn’t understand. “Will I go to college?” she asks another question for our game. I can’t even remember if it’s her turn or mine.

“I can’t predict the future.”

“Do I want to go to college then?”

“That…is a very good question…that I do not have the answer to. Do you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not yet anyway. I’m ready to be eighteen and do shoots without Mom there. I’ll be able to go to France alone and see the city without Mom scheduling my whole itinerary. You know, this year she wouldn’t even let me see the Louvre.”

“That sucks.”

Daisy nods. “Yeah, it blows.” Then her boot sets on the cement ledge. My heart lurches into my throat.

“Okay, game over!” I throw up my hands. “Let’s go back inside.”

Daisy grins from ear to ear and stands, perched on the fucking ledge with a twenty-story drop off. She straightens up and outstretches her arms. “I AM A GOLDEN GOD!”

Oh jeez. Quoting Almost Famous does not alleviate my panic.

Instead, she screams at the top of her lungs, which turns into a full-bellied laugh.

This bonding time has gone a little too far. “All right, game over. You win. Seriously, I’m going to break out in chicken pox.” Or at least a rash that looks like it. I start pacing, too afraid to move closer and pull her down myself. What if I tug and she falls backwards like on television? That’s how people die.

Daisy begins walking across like it’s a tightrope. “It’s not that scary. Honestly, it’s like…” She laughs into a smile. “It’s like the world is at your fingertips, you know?”

I shake my head repeatedly, so much my neck hurts. “No, no. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did someone drop you on your head?” That seems kind of likely right now.

And then she hops off.

Onto the gravel.

I breathe. She picks her Solo cup on her way to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s possible that one of the nannies did. Maybe that explains why I’m not as smart as Rose.”

“No one is as smart as Rose.” Except maybe Connor Cobalt.

“True,” she says with a laugh and turns to the door. “Now let’s see if we can find you a hot guy.”

Yeah, this isn’t going to be good.

* * *

Daisy tries to leave me with a scarily attractive blond model. Can a face like his really exist without Photoshop? Perfect bone structure, the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dear God, I’m in trouble.

“I’m going to go get some punch. You two stay here and chat,” Daisy says. I try to grab her elbow before she disappears from me.

“Daisy…” I’m going to kill her.

She spins around and mouths, mingle and tops it with another smile.

I look back. He towers over me and sips from a Solo cup. He bends to my ear, his hand sinking to my waist. And lowering. I swallow.

“You’re like a little hidden gem,” he tells me with a small laugh. I avoid those intense blue eyes that begin to rake my body, heating up places that should not, in no way, be hot by anyone except Loren Hale.

I brush off his hands so frantically that I end up looking like I’m swatting flies. And then I mutter something unintelligent that sounds like I have to pee or maybe there’s a bee. Either way, I disentangle myself from him and the mobs of models in the dance area. I find a safe spot on the couch by the floor-length window, the glittery city lit up and awake with cabs and pedestrians.

Daisy is in a discussion with a guy who seems to be around her age. It’s hard to tell in this group. He has black hair and European features, skinny like he could front an indie rock band. She’s unaware that I’ve ditched her handsy friend.

Next to me sits a half-conscious, drug-induced boy, staring up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze, not finding what looks so damn interesting besides white plaster.

I take an impulsive glance at the oak table by the wall—decorated with a spread of cheap liquor. People serve themselves, and I subconsciously look for Lo behind a curly brunette. After she plops a couple ice cubes in her drink and passes to the kitchen, I see him.

Leaning against the beige wall, cupping a Reidel glass with amber liquid.

His cheeks cut sharply, and his expression flickers between slightly annoyed and amused. He takes a small sip and meets my gaze, knowing I’m watching—as though we share a secret beyond every person here. The corner of his lip rises as he takes another swig, and I pin to my seat.

He brings the glass down and puts his head to the wall, his chin raised a little. He stares. I stare back. And my whole chest inflates with helium.

I want him.

I need him.

To hold me. To wrap my arms around his body. For him to whisper in my ear that everything will be okay. That we’ll be better for each other. Will we? Will we still love each other if he’s sober and I’m wading through the things that torment me? Will he fit into my life if I’m struggling with my addiction while he’s healthy and absolved from his?

I want to fit into his life. I just hope when he returns, he’ll want me too.

And I blink. He’s gone. Somewhere. No one will tell me what rehab he checked into, and so I’m left with these distressing fantasies, wishing for him to return. At least I managed to claw a few answers from Ryke. He said that for the first month of rehab, Lo isn’t supposed to have any sort of outside communication. I’m not sure if that pertains to only me, but I have a feeling Ryke has been in touch with Lo since he dropped him off.

So maybe I’m the only one who’s being shunned and kicked out of Lo’s life like dirty garbage.

Still, I wait in anticipation for February. Email privileges will be restored. And then March, he’ll upgrade to the telephone. If I can just make it through January, I’ll be okay. Or at least, that’s what I keep reminding myself.

My phone buzzes, and I retrieve it from my pocket, wiping my eyes with my wrist while I read the text.

I left my wallet at your place. I need you to open the gates – Ryke I freeze and reread the text four more times. Open the gates. As in the gated house I’m supposed to be at right now—the one Rose bought in a secluded little town. Can I pretend that I didn’t read it?

Lily, I know you’re there.

What? How?!

I won’t fuck you. Just let me in. I’m supposed to be in Time Square right now.

My fingers hover over the button. If I refuse to answer, I can act like I never received the texts. Simple. And then I can just lie tomorrow about losing my phone. It’d be better than dealing with Ryke now.

We both have iPhones. I can tell when you’ve read my texts, so stop ignoring me and open the fucking gates.

Uhh…

My phone rings, and I jump. RYKE MEADOWS fills the screen.

I’m in trouble. We haven’t established a talking-on-the-phone type of relationship yet. As of late, we’re strictly text-only. Even if he is Lo’s half-brother, he has just entered our lives. And while Lo may forgive all of Ryke’s past transgressions—like spending seven years with the knowledge of his little brother’s whereabouts and not doing anything about it (like saying ‘hi’ at least)—I have kept Ryke at a lengthy distance. It has nothing to do with his boy-parts and sex but more to do with his annoying qualities. Like inserting himself into other people’s business. Like being an alpha male when the situation does not call for one.

My finger continues to float above the big green button, and I make a rash decision and bolt for the patio to avoid music and loud chatter. Even outside, the wild streets make up for the lack of pumping bass as people gather down below for tonight’s festivities. My phone vibrates angrily in my hand. Quickly, I press the speaker to my ear and wait for Ryke to speak first. I’m so not about to initiate this conversation.

“Open the fucking gate,” he snaps.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Get your ass off your bed and come down here.” I hear him jiggle the iron entry, as though trying to physically open it by pure brute force.

“Are you trying to break in?”

“I’m considering it.” He sighs, agitated. “It’s been seven days since he left, not five fucking years. You’re acting pathetic.”

I purse my lips. This is why I dislike him. His blunt honesty is so rude sometimes. Ryke takes the meaning “tough love” to a whole new level. “I realize that. And I’ll have you know, I changed out of sweats on day four, and on day five, I washed my hair.” I am not pathetic. I’m trying to live without my best friend. It’s hard. My whole reason for waking up in the morning and putting on a smile was taken from me.

“Congratulations. Now open the gate.”

And then, my luck goes in the crapper. “HAPPY NEW YEAR MOTHERFUCKERS!” a guy screams five stories below. I am one-hundred percent positive that Ryke heard the drunken exclamation through the receiver.

“Before you say anything,” I speak rapidly, feeling the heated fury brew from Ryke through the phone. “Daisy begged me to come to this house party. She gave me these big green doe eyes. You have not been inflicted by Daisy’s doe eyes, so you can’t judge. And then I thought—hey it can’t be that big of a deal. She’s fifteen. It has to be some small girly slumber party in the city. Nothing to fret about.” I moronically point at my chest even though he’s nowhere near me. “It’s not my fault that my little sister has friends twice her age. I didn’t even know she drank outside of our family until tonight! So this is not my fault. You hear me, Ryke? Not. My. Fault.” I finish my rant with a heavy breath.

After a short pause, all he says is, “Where the fuck are you?”

“I’ll probably head home after the ball drops.” I dodge the answer in case he intends to find me.

“Do you trust yourself?”

I go quiet and glance at a well-built model who leans over the railing to grab the attention of a girl on the street.

He’s shirtless.

And hot. But I guess that’s self-explanatory considering his job.

Do I trust myself? Not completely. But I can’t stay reclusive forever and wallow in my sheets like a dying hyena. I have to be brave. I have to try to be normal. Even if my mind screams no.

Ryke takes my silence as an answer. “If you can’t even say yes, then you shouldn’t be at any parties. Find Daisy and stay with her until I get there.”

What? No, no, no. “You don’t need to babysit me, Ryke.”

He exhales loudly. “Look, I promised Lo that I’d make sure you didn’t jump off a cliff when he left. If helping you helps him, then I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll see you.” He hangs up and I realize I never told him the address of the apartment. Maybe he’s bluffing and trying to instill fear so I’ll avoid doing something rash and stupid. Like hooking up with a male model. Like kissing a random guy. I’m frightened by the place in my mind that says go—the trigger that forgets about the love of my life for a brief, horrifying moment. And then when it’s over, I’ll be filled with shame and disgust so deep that I won’t know how to crawl back out.

I breathe in and shake off my trembling hands. I shuffle into the apartment and spot Daisy by the silver refrigerator with a dizzying array of letter magnets attached. Someone spelled cum with me. Clever.

Daisy sips from a red Solo, now filled with punch, and chats with a tall Italian model, his chocolate hair thick and his smile insanely bright. As I approach, she says a quick goodbye and hesitantly flips her phone over in her palm.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Something weird just happened. I don’t know…” She takes another swig of punch and licks her lips. “Ryke texted me.”

Oh shit.

“I mean, I didn’t even think he noticed me.”

As far as I remember, Ryke has met Daisy once at my family house in Villanova, a ritzy suburb outside of Philly, and it was more of a wave from afar than a true greeting. “What’d he want?”

“To know what party I was at. I gave him the address.” She shrugs. “You think he likes me or something?”

“…I don’t know, Dais. He’s twenty-two, and he’s not the kind of guy that would hit on a fifteen-year-old.” Because those guys are perverts.

Her lips downturn into a deep frown. “Yeah, I guess. But why would he ask me where I was? I mean, I do look older, Lily. And I make my own money…”

“You’re still fifteen,” I tell her. “He’s still twenty-two.” This needs to be squashed right now before he gets here. I cannot have her thinking she has a chance with him. No, no, no. I itch my neck. Maybe I am getting chicken pox.

She groans. “It’s so fucking frustrating. I feel older than I am half the time. Some people treat me like I’m in my twenties, and then I go back to school, and I’m babied again. I’m given respect, and then it’s taken away from me. Over and over and over.” She downs the rest of her drink.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to tell her to make her feel any better. “You’re close to being sixteen, and then you’ll only have two more years.” I lamely shake my hands like faux pompoms.

She lets out a weak laugh. “You’re so corny.”

I shrug. “It made you laugh.”

“It did,” she nods.

“How did Ryke get your number anyway?”

“I didn’t give it to him. Maybe he called Rose and asked her for it.” She pauses. “So…why do you think he’s coming over?”

I inhale a strained breath, my muscles tightening. “I’m not sure,” I lie.

“I guess we’ll see.” She stares at her empty cup. “I’m going to get a refill. How about you go hang out with Bret?” She tilts her head to the scarily pretty blond guy that I dodged.

“Getting rid of me?” I joke. “Am I not that fun?”

She smiles. “I just don’t want to leave you here alone. I’m the one who asked you to come, after all. And it may take me awhile to escape the punch bowl.” She nods to the big tub full of red liquid and sliced pineapples. “See Jack over there.” I spot the black-haired, European guy that I noticed before.

“Yeah?”

“He’s a talker. I can’t ever get away from him, and I feel guilty when I try. It’ll take me probably ten minutes.”

“I can come save you,” I suggest.

She shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. “No, no. I have it handled. Have fun. Mingle,” she tells me again. As if mingling is the solution. It is not.

My palms sweat and my nerves jostle as she disappears. I really want to go follow her, but she basically said do not follow me, Lily. Didn’t she? I swallow down my anxiety and accidentally lock eyes with a dark-skinned model, his biceps bulging as he sets two palms on the alcohol table.

I bite my fingernails, losing control. Maybe I should try to calm myself. Go off and do my own thing. Find someone…Bret…

No.

My body thrums with the usual cravings that I’ve denied myself for seven whole days. The only thing that will satiate the nerves, the fear, and everything that balloons my dizzy head is sex.

Sex is the solution.

But instead of picking a male model to throw myself at, I focus on the bathroom. Go there and you’ll feel better, I think. Over and over. I don’t need a boy. I can help myself.

So I head to the bathroom in the little hallway. After waiting in a semi-long line, I lock the door and settle on the toilet seat. I try to remind myself that I accomplished this ritual in far grosser places. I wiggle my shorts and panties to my ankles.

I take a small breath and relax and find the throbbing spot with my fingers. Closing my eyes, I drift into my mind, transporting myself from this party to other steamier places.

I picture Lo. I recreate a not-too-distant memory where we were together for real.

The lights had dimmed; the movie trailers had ended, and the opening credits were rolling. In the blackness, I tried not to concentrate on Lo’s heavy breath, the way his arm and leg pressed firmly into mine. His eyes fixed to the screen, not acknowledging the aching tension with a look towards me. Instead, his right hand skillfully roamed my leg, silently telling me to focus on the film. Even if the theater was empty, being secluded in the back row did not help ease my desires.

His hand rubbed the bareness of my knee, edging closer to my thigh with each passing minute. I squeezed them tight, the tension mounting with unbearable slowness. I inhaled shallow, sharp breaths, waiting for the inevitable plunge of his fingers, wanting so much more.

He was such a tease. That has never changed.

His hand drifted up and up. Under my skirt, touching the soft fabric of my panties. My mouth fell open as his finger brushed the pulsing spot. So light. Not enough force or pressure. I squirmed and ached and resisted the urge to cry out for more.

Silence. Darkness. The fear of being caught. That was the tantalizing atmosphere we were playing with. I swallowed hard, keeping my head towards the screen, but the images flashed blankly at me. I was lost in these deep, deep feelings.

My heart quickened in fear at the thought of someone walking in. Ushers randomly checked the theater, and I didn’t want to be banned or arrested. But I lost the strength to say no the moment his palm caressed my knee and slid upwards.

I sunk low in my seat and covered my eyes with my hand. My head naturally started tipping backwards as his fingers stroked my wet, sensitive mound.

“Lo,” I cried in a soft breath, a little choked.

His parted lips brushed my ear so slowly I nearly came right there. And then he whispered, “Stay still. Don’t moan.”

I needed him to fill me. And as if on cue, his fingers dove inside, his thumb making circles on my clit. A breath caught in my throat. Don’t moan. Ohhh…

The comedy in the background wasn’t loud enough to drown out future noises that I knew would come. No way could I inhale these sounds. One already escaped, sharp and unrestrained.

He no longer focused on the film. His lips skimmed the nape of my neck, but the darkened theater masked his movements. I just felt him. The fullness of his lips, the way his arm brushed against my breast, pulsing his fingers in a toxic rhythm.

I felt the climax coming like riding up the hill on a rollercoaster. Take me, I wanted to scream. I held it in. I swallowed my moans and gripped the armrest to my left. My mouth opened as he hit the right spot. I bucked a little, my toes curling and a layer of sweat gathering.

Oh no.

Instinctively, I clenched my legs tight together, putting his hand in an uncomfortable vice, anything to subdue the sounds that were about to leak from my lips and get us caught.

He kissed my temple and then whispered, “I need my hand, love.”

My eyes were shut tight, and I shook my head repeatedly. No, no, no. If I was supposed to come without screaming then he couldn’t do that right now. I had to…compose myself first. An insane part of me thought about removing his hand altogether and straddling his waist, getting something more substantial to feed this need.

His free hand gently skimmed my neck, and then his lips met mine, kissing so deeply and so hard that the insane part of me won out. I wanted his cock inside of me, completely, and I didn’t give a damn about where I was. Hurriedly, I reached over to undo his zipper, fumbling in the dark for the entry.

His lips detached from mine, and he snatched my wrist to stop me. He leaned into my ear once more, his breath tickling my sensitive skin. “I want my other hand first.”

I hesitated for a brief second before I relaxed my thighs and relieved the pressure from his hand. I went back to searching for his zipper, but then Lo pushed his fingers faster and harder inside of me.

My eyes fluttered, my back arched, and the cry I had been avoiding came out like I had reached the pinnacle of all pinnacles.

Tricky bastard.

I thought that was it, but he kept his fingers in place, and my whole body skyrocketed again. And again. I leaned forward from the sudden waves, and clutched his hard bicep and cotton shirt, his arm still pressed strongly against my chest, gliding down below, disappearing between my legs. Just thinking about the way he was inside of me sent me spiraling.

He slid his free hand over my mouth, blocking out the noises that persisted and rocked through me. One after the other. My body shuddered and wouldn’t let up. Not when he would shift a little, touching a place that put me into a new tailspin.

Any fear of an onlooker was drowned by the ecstasy that filled my head. Clinging to him in desperation. In vital, palpable need.

I no longer craved for something more. He was enough.

“Lily!” Yes.

“LILY!” The door bangs with an angry sound. No.

My eyes snap open back to the present moment. The house party. I’m in the bathroom, my forehead sweaty. My eyes had been halfway rolled in the back of my head, almost about to climax with the memory.

I have yet to hit my sweet spot. The tension burns, but Ryke’s voice scares me enough to jump off the toilet like it zapped me. I hurry and dress. “Coming!” I tell him and cringe almost immediately. Really? I couldn’t choose any other word?

“I hope not,” Ryke says, his voice so close that I picture him leaning a shoulder against the door frame.

My cheeks welt in an ugly red. I wash my hands with plenty of soap and peek at the mirror. Besides my flushed face, I look presentable. So far, I’ve been trying to eliminate porn from my life, not fantasies. I shouldn’t be ashamed, but my stomach knots anyway.

That memory I focused on, I love. Because I later found out that Lo had paid the manager for a private screening of the movie, buying each and every ticket that would have filled the theater. He planned to arouse me. He planned to satiate my needs in a new way. Maybe Rose would call that enabling, but right now, it’s one of the sweeter memories in my spank bank.

As soon as I open the door, a girl with jet-black hair mumbles, “bitch,” and barrels ahead, shoving me into the nearby wall. Okay, that was not necessary. She slams the door, and then I glance up to see the aggravated, curving line of guys and girls—hands on their hips, eyes in tight glares.

My rash-like flush burgeons across my arms. Hopefully they believe I was puking up the punch, not fingering myself.

And when I turn slightly, I find Ryke, leaning on the wall just as I pictured. His arms are crossed and he scrutinizes me with hard, piercing eyes. His brown hair is styled nicely, giving these models a run for their money. He’s also slightly unshaven, which makes him appear older and tougher. He gives me a long once-over, as if trying to spot the stain of debauchery.

I ignore him and head towards the living room, knowing he’ll follow. I’m not surprised when I feel his presence like an annoying, unwanted shadow. When I reach the kitchen, he puts his hand on my shoulder, spinning me around to meet his accusatory eyes, as though I’ve already fucked up.

Maybe I have. I don’t know anything anymore. I wish someone could give me a guide on what exactly I’m supposed to do, but no one seems to know. My addiction isn’t fucking normal. That’s the problem.

“You look like shit,” he starts off.

“Thank you,” I say dryly. “If that’s what you scurried all across the city for, then mission accomplished. You can leave me alone now.”

“Why do you do that?” he snaps.

“Do what?” I do a lot of things. As does he.

“Act like I’m a fucking rat, scurrying.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe because you lied to me for months.” He could have told me he was Lo’s brother. I feel just as duped as my boyfriend, but the difference is I don’t let things go as easily. Not when Ryke is a rash I can’t medicate.

He rolls his eyes and says, “Get over it.”

I hate him. “Okay.” I flash an irritated half-smile. “I’m over it.” I try to pass him to go find my sister.

He sighs exasperatedly and grabs my arm to stop me. “Wait. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know your relationship with Lo. I couldn’t trust you with that information. Would you have told him?”

I pause, hesitating. I’m not sure. Maybe. I look up at him with furrowed brows, understanding his reservations. “I still don’t like you,” I always remind him.

“You’re not growing on me either.” His eyes flit around the room. “I couldn’t find Daisy. I looked for like ten fucking minutes.” He runs a hand through his hair, antsy.

I inhale a sharp breath. “Do you even remember what she looks like?”

“I’ve seen enough pictures,” he tells me. “Tall. Really fucking tall. Your green eyes. The Calloway brown hair. Too skinny and no boobs. About right?”

I glare even though it’s almost all accurate. Per her modeling agency’s request, she dyed her hair a light brown-blonde last week. “She’s fifteen,” I say roughly.

He shrugs. “Maybe she’ll get boobs then.”

I stare at him blankly, trying to find words that represent my emotions right now. I blink.

Nope, there are none.

So I land on my usual phrase. “You’re such an asshole.”

He never denies it. “Let’s just find your sister and go. We can watch the ball drop at your house.” He doesn’t rub it in my face that I ruined his plans for tonight. Who knows what type of woman he planned to meet up with and screw afterwards. I have avoided seeing Ryke in his natural habitat. It’s a part of him that I plan to keep very, very far away. Because that would mean we’re friends. And we are not friends. We’re just two people who happen to coexist on occasion and see each other around. That’s it.

I scan the area, pushing through the kitchen and towards the crowded dance floor. I don’t see her anywhere. Not even by the punch bowl that’s littered with picturesque male models. I trace their biceps with my gaze, their muscles spindling underneath their tight shirts. Jesus. This party is not for me. I feel my forehead heat with a layer of sweat in anxiety. Get me out of here.

“I don’t see her,” I mutter.

“How could you when you’ve been eye-fucking half the guys in here?”

I gape. I’ve had enough of his evil comments. I turn on him with clenched fists and fiery eyes. “What did I do to you?”

His jaw hardens to stone, and the muscles twitch in his face, holding back, restraining. Let it on out, buddy. My mental command must work because he says, “Do you look at other guys when Lo is in the room?”

That’s what this is about? My stomach drops and aches. A punch to the gut would probably be more pleasant. Of course Lo would care that I’m staring. I would care. And I haven’t truly fantasized about any other guy but him since he’s been away. But that doesn’t matter. Not when I know I’m one small step away from picturing a nameless, faceless body with all the right moves and all the right words.

But I don’t know how to stop once I’ve started. And I’m trying to put the brakes on. I’m desperate and needy right now, and everything I really, really don’t want to be.

I need a therapist, I think. I need to find someone who knows how to help me. I’ll try harder.

“It’s not cheating to look,” I say in a small voice. “And he’s not here, Ryke. Give me some slack.”

He lets out a long breath and rubs the back of his neck. “I hate that he’s dating an addict. You have no idea…” He pinches his eyes. “It makes this twice as hard, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”

He exhales again, tension finally leaving his muscles. “Look, I know you love each other. I know you’ll try to be together even if it kills you. I may seem like a huge dick, and I’m riding you hard…”

Uhhh… I cringe and flush, a horrid combination.

“Dammit. Not like that, Lily.” He shakes his head, his face contorting in slight disgust, and he points at me. “You think more perverted things than any fucking guy I know.”

Guilty.

“And I don’t know how to do this the nice way. I’m not like that, never have been. So sometimes that means being a pain in the ass.” He jabs his finger harder. “Don’t take that sexually.” Too late. He drops his hand and says, “I’ll choose him over you, every time, but you’re a huge part of his life, so that means you’re going to be a part of mine—whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” I mutter. What else is there to say?

The party starts to liven as a famous pop star takes the stage on television. Everyone begins to sloppily mimic the dance moves, stumbling and knocking into each other. I don’t spot Daisy in the dance mob.

“Should we split up to look for her? Cover more ground?” I ask, biting my fingernails.

“No.” He grabs my hand, forcing my nails from my mouth. His eyes land on a group of guys snorting lines of coke, passing a glass dish between them by the window. “Should a fifteen-year-old be at this kind of party?”

Probably not. “They’re models.”

His brows furrow like do I fucking care? “So?”

I guess that’s not an excuse, but it’s so hard to talk to him. I feel like I’m constantly fighting with a Rock ‘em Sock ‘em robot. And I suck at board games.

I walk towards the punch bowl where I last saw Daisy and feel him trailing me again. He slips into the paths that I weave.

Six people surround a bong and pass it to one another, smoke pluming around their glazed eyes. Daisy’s thankfully not in the circle, and I peek around a few arms before seeing someone hugging an armrest to a couch. Next to her sits Jack, the black-haired “talker” who edges closer while she sips her drink and flashes a weak smile. I must have missed her with all the people dancing in the center.

When she sees me, she says something to him and stands quickly. She wobbles a little and then sets a hand on my wrist. “Oh good. I thought I was going to have to talk to him all night.”

Ryke inspects her with his usual fierce look, eyes flitting from her face to her Solo cup. “Aren’t you underage?” Technically, I am too, but I don’t mention that, especially since I haven’t been drinking, so the point is mute.

Daisy’s eyes narrow at him. “Are you my father?” she asks with the quirk of her head, her casual tone subtly biting. “I don’t think you are.”

“Why ask me a question that you’re going to fucking answer?” he snaps at her, not backing down even though she’s my sister and a teenager. Why does he have to be so confrontational? Lo would have ignored her. I think.

“It was rhetorical. Do you know what that means?” she asks. “It’s a question that’s said in order to make a point. A figure of speech.”

My eyes bug. Wow, she’s hostile. Must have something to do with our conversation about being treated older and then younger. Why else would she go off on him?

“I didn’t know,” he says with the tilt of his head. “Do you know what that is? Sarcasm.” He edges in her face a little. Taller than her by about four or five inches.

She raises her chin, holding her own. “You’re hilarious,” she deadpans.

His eyebrow arches. “I guess you do know what sarcasm is then.” He pries the cup out of her hand, his muscles relaxing in his broad shoulders. “What is this shit anyway?” He sniffs it and cringes. “That’s fucking foul.”

“Hunch punch,” she tells him. “It’s kind of strong. I’ve only had a glass and a half.” Her eyes droop a little though, but she seems coherent. Not yet drunk. Maybe buzzed. I decided not to drink because alcohol loosens inhibitions, and mine need to be padlocked.

Suddenly, two guys start yelling in the middle of the dance floor. Their girlfriends try to pull them back, grabbing onto their thick muscles, but they can’t restrain them as they begin to barrel forward.

“Really?” Daisy shakes her head at the scene. And before I digest the abrupt fight, her boots clap against the hardwood and she slides between bodies to reach the two furious guys.

She’s crazy. My sister is flat-out nuts. Dear God.

Tattooed Guy pushes Tan Guy.

“What the fuck is your sister doing?” Ryke asks, and when we see Daisy physically inject herself between the two guys, Ryke curses under his breath and dashes in her path between the bodies. I follow close behind, grabbing onto his shirt so I don’t lose him.

Daisy throws her hands out between both guys.

“Get out of my fucking way!” Tattooed Guy shouts at her.

“Bryan. Come on, what are you going to do? Punch him?” She’s not even a little scared of being hit in the crossfire. And then I wonder: what if she wants to be? This is so messed up.

“Stay out of it, Daisy!” he shouts. “That fucker, he slept with Heidi.” A redhead tries to touch his shoulder, but he swats her away. A circle opens around them while people on the outskirts stare—like the two guys are Danny Zuko and Sandy Olsen, about to perform an epic dance.

Only this one will include fists and kicks and probably blood.

“She’s a fucking liar!” Tan Guy yells, veins pulsing in his large neck.

I stay a safe distance away, too afraid of Tan Guy who looks ready to beat the living shit out of Bryan for even suggesting he fucked some other girl.

Daisy keeps her hands up between them, separating their bodies, but her eyelids continue to sag. She wobbles a little, but she stands upright. Is she drunk? But she barely drank anything, and this seems to be hitting her really hard all of a sudden.

Ryke edges forward into the “fighting area” and places a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Go.”

“They’re not punching each other here,” she tells him. “This is stupid.”

His lips find her ear, and I hear him say, “This isn’t your fucking fight, Daisy. Let it go.”

She weakly pushes him off, swaying too much, and then points at Bryan. “You think you’re a man?” she snorts. “You hit him and then what? The other guy hits you back and you’ll feel better?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bryan tells her.

Ryke shoots him the worst possible glare, one that could seriously shift mountains. Then his eyes drop back to Daisy. “Move.”

She stares at Bryan in challenge. “You want to hit him? Get through me.”

“Daisy!” I shout. Yep, she wants to be hit. To feel something, maybe. I don’t know, but she’s scaring me.

And that’s when Tan Guy charges from behind. Ryke shoves her out of the way, and she falls on her knees while he takes a punch to the jaw. I shimmy around the crowd, people cheering and grimacing as Bryan knees Tan Guy and Ryke tries to fight his way out of their feud.

Daisy has already picked herself up off the floor, wiping her hands on her green army jacket. “Lily?” she stumbles into my chest. We push our way out towards the kitchen area, able to breathe in the open air.

“Are you crazy?” I yell at her. “You don’t provoke guys to hit you.”

She loops a weak arm around my shoulder. “You think Mom would have been mad if I ruined my pretty face?” She laughs lightly and it quickly dies off. She blinks repeatedly, as though she sees stars or black spots. “Lily?”

“What’s wrong?” I ask her in a high-pitched voice. I shake her shoulder.

“I don’t know…something’s…not right…”

“Are you drunk?” What a stupid question to ask.

Ryke breaks through the crowd, a red welt blooming on his cheekbone. “That was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

She turns around very, very slowly. “Who’s stupid? Them or me?” She keeps blinking, and he stares at her for a long moment, seeing the oddness in her movements.

“You okay?”

“Perfect,” she says. “Are you okay?” Her eyes slowly move to his welt.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, still inspecting her state. “You know, you have pretty huge balls.”

“The biggest.” Her lips pull into a dry smile, but it falls with her eyelids.

“Daisy?” His worried voice drives knives into my stomach.

Her knees give out. And he grabs underneath her arms before she hits the floor.

“What the fuck?” I say, my heart hammering.

He lifts her up, and her head lolls back, her arms hanging lifelessly by her side.

“Daisy.” Ryke’s hard eyes narrow, and he taps her face lightly. “Daisy, look at me.” Nothing. He pinches her cheeks together and shakes her head a little. She’s out of it.

I put two fingers to her neck and feel a weak pulse. “I don’t understand. She had a beer and one glass of punch.” Well, one and a half but I doubt that half mattered in the grand scheme of things. Right?

Ryke rests his ear to her chest, feeling for the rise and fall of her ribs. “She’s breathing, but it’s slow.”

Okay. I bite my nails, trying to figure what could have happened. This isn’t drunk. I know what drunk looks like, and this…this is not it.

Ryke adjusts Daisy in his arms so he has a better hold on her, and then he pulls one of her eyelids up. “Her pupils are dilated.” His jaw hardens to stone. “Who poured her punch?”

My mouth slowly falls. “You think someone drugged her?”

“I know someone fucking drugged her.”

Jack. I scan the room and land on the black-haired guy in the kitchen. He leans against the refrigerator, pushing the magnets around with his buddy to spell lick my prick.

Ryke follows my gaze, clenching his teeth. “That him?”

“Yeah.”

“Support her for me,” Ryke says, setting my sister’s limp feet on the ground. He rests her chest against my body, and I wrap my arms around her waist, keeping her somewhat upright so she won’t thud to the floor.

“What are you going to go do?” I ask. Beat the shit out of him? Have a civil conversation? Throttle him for answers? There are so many choices.

“Stay here.”

That wasn’t much of a reply.

Before I can ask again, Ryke enters the kitchen with a dark scowl. The first thing he does: shove a muscular arm at Jack, pinning him against the refrigerator with his bicep cutting at his windpipe. The colorful magnets slide off the fridge and clatter to the floor.

“What the fuck?!” Jack curses with an English lilt. He tries to escape Ryke’s strong hold, but Ryke presses his weight against him, looking about ready to rip out Jack’s throat.

“What’d you put in her drink?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, glancing at his buddy nearby. The kid tries to cut in and put a hand on Ryke’s shoulder, but Ryke flashes him a deadly glare.

“You fucking touch me, and I’ll break his neck.”

My eyes widen, partly believing the threat. His friend throws up his hands, backing away.

Ryke turns on Jack again. “My friend’s sister, Daisy, has been drugged. You poured her drink. So I want you to tell me what the fuck you put in it.”

Realization starts to process in his features. “Oh shit, mate. She’s smashed?” He tries to look over Ryke’s shoulder to see Daisy, but Ryke smacks the side of his face. “Jesus! Okay, okay, you don’t have to hit me. I’ll tell you what you want to know.” He grimaces a little, guilty. “We put GHB in the punch, but it’s only enough to get high…that’s it. I honestly didn’t think anyone would pass out from it.”

“Yeah?” Ryke sneers. “Everyone’s body reacts differently to drugs. She weighs, what, one-twenty? Don’t you think it would hit her harder than you? Use your fucking brain.”

“Okay,” he swallows. “Okay, you’re right, mate. I will next time. Brain power on.”

Ryke eases off him. “And warn the girls at your party what’s in the punch, especially if you’re going to put a date rape drug in it.”

“Got it.” He nods stiffly.

Ryke rolls his eyes, still pissed. He walks back to me and effortlessly lifts Daisy’s limp body in his arms. He gathers her hands and sets them on her chest so she doesn’t look like a dead person. I’m stuck in a state of shock. The series of events tonight have electrocuted my mind. I feel dumb. Just dumb. Not even silly dumb.

Ryke stops outside the kitchen and yells at the crowd, “For anyone who doesn’t fucking know, there are drugs in the punch! Have a happy fucking New Year!”

I slam the door on our way out, adding to the dramatic exit. Hopefully Ryke’s statement helped someone tonight. Maybe it won’t, but there’s not much more we can do without ruining everyone’s time and being complete buzz kills.

We head down the elevator and out of the apartment complex. “How far away is your car?” I ask as we walk along the sidewalk. The roads are crammed with vehicles and cabs. Brave souls dressed in night clothes walk in between the stopped traffic, going places but never getting there fast enough.

“Not too far. I paid to park in a deck,” he explains, picking up his brisk stride. I try to keep up.

“How is she?”

His eyes flicker down to her and back up. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Google GHB symptoms for me.”

Fear pricks me, and I scroll on my cell, typing quickly. “Uhh…unconsciousness.” Duh. “…slow breathing, weak heart rate…” My eyes begin to bug at the series of words: lowered body temperature, vomiting, nausea, seizures, coma, death. Death. “We need to get to a hospital now!” I begin to frantically type in 9-1-1. I end up dialing 8-2-2. Dammit!

“Hey, slow down for a second. Put the phone away, and tell me the other symptoms, Lily.”

“Um, seizure, coma, death…” I think I might vomit.

“Well, she’s not having a seizure. She’s not in a coma, and she sure as hell isn’t dead. So stop freaking out.” He adjusts Daisy in his arms. “She’s really fucking cold.”

I snap my fingers and spring on the balls of my feet. “That was one. Lowered body temperature is a symptom.”

His eyes darken. “Anything else you’re keeping from me?”

Think. “Uhh…vomiting and nausea. That’s it.”

He nods. “I’ll drive her to the hospital. She’ll be fine. Just, don’t have a panic attack in the street. Think you can do that?”

I glare. “Yes.”

Thankfully we reach the dimly lit parking deck and approach his Infinity that’s squeezed in between a Mini Cooper and a BMW. “My keys are in my pocket,” he tells me.

I glance at his pants pocket. Near his crotch.

He rolls his eyes. “Now’s not the time to be perverted, Calloway.”

“Right,” I say, reaching in, my cheeks flaming. He doesn’t look happy about me digging near his penis either. I pull out his set of keys and press the unlock button. The car honks and blinks to life, the taillights flashing.

“Get in the passenger seat, and I’ll put Daisy on your lap,” he tells me. I do as he says, and he sets my gangly sister on the seat with me. I drape her long legs to the side and put my hand to her head, clammy and cold. I rest her cheek to my chest. In this moment, I feel solely responsible for her.

“To the hospital,” I remind him.

“I know.” He turns the key into the ignition and pulls onto the street. Only five minutes in, and we’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So many people wander on the roads that they thud into Ryke’s car and throw confetti at the windshield.

I keep my fingers pressed to Daisy’s wrist, checking her pulse every few seconds.

As we sit in silence, I watch girls on the side streets, swaying as they walk in heels, their guys keeping an arm underneath them so they don’t face-plant on the cement. The couples remind me of Lo—only I would have been the one holding him upright. Not the other way around.

Last year, I wore this sparkly silver dress and decided to be pantyless the entire night. I thought it’d be easier for a quickie in the bathroom with Mr. Random. In retrospect, it was a bad, bad idea. I danced all night at a fancy club and was too inebriated to realize that I flashed the crowds with every hop.

Lo ended up dancing beside me, keeping a hand on my shoulder to ease my Kangaroo springs. He even tugged down the back of my dress for me. Near midnight, he offered to give me his underwear, which I promptly declined. I love the whole memory—even if it’s a royally fucked up one. The only thing I try to forget is the end of that night. Where he booked a room at the Ritz to pass out in, and I slinked into a bedroom one floor below to screw some guy.

“Do you think he’ll still want to be with me when he gets back?” I ask softly. Even if I wait for him, I wonder if he’ll still wait for me.

Ryke clenches the steering wheel tightly. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” I wonder, pulling Daisy’s sweaty hair out of her face.

Ryke gives me a solid glare. “You masturbate too much.”

My eyes widen, and I instinctively glance down at Daisy who is in another dimension. She may not have even heard. Hopefully.

“She probably won’t remember anything,” Ryke tells me.

That doesn’t stop the mortification from swallowing my face. Of course he couldn’t restrain himself from commenting about what I was doing in the bathroom.

Before I find the courage to reply back, Daisy groans and her lids flutter. I see the whites of her eyes until they roll back to show the green.

“Dais.” I shake her arm.

She turns her head a little, sluggish and weak. Her eyes rise to meet Ryke’s. He keeps one hand firmly on the steering wheel, his fingers clenched around it as he stares down at her. After a long moment of the two of them just fucking staring at each other, Ryke asks, “You going to puke?”

She blinks heavily and says, “No.”

Ryke clicks off his seatbelt and puts the car in park. He opens his car door.

“What are you doing?” I gape at him.

“She was being sarcastic,” he tells me.

I frown. That did not sound like sarcasm.

He walks around the Infinity to our side, able to leave the driver’s seat. He yanks my door open, and she slowly spins her body to face the outside, her feet on the edge of the car. She leans a hand on the door frame and breathes heavily, her color peaked.

I rub her back while her head begins to droop. She nearly falls forward into the street. I grab her shoulders to keep her on my lap, and Ryke kneels in front of her. He lifts her chin up with two fingers.

“Daisy, look at me.” He snaps his fingers near her eyes.

I can’t tell if she’s meeting his gaze or not.

“Some…fucking party, huh?” Her whole body shakes.

“Yeah,” Ryke nods, his eyes flitting over her arms and legs, noticing her trembles. “Some fucking party.”

“That…was…rhetorical.” Her body lurches, gagging. Ryke quickly moves out of the way and she vomits onto the pavement. He grimaces, and people start chanting outside.

“10…9…”

We’re too far away to see the glittering ball drop, but the crowds scream in unison, filling the world in a jubilant chorus.

This has to be one of the worst and scariest New Year’s ever. Right behind the time I kissed a frog as a dare. Though that wasn’t so much scary as it was gross.

“7…”

And this will be the first time I don’t have a New Year’s kiss.

“5…”

Even when I was a kid, Lo would put his hands on my cheeks and kiss me really quickly, and we’d burst into laughter afterwards. He’d end up chasing me through the fancy parties that our parents brought us to, trying to steal another.

I’d always let him catch me.

“2…1.”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

Daisy sits back up as the crowds roar in excitement, people pulling their loved ones for their first kiss of the new year.

Ryke scrutinizes her for a long second. “You okay?”

“Amazing.” She wipes the side of her mouth with her hand. “Can…you just take me home?”

He shakes his head. “You’re going to the hospital.”

She closes her eyes for a long time, and when she opens them, I can see her glare. “No.”

“Yes,” he states. “This isn’t a fucking democracy. My car, my rules.”

“My body, my decisions,” she snaps back. “…honestly, I’m just nauseous now.” And as she says it, she shakes like she has the chills.

He puts his hand to her forehead, and she slaps it down. “Don’t touch me.”

He glowers. “You’re an ice cube. You’ve been drugged, Daisy. If you go to sleep and fall into a coma, that’s on us.”

“He’s right,” I tell her. Wow those words taste gross in my mouth. “You’re going to the hospital. Rose would have flown in a helicopter by now, so you’re lucky we’re just driving you and not making a bigger scene.”

Daisy inhales a slow breath. She pulls her limbs back into the car and settles against my chest. Ryke slams the door closed and walks around to the driver’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispers to me. “Tonight…was supposed to be fun…” She trembles. “I…was supposed to take your mind off Lo…”

I smile and nudge her hip. “You did. And you know what? Despite what happened at the end, I had a really good time.” That’s not a lie. I think I learned more about my sister today than I have in the past seven years.

“Really?” She closes her eyes, sinking back into a better place. I still check her pulse. Just to be safe.

“Really, really.”

Ryke climbs in and shuts the door. He stares out the front windshield for a long time. “I just have to ask you one question, Lily.” He glances at me. “Are all you Calloway girls this crazy?”

I choke on a laugh, about to deny it but I really can’t. “Poppy’s pretty normal.”

He nods repeatedly, letting this sink in.

The traffic begins to break up, and we’re finally able to drive. I take a deep breath, happy to be heading in a good direction.