6. Loren Hale
CHAPTER SIX
LOREN HALE
My heart beats wildly, my muscles burn and my legs pump. I run. Around and around. There is no end.
If I stop soon, I’ll start screaming. The tendons in my calves strain with each foot on the cement track. And I focus on my breathing. In and out. Inhale, exhale. One, two, three…
I’ve always been good at running. Even when I screwed up every fucking thing, I did a decent job at sprinting right away from the cops, from prep school guys wanting to smash my face in, from my father and my problems.
Running has kept me alive.
And if I learned anything from rehab, it’s ways to stay busy.
But my warring thoughts only make me want to drink.
Even bringing up my father, college, the text messages that threaten Lily—any fucking thing, my chest collapses, and I know just the solution that’ll fix everything.
Whiskey, bourbon—an amber glass will melt all the pain away.
Yesterday, I almost walked into a bar.
I lose my steady pace on the track, my breath staggering. One…two…
Each foot feels heavier than before. I want to be light as a freakin’ feather. I want to float right on out of here. But I keep thinking about it.
A smoky bar was directly across the busy intersection as I waited for Ryke to pick me up from therapy.
Traffic, honking cabs and bike messengers never stopped me before.
Why should they then? The Jack Daniel’s poster in the front window called out to me like a siren singing her deathly serenade on the edge of a dock.
And I nearly drowned in that sea of bourbon.
Stupid, little fuck.
I exhale deeply, which only screws with my pace again.
Ryke runs by my side, and his eyes flicker briefly to me.
He purposefully slows his quick stride. Right now, he could sprint laps around me.
But he chooses to be here. I should be glad that he wants to work out with me, but I hate that he won’t run as far as he can. I hate that I’m holding him back.
I want to scream.
So I push harder, and I race ahead of him.
Not long after, Ryke catches up to my side again, and then he taps my shoulder and veers off the collegiate track towards the bleachers. I follow him, trying to avoid the other athletes in Penn shirts as they sprint down the lanes.
I probably shouldn’t have driven all the way to Penn to run around a fucking circle with Ryke, seeing as how I was expelled and he’s not my favorite person at the moment.
I don’t believe that he’s the guy threatening to reveal Lily’s secret to the tabloids.
There’s mistrust in our relationship, sure, but he spends too much time driving me to therapy and hanging out with me to have some ulterior motive.
He could let me ride alone to New York and give me just enough slack to hang myself with.
He could be uncaring.
But Ryke Meadows is many things—uncaring is definitely not one of them.
I gave him a hard time about the text messages because I’m an asshole, and a huge part of me resents him for things that I can barely process. Each time I try to understand his childhood where he knew about me and had contact with my father, my hands shake for a sip of something strong.
I unscrew my water bottle, and two girls approach us, one brunette, the other blonde. Both wear cross-country shirts. I’m surrounded by athletes right now—Ryke being one of them.
“Hey, Ryke,” the blonde says. “Who’s your friend?” She looks me over from head to toe.
I try to wear disinterest, drinking my water, shuffling through my gym bag, anything.
“My brother,” Ryke says so easily. I can barely admit that he’s half of my brother to Lily. Saying that we’re related is so easy for him. But I have to remind myself that he knew about me for years. He just never voiced the truth until three months ago.
“Oh yeah, I see the resemblance,” she says, her blue eyes flickering between us.
“Yeah, we both have brown hair,” I say. “Shocking, isn’t it?
She could even be our sister for all I know.
” I gesture to the brunette hanging by the blonde’s side.
My tone is not even close to friendly. And I can’t help it.
This is how I normally say hi to people.
My manners died somewhere around my eleventh birthday.
The blonde lets out a small laugh, trying to blow over my rudeness.
Ryke sets a hand on my shoulder, and he whispers, “Do me a favor and don’t talk.”
If he wants to hook up with one of them, by all means.
Have at them. I’m not going to be his wingman on this one.
I have a girl waiting for me at home. I check my watch.
Yeah, she should be back from class right about now.
I’d rather be there than here. I’d rather be holding her in my arms, even if I have to tell her no by the end of it.
She’s the only good thing in my life.
“This is Laura,” the blonde says, bringing her friend towards Ryke. “She’s a freshman. I thought I’d introduce her to the captain of the track team.”
Ryke checks her out with a slow once-over. The girl is almost as thin as Lily, but muscles pad her legs and arms— they’re just lean like most runners. “How have you liked Penn so far?” Ryke asks.
The girl shrugs, shifting her weight off one leg and to another. “Oh…you know.”
Ryke does that to women, I’ve noticed. He either stupefies them with his dominance or they start spitting out lame lines that make no sense.
I’ve yet to really see a girl that can keep up with him.
“That good, huh?” Ryke says, trying to be nice, but this only causes her face to redden.
“It’s been good.” Laura nods.
This is just awkward and slightly painful. I can’t watch the girl be debilitated by embarrassment and nerves anymore. Ryke is slowly peeling off a Band-Aid. I’m going to rip the damn thing for her.
“Hey, Laura,” I say. “You and your friend are on the cross-country team, right?”
Laura nods again.
“I’m Maggie,” the blonde says, perking now that I’ve shown a tad bit of interest.
“Oh great,” I say. “So you and Laura will have no problem running that way.” I point to the other side of the track.
Maggie’s face falls.
I flash a smile. “Bye.”
“Asshole,” she curses. “Come on, Laura.” She grabs her hand and shoots Ryke a look, guilty by association. When they disappear, Ryke turns to me with a glare.
“Sorry,” I tell him dryly. “I couldn’t remember how long you told me to keep my mouth shut. It snapped back open, couldn’t stop it.”
Ryke throws his sweaty towel at my face.
I grab it and fling it back. “Hey, that brunette was two seconds from fainting. I did both of you a favor.”
Ryke shakes his head. “You did yourself a favor. Don’t pretend that insulting them was for me. I know your motives by now. ”
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“Isolate as many people as you can. Drive everyone away.” He zips his gym bag. “Not going to happen with me, not even if you run off every girl I come into contact with.”
I touch my chest. “You would abstain from sex just to be my brother? Wow. That’s generous, Ryke.” My dry humor barely darkens his eyes. I’m looking for a different reaction, one that comes with a fist to the face, but Ryke never goes there, even if he wants to.
“I’m your older brother no matter what,” he refutes. “Get that through your fucking head and maybe I wouldn’t have to repeat it all the damn time.”
“Can you say that again? I couldn’t hear you,” I quip.
He rolls his eyes, and then we both actually share a smile.
I check my watch subconsciously.
“She’s fine,” Ryke assures me.
“Look, you can pretend to know everything about me, but you can’t understand Lily the way I do.
” I’ve watched her cry and shake in a bathroom because she craved sex—because she couldn’t have it.
And she wouldn’t turn to me for help back then.
Now that we’re together, I should have the power to take her pain away.
But I don’t. Because she’s trying to control these impulses.
And so I’m back where I started, watching her shake, watching her eyes grow big and wide, pleading for something more.
And I have to deny her that pleasure. Over and over.
“You forget that I was here while you were in rehab,” Ryke says. “I’ve seen her at a low.”
No, I never forget that. “Great.”
“You’d rather be there with her, I know that. But didn’t Rose tell you?—”
“I get it,” I snap. Our relationship needs room to breathe—Rose so very pointedly put it the other day. I’m trying to give Lily more space. I’m making a conscious effort to change our co-dependent relationship.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking suck .
But I have nowhere else to be but right here.
No other invitations from friends (I have none) or family (my father practically disowned me).
No job. No school. I am a worthless piece of shit.
I grimace and turn that into a half-smile, shaking my head.
I chug half of my water to drown these stupid thoughts.
“Have you started taking Antabuse yet?” Ryke asks.
The doctors at rehab prescribed me a drug for my recovery, and I forgot I told Ryke about it.
If I drink on the meds, I’ll have stomach pains and severe nausea.
It’s supposed to deter alcoholics from falling off the wagon.
And even though I decided not to attend AA meetings, I still need to follow the right steps to get healthy.
I didn’t tell Lily why I’m not going to AA. The reason will make her think I’m even more fucked up. I’m a hard person to be around, and when I was in rehab, I pushed two recovering addicts to drink and break their short sobriety.
I always say the wrong things.
And the facility administration forbade me from going to group meetings because I was “adversely affecting my peers.” They also highly advised I not attend AA meetings in fear that I would be the same asshole there.
Ryke agreed with them.
So here I am.
“I haven’t taken it yet,” I tell Ryke. “I think I’m going to start tomorrow.” I’ve heard horror stories about people becoming violently ill just from a sip of beer. I wanted to have a couple days without that suffocating fear before I started.
“You should take it now. Do you have it on you?” Ryke asks. He’s such a fucking pusher.
“No,” I snap. He doesn’t listen to me, already unzipping my bag and rummaging through it. “What is this, TSA? Leave my shit alone, Ryke.” He finds the inside zipper easily and holds up an orange bottle. His eyebrows rise accusingly.
My teeth ache as I bite down. “Wow, you found my pill bottle. Congratulations. Now put it back. ”
I wait for him to yell at me for lying. I prepare for the verbal onslaught with narrowed eyes, ready to combat or storm away.
But he never mentions it. Instead, he uncaps the bottle and doles out a pill on his palm. “Take it,” he says roughly. “If you’re waiting for yourself to fuck up, then you might as well fuck up while you’re on it. I’m sure puking all night after a shot of whiskey will do you some good.”
He’s right.
I hate that he’s right.
I take the pill from him and toss it back with some water. It feels official. Like this is it. No alcohol. Forever.
Forever.
God.
I have a sudden impulse to run to the bathroom and stick my finger down my throat. Somehow my Nikes weigh me down on the trimmed grass, and I clench my water bottle as I take another large swig.
Ryke starts to stretch, pulling his arm across his chest. “Have you spoken to Dad?”
“No.” I leave it at that, not wanting to be probed about our father. No one really understands my relationship with him. Not Lily. Definitely not Ryke.
And it’s more complicated than just hate and dislike. It’s what drives my mind wild. It’s what makes me seriously want to kick that fucking bleacher and grab a beer.
But I remember Lily, and I immediately tell myself no. No alcohol. Ever. One memory has kept me grounded for a while, deaf to any compelling arguments from the devil on my shoulder. It’s what stopped me from heading into that bar yesterday.
In my foggy memory, I wake up, glazed and half-delirious to the people in my kitchen. Rose, Connor and Ryke camped out in my living room like the Scooby Gang. And the three of them told me the night’s events—as though I wasn’t even there. My body was, but my head was floating in another dimension.
And Ryke was the only one who could stomach the words. “You fucking passed out while a guy attacked Lily.”
And “attack” was an understatement. Something could have happened that night.
But it didn’t. Ryke and Connor stopped the guy when that should have been me.
My whole life, I had one fucking job. Protect Lily.
Make sure her addiction doesn’t get the better of her.
Make sure she doesn’t get hurt. She did the same for me.
And I failed her. Somewhere down the line, I fucked up.
Never again.
Ryke holds out his arms like what the hell , and I remember what he asked me. Have you spoken to Dad?
“I said no,” I tell him again, like the answer isn’t registering in his head.
“ No , that’s it?” Ryke wants more. Everyone wants more.
But I feel like I’m giving everything I have.
“I thought it was a yes or no question. What else is there?” Lots. But nothing I can bear to say out loud. My father left me a few messages on my phone the past week.
I want to have lunch, Loren.
We need to talk.
Don’t push me out of your life over something this fucking stupid.
Call me back.
I’ve ignored him so far, but I can’t forever. There’ll be a point where I’ll have to face my father. It won’t be for money, but the allure of a handout will always be there. Because it’s so fucking easy. Drinking, that’s easy. Taking his money, that’s easier.
The hard things are the right things, I’ve learned. But I’m not Connor Cobalt—built with the infallible ability to go the extra mile, to do the extra work. I’m the kinda guy that always stops short .
But I do have a plan for some cash. The only problem—it involves a conversation with Rose Calloway.
“He’s going to try to buy you back,” Ryke tells me. “That’s what he fucking does, and you’re going to have to say no. He’s your fucking trigger, Lo. You shouldn’t be around him while you’re recovering.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, lugging my bag over my shoulder. Most days, I regret asking Ryke to be my sponsor. Even if he’s pretty good at it. Trigger or not, Jonathan Hale is my father. Ryke doesn’t understand him the way I do.
He’s not all bad.