He grimaces. “I can’t hear you! Hold on!” He presses his palm to the speaker. “Lily, can you save my seat?” Before I can agree he’s hopping off the stool and charging towards the door. Connor Cobalt doesn’t push his way through bodies; he saunters into the masses and waits with an impatient scowl before people part and make man-made paths for him. I smile in amusement and turn back to place my coat on the stool.
But a blonde rushes to take it before I can claim the spot. Oops.
“I don’t have any siblings.” I overhear Ryke say. “It’s been pretty much my mom and me since I was a kid.”
Lo shifts, uncomfortable by the topic ofmothers, especially after his phone call with his father. So he redirects the conversation. “How did you get into running?”
I’m surprised Lo chooses to ask questions and not be evasive like usual.
“When I was little, my mom put me in a lot of races. She told me it was either tennis or track, and I picked track.” He laughs to himself. “I have a thing for running towards finish lines.” I can believe that.
“That’s funny,” Lo says bitterly, “My father always tells me that I run away from everything.”
“Do you?”
Lo’s cheeks sharpen, his lips forming a pout.
“Forget it,” Ryke says quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“How much of what I’m telling you are you going to exploit?” Lo asks.
Ryke frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“The article,” Lo reminds him. “I’m expecting to be in the tabloids by the end of the semester.”
“I wouldn’t sell you out.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?” Lo turns back to the bar and orders another drink. To me, he asks, “Want another beer?”
I shake my head. What I really want doesn’t reside at a bar, but Lo has jumped into the rabbit hole of self-involved drinking. I can’t pry the shot of whiskey from his fingers, and he’s had enough liquor to forget about my problems.
“We need to toast,” he tells us and holds up his drink in salute. “To Sara Hale. For being a fucking bitch.” He throws back his shot and I steal a glance at Ryke.
His eyes narrow to hard stone. “Maybe you should switch to water.”
“If I’m bothering you, you can always runtowardsthe door.” He takes his next shot in hand.
Ryke tensely leans back and shoots me a wide-eyed look likedo something.
No,I mouth. There’s nothing I can do. I see the end of the night. Lo wants to pass out. He wants to reach that point so he can drown his feelings. No matter what I say, he’ll continue to do it. Even if I plead and scream and beg Lo to stop, he won’t.
I wouldn’t.
He needs to wake up by himself, and nagging Lo will only push him from me. That’s not what I want. Or what I need.
Ryke shakes his head at me in disapproval and watches as Lo curses his mom again in a more callous toast.
“Can you not?” Ryke spits.
“What’s it to you?” Lo watches the bartender help someone at the other end, waiting for her to return to this side.
“I generally don’t like toasting tobitchesandwhores.”
“No one’s making you,” Lo retorts.
Ryke looks distressed as he runs a hand through his brown hair. “I know you hate your mom?—”
“Do you?” Lo spins towards him.
