My heart clenches. If Lo finds out this happened while he was at the bar, it’ll crush him. I won’t inflict that type of pain on Lo. “Don’t tell him.”
“He needs to know,” Ryke says.
I want to scream back about how wrong he is, about how the information will tear Lo apart, not strengthen him, but something sensible pulsates in my head, telling me to listen. I never do.
“This will kill him,” I choke. “You’re not helping!”
“You can’t keep this from him, Lily. Think about how much pain he’d be in if he found out andeveryoneknew but him? And he will. Don’t kid yourself.”
Maybe he’s right. I disintegrate into the seat, surrendering to Ryke’s unapologetic glare. I wipe the rest of my tears with a quick swipe and stare out the window. The limo quiets for the rest of the ride. No one talks. Not even as Ryke carries an unconscious Lo up to the apartment. Not when I close his bedroom door, locking him in for the night.
When it’s just the three of us left, Connor is the first to break the silence. “I’m going to make some coffee. If you want to go to bed, I understand, but I’d like to talk to you.”
I don’t deserve friends, but I try to hold onto them because I fear the blackness and emptiness that waits if I let go.
“Can you make me hot chocolate?” I ask.
“Even better. You could use some calories.”
I sink into the recliner, snuggling into a warm blanket and watch Connor mill about the kitchen like he owns it. I imagine if I ever had a brother, Connor would fit the perfect mold. A little conceited but deep down, even below his people collecting habits, he has a warm heart.
Ryke slouches on the couch. “Should I call your sisters?”
“No. They’ll just worry.”
Connor returns with a tray of coffee and passes me my mug of hot chocolate. “It’s too late. I already texted Rose.”
“What?” I squeak.
“She’s on her way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Rose is coming over.
The words still haven’t fully sunk in. They sit there, along with the rest of my drifting thoughts, but they translate into something numb and foreign. I cup a steaming mug of hot chocolate, taking small sips in the wake of the quiet.
Connor says nothing. Ryke says nothing. They’re two statues on the couch while I curl into the chair.
An abhorrent place inside of me wonders how to lie to Rose. How can I concoct a new deceit to hide Lo’s unconsciousness and my maybe-assault? With two witnesses who will vouch for the night, I have no thread to spin my tales. Cold, blistering reality sets in, and I feel no dread, no sense of loss that I expected would come after all these years of lying to Rose.
I’m just empty.
The speaker box buzzes, and Connor rises to ring Rose inside. The movement shifts my gaze up, and I see Ryke, his ankle perched on his other knee. He stares distantly at a lamp, fingers to his lips. The light catches his brown hair and flecks of his brown eyes that shimmer with gold. He’s enchanting, but right now, no man can hypnotize me.
And then he turns his head a fraction and sees me watching.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“What it would be like,” he pauses, “to be him.”
I look away, my eyes burning. “And?” My voice shakes. I wipe a fallen tear, forcing the others back with a strong inhale.
When he doesn’t reply, I glance at him again. He stares, haunted, at the ground, as though picturing the alternate reality. Does it really look that bad? The door closes, and we both flinch, waking from the reverie.
I pull a woolen blanket tighter around my body, hiding beneath the soft fabric. I lose the courage to meet my sister’s gaze, and I listen to the familiar clap of her heels on the hardwood. The noise dies off as she steps onto the living room rug.
“Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?” Rose accuses.
