I glare. “Should I?”
“This is Ryke Meadows, captain of the track team. Michael and Matt are on it as well.”
I inhale a strained breath. “So,” I turn my heated gaze on Ryke, “those are your track buddies?”
“Yeah,” Ryke says. He glances at Lo again and leaves his place to sit on the other side of my boyfriend.
“He’s fine,” I nearly shout. I know how to take care of Lo. I’ve been in this situation plenty of times to understand when he needs a hospital and when he needs water and a bed.
Ryke doesn’t take my word for it. He puts two fingers to Lo’s neck, checking his pulse.
Connor nods to me. “You knew he was drinking their expensive booze the whole time, didn’t you?”
Ryke’s brows cinch, and with the paint across his eyes, his expression looks even darker and angrier than before. “You didn’t stop him?” He shakes his head in disapproval.
A surge of guilt assaults me, and I hate it. I hate him for making me feel this. I’ve done everything I can to protect Lo from himself without being hypocritical. “I tried.” I warned Lo not to, but I couldn’t force him to stop. Not when I wanted sex as much as he craved alcohol.
“And does he always drink this much?”
What’s with the interrogation?I bite my lip, not able to form the words that boil. “It’s his twenty-first birthday.” Most people end their twenty-first passed out drunk, but Ryke looks as suspicious as before. He sees through me just like the gigolo had.
“That’s bullshit,” Connor says. “Lo hasn’t attempted to hide his problem from me. I’veneverseen him without booze.”
I turn my head from their judgment and tighten my hand on Lo’s ankle. “I just need to get him home.”Wake up, I want to scream at Lo. He left me here to clean his mess. Again.
Connor drops the subject and the limo silently bumps along the badly paved city streets. I feel Ryke’s sweltering emotions, his breathing heavy as he tries to come to terms with the situation. Every time I catch a glimpse of him, he looks like he could punch a wall. Or more accurately, go for a run.
When the limo slows outside of the Drake, I crawl beside Lo and hook my arms underneath his, lifting his heavy body against mine.
“Lo,” I whisper.Wake up!I can barely carry him into a shower. How the hell am I supposed to drag him to the elevator? Asking for help happens to be a foreign phrase for me, so I spend the next couple of minutes struggling to upright his body and scoot him towards the door.
Connor and Ryke climb from the limo and then my door whips open. Connor sticks his head in from outside. “Lily, move. We’ll carry him.”
“No, Lo wouldn’t want that.”
Ryke lowers his head into view. “And most guys wouldn’t want to be carried in by their girlfriend either.” I take that as a personal insult, even though he may not mean it as one.
“He’s not even coherent to care,” Connor says, as if that settles the matter. I can see I’m not going to win this one.
I slide from the seat, bracing the cold Philly air. And Connor dips into the limo. “You take his feet.”
Ryke positions himself outside the door, and they exchange directions to each other until Ryke is able to scoop Lo into his arms, carrying him rather easily. I wish Connor was the one to hold him. Something about Ryke puts me on edge.
Nevertheless, he cradles Lo. The picture should be comical since Lo wears red and black spandex, looking like a wounded X-Men. But I imagine Lo waking up and seeing Green Arrow assuredly holding him in his arms. He would freak out. And not in a fan-boy kind of way.
“Watch his head,” I instruct as we walk through the revolving doors.
“I have him.” Ryke marches into the lobby without breaking a sweat.
Even in the elevator, I watch Lo closely, upset at the course of events. I’ve never allowed someone else to carry or help him. That job has been mine for as long as I can remember. And maybe I have been horrible at it, but at least he’s still alive, breathing. Here. With me.
At the door, I find my keys and lead them into our place. My nerves jump again when I realize this may be the most testosterone to ever cross the threshold of my apartment. Maybe not. I did have that moment where I brought two guys home.
“You can put him on the bed.” I lead Ryke into Lo’s room and motion to the champagne comforter. He sets him down. While I untie Lo’s boots, he scans the decorations, the Comic-Con posters, the photographs and the tinted cabinets. The way he looks off—it’s strange, as though he’s never seen a guy’s room before.
“You two live together?” Ryke picks up a picture frame from the desk.
“She’s a Calloway.” Connor leans a hip on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.
