I narrow my eyes. “Just so we have this clear, I rank above the floor.”
“It’s Brazilian cherry,” she says like that makes all the difference. She turns to Ryke. “Throw the vases in the recycling bins in the garage.”
He tips the vases upside down, only the flowers and cards falling into my trash bag. Lily still hasn’t disentangled from my shirt. I gather her hands and intertwine her fingers in mine. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask.
Her eyes fix dazedly to the trash bag, and I’m not sure where she’s truly gone. But she’s not in a fantasy. She’s somewhere sadder and darker.
Very softly, she says, “I don’t want lilies at the wedding.”
She’s never referred to it as my or our wedding. It’s always the wedding. Marriage is supposed to be this happily ever after, but for her it feels like a means to an end.
“You don’t have to think about that,” Rose tells her. “It’s not for another year. We’re not even going to plan it anytime soon.”
Ryke nods to me. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, I just need to change out of my jeans.”
“You can change in the car,” he tells me. “I have shorts and stuff in there.” He checks his watch. “I just want to beat a storm that’s supposed to roll in.”
Right because we’re going to be outside. Climbing a mountain. Just don’t kill me, God. That would be so fucking cruel to kill me now.
Before I leave, I kiss Lily lightly. “What are you doing today?” I ask, worried that she’ll spend the afternoon and night bingeing on old cartoons, isolated in the living room. She claims it’s a normal bout of summer laziness, but I know her well.
She can’t be afraid of the world forever.
“I was thinking about going to your office. Maybe get some work done,” she says. My lungs fill with relief. I love that I have chosen a business she can take pleasure in, something that can be both of ours one day. I want her to graduate college first, accomplish what I couldn’t.
“Call Garth,” I tell her.
She crinkles her nose. “He smells like old cheese.”
I grin. I chose the perfect bodyguard. “Don’t leave this house without him.”
“Don’t fall off a giant rock.”
“I’ll return him to you alive,” Ryke tells her.
“You better.” Lily holds a non-threatening finger at him.
He smiles coyly, like he plans on fucking with the ropes or the harness to scare the shit out of me, just to retaliate for the mankini prank in Cancun. I’m a little nervous, but after climbing in the gym with him, the mountain shouldn’t be too difficult, even if he gives me extra slack. I can handle the challenge.
We don’t even make it out of New Jersey before my phone buzzes in the middle console. The word DAD flashing in big bold letters.
“Don’t answer that,” Ryke says.
I’m driving. And I disobey his orders, answering the phone and keeping one hand on the wheel. I feel Ryke’s hot glare without taking my eyes off the road.
“Loren.” My father’s voice sounds through the receiver. “I need you to stop by the house sometime today.” His tone is pretty casual, so I figure the topic centers on my new company. It’s barely on its feet, but he loves to add his opinion.
“I’m heading out of town, so I won’t be anywhere near Philly.”
“Then readjust your schedule.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“I’m not asking.”
Ryke shakes his head repeatedly beside me, probably watching my eyes begin to darken the longer I talk to our dad. “You should have rejected the deal for your trust fund,” he says under his breath.
I pull the speaker away from my mouth to talk to Ryke. “I heard you the hundredth time you said it.”
“You’re his bitch,” Ryke rephrases, as if that’ll make me understand.
I grit my teeth, the highway signs zipping overhead. I need to get off the next exit if I want to see my dad.
I press the phone back to my ear. “What is it about?” I ask him.
“The leak.”
I nearly jerk the car into the other lane, a Trailblazer next to us.
“Lo!” Ryke yells, clutching the door. He snaps on his seatbelt.
Shit. “Sorry.” I start switching lanes, properly this time, heading towards the exit.
“Wait, where are you going?” Ryke asks angrily. He knows I’m heading to Philly. He just doesn’t know why.
I put the phone on speaker, realizing that Ryke will throw a tantrum unless he hears the truth from my father. I set the cell on my lap. “You know who the leak is?” I ask aloud, my heart thrumming. After a month without the knowledge, I was resigned with the fact that it just didn’t matter. Mostly because I didn’t have the energy to hunt down Mason or Aaron and care for Lily. I chose the right option, to be there for my best friend. But I want the information that has eluded us for so long. And the resentful, dark and bitter part of me wants this fucker’s head on a spike.
“Yeah,” he says. “I found the leak.”
“How?”
“The tabloid who first reported the news finally broke and gave us their source. It took five million to loosen their lips and uncover this bullshit.” He doesn’t add you owe me every penny. Even so, I feel like I do.
“Who is it?” I ask, my hands clutching the steering wheel so tightly.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Dad?!” I shout. A car honks, and I realize I swerved into his lane and cut off a pick-up truck.
“Keep your eyes on the fucking road,” Ryke chastises. “Or pull over and I’ll drive.” No, he’ll take us the other direction. And right now, I’m too wired to go climb a mountain
“Is Ryke with you?” my dad asks roughly.
“We’re on our way,” I tell him, ignoring how Ryke is searing a death glare into the phone.
“No, we fucking aren’t,” Ryke refutes.
“You both should come,” he tells us. “This is important, and I don’t want to discuss it over the phone.” He hangs up.
I flick on my blinker and drive along a side street, off the highway.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ryke asks.
“He knows who the leak is,” I say like he’s an idiot. “What the fuck are you doing? We’ve spent months trying to track down this asshole.”
Ryke stares at the road with a hard gaze. “Maybe you should drop me off somewhere.”
I frown. “What? Where?” What’s wrong with him?
“Like anywhere but there.”
And then I realize that Ryke hasn’t come into contact with my father since the Christmas Charity Gala. Before rehab. Before everything.
A brutal silence strings though the car. And then I say softly, “Are you scared of him?”
“I can’t stand to look at his face.”
“What did he personally do to you?” I ask.
“I hated him because my mother did,” Ryke says briefly, but I can tell his mind is reeling, so I’m not surprised when he divulges more. “…when I was older, I tried to look at him differently, but she painted a portrait of a monster. So when I stare at his face, that’s all I fucking see.”
His words sink in, and I don’t have anything to say. I can’t change the way he pictures Jonathan Hale. That damage is too deep-seated.
“I tried to forget about him,” Ryke says, staring out the window. “I tried to act like I just didn’t have a dad. And then…” He shakes his head.
“What?” I prod.
“…and then I met you. And all that hate just came back ten times stronger than before.”