Ricochet (11 page)

“Wow that tastes really good,” Daisy says. “I totally had my
doubts.”

Ryke nods in agreement. “Not bad.”

I glance at Rose to see how she likes it, but her can sits
untouched by her uneaten plate of food. Her fingers pinch a full champagne
glass. But I just looked over there and it was half full. Which means this is a
new one.

Maybe I’m hyperaware of alcohol now, but I feel like she’s
drinking more than she normally does. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk or
even “composed” drunk—which is what I imagine she would be, the kind where you
can barely tell. Sort of like Lo. But not.

Her eyes sear holes into our mother’s back, her table
adjacent to ours. This is not good.

My father continues to talk about the soda and the company’s
history and each investor individually.

I don’t think I can help Rose. Not because I don’t have the
strength to, but I’m almost a hundred-percent positive she would never let me.
She does not see me as her equal. I am the damaged, broken sister, the one who
needs repair. If
I
act as though
she
needs help, then she’ll freak out. I
have to find someone that she’ll actually listen to without becoming incredibly
defensive.

I make a sudden decision, silently hoping it’s the right
one, and pull out my phone from a little pocket in my dress and start texting.

Where are you?

The reply only takes a few seconds. Not surprised.
At my house. Everything okay?
– Connor

I type quickly.
No. I
need you to come to the event. Rose isn’t doing so well.

My phone begins to buzz repeatedly in my hand. Connor is
calling me. Before I stand from the table, I glance at Aaron. He no longer
watches the stage, but his eyes set on me. If I leave the ballroom, will he
follow?

I can’t answer the phone at the table. So I have to take the
chance. Just as I rise, Aaron begins to push his chair back, about to stand
too.

But then Ryke points at him with his knife. “You follow her,
and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he deadpans. That was a little unnecessary,
but the warning works because the longer Aaron looks at Ryke to see if it’s a
bluff, the longer Ryke digs into his food. I can’t even tell where his head is
at. Neither can Aaron. My enemy scoots closer to the table, leaving me alone
for now.

And I thankfully weave around the tables and out the grand
double doors.

I already missed his first call, but the phone still rings
incessantly. I answer. “Hi.”

“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, his voice deep with worry that
I’m not used to. He’s always confident and poised and self-assured. “Are you
okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say with a nod. “It’s Rose that I’m concerned
about.” I falter, trying to pick the right words. “I don’t know if you
realized, but my mother set her up with someone tonight. And she’s more pissed
than I’ve seen her in a while…” I wonder if I should mention the drinking.

“Wait…what? That doesn’t make sense,” Connor says. “Samantha
told me that she would be going to the event alone.”

I roll my eyes, not in the least surprised by my mother’s
betrayal or the fact that she got caught. “She lied. My mother has never let
Rose go stag. I think Rose hoped that she could go alone if our mother believed
you two were still together.” But no one could have anticipated Samantha
Calloway talking to Connor before tonight.

“Who’s her date?”

“Matthew Collins, the son of—”

“Robert Collins, Fizzle’s primary lawyer, I know. I’ve met
him. I had brunch with him and your father.” Oh… that’s awkward.

“Are you on your way?”

“I jumped in a limo when I read your first text,” he tells
me. “Rose may not be pleased to see me, regardless of her mother’s affairs.”

I hesitate, wondering if he’s right. Will she be resistant
if he interferes? “She’s not used to letting someone else help her.”

“I don’t think any of you Calloway girls are,” he says. I
take this in and realize he might be right about that. But I’m learning to
relinquish my control to other people. I’m learning to accept help that’s been
offered. I hope Rose will do the same, even if she feels like she has
everything taken care of.

“Promise me that you won’t run away from her,” I say in a
sharp breath. “Even if she pushes you away—”

“I won’t let her go,” Connor says. “But is there something
you’re not telling me, Lily? Has something already happened?” I catch the
strain in his voice, so subtle and brief but present.

She’s drinking more
than usual
, I should say. But what if I’m just projecting my insecurities
about alcohol onto her? With Lo in rehab, this is totally plausible. Still, I’m
learning to say how I feel. I inhale a deep breath and let it out. “I’m afraid
by the time you get here, she’ll be drunk. And I’ve never seen Rose drunk, so
I’m not entirely sure what she’ll do or how she’ll be…she just keeps glaring at
my mother from across the room…”

“Okay,” Connor says. “Okay, don’t provoke Rose. Try not to
set her off.”

I internally laugh. Yeah, that’s going to be a little hard.
Most topics ignite fire in her eyes when she’s in a mood. And I know, without a
doubt, that our mother has put her in one. “When will you be here?” I shift
anxiously and rub my arm.

“Soon. Will you be okay or do you need to stay on the phone
with me?”

“I’ll be fine. Ryke is here…” I trail off, knowing that
Connor and Ryke have never really been friendly after Lo left for rehab. I
think the only reason they endured each other’s company was because of their mutual
like for Lo, and when he’s not here it becomes painfully obvious they’d rather
be on separate continents.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll fuck tonight up somehow,” Connor says.
I remember Connor describing Ryke as a “Rottweiler you keep on a chain in the
yard, guarding your house, but something you’d rather not let inside.”

I hesitate to agree. Ryke has helped more than hindered thus
far, but that could always change. “I’ll see you,” I tell Connor. He says bye
and we both hang up.

I sneak back into the ballroom, the lights still dim, but no
one stands on the stage. Everyone is lively with chatter, and I smell chocolate
ganache cake, my father’s favorite. When I approach my table, I see Rose
sitting on the edge of her seat, her nails rapping against her champagne glass.
Her poor date looks like a wilted flower, beaten to death by Rose’s
intelligence. I’m sure she schooled him on another subject, and he has nothing
left to do but pick at his dessert.

Speaking of dessert. I sit and find a beautiful slice of
cake in front of me. Actually
two
beautiful
slices. They almost make up for the fact that Aaron creepily stares at me on
the other end. I ignore him. That seems like the best solution right now.

I glance at Daisy who teeters back on two legs of her chair
again. “You don’t want your cake?” I ask her. Of course I noticed that
she
was the one to push her plate into
my area, offering me a second slice when I haven’t even touched my first.

She shrugs. “I would eat it, but you know…” She rolls her
eyes and glances at Ryke, as though they’ve already had this same conversation.
I shouldn’t have asked. I know she’s not allowed to gain an obscene amount of
weight because of modeling. So she watches what she eats, lest our mother
criticize her waistline even more.

Ryke has his plate in his hand, and he leans back in his
chair like Daisy. Her date hunches forward, now playing a game on his phone.
Jeez, he really doesn’t want to be here. Ryke has a good view of Daisy and vice
versa. He scoops a large bite of gooey chocolate fudge on his spoon. “This
looks so fucking good,” he teases her. “So moist.” Okay, I know he says that I
always think sexual thoughts. But that was sexual.
Moist
is a gross word, and
I’m
a sex addict. He’s definitely trying to ruffle her.

I don’t approve of his methods.
 

But at least she refuses to glance at him.
 

I can tell he’s trying to get her to eat, and I think he
enjoys pushing people’s buttons. The only problem: I think my youngest sister
is made of armor—kind of like him.

He licks the rim of the spoon and then sucks the cake off
it, letting out a deep, masculine moan.

My eyebrows scrunch at him and I mouth,
stop
. I know his plan won’t work. Daisy won’t eat if she feels like
our mother’s going to scold her for it.

Ryke keeps the spoon in his mouth and he glares back at me.
Then he points at Daisy’s plate. I sigh heavily and slide it in front of her.

“Oh no,” she says to me, “you are not in on his stupid
plan.”

“You love chocolate,” I remind her.

“I love a lot of things I can’t have,” she says pointedly.

True. I shrug at Ryke, giving up already. I’m not so
resilient. Ryke, on the other hand…

“Daisy,” he coos, waving his spoon around the air to try to
get her to look at him. She barely stirs. He tries a different tactic. He dips
two fingers into the gooey chocolate filling.
No
, I internally scream in my head. He’s not going to…

My eyes widen and my mouth falls as his fingers rise to his
lips. What the fuck is he doing?! Ryke…needs to stop pushing the line with her.
He might find it amusing, but I’m afraid she’ll take his teasing as a sign of
something…more. This. Isn’t. Good.

Daisy frowns at my expression, and she follows my gaze for
the first time. Ryke puts his two (not-so chaste) fingers in his mouth. I am
screaming at him in my head. Even as he sucks the gooey ganache off, he shuts
his eyes, faking a fucking chocolate orgasm just so she’ll eat the damn cake.

Daisy snorts and tilts back a little farther in her chair to
act all cool and composed. And then, the legs begin to slip underneath her. I
gasp, picturing her smacking backwards on the ground. But Ryke is faster than
my frozen joints. His eyes have already snapped open. He reaches out and grabs
the top of her chair, setting both of them on four legs at the same time.

My sister puts her hands on the table, leaning forward as
though a rollercoaster just flung to an abrupt stop. She looks winded and
stunned all at the same time.

Ryke barely misses a beat. He pushes an extra spoon in front
of her.

And to my surprise, she actually picks up the silverware and
scoops a big bite of cake on it. She hesitates for a second.

“It’s not arsenic,” he says.

Her lips rise in a small smile. “Your hips also don’t have
to be measured in the morning.”

“They can be,” he tells her. “Will you eat the fucking cake
if I measure my hips?”

“And your ass,” she says.

“You want to know the size of my ass?” His brow rises.
 

“Yep.”

“Eat the cake.”

She hides her growing smile and takes a large bite. She
closes her eyes and sinks back into her chair, relaxing more than before and
melting into chocolate heaven. “I wish I could eat this every day.”

“You can, but then you’d be ‘fat.’” He uses air quotes.

“The tragedy,” she says, pushing around the rest of her cake
and smashing it until it’s a mushy lump.

“Okay, enough abusing the fucking dessert.”

“Do you always say
fuck
?”
she asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever been around you where you haven’t said it at
least once.”

“What can I say? It’s my favorite fucking word.” He flashes
a dry smile.

“You know what’s scary,” she says, pointing her spoon at
him. “You’re a journalism major, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be a wordsmith?”

“Shouldn’t you be a voiceless mannequin?” he retorts back.

“Touché.” With this, she takes another bite, but since her
dessert is a pile of goo, she steals a piece of mine.

I can’t concentrate on Daisy anymore, not when Rose springs
from her chair, following my mother who suddenly stands and motions to her with
an icy finger.

I scoot from my chair, tailing them as they head towards a
lounge room for special guests, meaning family. A presence weaves behind me,
keeping up with my pace. I glance over my shoulder and see the All-American
build, the swept brown hair, the ugly blue eyes—I hate him. I wish he’d leave
me alone.

But Aaron Wells isn’t going to stop me from being there for
my sister. Not when she’s been around for me. I shut the door behind me as I
enter the lounge area, which is filled with buttoned couches, a mini-bar, and a
couple queen-style chairs. Nothing too fancy except the chandelier in the center
and the gold wallpaper.

Jonathan Hale and my father sit on one of the navy couches,
whiskeys in hand. They only look up when I drift farther into the room and away
from the door. Aaron should be here in a matter of minutes.

I try not to approach Lo’s father. I don’t want to talk to
him without Loren present. Because he wouldn’t want me to. My dad keeps him in
a long discussion about stocks, but I feel Jonathan’s hot gaze on my body, most
likely glaring.

Rose stands still, fingers clenched around her champagne
glass, full now.
A new one again?
She
seems utterly poised, though. A string of pearls choke my mother’s bony neck,
and she has hair nearly identical to my sister’s dark chocolate. Maybe Daisy’s
comment in the car has been stirring Rose too—about being so similar to our
mother. No one in their right mind would want to be compared to her.

“What is your problem?” our mother snaps. “You’ve been
incredibly rude to your date. Olivia Barnes heard you from across the room,
scolding him like he was a child.”

“He is a child,” Rose retorts. “You set me up with a
nineteen-year-old who has never switched on the goddamn news in his life.”

My mother grabs hold of the nearest chair, as though Rose
physically impaled her with that curse word. “Language, Rose.”

“Grow up, mother,” she retorts. “I have.”