by Danah Logan
I need more.
With a groan, his free hand tangles in my hair, tugging on it as he angles my face to gain better access. My entire body is on fire, and I grasp for the hem of his sweater. Slipping my hand under the fabric, I trace the contours of his taut abs. Rhys tenses under my touch, and his thigh pushes against my most sensitive spot. More. His reaction and the feel of his skin under my fingertips ignites something feral inside of me. The IV in my arm constricts my movement; I've stretched the tubing to its max, but I can't bring myself to care. The room fades into the background as I give in to the desperate need to mold myself to him. Hiking up my leg, the thin hospital gown shifts and exposes my light-gray boy shorts and lower abdomen. With a moan, I grind against Rhys’s body, and he utters a string of incoherent words that resemble something like, "Oh God" and "Feels so fucking good."
Mimicking my movements, I feel his hard length straining against his jeans. The room is suddenly way too hot, and I fight the urge to rip the constricting material off my body. I shift to move on top of him. Need. To. Get. Closer. A loud crash and stinging pain in my arm brings everything to a halt. We spring apart and stare at each other, panting. Rhys’s cheeks are flushed, eyes hooded, and we both look down at my arm. The IV pole didn’t withstand my urge to climb the boy in my bed. It toppled to the floor and, in the process, dislodged the IV in my arm. Wide eyes, we face each other, and I can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up in my throat. Rhys places his forehead to mine and chuckles, "Only you can make me dry hump you in a hospital bed with my parents and FBI outside."
"Sorry?" I grin.
"You. Are. Not. And neither am I. I needed this." He gives me a peck on the nose before pulling back and glancing down at my arm. Following his line of sight, I scrunch my nose. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but there is a little blood where the IV should be.
"I should probably call a nurse to fix this mess I made." I smirk.
Shaking his head, Rhys gets up. "I’ll go get one."
When he's gone, I sink into the pillow and pull the covers back over my legs. This is the first time I've been alone since my family arrived last night. Even when I went to the bathroom, Heather was with me. A shiver runs down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself and glance at the door out of the corner of my eye. I know there is at least one security guard outside, but nonetheless, I wait for another reporter to ambush me. I was still slightly out of it when a guy, disguised as a male nurse, cornered me yesterday. I just stared, wide-eyed, while he threw question after question at me, shoving his phone in my face. Thank goodness my real nurse walked in and started screaming for security. Who knows what would've come out of my mouth in the state of mind I was in? It's a miracle I didn't reveal anything at all in the hours between George pulling up around the corner of the emergency entrance and Rhys walking in.
Looking over to the recliner next to my bed, I notice a phone laying there. The phone. Shit! It must've slipped out of Rhys’s pocket. I quickly stretch over to grab it when the door opens, and I almost topple out, catching myself on the rail before making a head dive. My adrenaline level skyrockets, and the voice in my head screams, they're back! They as in the press. I clutch the rail, pushing myself upright, and hold my breath.
When I hear Heather's voice, my body relaxes. "Sweetie, why is Rhys looking for a—oh my gosh, what happened?" She rushes over and starts inspecting my arm.
My face heats. "It’s fine. I tried to reach something and didn’t pay attention."
I wanted to reach something alright.
My adopted mother's expression calls bullshit. We stare at each other, neither of us saying what we want to say.
I’m the first one to look away. Biting my lip, I inspect my nails like I just got the most gorgeous manicure.
Hands unexpectedly cover mine. "Sweetie?"
I don't want to look up, but in the end, I force myself to face the woman who has raised me most of my life. She is about to say something when I blurt out, "I know!"
Heather’s mouth snaps shut, and she eyes me for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—
"I know you do."
Her tone is so gentle, so understanding that floodgates open up again.
I blink several times, but it’s no use. "Mo-om?" I sniff, and she places a hand on my cheek.
"My sweet Lilly, no matter what you know or think you know, you are my little girl." There is a pause before she lowers her voice even more. "We will talk about everything when we’re at home. Not here."
My eyes widen.
Should I be relieved or worried?
It's that moment when Rhys returns with a nurse following close behind. He halts abruptly when he spots me crying, and the short woman plows straight into his broad back. Narrowing his eyes, his gaze flicks between his mother and me before he peers over his shoulder. The nurse seems to take that as a cue to walk around him and get to work.
"Oh my, how did that happen?" I cringe. She must be the new day nurse as I haven’t had the pleasure yet. She sounds like the weird-ass clown Heather and Tristen hired for Natty's fourth birthday after he sucked in helium from a balloon. He scared the crap out of all the toddlers, and Tristen had to make him leave.
While the woman works on my arm, I hold Rhys’s gaze. His lips are pressed in a thin line, questions written all over his face.
As soon as Heather engages the nurse in a conversation about my repeat tox screen, when it's scheduled, and when she can expect for me to be released, Rhys makes his way over. I incline my head toward the chair, and his eyes turn to saucers as he catches on and basically throws himself at the recliner. He lands with a thud on the dark-red vinyl, and I have to smother a laugh.
Smooth, babe.
Heather turns to her son with raised brows, and he grins innocently.
Five minutes later, the nurse is gone, my IV is back in place, and we know my tests are scheduled for ten. We have two hours. Suddenly drained, I unsuccessfully stifle a yawn.
Heather places a hand on my thigh. "Why don't you rest some more, and we'll be back in a bit." Rhys makes no move to get up, and Mom rounds my bed, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. He stiffens, and Heather straightens, winks at me, and leaves the room.
"Uh, what was that?"
Rhys clears his throat. "She, um…she said to make sure your IV stays in this time."
"Oh, God." I cover my face, and the boy next to me cracks up in hysterical laughter. "This is not funny," I mumble through my hands.
"It is a little," he cackles.
I level him with what is meant to be a death glare, but he shrugs. "Hey, at least we know one of them is on our side."
I guess he’s right on that account. But we still don’t know what measures Tristen will take, even if the fact that I’m adopted is out.
Rhys takes my hand and squeezes. "Let’s rest. I’m beat."
I start scooting over, but he stops my movement by tugging me back to the middle. "Babe, if I climb into that bed again, there is no way we will get any rest."
Rhys’s tone is low, and my entire body heats at his insinuation. I would love nothing more than to pick up where we left off; I crave this boy more than finding the truth at this point, which feels so right and so wrong at the same time.
Exaggeratedly, I let myself fall back into the pillow. "Fine."
He places a lingering kiss on my knuckles and winks. "Soon, babe."
I must've drifted off to sleep because, the next thing I know, the nurse is back and taking my vitals. She draws more blood for the next round of tests, and when I sweep the room, Heather and Tristen are both back in their seats. Tristen is murmuring intently into his phone, but I can't understand a word. Heather looks stiff while she stares at her husband. Turning, I see Rhys softly snoring in the recliner. His hand is still in mine, headphones in place. He hasn't noticed the commotion in the room.
A few hours later, the test results come back as expected, and I am being released into my parents' care by eight p.m. Rhys excused himself to the
bathroom at one point and gave me an imperceptible nod when he returned to his place by my side. He was able to give my other family an update.
Tristen or the agents—though my money is on my adopted father—somehow arranged for us to leave the hospital through a side door. We avoid the media vans that are still camped out front and drive straight to a small airport. When I spot the private plane we are aiming toward, I pull on Rhys’s arm. His hand has not left mine since we entered the car, and neither Heather nor Tristen seem to care anymore. Though, I’ve noticed the female agent that came with my family from Virginia sneaking glances when she thinks no one sees.
Rhys’s focus is on me, and I nod toward the plane's direction, mouthing, "What the hell?"
He leans over and murmurs, "No clue who scored that little toy, but that's how we came here."
What. The. Heck!
Chapter Thirty-Four
Umpf.
Turning toward the door just in time, Denielle tackles me, and I catch us at the last moment before we would've gone down in a tangle of arms and legs. My best friend is sobbing into my hair, her arms around my neck like a chokehold. I cling to her midsection and squeeze just as hard. It feels like a lifetime since I've seen her. In a way, it has been. My life, more accurately. I am not the same girl I was a little over two weeks ago.
A sniffle makes me glance over Den's shoulder. Wes is standing in the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark-gray hoodie. His favorite blue beanie is covering most of his shaggy, sandy-blond hair and matches his school-issued sweatpants the boys always wear before and after wrestling matches. Scruff on his jaw, he looks exhausted, and my chest tightens at the sight of Rhys’s best friend. His eyes glisten as he watches us, and I smile. The corners of his mouth tilt upward, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Behind him, I can make out the form of Rhys, who had gone downstairs to open the door for them. It's almost one in the morning, but my friends refused to wait to come over. Rhys texted them updates throughout our travel, and they arrived not fifteen minutes after we got home.
Home.
Walking into the house, I felt like an intruder—a stranger that doesn't belong. Since waking up in the hospital, the doubt about how we would look for answers when I'd be in Westbridge and Nate in California has steadily grown. Lord knows where George is. Probably somewhere close by, but I mean, he wouldn't be able to do anything without revealing himself. Before leaving California, I was convinced I could do this. I was not prepared for the increasing havoc inside my mind as the hours tick by and I face my old life.
I promised Rhys that Nate would take responsibility, but the condition is that we learn the truth first. I may not be in the dark anymore, but I'm also not out of it. I'm rooted to a spot between light and dark. Rhys had years of perfecting his façade; he convinced everyone that he couldn't stand me. I, on the other hand… I can't act for shit. No matter how many times I told people I didn’t care about Rhys’s actions, everyone knew that I did. As Nate put it one night, Your face is very expressive.
Now, facing my two closest friends, a sheen of sweat starts building on my skin, and my mouth feels like it's full of cotton. I swallow several times—it's no use. All the air is getting sucked out of my lungs, and I can't get any oxygen in.
Rhys must see what is about to happen, because he's at my side in milliseconds. He pries me out of Denielle's hug, and his strong arms envelop me.
"Breathe, babe," his voice filters through the cotton that has also taken root in my ears.
As he counts for me, I draw in slow breaths, and the nausea subsides. Tears streaming down my face, I cling to the front of his shirt, pressing my forehead against his chest.
"I’m so sorry," I mumble, avoiding eye contact with the other two people in the room.
A hand carefully touches my shoulder, and I turn slightly.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Lil." Wes’s tone is gentle, understanding.
The guilt that has been festering for so long finally destroys the fragile dam that has kept my emotions in check, and I crumble to the floor. Rocking back and forth with my arms around my bent legs, I can't keep it together. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a buzzing, and instead of Rhys, I am suddenly sandwiched between Denielle and Wes. I'm half in Wes’s lap, and Denielle has her arms around me, stroking my hair.
Neither of them speaks. However, I hear Rhys’s muffled voice from my bathroom. Water is running, and I know who he's talking to. I jump up like from a four-point start, knocking my two friends backward in the process, and burst into my bathroom. Startled by my entrance, Rhys jumps back and hits the shower door, which slams into the tiled wall.
"Hold on," he interrupts the person on the other end.
I stare at him, and he nods, holding the phone out.
Similar to when you watch someone in a movie having an out-of-body experience, I watch my hand reach out in slow motion and take the device.
Holding it to my ear, I whisper, "Nate?"
"Yes."
I never anticipated these two men, who couldn’t be more opposite, would end up having the same calming effect on me. They dislodged the life I had become content with in the most unexpected ways, making me question who I am over and over, evoking different emotions I didn’t know I was capable of and pushing me to my limits at the same time. I need them to make it through this. Both have become my home in their own ways: my family and my love.
"How are you?" I don’t know if he has ever spoken to me with such uncertainty.
I confess, "I can’t do this."
Rhys has made his way over and wraps his arms around me. Leaning my back into his front, I listen to my brother.
"Yes, you can. We knew this wouldn’t be easy, but you’re a fighter."
He sounds so convinced that I blurt out my biggest fear. "What if I slip and give you up before we find all the answers?"
"Then you will find the truth on your own," he replies without hesitation. "You are smart—probably smarter than me." My brother chuckles. "And George will be at your side." There is no trace of anger in his tone; he truly means it. He would go away without a second thought if it meant keeping me safe.
The words slip out of their own volition. "I love you, big brother."
I stiffen. I never thought about it before, but even in these short few weeks, Nate has become family. I hold my breath, knowing Rhys heard my surprising admission, but he doesn't give any indication one way or another.
Through the phone, I hear Nate choke up before he replies, "I love you, too, little sis."
"Are you watching?" I assume that’s why he called.
"I was, but I'm going to exit out now. I had to make sure you got back okay." He doesn’t use the word home. Does he know that I’m no longer sure where my home is? That it’s no longer tied to a place.
"Will you call again?" I press my hand against my chest—a similar gesture to what I used to do when I thought of Rhys while being separated from him.
"No. George is going to check in with you. I'm still working on the other...thing." After a pause, Nate adds, "The one tied to your birthday."
Oh!
Rhys goes rigid, and I know for sure that he's been listening to both sides of this conversation. I still haven't divulged the extent of my inheritance to him.
My brother continues, "Stick to the story, and we'll figure out the rest soon enough." He blows out a long breath. "After that, I will do what's right…like I promised."
I nod, more to myself than anyone else. A lump forms in my throat.
"Okay."
"We'll talk soon." Before I can reply, my brother hangs up.
Rhys and I stand in the bathroom, back to front.
"I'm going to take a shower." The sudden urge to scrub the last few days off of my body is overpowering me.
"Do you want me to wait?"
I turn in his arms and raise my eyebrows.
Rhys smirks. "I won't peek."
I try to smile at him but fail miserably. So instead, I rai
se on my tiptoes, planting a brief kiss on his lips, and tell him the truth. "I want to be alone for a little while."
"Whatever you need." He kisses me on the forehead. "I'll be outside."
I don’t know how long I stand under the hot spray. I go through my ritual of letting the scorching water wash away the turmoil inside of me.
I'm back in Westbridge. My brother is across the country. We are no closer to finding answers. I have to lie about what happened to me—about who I am—and I still have to face my adopted parents. Thanks to Rhys not leaving my side, I haven’t had to deal with them alone—yet. I have no clue how much to reveal to them or what they will think of me.
When exhaustion overcomes me, I turn off the water and wrap myself in the towel that hangs on the hook outside the glass door. I search for the monogram I've gotten so used to, but of course, it's not there. My throat thickens. Swiping over the mirror above my sink, I take in the features of the girl staring back at me.
Who are you?
Arms around my midsection, I close my eyes. Before I can go down the rabbit hole of conflicting emotions any further, I grab Rhys’s old hoodie and a pair of gray-and-pink plaid pajama pants from the hook behind the door. He must’ve snuck them in while I was in the shower.
Stepping out, I blink. My bedroom is almost dark; the only light comes from the small lamp on the nightstand.
Rhys’s large frame is sprawled across my comforter, one arm draped across his eyes, the other resting on his belly. There’s a gap between his hem and waistband, and I instantly zero in on his smooth skin. My feet start moving of their own volition. He changed out of his travel clothes as well and is wearing his own school hoodie and gray sweatpants. Despite the loungewear being loose, the outfit emphasizes his physique, and my tongue sweeps over my bottom lip. I glance around, but Den and Wes are nowhere in sight.
