Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  {8}

  After more days filled with class, therapy and loneliness, winter break arrives. And every year with winter break comes Daisy’s birthday. Our mother asked her what kind of Sweet Sixteen party she wanted, and she chose to take the yacht around Acapulco and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Samantha Calloway put her foot down almost immediately at the idea. Not because it’s too lavish but because she has a special brunch with her tennis ladies on Wednesday that she won’t miss. Daisy was asking for a week-long birthday, not just one night.

  Our father has a business meeting, so he wouldn’t be able to make the trip either. But I stepped in and told my mother that I would chaperone. Since Lo’s call, I’ve been feeling better, and I kind of want to test myself—to see if I can hold myself back from doing something with a server. I know I can, and I’m ready to experience that personal victory. Dr. Banning even thought it’d be a good idea.

  My mother was more than happy with these terms, but Rose wasn’t. She has an Academic Bowl competition all weekend. So does Connor. Her solution? The brunet, know-it-all track star.

  Ryke.

  He even went as far to personally ask Daisy if he could join her party because I would need some help. I was there when she told him that if he could handle a boat full of estrogen, she wouldn’t be one to stop him.

  He choked on a dry laugh and said, “I think I’ll be okay.”

  She flashed an equally tight smile. “Just warning you now.”

  Daisy invited twenty of her closest girl friends from prep school who look like they’re used to getting what they want. He should be scared.

  After a flight to the port, I wait by the dock while stewards collect our luggage to bring on the yacht. The sixteen-year-old girls pool out of two limos, adjusting their Chanel sunglasses and reapplying a sheen of lip gloss to combat the daylight. I feel a little underdressed in my jean shorts and halter top. These girls look like they took a pit stop in L.A. and went shopping: long billowing skirts and tight bandeau tops with designer bags on the hook of their arms.

  They bring me back to my prep school days. I spent most of my time avoiding these girls, too scared about what I would be labeled if my secret was exposed. Lo was my only friend, and as a result I’m a bit socially inept when it comes to girls. This trip is going to be awesome. I just need to remind myself that I’m four years older. And even if they make me feel like a small shellfish…I am a shining sea star. Uh…I seriously need to come up with better confidence boosters.

  Daisy sticks out among her friends at five foot eleven. When she spots me, she waves and her eyes flicker over to the handsome twenty-two-year-old beside me. Ryke wears black wayfarers and leans an arm on the dock’s post with such confident nonchalance that the rest of the girls begin to look over, eyeing the cut muscles of his bicep and the ridges seen through his green tank. It’s like a herd of lionesses stalking their prey.

  I smack his stomach, my knuckles hitting the hardness of his abs.

  His eyebrow quirks like I’ve gone mental. “What the fuck?”

  I shake my hand off. “Stop doing that.”

  “I’m just standing here.”

  This is going to be a long trip. “Don’t stand like that.”

  “Like what? Seriously, how the fuck am I supposed to stand?” He throws his hands up in the air.

  “I don’t know,” I exclaim, glancing back at the girls. “Don’t lean on things. It looks sexual.”

  “I’m not even going to ask how that’s possible. Besides, everything looks sexual to you,” he reminds me.

  “They may look my age, but they’re all sixteen.”

  He glances back at the girls who are still sizing him up from afar. “No shit. And let me guess, you think I’m going to hook up with one of them. I’m not you, Lily.”

  Okay, that stings.

  “Most guys would go for it,” I defend myself. “They’re cute girls and men usually think with their downstairs brain. I’m just telling your cock in case it has other plans.”

  “Leave my cock alone,” he snaps. “And while you’re at it, leave your sexist attitude on the shore.”

  Maybe I did generalize the entire male population as being horny, but I’m a little edged. The last time I was on a boat, I almost ruined my friendship with Lo and then I ended up forming a real relationship instead.

  I think boats are my enemy. They make me kind of nuts.

  I open my mouth about to tell him this, but Ryke cuts me off, “Get a grip, Calloway.”

  He’s right. I take a deep breath and prepare for the worst. I can do this. It’s only a week.

  I internally laugh. Yeah. Right.

  * * *

  While the girls are given a brief tour of the yacht by the chief steward, Ryke and I find the lounge area with a shady overhang. I take a seat on the couch while a server brings us fresh orange juice. As part of the itinerary, my mother told the servers not to carry any alcohol onboard. Last thing she’d want is for one of the girls to fall over the rails and drown in a drunken haze.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Lo?” I finally ask. “You’ve been in contact with him. He said you’ve actually seen him.” The hidden truth doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Ryke is stable. Lo needs him. I can understand that.

  Ryke hikes his feet on the coffee table while I tuck mine under my legs on the outdoor couch, holding a pillow on my lap. “I didn’t want to tell you because you would have started badgering me with questions the same way Lo does about you. The whole point of being separated is so you can focus on yourselves. If you’re constantly worrying about each other, then that’s not going to happen.”

  All this time, I thought Ryke was one-hundred percent right. But Dr. Banning said that the solution for me isn’t celibacy but rather a focus on intimacy. And being intimate with my partner actually requires my partner. By the prolonged distance, I can tell she fears I’ll revert to porn, masturbation, or worse, other men, to fill the empty space. I won’t. She said I have willpower, and I’m trying to exert it to the fullest degree while he’s gone. And if he doesn’t want to come back to me, well…I’m also trying not to think about that.

  I stir a cherry in my juice. “You don’t trust me, do you? That’s why you’re here.”

  Ryke stretches his arms on the back of the couch, his muscles sharpening more than before. He looks like he owns the damn yacht. How do I get that type of confidence? I wish it could rub off on me. On second thought…maybe not. That would mean I’d have to get physically closer to him.

  “Honestly, I’m worried about you. I’m hoping that if you have some sort of panic attack that I’ll be here.”

  “Because you promised Lo that you’d look after me while he’s gone,” I say with a nod. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from having a better winter break. What would you be doing anyway?”

  “I got an invite to go snowboarding in Aspen with some friends, but I already turned it down before Rose called me.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  “I was planning on rock climbing, and my friends don’t climb, so…” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  I’m still stuck on the ‘rock climbing’ bit. “You rock climb?”

  “Since I was six. I loved everything about it, and I spent hours at indoor climbing gyms. I remember I’d beg my mom to let me go before school even though I spent all day there the minute the bell rang to release class. My mother hates it, so she put me in track to see if I’d stop, but I didn’t. I just found two things that I love instead of one. She was ecstatic when I told her I changed my plans this week.”

  “Do you climb actual mountains?” I squint, trying to picture him harnessed and dangling from a slab of rock.

  “Yes, Lily, I climb mountains.” He shakes his head like that’s such an inane question.

  “What? You could have spent your whole days in the gym.”

  “I would have been bored,” he says. “I climbed so much that I kept pushing myself for something new and challenging
. That’s what my trip was supposed to be about. I was going to free solo climb Half Dome at Yosemite. I’ve free soloed El Capitan in the same National Park a couple times before, but never Half Dome.”

  I have no idea what those mountains are or what they look like, but if he’s been climbing since he was six and for so many hours, he must be pretty good.

  “My mother has been freaking out about it for the past month, but the weather turned out to be bad in California anyway. I would have had to reschedule, even if I didn’t come here.”

  If I had a son, I would be freaking out too. “What’s free solo climbing?” I mean, obviously, solo entails being alone, which sounds dangerous enough. If I had the guts to shimmy up a mountain, I’d want someone there to catch me if I fell.

  “No ropes,” he tells me. “Just me and the mountain and some chalk.”

  My mouth slowly hangs. “Wha…that means…if you…no.” I shake my head at the image of Ryke losing his grip and splatting on the hard ground. “Why would you want to do that?” I pause in thought. “Is it the adrenaline rush?”

  He shakes his head. “No, everyone asks me that, but I don’t get that feeling like I do when I run. If you have an adrenaline rush when you’re climbing, it probably means you’re falling off the mountain. When you feel fear, your chest constricts, and you’ll probably slip and die.”

  I gape. “Are you serious? You don’t get scared? Not even a little bit?” How is that possible?

  “Nope,” he tells me. “You have to be calm, and I love raising the stakes and trying to overcome them. Like I said, it’s a challenge.”

  I stare at him like he’s an alien species, but I guess plenty of people free solo climb or maybe not. “Do many people die climbing without ropes?”

  “Maybe a little less than half of people who free solo.” He shrugs again.

  “You’re crazy.”

  He smiles. “So my mother tells me.”

  The pack of girls suddenly filters onto the deck in varying shades and styles of swimsuits. Most are string bikinis, but I see a few cut-out one-pieces that expose hips and lower backs. Half of the girls run to the padded chairs on the sun deck, trying to fight for ones with the best light. A few meander over to our lounge area and plop on seats around Ryke and me.

  I’ve met most of the girls before since the majority have grown up with Daisy since preschool, but I can’t recall half their names. The strawberry blonde with fair skin and a light layer of freckles is Daisy’s best friend: Cleo. Then there’s Harper, the Native American girl wearing a black-studded bikini. I can’t place the third girl that sits with us. She’s already so tan that anymore sun may cause her instant skin cancer. She also wears bright pink lip gloss that matches her neon-blue string bikini, ready to be inserted into a Katy Perry video.

  Daisy slides closer to me on the couch. I notice that she wears a string bikini with tons of layered straps, the dark green color matching her eyes. “We need to get some snacks. I’m starving.”

  At the command, a female server in a white shirt and black pants peels away from the sliding glass door. She hands Daisy a menu with tons of items and a line at the bottom says: if it’s not on the menu, ask us and we may be able to make it.

  “I want chocolate,” Cleo says to the server. “How about…chocolate covered strawberries?”

  The server nods. “Anything else?”

  “I can’t have chocolate…so…” Daisy hums to herself as she slides her finger down the menu. Her features progressively darken, as though frustrated with what she can and cannot eat.

  I practically feel Ryke seething beside me. But he needs to shut his trap. She doesn’t want chocolate, and he shouldn’t pressure her to eat it like he did at the Fizzle event.

  I do have some sisterly sway, and I know there are some foods that will be good for her to eat. I lean closer and point to a tuna sandwich. “That’s healthy.”

  “Mom said no mayo,” she says softly.

  “Well, Mom isn’t here.” Jesus, my mother has seriously crossed a line somewhere. It’s Daisy’s birthday. Does she expect her not to eat cake too? That’s sacrilege.

  Daisy stares off for a long second, thinking about the consequences of cheating, no doubt. She’s already a size 2 at 5’11’’ which is fucking madness, but until the high fashion industry stops seeking these types of girls, I don’t see my mother changing.

  “Get the fucking sandwich,” Ryke tells her. “You’ll burn it off swimming.”

  “Don’t do tuna,” Cleo suddenly says. “Your breath will reek.”

  “Yeah, I hate the smell,” Harper agrees.

  I already want to strangle them.

  Daisy tenses at all the voices. She hands the menu back to the server. “I’ll have the tuna, thanks. My friends will have to deal with the smell.” She shoots Cleo a look. “It’s my birthday, after all.”

  Cleo shrugs. “Just trying to warn you. What if we meet some hot local boy? You’re going to scare him off with bad breath.” God, they’re already planning on picking up guys. This just turned from slightly fun to terrifying. I hope I’ll be equipped to handle them. Please, let me be equipped.

  “Even better,” Daisy says. “The guy will run over to you. See, I did you a favor.”

  Cleo purses her lips and then her eyes slowly trail over to me. “So Lily…”

  I brace myself.

  “…How did you get so skinny? What are you, a size zero?”

  Great, she asks me a question I’m not really sure how to answer. The truth—I spend more time consumed by sex than I do taking care of myself. In my defense, I am short. If Daisy became a size 0, she’d fade away and need to be hospitalized.

  “She’s always been skinny,” Daisy answers for me with ease.

  “You know, I’ve never been able to tell if guys are into the whole size zero skinny look,” Cleo says with a false politeness. She might as well have said “emaciated” instead of skinny. She has to know her words are beyond rude.

  Her pretty blue eyes flash to Ryke, who’s pretending to be busy watching a basketball game on the hanging television. “Right, Ryke?”

  His eyes stay glued to the screen as he confirms with a simple “yep.”

  Cleo holds onto the word like it’s bait. “Are you into size zero girls?”

  This is so fucking awkward! I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and Daisy lets out a long exasperated sigh. “Cleo—”

  “What?” Cleo says with a nonchalant shrug. “I just want a male perspective on the situation. I only have younger sisters, okay? I’m curious.”

  Ryke turns a fraction, his gaze still hidden behind wayfarers. “My brother loves her, so obviously some guys are into skinny girls. Everyone has a different preference.”

  Harper interjects with a little too much eagerness. “What’s yours?”

  I imagine he’s rolling his eyes right about now. Damn, sunglasses, I’d actually like to see him break in front of a few girls. How is he going to handle all twenty together?

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “I like women. Big breasts, curvy waists, an ass I can grab.” He keeps steady, unflinching. I am cringing inside and slightly aghast that he even responded back. Daisy’s friends look around at each other, realizing that they all have tiny hips, decent-sized boobs and no butt.

  Daisy scrutinizes Ryke for a while and then says, “How big of boobs?” Ohmygod.

  “How about we change the subject?” I say.

  “Big,” Ryke tells her.

  “You like to grab those too?” Daisy tries. Her friends literally gasp out loud.

  Ryke’s lip twitches, but he holds back what I think is a smile. I’m glad he finds this amusing. I do not. At all. This is like…no. If Lo were here, he’d have yelled at his brother for flirting back with an almost-sixteen-year-old. That’s what Ryke’s doing. Even if his intentions are to start an argument or make someone uncomfortable, it looks like flirting. “Only if I hear a woman moan when I do it.”

  “Ryke!” I shout at him. I mout
h, enough. My eyes widen to emphasize the severity. I know he’s not intentionally trying to flirt back, but he’s about to cross a line. And I suspect he knows it exists, and that he’s crossed many in his life. Maybe he thinks traditional rules don’t apply to him. Or maybe, he just doesn’t care.

  Daisy opens her mouth to say something back, but he cuts her off, “There’s your male perspective.” He turns back to the television, closing off to the girls.

  Cleo isn’t finished harassing me though. “About Loren Hale, he’s in rehab, right? My parents heard from some family friends.” She nods to the Katy Perry girl. “You remember Greta? Her parents found a dime of coke and she got sent to rehab. It’s like they don’t understand that we’re young, and we want to have some fun. They’ve done it before.”

  “Yeah,” Katy says. “It’s so hypocritical.”

  I hate that they’re comparing Lo to a teenager screwing around. That’s how it starts, sure, but his problem has exceeded a small dose of adolescent rebellion. It’s not a shame that he’s in rehab. It’s what my father said…admirable.

  “He chose to go,” I defend my boyfriend, heat gathering in my eyes. “He wants to get help.” Which is a better place than where we were before.

  The lounge silences in this awkward layer, and Cleo presses her lips together, avoiding my narrowed gaze. Thankfully, the snacks parade over on a tray, rescuing me from the tense situation. The girls start chatting again, and I look to Ryke. He gives me a supportive nod, which means more to me than I’ll ever let on. I want to do this right. I want to be strong and fight, and being on this boat is a big step.

  Last time I was here, I was a mess. This is my redo.

  Daisy grabs her sub, and her long hair sticks to the tuna that squeezes from the sides. She plops the sandwich back on the tray and uses a napkin to wipe the strands. “I hate my hair,” she mutters under her breath.

  “Ever heard of a ponytail?” Ryke says to her. His antagonizing is not helping. After New Year’s I realized her “signature trait” brings up insecurities.

  “Yeah,” Daisy snaps back, “want me to put your hair in one?”