Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 145257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
The risk has always been clear to me.
To Akara too. Strongly, he says, “I’m not giving this to someone else, Ryke.”
Her dad turns to me.
“Respectfully, sir, I’d rather be there for Sulli.”
We’re all living on the edge of death. And Ryke nods in acceptance of the road we’re driving down with his daughter.
If only he knew about the funhouse. My brain is trying to crack a joke, and it lands flatter than a fucking pancake.
6
AKARA KITSUWON
I love you like a son, but I love her more.
Ryke’s words stay with me as we exit one state and enter another. Miles and miles away from the REI, from Philly, they still sit inside my head. Even as we stop at a gas station in the Ohio, Midwest countryside.
Fathers.
I used to have one. He was the kind of father that would watch morning cartoons with me. That would pick out all the oat pieces in the Lucky Charms, leaving me with a bowl of colorful marshmallows. I’d see him in the early mornings before school and then in the late evenings after long hours at his office.
He was the kind of father that demanded he’d be the one to teach me how to drive, even though he barely had the time. So I learned in the dead of night, and he was right by my side. I rammed the Mercedes straight into a trashcan on my first try. He laughed.
After his death, relatives would come up to me and tell me that I was lucky. He passed away when I was seventeen. I made memories with him that I’ll remember forever. But it was a load of shit. In those memories he’s faded. Like a blurred image that I can’t quite make out.
What good is remembering, if I can’t even have the full picture?
I’m twenty-seven now.
No one can replace my dad.
But I can’t deny how much Ryke’s words have crashed into me. I’ve been on Sulli’s detail since I was twenty-two. I’ve traveled the world with the Meadows family. They don’t have legions of children like the Cobalts. They’re not rooted to Philly like the Hales. I was the youngest bodyguard to be on a Meadows detail.
Ever.
In a way, I always felt like a part of the family. Ryke would tell me over and over and over how he sees me as Sulli’s big brother. How I’m that protector in her life.
But I’ve never actually heard him say those words until today. I love you like a son.
My phone rings in my back pocket just as I remove the gas cap to Sulli’s Jeep.
Sulli jumps out of the backseat, saying, “We’re going to have to put a No Fucking Phones policy on this trip.”
Hey, I’ll take any jab at my phone and workaholic nature, especially since half the car ride has been spent in excruciatingly hot silence. Awkward shit that I could hardly bear. Her virginity statement was the first time where I sincerely didn’t know how to answer. So the silence is my fault.
The other half of the journey here was spent in something more familiar. Easy, friendly banter, but it kept dying on impact with each hour. Like it had a constant expiration date.
I prefer teasing her because it feels like Sulli and I are on a path towards rebuilding something. But it might be too much to ask for it to travel back to how it used to be. Before the funhouse.
I’m good at juggling everything. At managing time. Split between being a leader and a friend and someone’s short-term date, the almost-boyfriend, but I can barely pinpoint when it all changed between me and Sulli.
I’ve been rapidly trying to bandage something between us since before last week. Shit, even before Scotland when she had a boyfriend. Maybe it was sometime around Greece.
When she was questioning what we are to each other, and my emphasis and reassurance of our friendship never felt like enough.
Near me, Banks shuts the driver-side door. Stretching his arms above his head, he tells Sulli, “Take the new policy up with the boss.”
Sulli is tying her Timberland boot. While I put the nozzle in the tank, her green eyes rise to mine. She says, “You work too fucking much.”
I work more now than I used to, and Sulli was the first one to notice the difference. But I’m building something beyond myself, and it takes time. Energy.
I begin to smile. “You curse too much.”
She stands up and nods her chin at me. “You lick your lips too much.” Did not know that.
“You worry too much,” I counter.
Banks smiles softly at that one, then pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jeans.
I’m quick to steal the carton. “You smoke too much.” I chuck it into the garbage beside the gas pumps.
He rests a tensed hand on the Jeep. “We all have vices; you don’t see me throwing yours in the trash.” His gaze pins on my ringing cellphone.