Page 50 of Whatever It Takes
Ryke says nothing as he rolls the window back up.
“At least I don’t have road rage.”
“I’m a better driver than you—and don’tfuckingsay it.”
“You wrecked my car,” Loren teases with a half-smile. “I’ve never been in an accident, so I’m a goddamngreatdriver.”
Ryke rolls his eyes but stays quiet and taps the steering wheel, impatient for the light to change.
Loren glances at me again. “You doing okay?”
I tense more. “So is it usually this bad?”
“They’re just out for blood today,” Loren says. I notice his leg jostling a little, more edged than he’s letting on. His phone is also in his hand, so I wonder if he’s seen the speculations too. Then I spot theCelebrity Crushtabloid site on his screen.
I shift uncomfortably on the leather seat. “Maybe if Ryke kind of…keeps his distance from me, or acts like he doesn’t care…” I trail off because Loren is almost near laughter. He has to rub his lips to keep it down.
“You’re a fucking ass,” Ryke tells Loren, though there seems to be affection in his voice, not hate.
I look cautiously between them. “What is it?”
Loren playfully puts a hand on the back of Ryke’s headrest. “Telling Ryke tonot careis beyond his superhuman capabilities. He’s physically and mentally hardwired tooverlycare about people close to him.”
I digest this and loosen my grip on my backpack. I’m slowly inching into their world, and I knew there’d be bad parts, like the constant gaze of cameras—but I don’t think I ever calculatedtheseparts: the loyalty from people who’ve just met me.
“Funny,” Ryke says, hitting the gas pedal as the light turns green. “I don’t remember ever being a fucking superhero.”
Loren’s smile fades, and he stares at his older brother for a long moment, like he wants to say something more. He ends up dropping his hand and swiveling towards me. “Stay close to me when we get out. They’ll try to get in your face, and it’ll be easier to walk inside the apartment complex if you’re near me.”
“They’re going to ask who I am, right?” I nervously wipe my palms on my jeans.
“I’m going to lie, so you don’t have to,” Loren tells me. “Okay?”
I notice Ryke going rigid in the driver’s seat, his eyes hardening through the rearview mirror. I don’t know him well enough to understand why he’s pissed. Maybe he’s protective of Loren. Maybe he hates lies. Maybe it’s the paparazzi in general.
All I know is that I’m about to make my debut in this media-crazed universe. And Loren Hale, my brother, is helping guide me.
“Okay,” I nod.
“How many boxes are in the trunk?” Ryke asks.
“Just two. She only shipped my clothes and bedding.” I saidsheinstead ofMomto bypass the awkward tension of releasing her name into the atmosphere. I saw her not long ago. Our conversation at a local restaurant, Lucky’s Diner, went something like this:
Mom:If you stay here, you’re on your own. I can’t help you in Philadelphia.
Me:I know.
Mom:*looks over her shoulder, expecting Loren Hale to jump out and frighten her by his presence*
Me:He’s not here. (He knew you didn’t want to see him, ever.)
Mom:*silence*
Me:Can I still talk to Ellie?
Mom:When you call, I’ll make sure to hand the phone to Ellie. *checks watch*
Me:…do you want me to come home?
