Lo closes the door behind us, and I flip on the lights. He squints from the blinding fluorescence, and I splash some water on my face. The bright neon blue Cancun sweatshirt stops at my thighs and feels so hot on my body right now.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laces his voice. I haven’t told him about the texts. I meant to, but every time I’m about to mention it something else comes up.

Tears prick my eyes, and I manage to hand him my phone anyway. I turn back around to the mirror and the sink, not wanting to watch his face as he reads them. This already feels so out of my control. Every breath falls heavy against my chest. I just want to be unsaddled from this anxiety. Is that at all possible?

Yes it is, the bad part of me says.

I’m not wearing any pants or shorts, and my hand just seems to naturally direct itself to my panties. I slip my fingers below the hem while I have an elbow planted on the counter, hunched over with my forehead buried in my arm. Everything feels so, so, so wrong and out of my control and I just want to feel good again.

“Lil,” Lo says behind me. He drops my phone, the cell clattering to the floor. He instinctively grips my arm and presses his chest hard against my back. “Shh, you’re okay, love.”

I want to listen to his voice, but I’m more focused on how that feels, my ass rubbed against him. He removes my fingers from my underwear, and I let him bring both of my hands underneath the warm water. He washes them quietly.

I sniff a little, emotions bubbling, things I really hoped I wouldn’t feel at all on this trip. Guilt, shame—failure. He brushes the tears from my cheeks, and I finally hear his voice.

“We’re going to find this guy. You don’t need to worry about it, Lil.”

“He knows we’re in Cancun…” My voice comes out in a whisper.

Lo spins me around after he dries off my hands. He cups my cheeks and tilts my head a little to meet his eyes. “No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

I love—more than anything—that he doesn’t bring up the fact that I just touched myself. That I fucked up in a tiny immeasurable way. He brushes it off, moves on, and makes me feel like I should too.

“Just drink more water.”

That happens to be Ryke’s brilliant advice whenever I tell him that I feel like a car ran over me. This morning is no different. I stand on the patio, the crystal blue beaches in the horizon, but right below lies the congested pool. Sloshed college students splash in the clear waters to the beat of some techno rap remix. Amps sit beneath a white stretched canopy, shaded from the dangerously hot sun. Sometimes a DJ arrives to fuel the crowd’s drunkenness, but right now, the station stays vacant. The leathered skin DJ downs tequila shots at the tiki bar with two girls in G-string bikinis.

It’s definitely Spring Break.

I chug more water, but it doesn’t cure the pounding headache or the exhaustion that aches my muscles. By the time Lily and I went back to bed, it was near three in the morning, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the text and calling my father. I replayed an entire conversation about what I would ask him. How I would frame my words…just to check up on the progress of everything.

“Are you okay?” Ryke asks.

If I say yes, he’ll know I’m lying. So I don’t know why he asks me. “I’ve had hangovers that have felt better than this.” I stretch my arms and legs, loosening up my joints.

Ryke sits on the patio chair and smears cream cheese on the bagel that he ordered from room service. “But this type of pain isn’t accompanied by horrible drunken memories. Consider yourself fucking lucky.”

“Yes, I’m feeling overwhelmingly lucky right now,” I retort bitterly.

“We’ll find that guy,” Ryke tells me. I showed him the texts this morning before Lily woke up. “And then I’m going to put my fist in his fucking face.”

“HEY! THIRD FLOOR!!”

I lean an arm on the balcony railing and spot two American girls in string bikinis, their breasts hardly contained. Like the locals, they’ve tried to adopt the scarce bottom look, asses fully exposed. Both girls hold brightly colored plastic cups, their hair braided across their shoulders.

Ryke stands and puts his forearms on the railing, taking in the sight. He bites into his bagel nonchalantly, watching as the girl in the green bikini waves us down.

“Come swim with us!!” she shouts with a smile.

“Remind me why I came here with a girl,” Ryke says with a longing look. He checks out her ass, and the girl only grins wider.

“Because you didn’t want to be the fifth wheel.” I smile at his distress.

A loud scream echoes from the room, and we both quickly peel away from the balcony and rush inside. Without much room, I bump straight into Connor’s back. He almost trips over the cot that blocks the hall, but he grabs onto the dresser before falling.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to maneuver around the fold-out bed.

Ryke is so annoyed that he kicks the entire thing. It slams into the wall and somehow efficiently makes room for us to walk.

“Daisy is here,” Connor says.

“What?” Ryke goes rigid. Probably thinking the same as me—that was a happy scream?

I frown and search the room with a hesitant gaze. But I only spot Melissa on the couch, eating a bagel and typing on her cell phone. Her lips are downturned, not having as much fun as she probably imagined.

“They’re in the bathroom,” Connor explains. “Rose wants to put makeup on and use Daisy’s flatiron. She’s actually excited, but the luxury of name-brand hair products will probably wear off when she realizes that her sixteen-year-old sister just arrived to Cancun during college Spring Break.”

“So no one knew she was coming?” I ask.

Connor shakes his head. “She wanted to surprise her sisters.”

“She can’t stay,” Ryke says roughly. “I nearly died trying to chaperone her sweet sixteen in Acapulco.”

I heard the story from Lily, who also chaperoned Daisy’s birthday. Apparently the fearless Calloway jumped off a cliff into the ocean and Ryke felt the need to jump in after her.

“I won’t let her jump off anything,” I tell him. “I happen to be a damn good chaperone.”

He glares. “You couldn’t chaperone a fucking sloth. And that requires remedial skills like sitting and watching.”

I shoot him a hard look. I honestly don’t care if Daisy stays or not. One more person in an already crowded room won’t change anything. “Daisy blends in. You won’t even notice she’s here.”

His brows harden and his jaw sets, equally as firm. “When’s the last time you’ve fucking seen her?”

I want to say last week, but I’m certain that’s wrong. I strain my mind. I guess I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back from rehab. In fact, I don’t think I ran into her at the Christmas Charity Gala last year. Granted, I didn’t stay long. The last time I saw her must have been during the yacht trip to the Bahamas—when Lily and I became a real couple. Jesus.

That was a long time ago.

“Daisy doesn’t blend,” Connor says.

“When have you seen her?” I snap accusingly. I don’t like that these two guys have spent more time with my girlfriend’s sister than me. I’ve been around the Calloways longer. I’ve known Daisy since she was a kid. I’m supposed to be the interim “big brother” figure. Though, I’ve done a pretty shitty job of it so far.

“I go to the Calloway Sunday luncheons with Rose,” Connor tells me. Oh. Shit.

If I marry Lily, I am easily going to be the worst son-in-law.

And then I pale at the idea of Connor and Rose.

Connor Cobalt cannot marry Lily’s sister. He’ll set unattainable standards that I will never be able to meet.

Loud, happy squeals resound from the bathroom. I relax at the mere thought that Lily is smiling. Last night she was near tears, and anything that can change her mood is something I wholeheartedly approve of. “I’m going to check on them,” I say.