The farther I am from this house, the better, even if it means that we have to drive through mobs of camera crews again. Lo and I climb into my car, and before he puts it in drive, he faces me.

“I have to tell you something, and you’re probably going to be mad.”

I frown, not having a clue where this could go. I watch Jonathan’s car exit the gates, cameras flashing and clicking, the light glinting off the tinted windows.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice smaller than I like.

He licks his lips, guilt lining his face. Uh oh. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen my father since rehab.”

The truth washes over me in a freezing cold wave. I shiver and nod, letting this sink in fully. Okay. He’s lied. But he just opened up, so that has to count for something, right? Still, no matter how much I make excuses for him, I can’t help the sadness that pours into me.

I lift my legs to the seat and bury my head in my knees, hiding from Lo, not the paparazzi.

“Lil,” he says, his hand hovering above my head, hesitant to touch me. “Say something.”

I can’t speak, the words tangle, swollen in a pit midway up my throat. So Lo pulls the car out and navigates past the cameras. He explains his conversations with his father and how he went to him specifically to find the blackmailer and to learn more about his mother.

By the time we reach the street, away from the paparazzi and news vans, he has finished spilling all these secrets. After a long tense silence, he asks, “Are you mad?”

“No,” I say softly, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I don’t lift my head from my knees. I’m just sad. I should have known and busted him like he did me. He was able to go to rehab and come back a little stronger than before. I didn’t have that. When he returned, I started back at day one, trying to figure out how to cope with my addiction and him in the same room. And I’m just realizing how much of a rock he is for me, and how much I may have let him down if he relapsed and I didn’t stop him sooner.

“Lily, please talk to me.” He tails Jonathan’s car and slows down when we reach the gate.

“Did you drink?” I murmur.

“No, I promise, Lil. I mean…”

My chest collapses. I don’t like I means.

“…I thought about it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’m on Antabuse,” he says. “The idea of vomiting stopped me more than once. Being around my father does make me want to drink. I can’t deny that.” He pauses “But I’m at a point where I can say no.” At least he’s being honest now.

I raise my head, rubbing my cheeks on my sleeve. “You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d disapprove.”

He nods. “But Lil, he’s my dad. He’s my fucking family.”

I can’t tell him what I think. That even if his father shows heart one minute, he’ll cut Lo into pieces the next. I’ve seen Lo walk away a shell of himself after his father screamed at his face for half an hour.

He parks the car and lifts my hand. “You’re my family too.” He kisses my knuckles. “Always.” He wipes a stray tear. “Please don’t be upset over this.”

“I just don’t want to see him hurt you,” I say softly.

“He won’t.”

Lo is not built of armor. He goes into every fight without the padding. He lets people hurt him because he believes he deserves that pain. It’s sick. It’s something I think I’m coping with right now.

I breathe heavily and just nod. “Okay.” I feel so ripped open. The extra dagger just fits in place with the others. I have to believe that Lo will be fine in the face of his father, that he can handle all the verbal onslaughts and the sudden disparaging comments. The why aren’t you living to your potential? Why are you such a fucking disappointment? I have to believe he’s stronger than me.

I think I can do that.

We enter the house, and I skid to a stop by the grand staircase, absorbing a home that I spent most of my childhood in. It’s quieter and darker than my parent’s place and carries a somber quality. Maybe because I have more memories here. And not all of them good.

“Can we do this in the morning?” I ask. Postponing the inevitable sounds nice. I could take another sleeping pill too, or Lo might even go down on me tonight. I shouldn’t be thinking about sex right now. I shake my head to try to reset it. I’m a spin-cycle revolving backwards.

Lo strokes my hair. “My father is impatient.”

Oh, right. He leads me to his father’s office where I’ve been many times before. Jonathan is already pouring himself scotch when we walk in. I settle on the brown leather sofa, and Lo scoots close beside me.

I remember kissing Lo on this couch. We’d have these hot and heavy make-out sessions, complete with over-the-clothes caressing, just to be caught by Jonathan or the staff. We weren’t really together, but we made excuses to kiss each other. We said that we were “reinforcing our relationship,” even though it was just pretend. I liked the stroking and the groping more than I should. And Lo did too, I suppose. He just never declared, outright, that he wanted to be with me.

 Jonathan lingers by the liquor cart, examining his bottles. “Greg and I agreed not to speak during the briefing. If it felt formal, it’s only because we didn’t want the thing to last all fucking night.” He raises a crystal bottle of amber-colored liquid. “Would you like a glass or are you still being obnoxious?”

“No thanks,” Lo says, his voice firm.

Jonathan returns the bottle and slumps in the plush leather chair behind his desk. He shuffles the three files out along his desk as he takes a slow sip from his glass.

“From here on out, the goal for both of you is to reform your images. You will become upstanding individuals who can proudly wear your last fucking name.” He flips open a file and scans the page. “We’ll start with Lily. The easiest solution would be to deny all the claims, but no one would believe that sixty men were lying.”

I already knew I couldn’t deny the accusations, and I wouldn’t want to. Most are true. I wait for the word, the one that will seal my fate—rehab.

“So your parents and the lawyers have drawn up a list of things you must do. It’ll help restore your reputation, and in effect, that of our companies. Simple, easy, seamless, yada fucking yada.”

“What if she doesn’t do them?” Lo asks.

Jonathan shoots him a sharp look. “I was getting there. Hold your fucking tongue for a second.” His eyes fall to me. “Starting today, you no longer have access to your trust fund. When you complete all the tasks, your inheritance will be restored to you in full.”

My money is gone.

I’m broke. Just like Lo.

I wish I could talk to my parents. I would have completed their list without putting my financial security up as collateral. The guilt motivates me enough.

Jonathan stares at Lo, and I know he wants him to ask for his own trust fund back, especially now that we’re both penniless. But Lo remains resolute and tight-lipped.

His father switches his attention back to me. “I must admit, your father didn’t like this idea all that much. He preferred you keep your trust fund, but your mother convinced him otherwise.” I wonder why Jonathan tells me this; maybe to vouch for his best friend. I’m not sure.

“What’s on the list?” I ask softly. “Do I have to leave?”

Jonathan lets out a short laugh. “Running away doesn’t solve anything. In fact, it makes you look guilty. No, you’ll stay in the city, preferably Princeton after the lawyers get done with the university.”

I’m not going to be expelled? Hope surges through me, only to be smothered by Jonathan’s next words. “You will apologize publicly during a press conference, and you will start seeing a psychiatrist handpicked by your parents.” He narrows his eyes at the list. “They also want you to stop visiting bars and clubs, but really, the three of us in this room can agree that you can go, just don’t be seen. This is about your image not a fucking path to morality.”