“So I don’t fucking say this lightly,” Ryke says. “But you need to start looking at Akara and Banks differently. They’re Sulli’s bodyguards, but they’re also my sons.”
His sons.
Akara and I share a look that nearly bowls me over.
Didn’t think we’d get here.
But damn it feels good.
Price’s mouth draws down before he lets out a long breath. “You’re right…” He nods over and over. “I know you’re right.”
“Change is fucking hard,” Ryke tells him. “But we’re all going through it. I just don’t want tension between your firm and Akara’s. Otherwise, I’m going to have to make a decision that I shouldn’t have to fucking make.” It’s not a threat. Not even a warning. Just the truth.
If Ryke is forced to pick a side between Triple Shield and Kitsuwon Securities, he’s going to choose family. He’s going to choose Akara.
I feel my lips begin to lift.
Yippee-ki-yay motherfucker.
I’m not gonna shove a win in someone’s face, as much as I’m internally gloating. Usually I’m around some ego-boosting, pie-shoving asshole that I’d call a friend—and usually that’s a Yale boy, and fuck, do I miss the rest of SFO.
They would’ve loved this moment.
Color is already draining from Price’s cheeks. Can’t imagine this is easy for Ryke or for him. I don’t envy their positions, and it’s why I’m happy I don’t call the shots.
“Did taking two dicks hurt though?” Winona’s whisper becomes awkwardly audible as the wind dies down.
Ryke goes motionless like someone just threw a grenade at his feet. I scratch the back of my head, doing the thing I shouldn’t do—and I’m making eye contact with her dad.
He’s glaring like he’s partially in shock but mostly protective, and I read his expression as, you hurt my daughter, you’re fucking dead.
I did not hurt your daughter with my cock, sir—that is what I don’t fucking say. Mostly because Akara is shooting me daggers to shut the fuck up.
Winona and Sulli stop chatting by their paddleboards. Sulli turns beet-red. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” She’s cringing.
Winona looks more protective of Sulli. “It’s not a big deal, Dad. It’s her sex life—she can do what she wants, and if she wants to take two—”
“Nona,” Akara cuts in like she’s signing our death warrants. “Please stop talking.”
“I’m Team Kitsulletti, Akara,” she reminds him passionately. “Dad should be too, and so I don’t see what’s wrong if Sulli likes having you and Banks—”
“He’s supportive, squirt,” Sulli jumps in now, and I’m trying not to laugh. God, I love how strange my life is.
Winona is uncertain.
“Like totally fucking supportive,” Sulli emphasizes. “He just doesn’t need the details.”
Ryke rubs his eyes with a nod. “I heard nothing.” He’s walking off in a hurry towards the street like maybe he can outrun the past conversation.
“Mom,” Sulli whisper-hisses.
Daisy waves at her. “He’s already wiping it from his memory.” She quickly follows his pace to go talk to him, and Sulli turns to us.
She mouths, Sorry.
I’m still laughing.
Akara sees and begins to laugh too.
Winona leans into Sulli and whispers again, “But did it hurt? Was it good?”
Was it good?
Our first time inside Sulli together. That’s a night none of us will forget, not anytime soon.
45
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
3 MONTHS BEFORE THE OLYMPICS
EARLY MAY
“SULLIVAN, LOOK HERE!”
“SULLI, OVER HERE!”
“SULLIVAN!”
“SULLIVAN! YOU LOOK GREAT!”
“SULLI, RIGHT HERE!”
Paparazzi wail and bellow a version of the same taunting thing. Trying to capture my petrified gaze into their bright flashes and big lenses. They swarm like bees, buzzing around. Flapping their invisible wings and wielding their cameras like stingers. Fuck, I shield my eyes with my hand, keep my head low, just so I can concentrate on my feet.
One foot in front of the other.
One foot in front of the fucking other.
Aunt Lily told me to just keep moving. Don’t pause for too long. And being my mother’s daughter—moving and speed are familiar friends of mine.
Akara leads. Banks’ hands clasp my waist behind me. Then extra security shields me from every other direction. I’m cocooned in a secure bubble—at least I pretend I am.
For a second.
On my way to the Jeep, I leave the Aquatic Center behind. Hair still wet, and chlorine is like perfume imprinted on my skin. Spirits are high after tonight’s swim.
I beat my record in the 200m IM.
Nothing can bring me down. Not even the constant fucking shouts. The encroaching bodies. It’s all background to the pride bubbling up in me.
Beating my time instills more hope. Hope that I’ll do well this year at the Olympics. As we come up to the SUV, my feet stop cold.
No, no.
Fuck no.
Someone defiled Booger.
Across the passenger door, someone painted the words SLUT in red.
My stomach overturns. She’s not a slut. And I’m not a fucking slut! I want to scream, but they’re waiting for an epic meltdown.
Banks’ back presses up against mine, his mouth dips to my ear. “Sulli, keep moving.” My body reanimates.
“SULLIVAN! How do you feel about your car?!”
“ARE YOU ANGRY?!”
“LOOK HERE!”
I can’t hide my ire and hurt. I’m giving the press exactly what they want. Enter-fucking-tainment. More photos to flame the gossip and news.
“BACK UP!” Akara shouts, pushing cameramen away who try to provoke a bigger reaction.
“BANKS, AKARA!” they shout. “HOW DO YOU FEEL KNOWING YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS BEING CALLED A SLUT?!”
Heat radiates off Akara.
Banks is a solid brick behind me. I can’t see either of their expressions, but their body language screams, fuck off and fuck you.
I’m curved more inward, and I’d flip paparazzi the bird—but I’m enjoying my safe fucking bubble too much to reach an arm out.
But fuck, how I hate after three long months, my relationship is still so newsworthy.
I knew this would happen.
Yeah, but I didn’t think Booger would pay the price. I don’t think Adam Sully imagined his Jeep would end up here like this.
I suck in a breath and when I’m near the car, I climb into the backseat.
Akara drives. Banks takes the passenger.
I let them concentrate on leaving the parking lot through the flashes, the bodies, the screaming. The arduous, panic-inducing process takes a good fifteen minutes. By the time we’re on the road, Banks finally rotates to look at me. “Sulli—”
“I’m fine,” I say sharply. “I won’t let them fuck up a good night.” Media has taken a lot from me these past few months. They won’t take this fucking feeling, too.