Hothouse Flower (18 page)

I feel like I ingested my past, full of bad memories. It’s a
sickening nostalgia.

I try to ignore it as I approach Daisy. The moment she sees
me, her face brightens, but it dies down when she absorbs my features. “Do we
need to leave?”

“Not yet,” I tell her, my hand finding the small of her
back. “Who’s your friend?” He’s been sizing me up this whole fucking time, a
beer clutched in his hand. His pupils are also dilated.

“This is Christina,” Daisy says, her arm hooking with that
young model. She sheepishly meets my eyes, her cheeks already reddening. “She’s
in the same agency as me.”

“You’re
Ryke
Meadows,” she says
with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Cool necklace.” She wears a sapphire on
a chain, shaped like a dolphin. She bites her lip to hide her full smile. I
raise my brows at her, and she has to look away from me, too giddy. Daisy has
never been like that around me. I thought she would be flustered by me when she
was fifteen, but instead, she had no trouble holding a conversation. It always
felt like we were meant to be friends.

“This is Ian,” Daisy introduces. “He’s a—”

“Ford model.” Ian extends his hand. I shake it, both of our
grips firm.
He’s slept with her.
I
can see it in his eyes. And if not that, they’ve fooled around. A territorial
rage consumes me for a minute. I want to wrap my arm around Daisy, but we can’t
exactly do that in public.

He nods to her. “I was just telling Daisy that we should go
to a salsa club after this.”

She looks up at me. “And I was telling him that I’m
rhythmically challenged. Lily is the good dancer.” Daisy is right. She’s not
good at dancing, but that has never stopped her from doing it. And I fucking
love that she doesn’t give a shit.

Ian laughs. “I don’t believe that at all.” His eyes graze
over her hips, as though imagining them shaking side to side against his dick.
Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

I glare at him, and he smiles as he sips his beer like
Yeah, I’ve got the fucking girl. Be jealous,
asshole.

“I’d try to salsa,” Christina says, raising her hand.

“See,” Ian says to Daisy, “you have to at least try like
Christina. I’ll teach you.”
Over my dead
fucking body.
He reaches out to wrap an arm around her shoulder, to bring
her in for a fucking hug, and I step between them.

“Sorry,” I say, “you’re not teaching her how to grind on
your fucking ass.”

Ian lets out a short laugh. “I don’t think she needs you to
tell her what she can and cannot do. She’s a big girl.”

“Yeah,” I tell Ian. “She’s also
my
fucking girlfriend.” I don’t break his gaze, but I can feel
Daisy’s smile fill her whole face beside me. She grabs my hand, restlessly
bouncing up and down on her toes like she wants to kiss me but realizes she
can’t. Even though I said the fucking words, it’s different than someone having
photographic proof.

That evidence is enough to overturn our world.

Ian stares between us. “I thought you said you were on a
break?” he asks Daisy.

I’m not that surprised she lied to him—before we were
together—telling him that she had a boyfriend. She’s done more impulsive things
than that.
 

“We got back together,” she declares.

Ian begins to smile again as he stares at me.

Don’t bring up your
night with her, you fucker.

But he does. “Did she tell you that we hooked up during your
break?”

“Do you want me to rip your head off?” I ask. “Because I’m
close to breaking your fucking neck.”

Ian licks his lips again. “I’m just laying it out there. You
deserve to know the truth. She even moaned when I stuck my finger in her
asshole. Did you know she liked that?”

I fucking punch him, my knuckles socking his jaw hard. He
knocks into the high-table, beer bottles shattering on the floor. He raises his
hands in surrender really quickly.

“Whoa, whoa,” he stammers.

“I don’t know where you fucking come from,” I tell him. “But
where I grew up, a guy would get more than a sucker-punch to the fucking face
for what you’ve said to me.”

“I didn’t think you were seriously together,” Ian says,
touching his reddened jaw like I’ve damaged his career.

My body is begging my mind to go and claim Daisy with more
than just words.
Fucking kiss her.

But people have whipped out their camera phones, recording
our confrontation for the internet.

I can’t do a fucking thing. I can’t solidify this
relationship in front of the whole fucking world. Not without huge consequences.

“Let’s go,” Daisy says, tugging me towards the door.
“Christina, come on.”

“She wants to stay with me,” Ian speaks up. “Right,
Christina?”

Daisy wraps her arm around Christina’s shoulder. “We’re
partying together, sorry.”

“She has a voice,” he tells Daisy, waiting for Christina to
make a decision.

She timidly points towards the door. “I’m going to stick
with Daisy.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and Daisy squeezes her
shoulder.

“Girl power,” Daisy exclaims with a bright smile that carries
so much energy. It lights up the whole room. “Come on.” She lets go of my hand
and clasps Christina’s, swinging her arm as they reach the door. Christina
immediately looks relieved and smiles with this newfound happiness.
 

Ian takes a step forward, and I put my hand on his chest.

“Don’t even fucking try.” That girl has to be fourteen or
fifteen, and from what Daisy has told me about her weird night with him, I
doubt he cares about that girl’s age.

He stays put, and then I follow the girls out, spotting my
brother and Connor on the congested street already.

“Everyone is a giant!” Daisy howls into the night sky.
Literally, like a wolf. “We’re in the land of tall people!”

Christina can’t stop laughing, and Daisy turns her head to
see me watching.

I raise my brows at her like
what the fuck are you doing?
And she howls again and points at the
full moon. “Like my mating call?” she asks me.

“I don’t see any fucking guys responding to it.”

“I do,” she says with a smile, staring right at me.

“Right. If that’s true, then I’ll be humping you later,
sweetheart.” My eyes lighten a little more because this time—there is fucking
truth to our banter.

“Doggy-style or are you just going to be grinding on my
leg?”

“Not your leg.”

“Higher?”

“Well what’s the other alternative? I’m not going to fuck
your ankles.”

She raises her hands in defense. “There are some people into
feet.”

“I’m into pussy. Now you know.” My unfiltered response
causes her to flush.

She grins. “I should howl more often then.” She’s cute. She
always is. I’d kiss her if I could, but I need to check on my brother.

I glance over at Lo. He’s staring at the sky like he wishes
he could settle among the stars for fucking eternity and never have to live
this life. I hate that look. It’s one that I used to wear when I was fifteen,
kicking shit over and screaming at the top of my lungs. I’d end up exhausted,
collapsed on the grass of my yard, and I’d look up at the fucking sky and think
what am I doing here? Why the fuck am I
in this world? Living shouldn’t be this painful.

My life had no meaning until I decided to turn around and
meet my brother.

I can’t lose him to this disease…or because of the choices
I’ve made.

Connor has his hand on
Lo’s
shoulder, his lips moving like he’s talking him down from a fucking cliff. I
feel like I put him there.

The traffic is gridlocked, taxis barely budging. We have a
short walk back to the hotel, and most of the paparazzi have dispersed.
Instead, the streets are full of sports fans, those red and white jerseys
everywhere.

In the distance, the Eiffel Tower glows green. The screen on
the front of the fucking mammoth structure plays footage from the Rugby World
Cup.

When I glance back at Daisy, her smile is gone. She shrugs
at me and then turns to Christina, whispering in her ear. I wish she had no
affiliation to my brother. I wish they never knew each other—then all of this
would be so fucking simple.

The girls start watching a couple guys bicker by the curb,
fighting about women or maybe the rugby game. I can’t tell from here, but
they’re drunk, spitting out their insults and puffing out their chests.

The construction nearby forces people to draw closer than
they normally would. Scaffolding juts out from the pub next door, losing space,
and plywood and other materials are thrown around the cement, covering divots
and potholes.

“Hey, let’s head back,” I tell Daisy.

She nods to me but doesn’t take her eyes off the growing
fight. More and more people push onto the sidewalk, separating me from my
little brother. I weave in between guys to reach him. Most are models and beefy
fans. I even spot a portly guy doing a keg stand, his feet held up by his
friends. His jersey falls to his neck, and his large stomach lolls over his
jeans. His friend jiggles his fat while they all laugh.

When I near Lo, Connor steps aside a little, but my brother
looks pained as he meets my eyes. “You shouldn’t have had that whiskey,” he
says, his eyes glassing with remorse. Not
I’m
sorry.
Those two words barely exist in his vocabulary, so I wasn’t fucking
expecting them.

“One glass isn’t going to make me fucking addicted, Lo.”

He rubs his lips and lets out a bitter, dry laugh. “Lucky
you.” He cringes at his sharp words and just shakes his head.

“We should go back to the hotel—” An elbow digs into my
fucking back, the force pushing me into someone else. I look up and realize a
new fight has broken out behind me, between two blue-collar looking guys with
beards.

Screaming pierces the fucking air, and I’m being pushed in
every fucking direction. Fights break by the curb, shoving people into the slow
traffic, ramming bodies into the hoods of cars. Stumbling between vehicles. I
hear the smash of glass as people start shattering car windows.

People are yelling about the rugby game, about England’s
loss. Angry fucking drunk fans are storming some of the bars, thrusting people
aside. I’m trying to grab ahold of my brother. My heart runs wild as my mind
catches up with me.

They’re rioting.

And we’re stuck in the middle of it.

I turn my head, and a taller guy decks Lo in the face. Lo
snatches his shirt and hits him back in the stomach. The guy doubles over, and
someone is pulling at my fucking leather bike jacket, trying to drag me to the
ground. I spin around and shove him off me.

Daisy
. Where the
fuck is, Daisy?! My head whips from side to side. I don’t see where I left her.
Christina is gone too.

There are too many people running around, screaming. Fire.
Someone started a fire in the pub we were just at. Flames licking the windows.

Fuck.
Connor ducks
as someone swings at him, and he catches a terrified girl around the waist
before she face plants on the cement.

“Daisy!” I yell.
Where
the fuck is she?!
I push people away from me with hostile aggression. Why
did I leave her alone? “DAISY!”

Everyone is fucking screaming. Like she said, it’s the land
of the fucking giant people. With models taller than her, she doesn’t stick out
like she usually does. I start looking at the ground, at fallen people, and I
lift up a young girl who cries in pain, her leg bent in the wrong direction. I
carry her towards a street lamp and set her beside it, out of harm’s way.

And then just as I go back in, I spot Christina clutching
onto the same iron lamp, flinching as a guy punches another man right in front
of her, their bodies starting to drift this way.

“Christina,” I call. Tears streak her cheeks.

She meets my gaze and cries harder.

“You okay? Where’s Daisy?”

Christina shakes her head over and over. “She pushed me out,
and then she got swept in it. I couldn’t find her…” She sobs into her hand and
then points at the center of the riot, where so many men are brawling.

I don’t think twice. I just go back in, another elbow
ramming my back. A head knocking into my jaw. I shove and push and dig my
fucking way through the people.

And then I see her.

She shakily stands. Blood trickles down her forehead, the
source by her hairline, like someone ripped the strands, like they could’ve
been caught in something. She teeters, disoriented. I try to reach her, but a
couple guys shove me back and punch me in the face. I’m too fucking
concentrated on her to feel the pain.

I tear through them, hitting them back with as much force.

Daisy touches her forehead, blinking a couple times to clear
her vision. And then she meets my gaze, and relief floods her eyes.

“
Ryke
,” I barely hear her say over
the noise, but I see her lips form my name. Sirens blare in the distance, but
no cop or ambulance will make it here anytime soon, not with this fucking
traffic. Not with this madness.

She stands on the curb. And out of nowhere, some guy comes
up from behind her. I watch in slow fucking motion, and I scream as loud as I
can. “DAISY!!” I shove against so many fucking people, but it’s like a current
draws me back, pulling me under. “
DAISY!!!
”

He holds a two-by-four, part of the construction waste on
the sidewalk and street, bracing the piece of wood like a bat.

I can’t see his face. It’s shadowed by the blur of bodies.
But I do see him swing. Just as she turns her head to the side, the board
smacks hard into her cheek.

Her body thuds to the cement with the force—limp and
motionless.

I fucking lose it.