Hothouse Flower (28 page)

I know I need to give her the whole explanation. I can
barely meet her eyes as I do. “When I was seventeen, my dad came to one of my
track meets. He tried to watch as many of my competitions as he could.”

I stare at the top of the tent, remembering the heat of the
summer in May. Jonathan Hale in the bleachers, wearing a suit and nodding at me
as I met his sharp gaze. He smiled. Genuine pride.

“My mom was there. She wouldn’t look at him,” I say. “And
when a lady leaned in to ask my father who he was there for, I heard his
answer.” A bitter taste fills my mouth. “He said, ‘my friend’s kid. That one.’
He motioned towards me.”

I remember flipping him off, and that pride vanished from
his eyes.

I didn’t care anymore.

Daisy places her hands on my abs. “What happened?” she asks
with a frown.

“I still had to run, and I had two fucking choices. I could
reach the finish line or just walk away. I took my fucking mark, and right when
I started the race, I began to slow down. And then I fucking stopped on the
track, took a couple deep breaths and walked off.” My heart beats faster at the
memory. “My coach pulled me aside and he told me something…” I shake my head.
“It’s stayed with me for so many fucking years. It changed me.”

I meet her eyes that are filled with my pain, sensing the
hurt that travels through my body, thinning the air.

I can practically hear my coach in my ear, see him standing
on the sidelines, one hand on my shoulder. “He said that I could be anything
and do anything, and no one can stop me but me.” I say what he did, “You are
your own anchor,
Ryke
. When you fail, you hurt
yourself more than anyone else. Do you want to keep burning or are you going to
let yourself rise?”

My brother—I don’t think he ever had someone to tell him
this. He just kept failing until there was no way he could ever succeed.

I reach out to Daisy and tuck a piece of hair behind her
ear. “So I’m the anchor and the phoenix, and it was around this time that I
learned to run for me. I stopped winning for my fucking mom, for my dad. Every
achievement, every good grade—that was mine. I started living my dreams and I stopped
living theirs.”

She smiles, tears in her eyes. “That’s beautiful, you know.”

I sit up with her and kiss her cheek. It feels good to
finally share that with someone. I never thought it would matter, but I can see
that it does.

“How did you know that you loved running and rock climbing?”
she asks me.

I think about this for a second. Take away all of my
trophies, all the success, would I still run and climb? My lips rise at the
answer. “Because when you find something you love, you can’t quit. Every failure
pushes you harder. It’s in your soul and in your fucking heart.”

“And what if I never find what I love?”

“You have to try some things,” I say, not worried about this
as much as she probably is. She’s only eighteen. She’ll figure it out. She has
time, even though her mom makes it seem like she has none. “I got lucky.” I
kiss her temple. “Try to sleep with me, Dais.”

She smiles and opens her mouth to make a very fucking
obvious quip.

“Real sleep,” I say, lying back down with her. I hold her to
my chest, keeping her safe.

And I wait for her to start dreaming.

< 41 >

RYKE MEADOWS

I unzip the tent, running my hand through my hair
while the birds chirp. I can tell it’s early. Probably around six, and Daisy
only fell asleep an hour ago. I didn’t close my eyes at all, and honestly, my
body isn’t that tired. Fucking her was the best adrenaline rush I could have.
I’m still living that high.

I immediately find Connor and Rose around the campfire, both
dressed in inappropriate fucking clothes for the morning. A suit and a dress.
And they’re drinking coffee from Dunkin Donuts paper cups.

I outstretch my arms. “You’re a bunch of fucking cheaters.”

Rose scoffs as though I punched her in the face. “We did not
cheat.
”

I slouch in a chair across from them. “You can’t buy coffee
while you’re camping.”

“I’ve never heard of these rules,” Connor says. He sips his
store-bought coffee with a pompous grin.

“You camp and you make instant coffee with boiled water and
powder packets.” I shake my head at them. “Running to the store is like
excusing yourself to go to the bathroom during a test, checking answers on your
phone.”

Rose’s eyes narrow at me and then she takes a larger sip of
her coffee too, not backing down. Connor looks like he could fuck her right
there.

Whatever.

“You’re glowing, by the way,” Connor tells me. I don’t like
that knowing expression on his face.

“Fuck off, Cobalt.” I kick my boots up on the cooler.

Rose plants her fierce fucking yellow-green eyes on me. “Did
you wear a condom?” she asks in a hushed but forceful voice, pretty careful not
to wake up my brother.

My face hardens. There’s no way they heard us last night,
but Connor puts details together to find facts, so I’m not that surprised he’s
figured it out. Or that he’s been keeping Rose updated on my relationship with
Daisy. “Did you wear one when you first fucked Connor?” I retort.

Her neck reddens. “That’s not the point.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay then.” I have nothing else to say. I’m
not about to explain how I always wear condoms with other women, but I honestly
don’t see the fucking need to with Daisy. We’re in a serious relationship. I
trust her. And I trust me. The. Fucking. End.

I’m about to stand up, but Rose says something that keeps me
here.

“Be careful with her,
Ryke
. She
might be experienced, but she’s still
my
sister. If you hurt her, I’ll personally snip off your balls and hang them on
the Christmas tree this year.”
 

I internally cringe. “I wouldn’t fucking hurt her, I promise
you, Rose.”

She nods. “Okay
then
,”
she repeats what I did, and I almost smile.

“I’m going to get more wood,” I tell them.

Connor follows me with his coffee in hand. “I’ll help.”

“Feel guilty for cheating?” I ask, heading towards the
forest.

“No,” he says, his expensive shoes crunching the leaves. “I
just thought you needed an extra pair of hands.”

I wait for the
punchline
. My brows
rise when it doesn’t come. “No insult?” It’s weird not hearing a dog joke. Even
with the constant badgering, he’s always been my friend, but like most of my
relationships, it’s complicated. “You didn’t tell Rose about Daisy’s sleep
issues, did you?” I stop about twenty feet from the woods, our camp still
behind us.

“I thought about it,” Connor admits, “but you’re not giving
me all the information, and I’d rather not spread around partial truths.” He
waits for me to divulge more.

I won’t.

“She’s going to talk to her sisters,” I say. “She needs
time.”

“Man’s greatest excuse to delay the inevitable.”

“Can you not fucking talk like your auditioning for the role
of Confucius?”

“
If you make a mistake
and do not correct it, this is called a mistake.”
Of course he goes and
actually quotes Confucius.
Fuck me.

I shake my head. “You’re such a fucking prick.”

He doesn’t even blink, not affected by the insult. Maybe
because he knows it’s true. “You know, I never really liked Confucius. I always
thought his principles were a bit basic, common sense.”

“Fascinating,” I deadpan.

He continues casually. “But there is one quote I appreciate
from him.” Connor looks at me and his eyes turn serious, no pretense or humor.
“
Wheresoever
you go, go with all your heart.
”

I don’t know if he meant for this to be about Daisy. But
she’s immediately what comes to mind. After what happened last night, bringing
up some of the past, all I want is to go full fucking throttle. No more slowing
down. No more hiding. I want to believe that I control my fate, that I’m the
one who chooses to stop and start.

I want everything that my friends have. Out in the open.
Real.

I have to tell Lo.
 

The resolution lifts this weight off my chest.

And then something rustles a bush twenty feet away. I see it
out of the corner of my eye. A movement that crashes the weight back down
tenfold and twists a chain around my ankles.

“Connor,” I whisper, a pit in my stomach. “Nine o’clock.”

He calmly sips his coffee and turns a fraction. Into his
next sip, he says, “I can see two lenses.”

They found us.

I run a hand through my hair. I promised my brother freedom
from this bullshit. I’ve failed him. Then the cameraman peers out of the bush,
noticeable, and I lock eyes with him, my body blazing with anger. I start to
charge forward, and Connor grabs my arm and forces me back by his side.

“You can’t go to court again,” he says.

The fucking cameraman no longer cares about “candid” shots
that sell big to tabloids, he’s taking a video instead.

“Fuck them,” I tell Connor. “They shouldn’t be here.”

“This is public property,” Connor says. “He can legally be
in the woods.”

“I said
shouldn’t.
How’d
they get tipped?”

“RV,” the cameraman says. “I’m friends with the two guys
camping next to you. Called me last night. Flew in this morning.”

I shake my head. It’d be more of a coincidence if the
paparazzi didn’t get their tips like that. But mostly it’s from fucking friends
and connections.

“Fucking fantastic,” I snap. I made a mistake. We should
have gone to a fucking hotel. I shouldn’t have tried this. I head back to the
campsite, ready to pack up. Rose is already folding chairs and pouring a water
bottle on the fire.

The cameraman follows us like a shadow, entering the
campsite as though we gave him permission to come hang out with us. Oh wait, we
fucking
didn’t.
 

“How many more of you are coming?” Connor asks.

He just smiles, and that’s when I hear tires and an engine
groan up the hill. And then two more photographers pop out of the bushes in
addition to however many are in the car.
Fuck
me.
  

“
Ryke
,” the guy says, his camera
pointed at me as I head to Daisy’s tent. “What were the sleeping arrangements
like?”

Before I unzip it, I spin around and the camera guy almost
runs straight into my chest. He rights himself while a glare sears in my eyes.
My fists clench. “Back the fuck off,” I growl. “You came into
our
campsite and disrupted
our
vacation. Don’t act like this is for
your fucking job.”

“I’m allowed—”

“You’re allowed to breathe because I’m letting you,” I
refute. “Back up and give me ten feet before I put you in the fucking ground.”

“You can’t touch me.”

I near him, and he takes a couple steps back. “You think I
care about going to jail for a few hours? Fucking test me, and your thousand-dollar
camera and those fucking pictures will be gone in an instant.”

He stays put where he is.

I’m so heated I can barely see straight. I open Daisy’s tent
and duck my head in, careful not to let the cameraman have any view of her. She
yawns tiredly, barely awake and really fucking naked. I crawl in and zip the
tent back. Her spine straightens as she gets a good look at my pissed
expression.

“We’re leaving,” I say, grabbing my shirt that she was in. I
pull it over her head quickly.

“What’s going on?”

“Paparazzi.”

“Uh-oh.” She hurries to put the baggy sweatpants back on.
They fall at her waist, and I tighten the string so they stay up. “What’s the
plan?” she asks, trying not to appear scared. But she still hasn’t told anyone
about the cut on her face, and I’m sure she’d rather tell her mom instead of
letting her find out from the tabloids.

“I’m carrying you out,” I tell her. “Front piggyback. Put
your face to my chest, okay?”

“Like how Lo carries Lily?” she asks.

I didn’t realize…but yeah, that’s how my brother carries
Lily in front of the paparazzi. “Yeah, like that.”

“How many are out there?”

“A fucking lot.”

She smiles. “What’s a fucking lot? Ten? A hundred?”

I give her a look.

“What?”

“Just get in my arms.” I hold them open.

She grins wider. “Say that again.”

“Get in my fucking arms, Calloway.”

She mock gasps. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I don’t smile, but my nerves slowly start to subside. She
does that to me—calms me. Makes me feel like this worry is one that should be
smaller, less significant.

She crawls towards me, and I lift her in my arms, her legs
wrapping above my waist and her cheek pressed to my chest. I rub my fingers
through her tangled, messy hair. “Hold tight, sweetheart.”

I open the tent and the lights go off like a neon bomb.

< 42 >

DAISY CALLOWAY

We’ve split up.

I’m in a black two-door sports car that Rose had rented with
Lily, heading down a freeway with
Ryke
. Rose, Connor,
Lily, and Lo took the SUV. The paparazzi parted. Some following us, others
following them.

Ryke
shook off the three vans on
our ass in under thirty minutes. Our sports car is manual, and
Ryke
switched gears and cut corners sharply, driving like
he owned the road. He wasn’t scared to slam on the brake at the last minute, go
in reverse or hit hundred-mile-per-hour speeds. If we didn’t just have sex, I’d
think it was the sexiest, hottest thing he’s ever done with me.

Now the open freeway is less exciting, but it is peaceful.
And I am thankful for no tail and the crazed paparazzi.

With a bit of decent cell signal, we made a plan with the
others to meet up in Utah at the
Canyonlands
.

I glance over at
Ryke
. He has his
hard eyes set on the road ahead, but his hand has been on my thigh most of the
drive. Now that we’re alone, truly, it seems like more of our restrictions are
disappearing. I love the freedom, and I want to make it last past this trip.

“Stop, Dais,” he tells me. “That’s fucking annoying.”

I realize I’ve opened and closed the dashboard about fifty
times.

“Play with the fucking window.”

“I have,” I say. “It’s revolted against me and no longer
rolls down.”

He keeps one hand on the wheel and glances at me. “You have
problems.”

“What a true, true statement,” I say with a smile. “Say
another.”

He flips me off and then messes my hair.

I laugh. “I can’t help my fidgetiness. It’s boring in a
car.”
And I’ve downed five Lightning
Bolts! to battle my exhaustion. Thank you, insomnia.
I’ve already untied my
sneakers and braided the shoelaces into bracelets. Now I’m considering playing
Cat’s Cradle with the strings.

Ryke’s
eyes flit to me, and then
he reaches up and presses a button by the ceiling light. The sunroof groans
open.

I beam, happy to have air and the wind. I unclip my seat
belt and kiss his cheek quickly before standing on the middle console. A gust
blows into me first, and I take a giant breath, filling my lungs. The road has
very few cars. We’re on flat land with no traffic lights and few cops in sight.

I raise my arms and shut my eyes.

I’m flying.

In this moment, I’m really, really happy.

Ryke
is holding one of my ankles,
but his hand runs up and down my leg. The friction and mystery of what he’s
going to do races my heart. But he won’t…

His gentle movements turn rough, and his fingers urgently
find the button to my jeans, and he yanks them down, all with one hand.

Holy shit.

He forces them to my feet, and I clutch onto the roof to
keep my balance

He doesn’t swerve the car.

Not even as he pushes aside my panties and plunges his
fingers into me, filling me instantly.
Oh
God. This can’t be happening.
I’m standing up. Half suspended out of the
freaking sunroof.

He pumps his fingers into me, and my body awakens with
delight and exhilaration. I reach one arm down, back into the car, and I put my
hand on his, feeling how big his fingers are compared to mine.

He hits the most sensitive place, finding it with ease, and
I cry out, my voice lost in the wind. After I catch my breath, he starts
building me to a higher peak. I grip his wrist, never wanting him to leave this
place between my legs.
Dear God, send me
Ryke
Meadows morning, noon and night.

Then a honk blares. I can barely turn my head, so dazed with
these feelings. My lips are parted, unable to close. But I notice a family van
behind us. Uh-oh.

I’m about to crawl into the car, but as soon as I duck my
head in,
Ryke
says, “Stay.” He must not be concerned
about them filming us on their phones—but it’s not like they can see much. The
windows
are
tinted.
Ryke
puts his knee on the wheel to steer and he sticks his
other hand out the window, flipping them off.

Why is that so sexy?

His fingers move faster inside of me, driving deeper, up and
down.
Ahhh
!
I clutch harder to the roof.

Mind officially blown.

His fingers aren’t sweet. They’re rough and hard, and my knees
almost buckle with the brilliant force. I’m moaning, hunched over the roof, my
eyes watering from the wind.

The van lays on the horn again. And then it switches lanes
and speeds to our side. A father rolls down the passenger window where his wife
sits. He shouts, “There are kids on this road!”

Ryke
yells back, “They’re going to
fucking learn about it sooner or later. Might as well learn how to do it the
best way.”

AHHH!

I disintegrate. I can’t even support my body any longer.
Ryke
takes his fingers out, and I drop down onto my seat
and breathe heavily. I rest my forehead on his shoulders, my mouth agape. When
I look through his window that he’s ignored, I notice that the wife is flushed,
the husband enraged.

I don’t care.

That was awesome.

They honk again.

Ryke
slams on the gas and takes
off, leaving them far behind us. His fingers glisten, and he wipes them on the
inside of his shirt before passing me my jeans.

When I finally breathe normally, I slip my pants back on. “Have
you done that before?” I wonder. It seemed like he knew what he was doing.

“First time,” he says, trying not to smile. The sudden
glimmer in his eyes gives him away though. He liked it too. Maybe not as much
as me. But he definitely enjoyed that.

“Your turn,” I say, sitting up on my knees, ready to give
him head.

“Later,” he tells me. He turns the car off the exit. “We’re
here.”

Wherever
here
is.