Hothouse Flower (36 page)

< 58 >

RYKE MEADOWS

We survived the fucking plane ride. It’s another
accomplishment that I can tack on with my climb—even if Samantha Calloway can’t
look me in the eyes.

Behind me, Daisy playfully bites my shoulder, climbing down
the plane’s stairs, straight onto the private runway. We’re the last off.
 

I glance back at her, and she’s smiling so fucking bright
that it’s hard not to share it.

“You look happy,” I say.

“I’m not just happy,” she tells me. “I’m
fucking
happy.”

I kiss the top of her head and step onto the cement. The
overcast sky darkens the airport. We follow our parents and our friends towards
two parked black Escalades and one limo. Nola, the Calloway’s driver, opens the
Escalade’s door.

“Congratulations again, Rose,” Samantha says, kissing her
daughter’s cheeks. “If Connor’s too busy to go to any of your doctor’s
appointments, you call me. I’ll be there.”

Rose gives her a tight smile, which is polite for Rose’s
fucking standards. And then her mom disappears inside the Escalade.

Greg gives Connor a hug before he climbs into the car behind
Samantha. They leave first, and Connor says to Rose, “I’m not missing your
doctor’s appointments.”

“Thank God.” She lets out a breath.

“Thank
me
,
darling.”

She glares at him, and he stares at her like he’d enjoy
taking her in his limo and fucking her hard. I just shake my head and then turn
to my brother. “Daisy and I are going to call a cab.”

“Nonsense,” my dad says, still here apparently. He walks
over to me and then gestures to Anderson, his driver that has opened the
backdoor of the second Escalade. “I’m headed to Philly. I can drop you both off
at your apartment complex.”

Daisy watches my expression, and I shake my head at my dad.

“It’ll save gas,” he says dryly. He flashes a half-smile,
one that reminds me of Lo.

My brother, Lily, Connor and Rose just stay and witness the
disagreement, waiting for me to make a fucking decision.

I don’t think long about it. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m
going to call a fucking cab.”

But I have no real time to even take out my cellphone. At
that same moment, another car drives up on the runway. As soon as I get a good
look at it, my face hardens, my shoulders lock, and my heart fucking drops.

“What…” Daisy’s voice pitches with fear.

The vehicle rolls to a stop beside the Escalade, blue lights
flashing silently on the roof. A police officer emerges, his eyes locked on me,
confirming my gut feeling.

I’m about to go to jail.

“What’s going on?” Lo asks, looking to our father for
answers.

My dad’s brows furrow, and I see the confusion all over his
face. He didn’t know about this. The officer approaches me with a stern gait,
and Daisy holds tightly onto my hand, refusing to let go.

“Daisy,” Rose calls, stepping towards her, but Connor forces
his wife back with an outstretched arm.

“Lily, keep Rose here,” he orders.

“Richard—” Rose refutes.

“Let me handle it,” Connor says calmly. Rose backs down, and
Lily does as she’s told, grabbing Rose’s hand and keeping her by her side, away
from whatever the fuck is about to happen.

“What’s going on?” my brother asks the officer again.

He answers by stopping right in front of me. “
Ryke
Meadows?”
 

“Yeah.” I don’t know why he fucking asks whether it’s me. He
knows it is.

Then the officer takes out handcuffs, and I hear a car door
shut. I look up, and a second police officer is coming as back up.

I immediately shake off Daisy’s hand. “You need to go with
Connor,” I tell her. He’s already walking towards Daisy to take her home.

“No.” Daisy shakes her head repeatedly, and I think we both
know what this is about and where this is headed.

“Yes,” I growl. “This isn’t up for fucking discussion.
You’re going home with them. I’ll see you later.”

“You did nothing wrong,” she tells me, tears welling. Connor
puts a hand on her shoulder and starts guiding her backwards towards his limo.
“You did
nothing
wrong!”

Doesn’t fucking matter.

“
Ryke
Meadows,” the first officer
says, ignoring Daisy, “you’re under arrest for statutory rape—”

Daisy bursts into tears. “No!” she cries like someone
stabbed her heart. My face contorts in pain as I watch her, knowing she’s
blaming herself for putting me here. But it’s not her fucking fault.

“You have the right to remain silent….” I can’t hear
anything else. My ears buzz. All the happiness that I saw in Daisy just
completely snuffs out in a fucking instant. She tries to rush over to me, but
Connor grabs her around the waist, forcing her back. She sobs, and I can’t do a
fucking thing. I just have to stand here and watch.

I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw fucking aches. The
officer comes behind me and aggressively pulls my arms to my lower back. My
strained muscles burn as he cuffs one of my wrists and then the other.

I’m fairly certain I know who called the cops on me. The
woman who couldn’t meet my eyes for the last half of the flight. The woman who
threatened me with this very fucking thing in Daisy’s bedroom.

“…in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney—”

“He didn’t fucking do anything!”

That’s not Daisy.

That’s my brother. He’s defending me. My stomach twists,
filled with too much emotion to speak, to move just yet.

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for
you—”

The officer doesn’t stop, not even for Lo. The second one
comes forward to steer me to the police car.

“HEY!” Lo shouts, about to fucking lose it. “Did you not
fucking hear me?!” He steps between the second officer, blocking him from the
cop car.

“Lo,” I cut in, my heart hammering. I’m more fucking scared
for him even though I’m the one cuffed right now. My brother doesn’t need to be
thrown in a jail cell with me.

The second officer glares at Lo. “You need to step out of
the way or we’re going to have to take you in too.”

“He’s a good person!”

My father is still here. “Loren, don’t be an idiot.” He
motions for Lo to join him by the Escalade.

“Off of what evidence are you taking him in?” Lo sneers at
the officer.

“You need to step out of the way, sir,” the second officer
repeats.

“Lo,” I say, instinctively trying to walk over to him, to
reach him, to pull him in the right fucking direction. Which would be very far
away from me. I jerk to a stop, being held by the first officer, his hands on
the cuffs that detain me.

“I guess you’re just going to have to take me in then,” Lo
says, his eyes pulsing with rage. “Because I’m not fucking moving.”

Fucking hell.
I
rip out of the first officer’s hold. “Lo, fucking stop!” I shout. Our dad
reaches him before I do. He takes Lo by the arm and tugs him to the side, out
of the way.

And then the first officer forces me to the fucking ground,
my face hitting the pavement hard. Pain shoots through my body.

“Resisting arrest,” the first officer says.

“Don’t be so stupid!” our dad yells at my brother.

I grit my teeth, and the police officer puts his knee on my
back. He says something to me about settling down, but I’m not even fucking
moving anymore. Loose gravel embeds in my cheek, and I look out and see Daisy
on her knees, Connor crouched behind her, whispering in her ear.

She’s crying like this is the end of us. Her grief is like a
thousand knives inside my stomach. The police officer jerks me to my feet with
unkind force, and he pushes me towards the car. I pass my father and my
brother.

Lo takes a step forward to intervene again.

I shake my head at him.

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, his eyes reddened, his
cheekbones sharpened like fucking ice.

I nod at him, forced to keep walking to the white and blue
vehicle. I can’t speak. I can’t say a fucking word.

Not until I climb into the backseat of the car, not until
the door slams and the tires roll down the road—do I scream.

All the emotion I restrained for my brother, for Daisy,
comes pouring out of me. I could kick the door. I could punch something if I
had use of my hands. But instead, I just scream, releasing the anguish that
rips apart my insides.

I just completed the Yosemite Triple Crown.

I just accomplished a lifelong dream.

I had Daisy.

I was fucking happy.

And now I’m here.

Cuffed.

Arrested.

Going to jail.

I’m going to jail.
 

< 59 >

RYKE MEADOWS

They haven’t booked me yet. I sit alone in a
holding cell, my nerves jumping every time a cop walks by, expecting them to
usher me out for a mug shot and fingerprints.

Statutory rape.

Rape.

It’s something that makes me physically ill. I’d rather be
falsely convicted of murder. My throat burns, and I rest the back of my head
against the cement wall, silent and trying to be numb. I don’t know what
happens from here. I don’t know how much evidence Samantha could try to use
against me. What witnesses can she pay to lie for her? I’ll be tried
criminally. It’s not like I can settle this fucking case by paying someone off.
I’m looking at fucking jail time.

I remember all the cameras flashing as I climbed out of the
cop car, all the questions yelled at me.

“
Ryke
?! Are you innocent?!”

“
Ryke
?! Are you guilty?!”

“What kind of evidence do they have against you?!”

And then I entered the police station, cuffed. I fucking
hate that ‘rape’ is going to be beside my face on headlines of magazines.
Nausea barrels through me, but I already puked once. I shut my eyes and take a
deep fucking breath.

Everything will be
fine, my friend.

Not even Connor’s magic fucking words can unknot the ball of
pain inside my chest.

“
Ryke
Meadows?”

My eyes open. An officer stops by my cell, cutting into my
thoughts. My stomach still flips. I don’t move off the bench, but he unhooks a
set of keys on his belt and sticks one into the lock. They’ve come to
officially book me.

He swings the cell door open. I’m about to stand, but he
says, “There’s someone here to see you.”

I stay fixed to the bench, my limbs solidifying into stone
as soon as the person saunters down the hallway, buttoning his suit jacket. My
father stands there.

My fucking father.

With a hard gaze like mine.

With a severe jaw and dark brown hair and my fucking eyes.

I look more like him than my brother. But Lo would say it’s
better to fucking look like Jonathan than to be him, to act like him, which Lo
wades into on occasion.

But if Lo was here, he’d want me to make nice. He’d want me
to bury the resentment. Back in Utah, he asked if I could do that. I told him
the truth.
I don’t know
. A part of me
wants to try. The other part just wants to push Jonathan so fucking far away.

One side is stronger.

“You can close the fucking door,” I tell the officer.

My father cocks his head. “Don’t be a little shit. You’re
sitting in a cell right now.”

“I never asked you to fucking be here,” I retort.

“But I’m here,
Ryke
. And I’m not
going anywhere. Whether you want me to or not, you don’t have much of a
choice.” And then my dad steps into the jail cell. “Can you give us a few
minutes?” my dad asks the officer.

“I’ll have to lock you in.”

I expect my father to pull out a wad of cash, to threaten or
bribe, but instead he just nods and says, “That’s fine.”

I frown, watching as the cop shuts me in a cell with my
father, and my dad doesn’t balk, not fucking ashamed to be here. He just stands
opposite me, hands in his black slacks.

After the loud
bang
of
the door shutting, the cop disappears down the dark hall.

Why are you fucking
here?
I should ask him. But I’m back at that country club, quiet, seventeen
and hateful, no matter how much I just want to let it all go.

“I have my team of lawyers sorting through this mess,” he
says. “It’s being taken care of. You should be out of here in fifteen minutes.”

I open my mouth to tell him that I don’t want his help, but
he cuts me off.

“You are
my
son. I
don’t know how many times I have to fucking remind you of that—it’s like Sara
fucking burned my name out of your head.”

My jaw locks tight. I don’t want to reignite all of those
issues. I don’t want to hear him call her a bitch or shout about how she’s
brainwashed me. I just want to sit here in fucking peace and deal with the
charges myself.
 

“
Ryke
,” he says my name like it
means something to him. “What do you want from me?” He extends his arms, his
palms flat like he’s opening himself to me, like he’s trying so fucking hard. “Or
am I just swinging at an invisible ball, here? That’s it, right? There’s
nothing I can fucking do. You’ve made up your mind that you don’t want to have
a father anymore.”

Something snaps inside of me. “Stop acting like this is your
noble way of getting your son back,” I growl, rising to my feet in hot anger. I
point at him. “This has
never
been
about just wanting me in your life.”

He frowns with clear confusion, not contrived. “Then what
has it been about? Please, fucking tell me.”

My stomach hurts. I don’t want to have this conversation. I
don’t even want to look at him. “Just get out of my
fucking
life!” I run a hand through my hair, pulling at the
strands. “Fucking leave!”

He doesn’t even flinch. “You’re angry at me. I understand
that.”

“Oh, do you?!” I just keep shaking my head, my neck aching.
“You shit on me for years. You shit on Lo. And
now
you want to be my father? How fucking convenient. My mom blows
your cover, the world knows my fucking name and my relations to you, and
now,
now you want to say,
that’s my son, right there. Look at him.
He’s mine.
” I point. “Fuck
you!
”
 

“I’ve always wanted to be a father to you—”

“LIAR!” I scream at the top of my lungs, my throat burning.
“You
fucking
liar! If you wanted me
as a son, then why the fuck did you choose to protect yourself over me?! You
chose to hide me so you could save your fucking reputation! So tell me, Dad,
how the fuck am I supposed to feel
anything
but hatred towards you?”

He looks away, and that empowers me.

“And now,” I continue, opening my arms. “You’ll do anything
to have me back in your good graces. You want me to come forward to the media,
to tell them how you could
never
molest my little brother. How that evil deed isn’t in your fucking nature.” I’m
boiling alive, my blood coursing through my fucking veins. “Ten years later,
Dad, and you want me to protect you again. That’s all I am to you. Someone you
can use when it becomes fucking necessary.”

He just watches with a hard gaze, not recoiling, but there’s
something deep in his eyes, something foreign. Something sad.

I take a step towards him, pointing at my chest. “You can’t
fucking use me anymore. I won’t be the son by your side, making you look like a
fucking hero when you’re the worst fucking villain.” I breathe hard, trying to
catch the air in my lungs.

I don’t remove my searing glare off of him.

“Are you done?” he asks roughly. He takes my silence as an
answer. “Maybe you should remember,
Ryke
, but I never
once asked you to say anything about me to the media. That’s
never
what this has been about, and if
you continue to think that, then it’s your own delusion guiding you to that
goddamn place. Not me.” He shifts on his feet, but he doesn’t break my gaze. “I
can live with these allegations. What I can’t live with is losing you, losing
Loren. I would die protecting the two of you, and if you can’t see that then I
don’t know what more I can do to show you.”

He doesn’t say
I’m
sorry for putting you through hell. I’m sorry for kicking you aside and yelling
at your brother like he was a piece of shit loser day in and day out.
“Why
can’t you just fucking apologize?” I ask. “Why can’t you admit that you fucked
up?”

“Because I didn’t,” he tells me, burning a hole through my
chest. “I made a tough decision back then, and if I was put in the same
position, I’d make it again. If I didn’t lie about you,
Ryke
,
then the alternative would be to admit to something that would send me to the
place you’re standing in right now.” He motions to the cell. “And then where
would Loren be?”

My stomach drops as I think of my brother, conceived from
statutory rape. My father would have gone to jail and my brother…born from a
mom who didn’t want him. Would he have landed in foster care? Or would Jonathan
have given him to Greg Calloway to raise? Were they even fucking friends back
then?

“I love you,” he tells me. “I’ve always loved you. Whether
you can believe it or not is up to you. I’m not here under false pretenses. I
don’t want your fucking statement to the media. I don’t want your forgiveness.
I just want you in my life. I want my son. If that means having to listen to
your insults every goddamn dinner we have, fine. But I’d rather have that than
nothing at all.” He spreads his arms wide. “Your decision,
Ryke
.”

I run my hand through my hair. I want to believe him. In the
core of my soul, I want this all to end, and I want the fucking father that he
claims to be. But beneath this unconditionally, fucked up love—there is years
and years of pain. How does that ever go away? “How am I supposed to accept
you?” I ask, my voice low.

“Ask me anything. I don’t have a problem being honest, even
if you don’t like my fucking answers.”

I don’t know why I realize it now of all fucking moments—but
I curse just like him, just as frequently, just as badly. What does that mean?
He rubbed off on me? He was around enough that he could influence me somehow.
That even if he lied about me—he was there, trying to be a part of my life.

I take in my surroundings, the metal toilet, the sink, the
bars behind my father, the grimy cement wall behind me. My father is giving me
an out. I’ve only ever seen black and white when it comes to my family. But
maybe this is too gray—maybe there’s no right and wrong choice. There are just
decisions that will hurt my brother and decisions that’ll hurt me.

“Why am I even here?” I ask, needing someone to verify my
suspicions.
 

He scrapes his finger against the pole, irritation pooling
through his eyes. “That would be Samantha Calloway’s fault. She apparently
emailed her friend mid-flight to call the cops on you. She went a little
fucking overboard on her anger.” He looks at me. “Her daughters are all a bit
nuts, so you know exactly where they get it from.”

“She called the fucking cops on me,” I retort. “That’s not
nuts that’s—”

“It’s nuts,” he rebuts.

“It’s fucked up.”

“That too,” he says. “But what do you expect when you stick
your dick around a fifteen-year-old girl when you’re twenty-two.”

I glare. “I didn’t—”

“I know,” he says. “Like Greg, I believe you, son. But Daisy
is their youngest daughter, the last to leave. You’re encroaching on Samantha’s
fucking territory.” He checks his watch. “Like I said, you’ll be out of here
shortly. She has a few fake statements that’ll hold you in here for another ten
minutes.”

“They’re going to book me soon.”

He nods. “They’re backed up in there. I’m sure they’ll want
to fingerprint you in a half hour.” I do the math easily. He’s saying I’ll be
out of here before they can even fucking charge me. He smiles at me, knowing I
understand.

“I resisted arrest—”

“I talked to the officer. They’re dropping it.”

I breathe through my nose, my heart beating quickly. I don’t
know why all of a sudden I feel so fucking overwhelmed. I realize that I’m
thankful that he’s here. And the sad thing—I don’t want to feel that way. I’d
rather stay angry. Why do I have to hate all the good parts of a person? My
mom—I think she fucking taught me that. Every time I thought about my brother
in a good light, she’d crush that vision, she’d focus on the bad, and so I did
too.

I can’t do it anymore.

I rub the back of my neck. “What about Lo?” I ask my father,
not willing to dodge this topic.

“What about him?”

“You’re fucking terrible to him,” I say in a deep breath.
“What you say to him—it makes me sick. You beat him down, and then he returns
to you like a wounded dog. I can’t be around you when you treat him like that.”
I’d rather Lo not be around him either, but we’ve tried that way, and look
where we are now. Lo loves our father, and he’s going to keep going back, even
if it kills him.
 

My dad absentmindedly unclips and clips his Rolex watch on
his wrist. “He’s not you,
Ryke
. He dropped out of
college. He can’t even fill a resume. He shit his life away, and if that means
I’m a little tougher on him, fine. But I’m not going to fucking watch him
continue to throw his potential down the drain.”

“So tell him like a normal human being!” I scream. “Stop
saying things like he
shit his life away
.”

“This isn’t about Loren. This is about you and me,” he
refutes, cutting off that topic. As if there’s no room to even discuss it.

Fuck him. “If you love him, like you say you do, you’d
support his sobriety and you’d stop tearing him down every chance you get.”

He glares. “If I didn’t motivate him, he wouldn’t be where
he is.
That’s
love. You’ll understand
when you have your own children.”

No fucking way will I ever raise my kids like him. Fuck
that.

I stare at my father for a long moment. He will never
change. He is so fucking rooted in his beliefs. It’s either I accept him like
this or do what I’ve been doing—try to forget he even exists.

He opens the door further for me. “Are you ready to put this
bullshit behind us, or do you still want to hold onto the fucking past?”

I’m frozen again. Stuck to the middle of the floor. There’s
no nasty retort on my tongue. It’s those words that get to me the most.