Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters 2)

Connor stays quiet, unreadable, which makes this so much worse for her.

When I finish, I stand to scrutinize Connor’s reaction. But it gives me nothing, so I have to ask, “How do you feel now, Cobalt?”

“Disturbed,” Connor says calmly. “A little worried too. I didn’t think it’d be that easy to stumble onto our porn.” He looks to Daisy, his brows now furrowing. “What site were you on?”

“I fucking hate you,” I deadpan. “Seriously.” I wanted that satisfying moment where we arrive on an even playing field. She saw him naked. He saw this. But Connor refuses to give us that triumph. We’re left with this fucking awkwardness, no matter what.

Connor pulls out his cellphone like he’s going to make a note of the site.

“I can’t remember, Lily suggested it,” she mumbles.

I freeze with Connor. Lily shouldn’t be watching porn, and if she is…well that would be considered a relapse in the sex addiction recovery handbook.

Daisy’s eyes widen like what did I say?

“Is she watching porn again?” Connor asks.

“No. She just recommended the site when I asked. No need to go postal, guys. You know she hates when everyone overreacts. Last month, you…” She points at me accusingly, defending her sister. “…barged into her bathroom just because she was taking a little longer. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

Yeah, I know, I was there. Her face turned into a giant fucking tomato and she screamed at me. But I’d rather embarrass her ten times over than have the alternative happen—relapse or worse…suicide. It’d kill my brother. It’d kill all of us. And I’ve seen her at her worst, when she was in a bathroom out of her fucking mind, and I often wonder what would have happened if I didn’t barge in.

None of us will take that chance.

Connor lets out a sigh. “I’ll text her later. You.” He looks at me. “Return to our room. I don’t want Lo finding out about your quasi-relationship like this. You.” He turns to Daisy. “Don’t let Ryke come on your face again.” Fucking A.

“Fuck off, Cobalt.” I push him out the door, aggressively, wanting so bad to remove that fucking smile on the edge of his lips. I settle with closing the door on his face. When I spin around, Daisy stands to her feet.

“Has this happened to you before?” she asks, her eyes rising to mine. My cum on a girl’s face. No. Never. And I never even thought about it until now.

I’m so fucking sorry, Dais. I know she didn’t like it. I know it’s not something that should have happened tonight.

“You’re the fucking first,” I tell her.

“Me too,” she says, trying hard not to smile. Now that Connor is gone, there’s a lightness in her eyes, a laughter that bubbles up and tears away the tension from the situation. I walk over and cup the back of her head, my fingers running through her hair. She lets out a breath. She likes this.

“I’m sorry, Calloway.”

“I like you on me.”

I give her a look. “Not like that.”

“Not like that, but…it was an experience.” She grins.

Connor may not believe we’re in a real relationship, but I’m glad we’re starting out like this, to relish in all these little fucking moments before we get to the one she’s waiting for—the one I crave. But despite what anyone says, this fucking works for us right now.

DAISY CALLOWAY

I exit the motel shower, basking in the warm water before we start camping-camping. With real tents and campfires and everything that makes my heart flutter in excitement. As I pull on a shirt that says this ain’t paris, I glance up once and meet the television. My smile fades, and my whole body goes rigid.

Sara Hale is on the screen.

Ryke’s mom.

A news segment shows clips of the 60 Minutes interview that aired last night. Ryke’s mom faces a reporter, her golden-brown hair straightened. I strain my ears to pick up her words. “What I did was not a malicious attack on the Calloway family.”

“But you sold the information about Lily Calloway’s sex addiction to magazines, did you not?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t trying to hurt that girl. I was just tired of hiding the truth. You have to understand that I spent years protecting Jonathan Hale’s infidelity. The only way to expose him was to put Jonathan under a spotlight. I only saw one way to achieve that, and I apologize for whatever emotional hurt I caused Lily. But she was linked to Loren, his son. She was tangled in a very complicated family dispute.”

“You sound as though she was cannon fodder.”

“Again, I apologize if it seems that way.” Sara pauses and stares at her hands with solemnity, but she has a hardness behind her eyes, a toughness that combats the softness. “As a mother, I was torn daily. I had to hide my real son, and I was forced to act like Loren was my child. I just wanted to be free of Jonathan, and I wanted my son to be free too.”

“But were you really forced?” the reporter asks. “You signed the divorce agreement. You knew what you were complying to.”

“At the time, I was a single mother, young and confused. I was scared, and I did what I thought was best for my son.”

“Ryke.”

“Yes, Ryke.”

Someone shifts in the open doorway that connects the adjoining motel rooms. I look over.

Ryke. His eyes are dark and set on the screen like he’s been watching for a little bit. His hair is wet from taking a shower in the other bathroom. After Connor’s warning last night, he went back to their bedroom. And I didn’t even make him check the locks before he left. I’m trying my best to overcome that fear.

It must be almost time to hit the road again, and I’m sure he came to fetch me, but his gaze stays on the television screen.

Sara straightens up in her chair. “I realize now that I only hurt him through the divorce agreement.”

Ryke runs a hand through his wet hair and walks further into the room, his eyes falling to the ground as he searches the floor for the remote.

“Don’t you want to listen to what she has to say?” I ask him, packing my comb in my duffel.

“It’s a fucking media ploy to make herself look better.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask.

Ryke turns to face me. I’m not scared of him at all, and I don’t think he wants me to be. But his eyes flash hot, with anger so deep-seated that it’s hard to look at. “She sounds like she rehearsed her answers. She doesn’t fucking talk that formal.”

I frown. “Really? My mom sounds like that.”

“Mine doesn’t. She’s emotional. If she was real, she’d be crying or yelling. She wouldn’t hold back and be stone-faced.” He gestures to the television. “The only time I’ve seen her like that is when she’s trying to impress her wealthy fucking friends.”

This is the most he’s ever talked about his mom with me. I watch as he searches for the remote, but it’s with less diligence, his gaze faraway as his thoughts spin.

“Do you miss her?” I ask him.

He finds one of my shirts on the ground and tosses it to me. “Sometimes, but it doesn’t fucking matter, Dais.”

I stuff the shirt in my duffel pocket. “But she’s your mom…” I can’t imagine never talking to mine again. Even if there are times I’d like to run away from her, running away forever sounds painful.

He shakes his head. “I can’t live in your fucking optimistic world where everyone is kind and holy. I’ve seen too many bad people to believe there’s that many good.”

“She can change though—” I start, wanting something better for him. I wish I could take his problems and uncomplicate them, even if I can’t. It hurts to feel like I have no control over it.

“Change what, Daisy?” He shrugs. “She already ruined Lily’s life,” he states matter-of-factly, but his eyes are dark. “She ruined your life and Rose’s. And she broke my fucking heart. It’s fucking over.”

I swallow hard, a lump in my throat. “She didn’t r

uin my life,” I say softly.

Ryke glares. “Don’t even fucking start.” Because he’s seen me scream at night, he’s watched me turn into a scared, frightened girl. And the catalyst for everything was Sara Hale.

“I wouldn’t be upset if you tried to have a relationship with her,” I add. “I just need you to know that.”

He surrenders his search for the remote and walks forward, his hands brushing my cheeks. “Thank you,” he says with a short nod. “But it won’t change anything.”

I nod back, not sure what else to say. My throat closes.

Off my silence, his features darken, his brows furrowing. “I just can’t forgive her,” he tells me. “For some fucking reason, it feels more like a weakness than a strength to open my arms to her.”