Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters 2)

I stare at the picture with hard eyes.

Daisy is on my shoulders. We were putting a hammock up in the trees, and she tightened the straps on the last trunk. But the picture froze us in time: Her head dipped down, her lips against mine, my hand on her neck, my fingers stained with purple and pink dye. Her hair still wet.

She’s smiling as she kisses me, which pulls her long, deep reddened scar.

Her fucking scar—it’s all over the news. Her parents are going to find out about her face from a fucking tabloid. Dammit! My jaw locks and I throw the phone back to Lo with more aggression than I intended.

“Pissed you got caught?”

I don’t say word. I can’t speak without yelling.

“Please talk to me,” Lo snaps, “because I need to understand what’s going on or I may just punch you again.”

I shake my head, my voice deep and low. “It just happened.”

“It just happened?” Lo shakes his head, as though I always use that excuse. I’m sure I have before. “That’s a really shitty thing to tell me.” The red dirt coats our bodies and has turned Lo’s hair a shade lighter. “You fuck Lily’s little sister, and you say, oh it just fucking happened? What’d you fall on her? Did you add her to your tally of girls? Is it a one-night stand kind of thing?”

“That’s not what I fucking meant.” I grimace at all of those. I try to calm down about the photograph and about the truth reaching her parents before we could tell them. What’d we think, we could live in a fantasy forever? We should have told them about the riot before we left Paris.

“Then what did you mean?” he asks.

I meet his eyes. “It’s serious.”

“So serious that you shared it with everyone.”

“Because I knew you were going to jump down my fucking throat!” Anger catapults me to my fucking feet. He stands with me, both of us breathing heavily again.

Round fucking two.

“If you cared about her,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “then you wouldn’t be sneaking around like you’re doing something wrong!”

“Fuck you!” I shout. “You’ve made this impossible, Lo!”

“She’s EIGHTEEN!” Lo yells. He takes two hostile steps towards me, and even though my body screams to run at him with a fist flying, I have to take two steps back again. “She’s like my little sister. It wasn’t supposed to be possible! But you didn’t care. You still banged her.”

I’m so fucking screwed. The betrayal flashes in his eyes all over again.

I force down this emotion that threatens to rise and overtake me.

Lo glares. “Your cock finally got the best of you, didn’t it?” He’s the worst devil on my fucking shoulder. And I love him. “She turned eighteen and you could finally stick it in—”

“No,” I growl. “It wasn’t fucking like that!”

“I should leave you alone in this desert,” Lo sneers. “I am kicking myself right now, for every time I let you near her, for every time I let you be alone with her—”

“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” I think about all the times she was alone and afraid and hurt, and I was the one who was fucking there. No one else was around. He had his own shit to deal with, so why the fuck do I get vilified and then praised whenever it’s convenient for him?

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” He rubs his lips and grimaces. “How long, Ryke? Tell me that, how fucking long have you liked her more than just a friend, and let’s see if it’s all in my head?”

“I don’t know.” I do though. I always have. I just can’t stomach admitting it.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Lo says, his voice rattling with anger. “How long—”

“Stop,” I say forcefully.

He takes one step closer. “No, how long—”

“FOR YEARS!” I scream, veins protruding in my arms, my face reddening, unleashing this thing held captive inside of me. I step towards him. “Is that what you want to hear?! Years, Lo.”

He clenches his teeth so hard. “You’re lying?” He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to be wrong.

“I’m not,” I say, hot tears burning my fucking eyes. “I have been so fucking attracted to that girl. And I never planned on doing a fucking thing about it. I never was going to try. And I tried…” I point at him. “I tried so fucking hard not thinking about her like that. It was wrong. I knew it was fucking wrong. I suppressed everything as much as I could.” But when she was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—I was drawn to her in immeasurable fucking ways. The guilt was always there. I chose to ignore it.

“Then why not stay away from her?” Lo retorts. “Why not put a hundred fucking feet between you and Daisy? You flirted with her every day, Ryke. You became her friend.”

“I convinced myself that nothing would ever happen, so I thought it was okay to push further.”

“You’re a fucking idiot!” Lo yells at me.

I know.

“She was so hot that you couldn’t say no after she became legal—”

“No,” I cut him off before he continues. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it fucking like?!” Lo shouts.

And I explode. “I FUCKING LOVE HER!” I scream, my heart thrashing in my ribs.

His mouth falls, his brows furrowing in confusion the longer he scrutinizes my features. I feel like he’s clawing at my insides for answers.

Here they are. “I fell in fucking love with her. It hurt to be away from Daisy. It hurt to watch her with other guys. Everything fucking hurt, and I didn’t want to live with that pain anymore. I fucking couldn’t.” I inhale deeply. “I can’t tell you when it became unbearable, but it did.” Somewhere between Daisy eating a pomegranate in her kitchen and now.

He stares at me for a really long time, processing. “I know, more than anyone, how painful it is watching someone you love be with other people. But you can’t really love her—”

“I’ve known her for over two years,” I tell him. “I’ve spent so much fucking time with her, Lo. We’ve been through a lot together, so yes, I fell in love with her.”

Lo glances back at Daisy, and I follow his gaze. She’s crying in Lily’s shoulder while she hugs her close. My heart tears open again, and I have to restrain myself from walking over there and consoling her.

When I force my attention back to my brother, I realize he’s been studying me watching her. He doesn’t say anything, but I will.

“You can leave me here,” I say, “but I’ll find a way back. I can’t leave her, and I won’t leave you, no matter how hard you fucking push me out.” He needs me. He knows he needs me. And I want to be a part of his life. I don’t want to return to the lonely one I had built, with relationships as surface level as you can get, with people who meant nothing, with friends who’d sell me out.

“How much did it hurt?” he suddenly asks.

“Did what hurt?”

“Watching her with other guys.”

I choke at the flood of memories. “It felt like someone was drowning me in fucking salt water and lighting me on fire.”

His lips almost rise in a fraction of a fucking smile. “Same.” He takes a few deep breaths before he adds, “I need some time. But I’m not going to hit you again. So revel in that.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods a couple times and then says, “I wish you fell in love with another fucking girl.”

At times like this, so do I. “I’m sorry. I really fucking am. For lying.”

He shrugs. “You didn’t want to get hit.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He nods again. “I’ll get over it. Just…give me fucking time.” He heads towards the girls, and I stay rooted to this place, so emotionally spent.

And then he pauses. Turns around and waits for me to join him.

It’s a peace offering.

I see it in his face, the way a shred of guilt flickers in his eye

s, still accompanied by a swirling rage. It’s enough for me. I walk forward and join him. He starts moving again when I’m by his side.

Just like that.

The past and the present were spread bare in the dirt.

Now maybe we can move forward.

DAISY CALLOWAY

October 31st.

We were supposed to make it to Yosemite by the end of the month, but a storm rolled in. The rain thrashes against the tin roof of a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant somewhere in Nevada. Our cell service has sucked in the desert, so I haven’t had the chance to talk to my parents about my relationship or the permanent damage done to my face.

I’ve been taking the days as they come. Kind of awkward.

No, mostly awkward.

I glance at Ryke next to me, faint bruises on his cheek and jaw. It looks much better than it did a few days ago. We’ve all kept to ourselves since the fight, and this is really the first time we’ve sat down as a group.