Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters 2)

“I’ve thought about it for years,” I tell her.

She actually stays quiet and just listens.

I let out a breath. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy, but in doing so, I’ve become so, so depressed, Mom.” I shake my head as tears brim. “I’ve spent so long pleasing you that I haven’t even found my own dreams.”

My mom swallows hard and says, “Why haven’t you told me this sooner? We could have found something else for you to do.”

“I tried a couple times,” I say. “You wouldn’t listen.”

My mom processes this. She doesn’t handle change well, but these facts glass her eyes. “I guess it makes this easier.” Her gaze lands on my scar. “You need to start looking at colleges then. You’ll be a semester behind…”

“I’m not going to college,” I say, adamant. “I have a lot of money saved from modeling, and I know this is going to hurt you…” I take another deep breath. “…but I don’t need your input on what I should do in the future. I have to discover that myself.”

My mom looks pissed. “You’re only eighteen, Daisy.”

“Mom,” I say. “You have to let me go. I promise, I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t understand. I let you get your own apartment. You’re off on your own—”

“I’m not saying goodbye to you,” I cut her off like she’s done to me so many times in my life. As shitty as it seems—it feels damn good. “I just need to be the one to decide the direction of my life. That’s all.” I don’t know what I want to do, but I do know that I have years to figure it out. And that freedom builds my confidence and gives me the wings that I use to fly right on out of this nest.

She inhales. “And you won’t go to college?”

“No.”

She stares at me for a while and says, “You’ve always been the most scatterbrained of the girls. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Her eyes narrow a little though. I guess that’s the best I’m going to get. It’s good enough for me.

And then she scrutinizes my hair, combing her fingers through the shorter, badly hacked strands with a crinkled nose. “We can get you some extensions and take out this color… Did you cut this yourself? It’s god-awful.” She takes out her phone and makes a note to call the salon. Just like that, she acts like I didn’t make a pledge, but I won’t ever back away from it. Even if she chooses to forget or feign confusion. I’ll remind her.

“I love it,” I say.

“Funny,” she says, typing on her phone.

“No, I do,” I tell her seriously. “I love that it’s not perfect, and I like the highlights. I’m not changing it.” I glance at Rose, and she wears a proud smile.

“You can’t like this,” she says. “It’s ugly.”

Rose butts in. “It’s her taste.”

“Well she has bad taste,” she snaps. “And I’m trying to help her see that.”

Rose groans. “Mother, why do you have to be so—”

“Because I want what’s best for my girls,” she retorts. Her eyes land on me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You always liked your hair before.”

“I never did,” I say.

She glares. “It’s Ryke, isn’t it? You’re changing because of a boy.”

“Ryke never told me how to cut my hair or what color to make it. He’s only ever told me to think for myself.”

I catch her eyes flickering to the door of the front cabin, where Ryke lies. She glares at it like it accosted her somehow. She blames him for my thoughts and feelings and probably my sudden career change.

“Is he telling you to push me out of your life?” she asks.

“Mom, no. He’s never been like that.”

“He doesn’t like me,” she says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s telling you all of these things—”

“Listen to me,” I plead. “He’s not saying a word about you. I love you, Mom, and he respects that.”

She shakes her head, disbelieving. She doesn’t even need to add the next line for me to sense it, but she does anyway. “You would have never gotten hurt if Ryke didn’t follow you to Paris.” She shakes her head again and again.

The sad thing, there is some truth to that.

I would have never gone to the pub to retrieve Lo if Ryke didn’t show up.

We would have never been stuck in that riot.

But without that violent wake-up call, I would have never realized how much I needed to voice my opinions. Even if it hurt my mom. Even if it pissed her off. All of this had to be said.

For me.

No one else.

You are your own anchor. Do you want to keep burning or are you going to let yourself rise?

No more dragging myself down.

I’m finally ready to rise.

RYKE MEADOWS

I’m in a room alone with my fucking father, my girlfriend’s dad and Connor. Right when I stepped onto the plane, Greg put his hand on my shoulder and said, “We need to talk.”

I thought he was reserving that talk with Daisy, but I’m sure he’ll have another one with her later, just to confirm that I didn’t sleep with her when she was fifteen.

He steered me into the front cabin and pushed me onto a cream leather recliner.

My sore muscles tense the longer I’m in a room with the fucking devil and his sidekick. That devil, by the way, has already poured his second glass of whiskey: straight, one ice cube. By the window, he takes big sips, sitting on a chair next to Connor, watching Greg face me in his own seat.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Greg admits, his green eyes zeroed in on me like a fucking target.

I rub the back of my neck and say, “You can ask me anything.” I can’t look at my father, only ten feet away, right fucking there. I haven’t been this close to him in years.

“I can think of a hundred places to start,” my dad pipes in, swishing his glass of whiskey. Instead of meeting my father’s eyes, I look at Connor beside him, his expression unreadable, drinking red wine. He easily fits among these men who are twice his age, and Connor exudes far more fucking confidence than either of them.

I’m no longer outdoors. I’m no longer in my element. I’ve entered Connor’s fucking realm, and I wonder if he’s mentally snapshotting this picture of me, here. Like I did to him back in Tennessee.

Greg’s eyes never leave mine. “I have this, Jonathan.” His jaw clenches once, and he says, “I let you chaperone my daughter on her sweet sixteen trip.” His voice shakes, seething. “I put my trust in you, and you spat at me.”

I don’t interrupt him. I breathe through my nose, trying not to get defensive.

“I want to know,” Greg says, clutching his knees, “if you’ve been avoiding me for the past two and a half years because you knew what you were doing was wrong.”

“No,” I say, my chest inflating with these raw emotions.

“Speak up, Ryke,” my father says from the window. “And he deserves more than a half-hearted no from you.”

I run my hand through my hair. That movement s

tretches my sore deltoids and biceps, and I stifle a fucking grimace. I wonder if it looks like I’m pissed at Greg. I know I’m hard to read. I know the only thing people see is this fucking black expression.

Truth is, I care what he thinks of me. Maybe a year ago I’d say believe what you want. I don’t give a fuck. But I don’t want Daisy to have to choose between me and her parents. I don’t want this fucking headache for her. I’m trying to do what’s right.

“I never thought being her friend was fucking wrong,” I start. “So no, I never intentionally avoided you because of Daisy.” I avoided you because you were friends with my father, who I never wanted to see.

I can tell Greg is fuming inside. He breathes heavily. “Let’s cut the bullshit. You were more than just her friend.”

I’m too exhausted to lean forward and start shouting. Which may be a fucking good thing. “No, I wasn’t. I never kissed her until Paris,” I tell him the truth.

Greg is still on the offensive. “Help me to believe you, Ryke. I work eighty hours a week. I don’t have time to hover over my daughter, but I have been very aware of how much time she’s spent with you. And I’ve been very aware of how much she’s fallen for you.”

“Then why not tell her to get the fuck away from me?” I ask, extending my arms. “If you thought I was such a bad influence, then why let her hang around me for so fucking long?”

He lets out a tight breath. “Samantha didn’t care for you, but I remembered you as a young boy. You were tough and strong, and you didn’t take shit from anyone, not even Jonathan.”

My dad smiles at that and raises his drink. His eyes meet mine, and I see a glimmer of fucking pride. That I’m strong like him.

My stomach roils.

“Out of my four daughters, Daisy is the most reckless. She never sits still. Even as a child, she always found a way outside when her mother or nannies weren’t looking. And you came into her life around the same time that our family became a public spectacle.”