Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

I nod again. I know.

“I failed so badly that they wouldn’t even let me take another exam or even attempt the finals in May.” He pulls the hood over his head. “And you know, it’s my parent’s fault.” His bloodshot eyes meet mine. “Why’d they have to send me to a new school in the middle of the year? I know…I know I fucked up, but if I even want a high school diploma, I have to be held back. Do you even know what that feels like?”

No. “What about your friends? They have houses, I presume.”

“You mean all my friends that broke into your house to scare you? Those ones?”

“No,” I say, knowing what happened to them. Their court date passed in April, and they were all tried as adults. They were each sentenced to serve a year. “Your other friends.”

“I don’t have other friends,” he says. “No one wants to be associated with the bad guy, not at Dalton and definitely not at Faust.” He shrugs. “I had nowhere to go, okay? I had Superheroes & Scones and Willow, that’s it.”

If Lily and Lo hadn’t been sympathetic towards him—where would he have gone then? I stepped into Loren’s life with zero altruistic motives at first, but these small instances, where we touch another person’s life when they need it most, can be the deciding factor in whether or not they choose to wake up the next morning.

“I burned the letter that Faust sent my parents before they got it—the one that said I flunked. And you know…” He chokes up. “I’ve never been a good person. I don’t even know what some of you see in me…because I’m shit.”

If he can see his flaws and ache terribly at the sight of them, I think he’s going to be okay, especially with someone like Lo on his side.

“You’re not shit,” Lo tells him, as forceful as Ryke would have. “You want this glass out of your foot?”

Broken souls are mended every day by mended souls that were once broken.

“Yeah,” Garrison finally lets out a deeper breath. “Yeah, I want it out.”

[ 49 ]

ROSE COBALT

Poppy arrived this afternoon with her husband and daughter, missing the power outage, the surprise of Garrison, and Daisy’s small panic attack. I don’t have the energy to share all of this, so Lily and I just act as though the trip has gone smoothly and listen to updates from our older sister.

“It’s been chaotic,” Poppy says, removing the whistling kettle from the stove. “There’s always at least four cameramen following Maria to school, and I’ve resorted to escorting her in with three bodyguards.”

Lily sets three teacups onto the counter. “It’s not so different from before, is it?” This is Lily’s attempt to rouse my spirits. I’m more pissed at paparazzi than sullen and guilt-ridden, but I understand that I’m to blame for the increase in media attention. The newsworthy story centers on Connor and me, but I’d rather plan revenge strategies—that will most likely never come to fruition—than mope.

“That’s true. There used to be one or two cameramen hovering around us before.” Poppy’s wooden bangles clink on her forearm as she pours hot water into three cups.

Lily plops in the teabags.

My joints feel stiff and useless as I stand in the middle of the kitchen. “Neither of you need to waste time cheering me up. I’m never cheerful to begin with.” My voice is chilled. I decide to put in my diamond earrings. “Don’t you remember? I’m made of thorns.” When I was in prep school and being particularly prickly and cold, Poppy would often tell me pointedly, not all of us are made of thorns, you know.

Poppy gives me an apologetic look, considerate of my feelings even when I’m telling her I have none. I can wave a black heart in her face and she’d still say it beats like everyone else’s.

“What’s happening is awful,” Poppy says, “and I don’t mean to turn it around and victimize myself.” She passes me a teacup, as a peace offering. “I’ve been trying to tell Mom, Dad, and even Sam to stay out of your business. This is between you and your husband, and none of us have a place to tell you what to do. If I was in your position with Sam, I’d expect the sa—”

A guttural scream from outside slices Poppy off mid-sentence.

Daisy.

The teacup slips from my hand, and I barely hear it shatter as I rush to the sliding glass door, heaving it open. When I reach the deck railing, Poppy and Lily race up to me.

Below us near the lake, Daisy stands on the long wooden dock with Ryke by her side, their husky sitting at his feet. With her hands balled to fists by her sides, she simply screams into the air. The hairs on my arms rise, her shrilled, pained wail scorching the mountainside.

Ryke is careful not to touch his girlfriend, cautiously watching her expel whatever has burdened her. I force my feet to this place, wanting badly to aid my sister, but I won’t disrupt them this quickly.

Give them twenty minutes, Rose. I wince. Or ten.

“What happened?” Lily asks softly.

“What hasn’t happened?” My tight voice burns my throat. What if it is something new and not just her panic attack from the séance?

Poppy puts her fingers to her lips. “I think he broke up with her.”

Lily’s face scrunches in horror. “No.” She shakes her head repeatedly.

I’d like to think I know Daisy, and I can’t picture her screaming because a guy ended their relationship, even if that guy is Ryke. And if she did want to scream, she’d never do it standing next to him. What I can imagine: Ryke saying, we’re taking a break and then Daisy retreating to her room to cry, alone.

And why in everything that’s beautiful would Ryke stomp on my sister’s heart during a trip? A trip that has a twelve-hour car ride home?

He wouldn’t.

“He didn’t break up with her,” I tell them.

“Are you sure?” Poppy asks.

Lily looks like she might cry. I remember Ryke’s declaration in the kitchen some time ago. About marriage. He wouldn’t end things with her, but there is always the microscopic chance something happened—something I didn’t see in their relationship. They’re just so…private.

“Not one-hundred percent, but I can’t see him doing it, not here.” I cross my arms, struggling to stay on the deck and not hurry to Daisy’s aid.

“I can’t see him doing it at all,” Lily says. “He loves her.”

Poppy twists one of her bangles anxiously. “Not long ago, I told Ryke how important my year break from Sam was for me. Maybe he considered this for Daisy.”

I press my lips together, already knowing about her talk with Ryke. Poppy just finished saying how she wouldn’t meddle in my relationship, but she’s willing to interject herself in Ryke and Daisy’s. I understand though that Poppy just has experience being young and in love, and she relates more to their relationship than mine.

I glance at Poppy. “Ryke told me about your conversation, and he was more pissed than anything.”

Poppy frowns. “Are you sure?”

Daisy screams again, deep from her core, one that rattles her body. My neck pricks. Don’t cry, Rose. I’m the stoic, severe sister that can carry them anywhere, and I can’t be that sister by drowning in tears.

I try to let out a constricted breath. I’m familiar with Daisy’s vibrating scream, only I prefer doing it into my coat. My mind rolls through my childhood and adolescence, and I keep hitting a roadblock that Daisy and I share: our mother, the one who likes to interfere with our relationships.

I slowly turn to Poppy. “Did you talk to anyone other than Ryke about this ‘break’ idea?”

Poppy open and closes her mouth like a dying fish. “I did tell Mother and Father in passing and…”

My eyes flash hot. “And what?”

“She pointed out that I had barely any worldly experiences at eighteen, so it made sense that I’d wa

nt to be independent from Sam after prep school. But Daisy has traveled to nearly every continent since she was fourteen. I hadn’t thought of that until she mentioned it.”

I freeze. “She disagreed with you?”

Poppy nods. “A lot, actually. Ever since she threw Ryke in jail, she’s felt guilty. And she felt a little too similar to Sara Hale for her taste, I think.” Our mother hates Ryke’s mother, so comparing them at all must send her into a fit of rage.

It’s hard for me to believe that I agree with my mother on anything, but I’d much rather have her on my side than going rogue.

Lily sniffs, her nose running. “And Dad?”

“He said that they’ve been so committed to each other that it doesn’t make sense for them to break up unless Daisy wants to go to college, but she doesn’t.”

Regardless of our parents, Daisy’s opinion matters most. “Have you talked to Daisy yet?” I ask Poppy.

“No, I just keep forgetting every time I see her.” Poppy covers her mouth, upset, and I hear her curse beneath her breath.

“You didn’t influence him,” I tell her.

“I don’t see how you can be so sure,” she whispers.

Lily stops biting her nails and answers first. “Ryke is one of the most independent thinkers I’ve ever met, and if he did this…then he did it on his own…right, Rose?” Tears well in Lily’s eyes.

“Don’t cry yet. It’s like sobbing at the title screen of a film.”

She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “You cried at the title screen of Titanic.”

“I was pregnant and hormonal,” I rebut and huff. “And I knew the tragedy that was about to ensue. We don’t even know what this is about.” These are my defenses to keep the waterworks at bay, and I share them with her as much as possible. Because if she starts bawling—it’s going to create a domino affect between us all.

I straighten, focusing on the dock. I go utterly silent when Daisy staggers back in exhaustion, her last scream already leaving her lips. She breaks into a sob and her legs buckle beneath her.