Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

Ryke catches Daisy around the waist, holding her securely to his chest, and he collapses on his knees with her wrapped in his arms. She cries into the crook of his shoulder, and his hand disappears in her hair, his lips to her ear as he whispers. His voice is inaudible, but I watch Daisy’s body heave with each sob.

I clutch the railing to keep from bounding down there. And then his eyes flicker up to the deck, spotting my sisters and me. He gestures for us to come over.

This is why I like Ryke Meadows.

I walk quickly in my heels, careful not to fall down the stairs. I step off the last one and descend the hill, Lily wiping her splotchy cheeks hurriedly. Poppy lifts her bohemian skirt off the damp grass, and I lead the pack, despite one of my heels trying to wedge in the sodden turf.

Ryke peels away from Daisy, concern hardening his jaw. She has a difficult time supporting her heavy limbs, weighed by sadness, and I can tell he’s struggling leaving her, even for a second. He crouches in front of Daisy and kisses the top of her head, says something out of earshot, and stands straight up.

He heads towards us.

By the time we reach the dock, Ryke is a few feet away, fighting back his own tears. He squeezes past us and says in a hushed voice, “She needs her sisters.”

Don’t cry, Rose. I breathe through my nose.

Lily doesn’t wait to hear what happened. Gangly legs and all, she awkwardly runs as fast as she can to our littlest sister.

“Are you two taking a break?” Poppy asks.

“What?” His brows bunch, looking dazed. “No. Fuck no.” He rakes a hand through his hair.

I waver between lingering for more information and comforting my sister, but I know Lily has great hugs. Better than mine can ever be.

“What happened?” I ask, a pit lowering in my stomach with pitchforks and needles.

Ryke shakes his head. “I can’t be the one to tell you. You have to hear it from her.”

“Is it bad?” I ask.

He nods once.

“Let’s go,” Poppy says, slipping her hand in mine. We walk together to the end of the dock. Lily holds Daisy on her lap, and she rests her cheek on Lily’s shoulder, tears pouring down both of their reddened faces. I meet Lily’s gaze for answers but she shakes her head, silently saying she has none yet. She’s just severely empathetic.

Poppy sits beside them, and I take a seat in front of all three girls, closing the circle between us. The maple trees rustle with a gust of wind, the lake rippling beneath us in this serene, remote atmosphere. I lace my fingers with my little sister’s, and Poppy strokes Daisy’s brunette hair, combing the strands off her wet cheeks.

My mind isn’t constructing drastic conclusions. I’m knee-deep in the present moment, watching her ragged breath slow to fuller inhales. She stares off at the wooden planks of the dock, lost in her head.

I squeeze her hand. For right now, all we can do is be here.

Minutes must pass before she finally speaks. “I have this theory…that if you love someone so much, so overwhelmingly, so terribly, then some force of nature will smite you for your terrible love and you’ll never be the same.” Her voice cracks, her chin trembling.

I swallow a lump. “I liked your pig and bear theory more.”

She lets out a weak laugh that morphs into pain. Poppy wipes Daisy’s cheeks with the cotton fabric of her skirt.

Then Daisy turns her head, her heavy-lidded eyes on me. “I’ve had irregular periods since I first got them, but you all know that.”

Lily and Poppy nod. I can’t unfreeze the muscles of my neck to do so.

“I was…never a healthy eater when I was modeling,” she continues with a jagged breath. “And some other older models didn’t have periods at all because they ate so little, and it seemed normal. You know?” Tears slip out of her eyes.

I can’t fathom the world she grew up in—the one where she believed it was customary to start her period at sixteen and have it twice a year. I’m sorry, I want to say, but what use is an apology now? The damage is done, and the best I can do is hold my sister together for as long as she needs me.

“Your periods were still irregular after modeling,” I remember, a tremor undetectable in my voice.

Lily looks to me. “But they are better than they were. Daisy told me that.”

“They are,” Daisy says softly, “but I also mentioned how they’re still irregular.”

“The gynecologist said it was stress,” I recall this memory well. This was around the time I was pregnant with Jane, and Daisy had horrible cramps. Her period was lasting too long, and so I told her that I’d take her to the doctor, just to ensure that everything was okay. I was there when the fucking doctor said stress was the cause, nothing else.

Please nothing else.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out just yet. Poppy keeps combing her hair which seems to relax Daisy into Lily’s arms.

And then Daisy squeezes my hand, and I realize she’s looking at me. I think I know the conclusion she’s going to draw, and it’s already crushing my soul because I know it must be crushing hers.

“I went off birth control for like a couple weeks in March,” she explains to the sky and then looks back at me, “and it was so painful; I thought they were monster cramps or something.” She laughs sadly before frowning deeply. “I told Frederick about my periods and the birth control stuff since it affects my moods, and he just said I needed an ultrasound immediately.”

My throat burns. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You were going through so much with Connor, and Lily was at a good place—Poppy, you have your own family, I just didn’t want to unload on any of you. I thought that it might not be anything, and if it wasn’t anything, then I wouldn’t worry you, but if it was something…” She chokes on her tears, and I scoot closer to clasp both of her hands.

“Did Ryke go with you at least?” No one wants to picture her alone.

She nods. “He’s been really great.” She pauses, her voice breaking every sentence. “I was too sad afterwards to ride my motorcycle home, so I went on his, and he drove me around the city for an hour. It made me feel better.” She nods again, more to herself. “At the doctor’s they didn’t give me the full results. All they said was that I had some…cysts on both of my ovaries, which was causing me pain and messing with my cycles. They said they could be harmless, but they wanted to do some blood work before they determined what kind of cysts they are.”

Both ovaries, I pick this out and solidify.

The wind whips the trees again, a bird chirping, which is so blasphemous. The world should be in mourning with the four of us, another downpour of lightning and thunder. Instead, the sun peeks through the rolling clouds, the earth moving along at leisure and peace.

“The doctor called me this morning,” she says softly. “He told me that my results were back, and I needed to come in.” She lets out a heavy breath. “I pleaded with him to tell me now. I just…I didn’t want to wait the rest of the trip without knowing.”

I have to ask, “What kind of cysts?”

With another deep exhale, she says, “Endometrioma.” She has Endometriosis. It’s not cancer, but it’s not good either. “He said that due to the size of the cyst and the state of my left ovary and left tube, the best course of action is to remove both.”

I’ve held it together up until this point. I blink and a cascade of tears washes my cheeks.

Daisy cries silently.

Lily hugs her tighter and her reddened eyes flit to me for solutions. “There has to be other options.”

I nod, even though I feel helpless. I raise my chin and wipe my cheeks before holding Daisy’s hands again. “Daisy,” I say strongly. “We’ll take you to other doctors for their professional opinions. You need multiple opinions before a surgery like that.”

Daisy nods but her voice is as dejected as it was. “You should’ve seen their faces when they saw the sonogram…they knew what it was right th

en. I know they did.”

“What about your right ovary?” I wonder. We’re skirting around the real consequence of this and I run into it for her. “You can still have children with one ovary, Daisy.”

“He said that…any minute the cyst could rupture and I’d need it taken out then. Laparoscopic surgery would help improve the ovary but there’s no assurance that it’ll work or last.” Her glassy eyes meet me. “It’s more likely that I will never have babies than it’s likely that I will.”

In a nondescript time, I always imagined this dock, the one the four of us sit on, crowded with kids and teenagers, their laughs and shouts pitching the air.

And then there’d be Daisy’s child, climbing the nearby maple tree, shimmying onto the twisted branch that juts out. There’d be Daisy’s child, jumping wildly and splashing into the lake.

“Shh,” Poppy coos, “it’s okay, Daisy.”

It’s not okay. It’s a bad set of cards, a darker fate than I ever wanted for my sister. It can’t end this way.

“Being here has been hard,” she tearfully confesses, her body shuddering. “I know what this lake house means to everyone, and it meant that to me too.” She inhales sharply. “I wanted kids. I know…I know I’m young still, but someday, I wanted them. I wanted that experience, the beginning, the during, the after.” She pauses. “And you know the really sad thing? I actually started imagining the future past tomorrow…dreaming up babies of my own.”

“You’ll have children of your own,” I tell her assuredly.

She hangs her head with doubt. “I could go into surgery for the left ovary, and they could say the right one needs out too.”

I refuse to sit idly with this sadness, this bereft conclusion for my sister. I want to give her a better end to her story. I will give her one. I rattle her hands. “Look at me, Daisy.”