Текст книги "Hothouse Flower"
Автор книги: Becca Ritchie
Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
< 62 >
RYKE MEADOWS
Movie night at Rose’s Princeton house has already turned into a fucking fight. Gravity stays paused on the flat screen with Sandra Bullock suspended in space. Besides the furniture, the TV is the only thing left standing in the living room. All the books are packed away and the pictures on the walls have been taken down and rolled in bubble wrap.
Lo and Rose have been fighting for the past ten minutes, and unfortunately Lo’s go-to move is to throw popcorn at her. She swats away another flying kernel.
“I’m trying to talk to you civilly,” Rose combats. “Stop pelting me with your popcorn.”
“I will when you start fucking listening to me.” He throws another kernel at her, and it lands on her lap.
Connor has to grab Rose around the waist, since she looks ready to spring off the couch.
“Careful, Rose, you’re pregnant. You’re not going to be able to take out your claws for seven more months,” Lo tells her in his edged voice.
“Don’t be an ass,” I cut in. I hold Daisy on my lap as we sit in the big chair facing the TV. She stays quiet, always the spectator of fights, never really in them. It’s not a coincidence. She hates this shit and tries to avoid inserting herself into these situations. I’m not as nice.
Lo and Rose continue to bicker, and I drift out of the argument as I watch Daisy delete a text message from her mom. My stomach caves.
“Hey,” I whisper, and her big green eyes meet mine. “Don’t make my fucking mistakes, okay?” I tuck a strand of pink hair behind her ear. I’m the cynical one who holds grudges. She’s the lighthearted girl who forgives and opens her arms to strangers. I don’t want her to change because of this.
“She called the cops on you, Ryke,” she murmurs. “It’s not okay.”
“I’m already fucking over it,” I say. My publicists have been blasting the media, denying the allegation, and reminding people that Greg Calloway confirmed to People that our relationship started after Daisy turned eighteen. It was his way of apologizing for his wife’s rash, emotional decision.
But the pictures of me going to jail—the headlines that circulated through every major magazine—those won’t ever disappear. Not even with a public statement. The backlash—I felt it, even if I don’t read tabloids. The nasty stares at the gym, the glares at the fucking grocery store. Time magazine pulled that issue of us off the racks.
There is a whole lot of fucking hate towards me. And a lot towards Daisy too, for sticking by my side. I don’t care what anyone thinks except the people in this room and our families. But the more people attack “Raisy”—as the press has called us—the more she blames her mom.
The more her hate stirs.
“How?” she asks. “I watch you get handcuffed, all because of her.”
“It was her way of protecting you and saying fuck you to me. That’s it, Dais. She loves you, you know that.” I pause. “And you love her.”
Daisy stares at her cellphone with a watery gaze. I hug her close and kiss her head. Our mother problems have always been similar; mine are just a few more years down the road from hers. I took a wrong turn, and I don’t want her to follow me this time.
I tilt her chin up, and she says, “I’ll think about what you said.”
“Okay,” I nod. My voice lowers even more. “Are you going to talk to your sisters about your sleeping issues?”
Her face falls. “After this?” This past week, she’s been more open to the idea of sharing all the details of what happened in the past, even the most painful one.
“Yeah.” I give her a look, to make sure she knows what I mean.
Her shoulders slacken a little and she nods. “Okay, after this.”
Lo opens his mouth to speak again, but Connor interrupts, “We’re offering a solution. It’s nothing to be upset about.”
Lo presses his hands to his chest. “I’m not going to live with you. You’ve been a great roommate for these past two years, but you’re having a baby, man.” He shakes his head. “You don’t need to be dealing with our shit on top of that.”
“You’re not ready,” Rose butts in like she did before. “You relapsed only a few months ago—”
“I’m never going to be ready, Rose!” Lo yells. “If you’re waiting for me to be cured, then you might as well give up now. This is going to last forever. Not a month. Not a few years. I’m an addict. I could very well stay sober for ten years and relapse again. You gotta accept that.”
Her lips draw into a thin line. “And what about Lily?”
“I can take of her like I always have,” Lo snaps.
“Oh, you mean when you spent years letting her have sex with different men every night,” Rose refutes. For fuck’s sake—she has less of a filter now that she’s pregnant. She just says whatever’s on her fucking mind.
Lo scowls, so coldly that I’m surprised Rose doesn’t shrivel back. I’m ready for him to tear her apart with something completely nasty. But then he says, “That’s your pregnancy pass for the fucking night. Whoever is growing in your belly is a demon. Straight up making you evil.”
Rose narrows her eyes, ignoring the slight to get back to the topic at hand. “I don’t care about the baby. I want Lily to live with us, and if she wants to, then you shouldn’t be fighting me on it.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Yes!”
I look to the couch beside Lo, where Lily used to sit. But she went to the bathroom…
I turn my attention to Connor.
He’s checking his watch. The same thought must be crossing his mind. “How long has she been gone?” My voice cuts Lo and Rose’s fight, silencing them.
Lo rotates and notices the bare cushion to his left. “Shit,” he curses and stands up, his eyes wide with worry.
“Twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen,” Connor says, following my movement as I rise to my feet.
Lo doesn’t even hesitate.
He just runs.
< 63 >
RYKE MEADOWS
“Kitchen bathroom!” Rose calls out before Lo sprints up the staircase.
I’m right behind him, my hand on his back as he rushes through the house. Connor follows close behind, and I just think…please fucking God be okay. Please let everyone be overreacting. It wouldn’t be the first time someone barged in on Lily taking an extra-long piss, reading her magazines. She lost Lo’s trust a long time ago. I think when he realized her recovery is a lot fucking bumpier than smooth.
The shower pipes groan through the walls.
Fuck.
Lo picks up his speed, and when he reaches the door, he slams his fist against the wood, trying the locked knob.
“LILY!” he screams, his voice full of unadulterated fear. He told me yesterday that he tried to kiss her, and she turned away. For Lily, rejecting a kiss isn’t a small thing. Her reasoning was that she didn’t feel good, and he let her go back to sleep.
She’s been doing that a lot too—sleeping.
Lo keeps jiggling the knob. “LILY!”
“Move,” I tell him.
He does, and I slam my shoulder into the wood. It takes two hard rams before it swings open. I run ahead of Lo, and I whip the shower curtain aside.
Lily is fully clothed, sitting in the tub as shower water sprays down on her. She shivers, her arms clinging around her legs, and her knees pressed to her chest. Her black long-sleeve shirt is wet and suctions to her thin body.
As I shut off the faucet, the shower pours on my arm, the water freezing cold. It almost jolts me backwards.
What is Lily’s fucking obsession with having meltdowns in tubs?
Lo jumps in, soaking his pants, and he holds Lily’s colorless cheeks steadily. “Lil, talk to me.” His voice is choked, pained beyond belief. Before the shower cuts off, it douses him, his light brown hair wet, and beads of water rolling down his razor-sharp cheeks.
She looks fragile in his clutch, but my brother seems just as broken, just as dark and pained. My heart pounds as I watch her hurt exchange between them. Without the water gushing, her sobs echo in the high-ceilinged bathroom. Heavy sobs that morph into cries.
“Lil, shhh,” Lo says. “You’re okay.”
I step into the bathtub behind her and feel around with my foot, the ice cold soaking through my jeans. Then I squat and use my hands, searching for anything: razors, sex toys, all of the fucking above. I find the closed drain and lift it up so water begins pouring out.
“I’m…sorrrry…” Her teeth chatter and she buries her face into his shoulder.
“Sorry for what, Lil?” he whispers, rubbing her back to warm her body.
Rose is pacing by the sink, her phone at the ready, one minute from speed dialing either an ambulance or a psychiatrist.
I climb out of the tub, and Connor nods to me. “Anything?” he asks.
I shake my head and stand beside him on Lily’s purple bath rug.
“I meant to tell you…” Lily says under her breath, her tears still dripping, but they’re silent, accompanied by deep fucking sorrow. “Yesterday, I was going to… I got scared…” Her entire body quakes from being soaked with ice cold water, most likely done to combat her cravings. I’ve seen her do it before, but not like this. She usually jokes about it, making an ice bath, jumping in for two seconds before shrieking and running away. “Sexual urges be gone!” she’d say with a smile.
This is fucking different. This is way more intense.
Connor hands Lo a towel, and he wraps the soft purple cotton around her trembling frame.
“Lily…you can tell me anything,” Lo says.
“Not this.” She shakes her head, tears pooling down her cheeks. “Not this.”
She fucking cheated on him? I set my hands on my head at that gut prediction. She fucking cheated on him.
But then Lo takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers slowly, as if each one is more important than the next. His eyes stay focused on their hands, as if he can’t bear to look anywhere else. And I wonder if he thinks the same thing as me.
“You have to tell me, Lil,” he murmurs. “I can’t guess.” His voice turns into a choked whisper. “Please don’t make me guess.”
She nods repeatedly as if working herself up to it. No one speaks, too frightened that she might crumble into nothing at someone else’s interjection. She opens her mouth and then something must click because her expression flips from realization to complete devastation. “Do you think…you think I cheated?”
Lo looks heartbroken. “I don’t know, Lil,” he whispers. “You’ve been acting distant, and you didn’t come with me to Paris, so you had all that time alone… I just, I don’t…I don’t know.”
“I didn’t cheat,” she says with so much fucking conviction. “You have to believe me.” She searches his eyes for it.
I let out a breath. My brother exhales a fucking bigger one than me.
“I do, Lil.” He touches her cheek. “But you have to fucking tell me what’s going on.”
“I was upset…overwhelmed. And I wanted to do things and I just thought…this would help.” Her eyes flicker to the showerhead and back to her kneecaps, closing up again.
“Just spit it out,” Lo urges. “Whatever it is. Just get it off your chest right now, love.”
It’s her turn to stare at their hands. “I didn’t know how to tell you…I thought while you were in Paris, I’d figure out a good way to say it, but I don’t…I don’t think there’s a good way. And I just kept putting it off, thinking tomorrow will be the day.” She wipes her eyes quickly and with a deep breath, she says, “I’m eight weeks pregnant.” She barely looks at him.
My hands drop off my head. What? I wrack my brain for signs, but I can’t think of much other than Lily being anxious—like she normally is. Maybe her boobs were bigger? She’s so unassuming and comes across shy and introverted unless you really, really talk to her that it’s hard to notice these things.
Now I realize how she kept a sex addiction secret for so long.
Lo is stunned to silence. We all are…except. I look at Rose and Connor, and they carry a content expression. They’ve known. Fuck them.
“You can’t be…” Lo finally says. He lifts up her sopping shirt, and I zoom in on her belly. I think we all thought she was just gaining a healthier amount of weight, but now with this answer, I can tell the fucking pudge isn’t from eating more.
This is very fucking real.
Lo turns his head and finds Rose. “You’re pregnant.”
“We both are,” Rose says softly.
“That’s not possible.”
“The probability is slim but it’s not impossible,” Connor answers, his hands in his slacks. “Their cycles had synced up after living together. I don’t use protection with Rose, and I’m sure you didn’t with Lily.”
“I forgot to take my birth control a few days,” Lily breathes. “I didn’t realize it…” She trails off and keeps staring at her fucking hands. I can understand why she’s kept this information to herself. My brother has been getting better since the road trip, but he was at a horrible place. And he’s been so adamant about not having kids.
I don’t want to believe it, but I think this knowledge could have sent him over—caused him to jump off the fucking deep end. No one could know for sure, but it’s clearly not a gamble Lily was willing to take. I’m not sure I would have either.
“You could have told me sooner,” Lo says quietly, but his brows furrow, trying to think back to that time. Probably realizing the same thing as me.
“I know you don’t want kids, and I didn’t want to stress you out with this…I’m sorry.” She sniffs louder, trying hard not to cry.
“Shhh.” Lo holds her tighter. “It’s okay, Lil.”
“It’s not,” Lily says, wiping her tears even faster, an attempt to control them. She pushes him back a little so she can stare up into his amber eyes. “You don’t want a baby.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore.” He lets out a long breath and touches his chest. “We’re addicts. You and me.” He motions between them like they share the same favorite color. “Maybe we shouldn’t have kids, but we have the means to raise him or her well.”
“And you have us,” Rose says. She glances at me.
And I nod at my brother. “You have us, Lo. We’re here for both of you.” Rose, Connor and I have this kind of confidence that Lo severely lacks, and we’ll support him one-hundred fucking percent. I won’t let my brother fall.
Both Lo and Lily look overwhelmed. My brother nods back at me like thanks. And then he whispers to Lily, “We did this together. It’s not your fault, love. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’ve fucked up,” she says.
“I think I’ve beat you these past few months,” he murmurs. “You’ve been there for me, and I’ve been fucking stupid.”
“No,” she says with tear-filled eyes. “You’ve been really strong.” And then they hug at the same time. Both magnetically drawn to each other, arms wrapped in such soul-deep comfort that I can’t fucking watch.
We give them privacy, but Rose purposefully leaves the door open, so maybe not that much privacy. And my head whirls as we go into the kitchen. “How did she not get pregnant when she was screwing different guys every day?” I ask in disbelief.
“She said she was much more careful. It was her only worry back then,” Rose tells me.
Now that we know Lily didn’t slit her wrists or anything, Rose leans against the kitchen counter like it’s Sunday afternoon.
“So you knew about her pregnancy the whole fucking time,” I assume. “You didn’t think to tell Lo?”
“It wasn’t my place, Ryke,” Rose says.
I look at Connor. “And you? You’ve never been known to butt out of other people’s business.”
“I think you’re confusing me with you,” he says casually, “and if you want my honest answer, no, I didn’t want to tell Lo. I didn’t think he could handle it. Be glad you didn’t have to make that decision because it was a fucking hard one.”
I’m known to lie to my brother’s face if I don’t think he can handle certain things. Like my own fucking identity when I first met him.
I don’t envy the knowledge they had. I wouldn’t have wanted it.
I scan the kitchen, the granite counters, expecting an easily excitable girl to be sitting there, swinging her legs against the cabinet. She’s not around, so I walk through the archway to the nearly empty living room, searching for Daisy, but she’s not here either.
I stop in place, realizing something…she was going to tell her sisters about what happened months ago. She was going to finally spill these harrowing details that have fucked her over for weeks.
And of course, Lily’s issues came out today, pushing Daisy to the side. I can imagine how she feels—like her problems aren’t significant, like they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She’s going to shut down again, to crawl back into her hole where she hides her feelings and covers it with jokes and sarcasm.
My heart lodges in my fucking throat. “Daisy!” I call out, my nerves escalating. Why the fuck was I helping Lily? I don’t ever, ever want to choose Lily over Daisy. Just because Lily cries harder. Just because Lily screams louder. It doesn’t mean that Daisy’s pain isn’t more.
I run back through the kitchen, and Connor and Rose ask me what’s wrong. I shake my head and check the guest bathroom.
I have the worst kind of feeling in my gut.
I sprint to the garage while I take out my phone and call the security at the front of the gate. I grab my bike keys out of my pocket. “Did Daisy leave?” I ask, but I find my answer. My black Ducati sits lonely—without its red match.
“Fifteen minutes ago,” he says.
Fuck. I hang up.
“RYKE!” Rose screams at the top of her lungs to get my attention. “What’s going on?” She stomps into the garage that’s already halfway open, the doors groaning as they rise.
“I’m taking care of it,” I tell her, fitting my helmet over my head. I start the fucking bike, changing gears, and then I ride the hell out of there before she can say another word.
I’m so fucking angry at myself.
But most of all, I just hope she’s okay.
I hope I find her before she does something completely fucking insane.
< 64 >
DAISY CALLOWAY
I need air. The kind that bursts your lungs. The kind of jolt that sends your entire body reverberating with energy and electricity.
I want to wake up.
I’m tired of being in a half-sleep. Of seeing the world through a foggy lens.
I park my Ducati on a bridge that overlooks a murky lake. The night air whips around me, reminding me that it’s almost December. The chill awakens my bones, and I peel off my green cargo jacket. Just a thin tank top and jeans left. I easily hoist my body on the old brick ledge, welcoming the cold from up high.
I had to leave the house. When Lily relapses or has some sort of emotional event, I feel in the way. Like a piece of furniture blocking everyone’s path. It’s best just to be gone. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here.
On a bridge.
Outstretching my arms, the air seems to pinch me, wake me up, fill me with something more.
I love escaping to the roofs of buildings and shouting at the top of my lungs, but my voice dries in my throat tonight, pushed too deeply to retrieve. I just want to fly through the air. I just want to soar.
I peer down at the waters, nearly black in the darkness, the crescent moon casting an eerie glow over the rippling surface. I’ve jumped off this bridge before. It’s not too high, but the tree banks are shallow and muddy tonight, and the water line looks low. Too low? I don’t know.
I can’t explain these feelings.
A pressure on my chest threatens to combust.
Just wake up, Daisy.
Jump.
I look around to make sure I’m alone. No lurking cameramen who followed me here. But headlights beam from the left.
I focus back on the water, bumps dotting my arms as the cold sweeps me in a sharp embrace. Half of my feet stick off the ledge. I brace myself.
“CALLOWAY!”
< 65 >
RYKE MEADOWS
She looks over her shoulder, startled by my voice, her face illuminated by the moon. She never anticipated on being found. Drawing attention—that’s not her fucking ploy. Every time she runs off, she does it alone, and I’ve always feared the one time where she won’t return, floating dead on the surface of a lake, an ocean, a river.
Not tonight.
Not fucking ever.
I climb off my bike, anger darkening my features and tensing my muscles. Her father has been paranoid since we arrived back in Philly. He put a GPS locator in her bike. One call to him, and I found out she decided to ride to Carnegie Lake.
“Hey,” she says like she’s window shopping at a mall. She smiles and spins around so her back faces the lake, but she dangerously sticks more of her heels off the ledge. “The question is: backflip or frontflip?” She wags her eyebrows.
“Neither,” I snap. “Get the fuck down.” I rarely tell her no, but I remember when I chaperoned her sixteenth birthday. That cliff in Acapulco. I screamed at her, veins popping in my fucking neck, telling her to stop.
There are some things so dangerous that death looks more probable than life. That’s when I’ll grab her. That’s when I’ll try to force her down.
“I’ve jumped from this before,” she says with a shrug. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I tell her. “The water levels are fucking low.” The only reason I know this is Connor Cobalt—a throwaway comment a few days ago about the Princeton row competition being canceled because of shallow waters.
“The danger,” she says theatrically, her mouth curving upward.
I climb onto the fucking ledge next to her, and she stiffens at my presence, some of the humor exiting her face.
“What?” I snap. “You jump, I jump. That’s how this works, Dais. So you want to break your leg, split open your head, you’re going to do the same to me. Can you fucking handle that?”
Her eyes flicker from the water to me. And her voice turns into a whisper, no more games, no more jokes, she says, “Just let me go.”
My body runs cold. “Do you want to die?” I question. I’ve asked her this once before, after Acapulco. She never answered me, but I knew it anyway. This light inside of her dims if you watch closely enough, and she’s searching and searching for something to ignite her spirit, a power to keep her alive.
She stares into my hard gaze, where I never go easy on her, and tears well in her eyes.
“You know what you fucking are?” I ask, edging closer, my hand dropping to her waist.
She shakes her head, and our boots knock together, but we both maintain balance.
I reach out, and I hold her cheek with the scar. “You’re a hothouse flower,” I tell her. “You can’t grow under natural conditions. You need adventure. And security and love in order to stay alive.”
Her shoulders tense and her collarbones jut out from the thin straps of her tank top, barely breathing. She is suffocating. And she’s looking for a way to relieve that pressure. An adrenaline rush is a temporary fix. She needs something more.
“Explode,” I tell her, still cupping her face.
She frowns at me. “What?”
“Let it out,” I say. “Scream.”
She shakes her head like that’s impossible, like what will that help? “I just want…” She blows out a breath from her lips. I can see that pressure bearing down on her, trapping her. She wants to fucking jump so badly. My hand tightens on her waist.
“I can’t fucking hear you,” I growl.
Anger flickers in her eyes. Good.
“Get fucking angry, Daisy. Be something. YELL!”
She opens her mouth but no sound comes out.
I push her harder by saying, “You can’t talk to your sisters because you’re so fucking afraid of causing a scene, but there’s something inside of you that wants to get out.” I point at her heart. “There’s something in there, and if you don’t burst, it’s going to fucking tear you apart.”
She breathes heavily. “Stop.”
“It fucking hurts, doesn’t it?!” I shout at her.
She cringes, and her eyes start to redden.
“Why are you holding back? No one’s fucking here but you and me!” My hand slides to the small of her back. “Stop pretending to be fine when all you really want to do is fucking scream?!”
Her chest collapses. I almost have her there.
“Do it!” I shout, my blood pumping. I’m in her face, not letting her dodge this, not letting her give up on herself. “Finally, for the first time in your fucking life, let go!”
And then she grabs onto my shoulders, and I feel her body before I hear her voice. How she has to clutch onto me, how she has to brace herself to something fucking sturdy. Her scream pierces my ears, the most powerful fucking thing in the universe. The pain and ache rip through her yell.
She jostles me, shaking me like she’s shaking the entire fucking world. And I support both of us on the ledge, careful and attentive so we don’t fall.
For another full minute, she releases everything she’s buried inside, and then she crumbles into my arms. I hold her upright, brushing the hair off her face. And her green eyes meet mine, drained but light. So fucking light.
I don’t say anything.
I just kiss her, breathing more life into her body. On a ledge. A shallow lake below. She responds by clutching the back of my head, her fingers tightening in my hair. Her body curves towards mine, and I inhale, wrapped in the heat of her skin and the beat of her heart, pounding against my chest.
We’re not there for long before a car rolls to a stop in front of us. A concerned stranger opens his door, but I keep kissing her. And her lips rise into a smile, not breaking apart just yet.
“Hey,” the man yells, “the water is too shallow!” He squints and gets a good look at us. “Are you two crazy?” He shakes his head and climbs back in his car.
Daisy’s lips leave mine, and a gorgeous fucking smile overtakes her face. Her light restored. Powered up and fucking charged.
My hothouse flower that I will always keep alive.
“We are pretty crazy,” she whispers to me.
I mess her hair with a rough hand, the blonde strands tangled wildly, and I remember what Sully said awhile back about her being fun and me being fucking moody. “Yeah? Maybe our kids will be crazy like us.”
She gasps playfully. “You want to make babies with me?”
I answer by kissing her with a strong force, and she runs her hands through my thick hair. I lift her in my arms and bring her off the ledge, to safety. And back home.
