Becca Ritchie - Hothouse Flower

This is the most he’s ever talked about his mom with me. I watch as he searches for the remote, but it’s with less diligence, his gaze faraway as his thoughts spin.

“Do you miss her?” I ask him.

 He finds one of my shirts on the ground and tosses it to me. “Sometimes, but it doesn’t fucking matter, Dais.”

I stuff the shirt in my duffel pocket. “But she’s your mom…” I can’t imagine never talking to mine again. Even if there are times I’d like to run away from her, running away forever sounds painful.

He shakes his head. “I can’t live in your fucking optimistic world where everyone is kind and holy. I’ve seen too many bad people to believe there’s that many good.”

“She can change though—” I start, wanting something better for him. I wish I could take his problems and uncomplicate them, even if I can’t. It hurts to feel like I have no control over it.

“Change what, Daisy?” He shrugs. “She already ruined Lily’s life,” he states matter-of-factly, but his eyes are dark. “She ruined your life and Rose’s. And she broke my fucking heart. It’s fucking over.”

I swallow hard, a lump in my throat. “She didn’t ruin my life,” I say softly.

Ryke glares. “Don’t even fucking start.” Because he’s seen me scream at night, he’s watched me turn into a scared, frightened girl. And the catalyst for everything was Sara Hale.

“I wouldn’t be upset if you tried to have a relationship with her,” I add. “I just need you to know that.”

He surrenders his search for the remote and walks forward, his hands brushing my cheeks. “Thank you,” he says with a short nod. “But it won’t change anything.”

I nod back, not sure what else to say. My throat closes.

Off my silence, his features darken, his brows furrowing. “I just can’t forgive her,” he tells me. “For some fucking reason, it feels more like a weakness than a strength to open my arms to her.”

“Even if you miss her?”

He nods. “Yeah. Even if I miss her. So that’s where I’m at.” He kisses my head. “Don’t worry too much about my family problems, Dais. It’s my shit. I really don’t want you in the middle of it.”

I look up at him. “I’m glad that you want to talk to me though.”

He gives me a confused look. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

My age.

The pieces must click because he says, “We wouldn’t be together right now if I thought you were too immature to talk to about this stuff.”

My lips begin to rise, but a reporter at a news desk cuts into our conversation, “Sara Hale has no evidence that either Ryke Meadows or Loren Hale was sexually or physically assaulted by their father. Although, she did say it’s possible both happened to Loren during his residence at his father’s home in Philadelphia. You can learn more about this ongoing case on our website…”

Ryke is on the hunt for the remote again, and before the reporter gives any contact info he finally finds it and shuts the television off.

I don’t ask what he knows about the whole ordeal. I can tell that he’s through talking about it. I was lucky enough to get what I did out of him today.

RYKE MEADOWS

We’ve made some progress towards California. Not much. But we’re getting there.

Before the sun fell, we arrived at the heart of the Smoky Mountains. Like I said, we’re still fucking far away. But the point of this trip isn’t to speed to California. It’s for my brother to relax, breathe, and try to find some inner-fucking-peace.

I could use some of that too.

Connor spins on his expensive loafers that sink into the muddy dirt. This image is so priceless: Connor Cobalt in a fucking suit standing in the middle of the woods and looking—probably for the first time in his life—like he doesn’t belong.

If he was trying to schmooze an advertising exec and planned a wilderness retreat, he’d put on a fake fucking smile and dress down to fit in. But there isn’t any reward in pitching a tent for him right now. He just has to do it because we’re friends and we told him so.

“You okay there, Cobalt?” I ask.

He shoots me the middle finger. I see the annoyance flicker in his eyes. It’s easier to catch his emotions the more you know him.

Lo smiles. “Hey, look at that. Connor has adopted Ryke’s native language.”

“Why aren’t we staying in a hotel again?” Connor asks me. “Not that I don’t love to see how you like to live, Ryke, but some of us prefer a bed to the ground.”

“It’s called camping,” I retort.

Connor gives me a look. “I’d forgotten the definition of camping. Now that you reminded me, the whole world is clear.”  His real irritation, however, comes from his phone. He raises it at the sky, trying to achieve cell signal. He’s already worried about Rose, and now that he’s losing communication with her, he’s becoming a bigger asshole.

Good thing I can handle most personalities, even Connor Cobalt’s conceited one.

“For someone so fucking smart, you sure as hell love to act stupid around me.”

“Like Lo said,” Connor says, half-distracted as he presses buttons on his cell, “I’m trying to tap into your way of living.” He just called me dumb. He lets out a frustrated sigh and pockets his phone. “So far it sucks.” And he hightails it back to the car to help Daisy unload the supplies.

Lo kicks some rocks and twigs away from the place where we’re setting the tents, clearing anything sharp that’ll dig into our backs. He does so with a distant gaze, lost inside his head.

“Hey.” I come up beside him. “You want to go to a fucking hotel too?”

He glances at the thick woods that surround us and gestures towards the pines. “Don’t act like you didn’t see an RV past those trees.” He points at the tall ones that seclude us from the other campsites.

It’s a national park. There are other campers. I can’t change that. But at least we have some privacy. I recognize his fears though. This trip is supposed to be paparazzi free. For us to live off the grid and be absent of the media.

That’s what I promised him.

If some road-tripping family recognizes us, snaps some pictures and posts them to the web, we’re fucked. But this is the best I can do.

“They’re not going to find us here, Lo.”

His eyes darken, not completely trusting me. I don’t know if he ever will. “In rehab they had a five-star gourmet chef on call. Your pseudo-rehab isn’t really living up to my expectations.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hire a fucking butler or maid, and I forgot to pack those scented toilettes you use to wipe your ass,” I snap. He’s not a rich snob that he makes himself out to be. He just likes to poke people until he sees a reaction. “If you want to go to rehab in New York, I’m not fucking stopping you, Lo. I’m just giving you another option.” I outstretch my arms. “Open air. Freedom from the media. A normal fucking life for a month. Something that the rehab center isn’t going to provide you with.” At least not when everyone there will know he’s Loren Hale. Another celebrity checking themselves into the center.

Like clockwork.

I wait for his response, and Connor returns, watching my brother as well, seeing what his decision will be. I can support either choice, but I want to be available if he goes to rehab. I can’t be on the road with shitty cell reception while he’s back in New York.

So if he chooses rehab, this trip to California is over. For Daisy, for me. I’d pick my brother in this instance. I have to.

After a long moment of silence, Lo looks at me. “Hotdogs and hamburgers tonight?”

My limbs loosen in relief. “Yeah,” I say with a nod. “You okay with that?”

“As long as Connor doesn’t cook them. He doesn’t understand that medium-rare means red and bloody.”

“No, I understand the meaning of medium-rare,” Connor counters. “I just also understand the meaning of Escherichia coli.”

“Why the fuck can’t you just say E. coli?” I ask.

“Because abbreviations are lazy and I’m clearly not.”

I shouldn’t have asked.

Daisy tries to carry a stack of fold-out chairs in her arms all at once. I take a step forward to go help her, but Lo puts his hand on my chest. “I’ve got this.” He pats my shoulder with force, silently warning me, and then sprints to catch Daisy before she falls.

She laughs while he takes two chairs off her pile.

“You’re glaring,” Connor tells me.

“Fuck off.” Though I do try to lessen the agitation that tenses my jaw.

“Maybe try acting like you don’t want to murder your brother for stepping in your way.”

“It’s hard,” I say truthfully. I scratch my neck. “What would you do if you were me?” Maybe it’s masochistic of me to ask after what happened at the motel. But I want to hear his answer anyway.

“If I were you? You mean if I was screwing an eighteen-year-old girl who’s my brother’s girlfriend’s little sister, whose mother hates me because I’m the spawn of Sara Hale, and whose father dislikes likes me because he’s protective over his youngest, wildest daughter?”

I open my mouth to chew him out, but he cuts me off.

“But if I’m you,” he says with the tilt of his head, “I’ve also been there for that girl. When she had an ape of a boyfriend, when she was alone and all backs were turned, when she was going through heavier things than all of us realized.” His calm tone soothes any anger that threatens to rise. Just like that. “If I were you, Ryke, I’d stop letting people see the worst parts of me, and I’d finally show them the good.” He shrugs. “But I’m clearly not you.” He stares around at the forest landscape. “And you’re not me.”

“I just don’t see what good it’ll do to have those fucking arguments.” I don’t want to fight. I just want to leave it all behind. I watch Daisy unfold all of the chairs with Lo. He motions to her messily cut hair, and she shows him the back, the blonde strands uneven. He shakes his head, but her face has never been brighter, even with a scar.

“Why does there have to be an argument?” Connor asks.

“You think people are just going to accept any explanation that comes out of my mouth? I can talk to her mom until she’s blue in the fucking face. She won’t accept me, Connor. Her dad let Daisy date Julian, a guy my age who thought more with his cock than his head, and I’m the one who receives threatening looks when I stop by her parent’s house.”

“First off, he didn’t let her date Julian,” Connor notes. “He was furious. You weren’t there when Jonathan and Greg were trying to plot ways to have him fired from his modeling agency.”

“That clearly didn’t work.”

“I said tried,” Connor says easily. “I never said they were successful.” He presses a few buttons on his phone again. “Greg is a smart guy, Ryke. Even though you aren’t dating Daisy out in the open, he’s known since she was fifteen that she’s had a crush on you. He’s just worried you’re going to lead her on and break her heart.”

I wish I had a better relationship with her parents, but I don’t. In order to be Greg’s friend like Connor is, I’d have to start talking to my father. Greg and Jonathan see each other all the fucking time. Greg used to stop by the country club on Mondays when I was a kid. He was the water to my father’s scotch. Nice. Cool, even. Sometimes I used to wish he was my dad.

“I know this is going to seem like such a foreign concept to you,” Connor says, raising his phone in the air again, “but if you actually show that you’re invested in a girl beyond sex in front of people that matter, you’ll gain more respect from them.”

But he forgets that I don’t speak with an even-tempered voice. I’m rough. I’m abrasive as hell, and the moment I try to talk, everything comes out coarse. Nothing comes out how I really intend. I gave Daisy sex advice when she was fifteen because I was trying to steer her towards the kind of guys that would treat her right. And I got shit on for that conversation for the next two fucking years.

“Hey,” Lo calls. He holds up a package of hamburgers and then points at the tent that Daisy tries to set up alone. “You two helping or is doing five things at once part of my rehabilitation?”

I’m about to walk over to him, but Connor inhales and puts the phone to his ear. “Rose?” He frowns. “What? Wait, darling…you’re breaking up.” He looks at the cell, actually glaring at the technology. He turns to Lo. “You better set out two more chairs.”

“No.” I groan. “Lily promised me she wouldn’t arrive early.” All three Calloway girls for twenty long days in a confined space—shit.