Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(111)

“You can leave me here,” I say, “but I’ll find a way back. I can’t leave her, and I won’t leave you, no matter how hard you f*cking push me out.” He needs me. He knows he needs me. And I want to be a part of his life. I don’t want to return to the lonely one I had built, with relationships as surface level as you can get, with people who meant nothing, with friends who’d sell me out.

“How much did it hurt?” he suddenly asks.

“Did what hurt?”

“Watching her with other guys.”

I choke at the flood of memories. “It felt like someone was drowning me in f*cking salt water and lighting me on fire.”

His lips almost rise in a fraction of a f*cking smile. “Same.” He takes a few deep breaths before he adds, “I need some time. But I’m not going to hit you again. So revel in that.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods a couple times and then says, “I wish you fell in love with another f*cking girl.”

At times like this, so do I. “I’m sorry. I really f*cking am. For lying.”

He shrugs. “You didn’t want to get hit.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He nods again. “I’ll get over it. Just…give me f*cking time.” He heads towards the girls, and I stay rooted to this place, so emotionally spent.

And then he pauses. Turns around and waits for me to join him.

It’s a peace offering.

I see it in his face, the way a shred of guilt flickers in his eyes, still accompanied by a swirling rage. It’s enough for me. I walk forward and join him. He starts moving again when I’m by his side.

Just like that.

The past and the present were spread bare in the dirt.

Now maybe we can move forward.





< 50 >

DAISY CALLOWAY



October 31st.

We were supposed to make it to Yosemite by the end of the month, but a storm rolled in. The rain thrashes against the tin roof of a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant somewhere in Nevada. Our cell service has sucked in the desert, so I haven’t had the chance to talk to my parents about my relationship or the permanent damage done to my face.

I’ve been taking the days as they come. Kind of awkward.

No, mostly awkward.

I glance at Ryke next to me, faint bruises on his cheek and jaw. It looks much better than it did a few days ago. We’ve all kept to ourselves since the fight, and this is really the first time we’ve sat down as a group.

We’re all seated in a round booth, our clothes wet and hair damp from being caught in the flash storm. And tension pulls from each couple. Lily and Lo huddled on one end. Rose and Connor in the middle. Ryke and I—we’re across from his brother and my sister, in direct line of Lo’s sharpened cheekbones and narrowed eyes.

He hasn’t been malicious, so that’s nice. I can tell he’s trying to accept my relationship with his brother—but that doesn’t mean he won’t make comments.

Our six person dynamic has definitely changed.

Ryke’s arm is around my waist, and we’re so close that our legs meld together beneath the table.

“This is awkward,” Lo states the obvious after the waitress takes our drink orders. His eyes flicker to Ryke and then away every so often.

Rose squeezes her hair, water dripping off the brunette strands. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have punched your brother, Loren.”

Lo twirls a knife in his hand and points at the cardboard coffin hanging on the ceiling, part of the Halloween decorations. “Go back to bed.”

She opens her mouth, and Connor covers her lips with his hand. “It’s his birthday,” he reminds her. “Be nice.”

Her eyes flash cold. Connor drops his hand, and she stays quiet. For seven seconds. “Get over it, Loren. They’re f*cking. His dick is going in her—” Connor is fast, his hand flying back over her mouth.

“Rose!” Lily says with wide eyes, her face red.

I ping-pong from wanting to laugh to wanting to stay quiet. I end up focusing on the napkin in front of me, trying and kind of failing to make a pumpkin shape.

Connor says to his wife, “I think we all understand the human anatomy involved with sex.”

I smile. “I don’t know,” I quip. “I’m lost on that last part.” I look up at Ryke. “Where does the guy’s dick go?”

He stares down at me with raised brows and dark eyes. I swear he smiles, or almost smiles. I’ll take it.

Lo groans and motions to the waitress. “We need some tequila shots.”

Ryke goes rigid, his attention off me and his arms suddenly on the table. “Lo, you can’t—”

“It’s my birthday—”

“I don’t give a f*ck,” Ryke says like his brother got struck by lightning, frying his brain when we weren’t looking.

Lo cocks his head. “Let me finish.” The waitress comes back with a tray of shots before anyone can say anything more. She also brings out a plate of chicken tacos that Lo ordered in advance—his favorite. The tequila shots sit beside the basket of chips like a bomb. I look to Lily and Rose, wondering what we should do, but Lily is sunk in her seat, still red, and Rose is glaring at her husband for some reason.