Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(114)

“We have unprotected sex,” Connor announces.

Rose points at me at this. Fuck. “You better be wearing a condom with her.”

My face hardens. I already told her I’d be safe with Daisy. They all need to chill the f*ck out. “That’s none of your f*cking business, Rose.”

Daisy ends up saying it anyway, just to appease her sister. “I’m on birth control.”

“So was I,” Rose snaps. “And I never missed a day.” She prides herself on this fact.

“Then what the f*ck happened?” I ask, extending my arm in confusion.

“Birth control is only ninety-nine percent effective,” Connor says. “We’re, of course, in the one-percent.”

Rose smacks him on the arm for that comment, and he grabs her wrist and kisses her deeply. She melts. I stop f*cking watching.

And then I meet eyes with my brother, with Lo. He has his arm wrapped around Lily, and even with the news, he looks more at peace now, in this moment, than he did three days ago.

“So you know French,” he says to me.

“Yeah, I know French.”

Connor holds Rose’s hand on the table, and he nods to me. “Where’d you learn?”

“Tutors as a kid, like you and Rose.”

“I taught myself, actually,” Connor says with a million-dollar grin.

Lo claps slowly. “Congratulations, love.”

Connor only smiles wider, and I share it as well, surprisingly.

Lily perks up. “I’ve learned some French too.” She clears her throat. I think we’re all laughing internally, not at her, just f*cking with her. She’s goofy as hell. In a more American accent, she says, “Comment allez-vous?” How are you?

Connor replies with a genuine smile, “Je ne pourrais pas être plus heureux.” I couldn’t be happier.

Rose relaxes into Connor’s body. And Lily looks really f*cking confused. He’s already lost her.

Daisy slides her misshapen pumpkin napkin over to me. I squeeze her hand beneath the table. And for a brief second, I think about after California, after my climb. Back in Philly. Her parents… it doesn’t seem like they should be a big roadblock. I’m twenty-five. But your family doesn’t just leave when you become an adult. They’re a part of you forever.

I add to the whole table, “Je serais génial, mais je sais ce qui me fait toujours obstacle.” I would be great, but I know what still stands in my way.

Lo claps again. “Color me impressed,” he tells me. He turns to Lily. “You’re almost fluent, love.”

She punches him in the chest, and he mock winces, acting like it hurt. They’re both smiling.

My eyes flicker up to Connor, who stares at me with understanding and more compassion.

He says, “Tout ira bien, mon ami.” Everything will be fine, my friend.

Connor has said that he doesn’t believe in magic, but his words hold a possession all on their own, filling me with serenity, a temporary calmness, that I am grateful to have before my climb.

Everything will be fine, my friend.

I nod a couple times.

Everything will be fine.





< 52 >

DAISY CALLOWAY



California.

We’ve made it. The national park is beautiful, and I’d revel in the atmosphere of Yosemite on any other day, but it’s hard when we’re in the brush, a giant rock looming one hundred feet in front of us. El Capitan is larger than Devils Tower. More ominous. But it does have a kinder name.

The sun isn’t even out yet. It’s 5 a.m. and Ryke plans to start climbing in the dark with a headlamp. He wants to climb three routes in under twenty-four hours. It’s going to take endurance, strength and a dose of luck. It’s that luck part that I’m worried about. Everything else—I know he’ll ace.

Ryke talks to a park ranger at the base of El Capitan, nodding a few times. He ties his bag of chalk around his waist.

I pluck yellow weedy flowers by my feet in the brush, twisting the stems to make a crown. Every time I look up at Ryke, my heart thuds. I’ve never been this anxious for someone else before.

Rose slaps her arm and curses out the mosquitos. She sits on a wooden bench behind me.

“I told you not to wear perfume, darling,” Connor says casually, sitting beside her.

Rose gives him a look. “I’m not going to sacrifice smelling good for stupid flies.” She swats another away.

“You smell good without it.”

She narrows her eyes. “It’s Chanel. If I don’t wear it, I feel like half of myself is missing.”

Lo sits on top of a picnic table beside the bench, Lily’s head on his lap as she sleeps. “That’s because you mask your bitch scent,” he says. “And your soul leaves when it realizes it’s inhabited the wrong host.”

“And I’m sure your brain cells fried coming up with that insult,” she refutes.

Before Lo can retort, other voices shout over him. “Daisy, are you and Ryke together?!”

“Daisy, just one question!”

“Are you scared about Ryke’s climb?!”

“Hey,” Lo snaps at the seven or eight reporters congregated about twenty feet behind us, camera crews in place, lenses pointed at us and Ryke. “Calm down. We have twenty-four hours and I personally don’t want to go deaf by the end of this.”