Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(117)

Rose and Connor lead the pack with a flight attendant, opening the door to our gate. They walk down the stairs to the runway, where the private plane waits for us. Daisy and I let Lo catch up so we’ll be last out.

“I f*cking streaked around my summer camp at night,” I tell her.

She laughs. “No way. I did the same thing when I was fourteen.” She gasps. “It’s like we were always meant to be.”

I run my hand through her hair and then kiss her forehead. If we are supposed to be together, then why does going home seem like returning to a black f*cking storm?

Lo passes us and whispers, so as not to wake Lily, “Hey, you two, your PDA is scaring the little children.”

“You mean you?” I retort, following him close behind as he heads down the stairs to outside.

“I mean anyone who was once a child,” Lo says like a smartass. He smiles bitterly, and then I almost bump into Connor’s back who’s standing still on the cement.

“What’s the f*cking hold up?” I ask. The plane is here, but it’s not Connor’s private jet parked ahead of us, a thick layer of smog clouding the sky.

My face falls.

I recognize the massive white Boeing 787, ostentatious, in your f*cking face.

Just like my father.

He emerges down the stairs of the plane, buttoning his black suit jacket, his dark brown hair starting to gray on the sides.

The flight attendant says, “Mr. Hale’s plane arrived an hour ago. Once the gas tanks are filled, we’ll be off.”

Rose is texting like crazy, and Connor has his hand on the small of her back. He gives the flight attendant a genial smile. “Will Mr. Hale be flying to Philadelphia with us then?”

She nods. “They came to pick you up.”

They?

And right behind Jonathan, another man descends the stairs, tall and confident and entitled. It’s my father’s best friend, his hair lighter brown, in his fifties, a less hard and severe face than my dad’s.

It’s Daisy’s father. My stomach sinks. Fuck me. I’ve never seen Greg Calloway do anything other than smile and shake hands, but worry blankets his face, looking more paternal and more protective than I’ve known him to be. It’s the look that Connor says he wears frequently. I just haven’t been around him long enough to see it.

Greg’s gaze lands on Daisy immediately, but he stays beside the plane, waiting for us to approach like my dad.

I didn’t think it could get worse, but one more f*cking person appears through the doorway, heading down the stairs in heels, a strand of pearls around her neck, her brown hair in a bun.

Samantha Calloway.

Her eyes are tight with concern like Greg’s, and her gaze fixes to her youngest daughter. Samantha places one palm to her chest, as though swept up in emotion upon seeing Daisy. Knowing she’s safe. But then her eyes focus on me.

And she glares.

“Shit,” Lo says under his breath.

We’re about to be stuck on a plane for five hours with our father and the girls’ parents.

With no way to escape.

This is going to be a f*cking nightmare.





< 55 >

DAISY CALLOWAY



My mom holds my hands while I sit with her on the long cream couch that spans the back cabin, another leather couch on the other wall, a glass coffee table in between. It’s like we’re in a compact presidential living room, not flying above the clouds.

“You should have called me the moment you woke up in the hospital,” she says, throttling my hands for the fourth time with worry. And then her eyes pin to Rose on the other couch, who looks irritable. “And don’t get me started on you.”

“Mother, I—”

“You knew Daisy was in the riot, and you didn’t tell me.”

“There was a lot going on,” Rose says. She hasn’t announced the pregnancy to our parents yet, and I know Connor wants to do it soon. “She was in good hands.”

“I’m her mother. When you have kids, you’ll realize what it feels like—hearing that one of your children is hurt weeks after it happens…” She shakes her head.

Rose purses her lips. “That must be why you were so concerned about Lily when you heard she was sick.”

Our mom inhales, and I think she’s going to say: Lily brought that upon herself. An addiction isn’t a disease. But instead she goes with, “Let’s not get into that, Rose.”

Lily is sleeping in one of the bedrooms. I think she’s hiding from our mom, who likes to ignore Lily when she’s in close vicinity. Lo is with her, so it’s not like she’s all alone in there.

I glance back at the door to the front cabin. It’s the cigar club area with chairs and a flat-screen television. I smelled the cigar smoke the moment I walked into the plane, embedded in the cream leather.

Ryke is in there.

Right through those doors.

With my father. And his father. And Connor. Though I’m not sure Connor can be much of a peacemaker in that situation.

It sounds fairly awkward and uncomfortable. I want to go save him from my dad, but something tells me that he’d find a way to talk to Ryke no matter what.

My mom rotates back to me, and her eyes fall to my graphic T-shirt that says: Sorry, I only date boys with tattoos. I’m not sorry about the shirt. I like it. And so I’m wearing it, regardless if she finds it distasteful or not.