Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(126)

He doesn’t say I’m sorry for putting you through hell. I’m sorry for kicking you aside and yelling at your brother like he was a piece of shit loser day in and day out. “Why can’t you just f*cking apologize?” I ask. “Why can’t you admit that you f*cked up?”

“Because I didn’t,” he tells me, burning a hole through my chest. “I made a tough decision back then, and if I was put in the same position, I’d make it again. If I didn’t lie about you, Ryke, then the alternative would be to admit to something that would send me to the place you’re standing in right now.” He motions to the cell. “And then where would Loren be?”

My stomach drops as I think of my brother, conceived from statutory rape. My father would have gone to jail and my brother…born from a mom who didn’t want him. Would he have landed in foster care? Or would Jonathan have given him to Greg Calloway to raise? Were they even f*cking friends back then?

“I love you,” he tells me. “I’ve always loved you. Whether you can believe it or not is up to you. I’m not here under false pretenses. I don’t want your f*cking statement to the media. I don’t want your forgiveness. I just want you in my life. I want my son. If that means having to listen to your insults every goddamn dinner we have, fine. But I’d rather have that than nothing at all.” He spreads his arms wide. “Your decision, Ryke.”

I run my hand through my hair. I want to believe him. In the core of my soul, I want this all to end, and I want the f*cking father that he claims to be. But beneath this unconditionally, f*cked up love—there is years and years of pain. How does that ever go away? “How am I supposed to accept you?” I ask, my voice low.

“Ask me anything. I don’t have a problem being honest, even if you don’t like my f*cking answers.”

I don’t know why I realize it now of all f*cking moments—but I curse just like him, just as frequently, just as badly. What does that mean? He rubbed off on me? He was around enough that he could influence me somehow. That even if he lied about me—he was there, trying to be a part of my life.

I take in my surroundings, the metal toilet, the sink, the bars behind my father, the grimy cement wall behind me. My father is giving me an out. I’ve only ever seen black and white when it comes to my family. But maybe this is too gray—maybe there’s no right and wrong choice. There are just decisions that will hurt my brother and decisions that’ll hurt me.

“Why am I even here?” I ask, needing someone to verify my suspicions.

He scrapes his finger against the pole, irritation pooling through his eyes. “That would be Samantha Calloway’s fault. She apparently emailed her friend mid-flight to call the cops on you. She went a little f*cking overboard on her anger.” He looks at me. “Her daughters are all a bit nuts, so you know exactly where they get it from.”

“She called the f*cking cops on me,” I retort. “That’s not nuts that’s—”

“It’s nuts,” he rebuts.

“It’s f*cked up.”

“That too,” he says. “But what do you expect when you stick your dick around a fifteen-year-old girl when you’re twenty-two.”

I glare. “I didn’t—”

“I know,” he says. “Like Greg, I believe you, son. But Daisy is their youngest daughter, the last to leave. You’re encroaching on Samantha’s f*cking territory.” He checks his watch. “Like I said, you’ll be out of here shortly. She has a few fake statements that’ll hold you in here for another ten minutes.”

“They’re going to book me soon.”

He nods. “They’re backed up in there. I’m sure they’ll want to fingerprint you in a half hour.” I do the math easily. He’s saying I’ll be out of here before they can even f*cking charge me. He smiles at me, knowing I understand.

“I resisted arrest—”

“I talked to the officer. They’re dropping it.”

I breathe through my nose, my heart beating quickly. I don’t know why all of a sudden I feel so f*cking overwhelmed. I realize that I’m thankful that he’s here. And the sad thing—I don’t want to feel that way. I’d rather stay angry. Why do I have to hate all the good parts of a person? My mom—I think she f*cking taught me that. Every time I thought about my brother in a good light, she’d crush that vision, she’d focus on the bad, and so I did too.

I can’t do it anymore.

I rub the back of my neck. “What about Lo?” I ask my father, not willing to dodge this topic.

“What about him?”

“You’re f*cking terrible to him,” I say in a deep breath. “What you say to him—it makes me sick. You beat him down, and then he returns to you like a wounded dog. I can’t be around you when you treat him like that.” I’d rather Lo not be around him either, but we’ve tried that way, and look where we are now. Lo loves our father, and he’s going to keep going back, even if it kills him.

My dad absentmindedly unclips and clips his Rolex watch on his wrist. “He’s not you, Ryke. He dropped out of college. He can’t even fill a resume. He shit his life away, and if that means I’m a little tougher on him, fine. But I’m not going to f*cking watch him continue to throw his potential down the drain.”