Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(25)

“How to hate my father,” he says without missing a beat. “How to hate my half-brother. Those didn’t really come in handy, did they?”

My mom falters at that response.

“You think I’m the very f*cking extension of my mom,” he continues, “but I haven’t spoken to Sara in over a year.” And still, he can’t shake the association. It’s genetically written all over him.

“What about your father?” she retorts. “Jonathan would love to talk to you, but you’ve ignored every phone call, every text—”

“He really told you that?”

She touches her pearls again. “He told my husband, and my husband told me.” I can see that happening. My dad is best friends with Jonathan after all.

“I’m not on speaking terms with my f*cking father either. Let’s leave it at that.”

My mom lets out a vexed half-laugh. “He’s going through the hardest time in his life with these accusations against him. Do you know what your word would mean to the press?” Jonathan was accused of abusing Lo, and Ryke hasn’t brought it up to me at all. I’m not even sure if it’s true or not. Out of our group of six, I’m the last to receive any info, the little dot on the outside of the inner circle.

“You need to f*cking stop,” Ryke says, truly getting pissed now. “Stay out of it.”

“All you have to do is tell the press that it’s a lie,” she says. “Jonathan’s name will be cleared—”

“You want me to protect that son of a bitch?” Ryke curses, his eyes blazing. “I’m done trying to wipe his reputation clean. He f*cked it a long time ago, and it’s not my job to make sure he comes across as a f*cking angel to the press.”

“What about Lo?” my mom asks. “He’s hurting from this lie just as much as Jonathan.” She lets out another hysteric laugh. “You’re just like your mother, willing to take down everyone in your wake just to hurt Jonathan. When are you going to stop?”

Ryke looks like he’s been slapped. It takes him a moment to collect himself. When he speaks, his voice is leveled and colder than usual. “I’m not actively trying to destroy my father. I’m trying to move on, and I want my brother to do the same. You want me to go defend Jonathan, but I f*cking can’t. I won’t defend someone who may be guilty.”

“He’s not guilty.”

“I don’t f*cking know that!” Ryke yells.

My mom scoffs. “You think that lowly of him? That he could do something that heinous to your own brother?”

“I’ve seen him grab Lo’s f*cking neck with pure malice,” Ryke retorts. “He used to call me a *, and I won national track competitions, so can you even imagine what he called Lo, a kid who had nothing going for him?”

My mom’s lips tighten even more, like she sucked a lemon. Her cheeks have reddened. “He’s a better man than you realize. We’re not all perfect.” Before Ryke can say something more, she spins to me and says, “I came here to talk to you, not to have an argument with Sara’s son.”

Sara’s son. That’s what she thinks of him first and foremost. It’s so stupid.

“Is it important?” I ask.

She nods. “I’ve talked to your agency, and they’ve booked multiple go-sees for you after Fashion Week, as well as a couple campaigns and ads while you’re in Paris.”

My heart beats crazily, and her words jumble together. It takes me a minute to sort through them. “Wait, I’m working after Fashion Week? But I thought…”

Her phone buzzes. She glances at the screen. “It’s foolish to waste three extra weeks in France.” She types a message. “You need to capitalize on the time you have there.”

My free time.

I feel it slipping between my fingers. I feel the exhaustion pummeling me tenfold. I needed a break. I haven’t had one in months. I dreamed of that leisure time in a beautiful country. This was supposed to be it. Glorified independence with a cherry on top.

I feel like she stuck my ice cream sundae under hot water.

But maybe I didn’t deserve the sundae in the first place. I’m going to Paris, staying in a gorgeous hotel. Does it matter that I have to work? I’m being paid more a day than most people make in a year, and all I do is walk down a runway and pose.

Be grateful. I’m trying. I really am. But this sadness just pours into me no matter how much I want to smile and say okay, thank you for the opportunity.

“Daisy,” Ryke says, coming to my side. He gives me a look like speak the f*ck up.

“Mom,” I call.

She’s busy texting.

“Can we reschedule the go-sees? I’ll meet with designers some other time. I just want a couple weeks to myself in Paris.”

“You’ve already been booked. If you cancel, it’ll look badly on you, and then other designers will hear about it.” She pockets her phone in her clutch. “The month will go by before you know it, and then you’ll be back home to do more American spreads.” She kisses my cheeks. “Have a safe flight. Text me when you land.” She checks her watch. “I’m late for a brunch with Olivia Barnes.” She glares at Ryke as if he’s the cause of her tardiness.

She leaves.