Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(53)

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Sara is making waves again,” Connor says.

“My mom has already caused a f*cking tsunami, so whatever waves she’s making, I don’t really want to hear about it.”

Connor flashes me his phone, not letting me ignore this. I grab the damn thing from his hand. The headline of an article reads: Tell-All Interview with Sara Hale Coming Soon on 60 Minutes.

“You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me,” I say, glaring at the image of my mother, sitting with her legs crossed on a chair against a navy blue backdrop. I have my father’s dark hair, not hers. She’s been described as a Julia Roberts lookalike with golden-brown locks, her nose a little sharp. She’s originally from a poor town of New Jersey, a fighter, she used to call herself when she yelled at my dad on the phone.

“Do you know where I came from?” she would sneer. “If I got here from nothing, you think I can’t stay here and protect my son from you? I’m a fighter. I’m going to do everything I can to keep my head above water. If you don’t believe that, then think again, Jonathan. Think again!”

She’s a woman who can’t let go of a f*cking grudge.

I examine the fine print of the article, detailing the interview to come.

Sara opens up about her marital problems with Jonathan Hale, her recent fallout with son, Ryke Meadows, and her plea to reconnect with Ryke. She also discusses the allegations regarding Loren Hale, and in a preview clip, she says, “Through the twelve years that I was with Jonathan, he was nothing but verbally and mentally abusive. The trauma my own son went through with his father…I won’t ever forgive Jonathan for what he’s done.”

“Don’t break my phone, please,” Connor says in a controlled voice. “That’s my lifeline to my wife.”

I’m gripping his cell so hard that I do almost crack the screen. I toss it back to him, my muscles on fire. “Now they think Jonathan traumatized me,” I say with the shake of my head. How can this be my life?

Connor slips his phone in his pocket. “The article could have spun one of her lines. It’s fragmented. Don’t get upset until you watch the interview.”

I shake my head. “Whatever.” I take a few trained breaths, and it returns to normal. But I’d love to go f*cking hit something right now. I need the gym, to just pour my energy and this pressure somewhere healthy instead of keeping it in my chest.

I glance back at Daisy. She tries to force her drowsy eyes open, watching me from the bed, her head on the pillow.

“I wish people were nicer,” she says softly before yawning.

Me f*cking too.





< 22 >

RYKE MEADOWS



I can’t sleep.

Not when I know what’s going to happen.

She tosses and turns underneath her covers, kicking an invisible f*cking enemy. And then around 5:00 a.m., she starts screaming. She shoots up, her eyes snapped open, and she thrashes, scurrying back towards the headboard and swatting at the air.

Her high-pitched shrieks blister my ears and instantly wake up Connor and Lo. I’m already on my feet, by her side while she stares off, focused on something that I can’t see, on something that’s not there.

She’s still asleep.

That’s the scary f*cking part.

“What the hell?” Lo says, rising with Connor.

“Daisy, Daisy,” I try, but I know it’s f*cking useless. She’ll wake up when she’s ready. I slide on the bed, kneeling, and I reach out to hold her, but her fist flies at my shoulder, punching me hard, like I’m the attacker.

“Get away!” she screams, fear pulsing in her big green eyes. “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone! I don’t want this! I don’t want this!” Terrified f*cking tears pour down her cheeks.

Fucking A.

Lo rushes to the bed. “Daisy?! What the hell…” He climbs on the bed while she screams and cries, kicking back so quickly that the sheets bunch at her feet. She clutches the mattress beside her. Lo stands up on the bed and tries to pick her up underneath the arms.

She wails on him the moment he touches her, kicking and whipping her fists every which way. Lo raises his hands in the air in surrender and glances at me. “What the f*ck?”

I stand up with him on the bed, towering over her. I smack his chest slightly with my hand. “She’s still f*cking asleep.”

His brows furrow. “Her eyes are open.” He kicks a pillow at her and she freaks out again, tears running down her cheeks. My heart is racing.

“Daisy, you’re okay,” Lo tells her. “No one is in here.” She’s still unresponsive, and Lo turns to Connor who’s beside the bed, on the ground unlike us.

He wears an unreadable expression, watching Daisy’s hysterical fit.

I’m afraid she’s going to f*cking hurt herself. Her nails start digging into her palms. So I grab her ankle and drag her back down onto the bed. She rolls over on her stomach like she’s crawling through barbed wire.

I bend down and flip Daisy onto her back. She thrashes. “No, no!”

I hate how wrong this looks. I want her to wake up so f*cking badly, especially before someone hears her screams through the walls and calls the hotel staff.

I press my knees onto her legs, pinning her down. And I hold her wrists on either side of her body, and she screams bloody f*cking murder at being trapped like this. I end up having to use one hand to cover her mouth, and she slaps me hard across the face. The sting burns, and I taste blood, my lip busting open.