Thrive (Addicted, #4)(122)

He’d do the same for Lily, and it’s a role that I’ve easily accepted. I pat the leather seat next to me. “Scoot back.”

Daisy

reluctantly distances herself from the window, about to slide to the center seat.

“Not

that far,” I say before she reaches the middle. “The cameras can get a picture of you from the windshield.” This way she’ll be blocked by the front seat.

She

nods, her eyes swollen from crying. Tear streaks are dried on her face, even her left cheek with the long scar. It’s less red than it used to be, but it’ll always be noticeable.





“I


hate my mom for doing this to him,” Daisy says softly.

“Yeah,”

I say, leaning my head back, “Samantha Calloway isn’t a bright ray of sunshine.” I think of all the pain she’s caused Lily through this brutal silence and cold shoulder act. And now, with what she did to Ryke, who’s completely innocent— “No,

I really, really hate her,” Daisy cries angry tears, turning her head towards me. Christ. It’s scary—seeing malice on a girl who’s never worn it before, someone so full of life. “I quit modeling, and instead of being okay with it, she blamed Ryke and did this.”

Her phone is clutched in her shaking hand. “What people are saying…none of it’s true. You know that, right?”

Yeah, I know. I’m also very familiar with defamatory allegations, being falsely accused. I snatch the phone out of her hand and scroll through her Twitter feed while she rubs her eyes.

@GBANews: Ryke Meadows under arrest for statutory rape. #BreakingNews

@PoPhillyFan12: #Raisy is dead :( I can’t believe Ryke would do that! #TeamCoballoway

@Sucker3Punch: He’s still hot imo. Why’d Daisy have to tempt him like that? #Raisy is dead bc of that ho.

@WendyBird_1: #Raisy is dead cries

“Raisy is dead” is trending on Twitter. I try to hide a grimace. Ryke and Daisy were one of the most popular parts of the reality show, for all the flirting that pushed boundaries but never crossed the line. I didn’t think that their fans would revolt, not even over something like this.

“There’s no evidence against him, Daisy,” I remind her.

“People will get over it.” A camera lens taps the window, crowding too close.

She barely even flinches at the noise.

“They didn’t drop what happened to you,” she says softly.

I stiffen. “It’s different.” There’s an ongoing investigation for the molestation case, and they have family friends saying things like Jonathan Hale has physically grabbed Loren in public. Maybe just the back of my head. They’re stretching what little they’ve seen.

“It’s not the media that hurts the most,” she whispers. “I just…” She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, the strand dyed pink. “I feel so betrayed by my mom.” Samantha was the one who tipped off the police.

I shut off her phone. “Ryke won’t be charged with statutory rape. They have no evidence, Daisy.

Just concentrate on that.” It’s the one silver lining. Samantha just wanted to throw Ryke into the media hellfire, let them tear at his character for a while since he’s dating her daughter. I don’t want him to have to deal with this anymore than I want Daisy to.

“Maybe I pushed him too hard…that’s what everyone says, you know? That I tempted him.”

I glare at her. “First of all, you both didn’t sleep together until you were legal.” I internally cringe at the thought of them doing anything other than holding hands. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Daisy Calloway. “And secondly, Ryke is going to bitch you out the minute you blame yourself. So rethink your first statement to him.”

Her chin quivers. “No, I blame my mom…more than anyone.”

I don’t add what she probably already knows. This goes beyond Samantha being pissed that Daisy quit modeling. She hates Ryke’s mother, so she wasn’t ecstatic upon learning that her daughter was dating the offspring of Sara Hale. I don’t even think Greg Calloway is all that excited about the idea. For the same reason I wasn’t: Ryke expresses himself in an aggressive way with very few words. I wouldn’t want that kind of guy dating my daughter. Not that I’ll ever have one.

Suddenly the cameras break from the Escalade in a wave, rushing towards the jail. Daisy slides closer to the door and grips the handle.

“Don’t leave the car,” I warn.

She inhales sharply and says, “He’s coming out!” Tears flood her eyes, overwhelmed and clearly in love with my brother. I can’t deny that fact.

I only have an awesome view of cameramen with gnarly beards.

I sigh heavily, wishing they’d hurry up. I almost stick my head through the middle of the seat, just to look, but my joints are welded together in agitation.

And then, the front door swings open. “Ryke, did you sleep with Daisy when you were on the reality show?! Are you going to trial?!” But Ryke doesn’t climb in.

My father takes the front seat next to Anderson. Before he slams the door, he shouts back, “There is no trial because he hasn’t been charged. Write that up in your goddamn papers.” He shuts them out, drowning the noise for point two seconds.