Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters)

by Ritchie, Krista

  The waterworks came the moment Harper gripped my wrist and yanked me to my knees.

  “Do it, slut!” Cleo yelled—as though I wasn’t even her friend. She laughed, and Harper smiled. And I cried.

  I started unbuttoning my shorts because I thought—I can’t be tormented for the rest of prep school. I had six months left. Half a year. That was six months too many.

  What was one moment compared to weeks and weeks?

  But I cried.

  I cried as I slipped off my shorts. I cried as I was forced to make a decision that had no good end. The longer I hesitated, the more Cleo threatened me—the more I feared. She said they’d break into my bedroom. She said they’d watch me while I was sleeping. She said that the whole grade would get behind her, rallying against me and my slut sister.

  She said all of this with a slur, the alcohol glazing her eyes. And then I thought—I’ll get away. They won’t remember this in the morning.

  So in my panties with the sex toy by my knee, I made a decision that would haunt me for six more months and counting.

  I stood up and cried, “No.” I shook my head, my hair tangling at my waist. I stepped back into my shorts, zipping them with trembling hands.

  And I pushed the girls out of my way. They were screaming behind me, tugging my hair, but I got the elevator moving, and when the doors burst open, I sprinted.

  I sprinted, took the staircase back down, and I kept looking back—terrified, haunted.

  The next day at school, my locker was filled with condoms.

  The next day after that, two guys cornered me in the hallway and tried to give me a titty twister in jest and cruelty.

  I always looked over my shoulder. I always locked the door. And I prayed for the end.

  Graduation may have come. But my fear always, always stayed.

  I wish I could go back and choose the other option. I’ve told that to Ryke before, and he said it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe he’s right.

  “Daisy,” Rose says, her voice breaking.

  I realize that I’m crying so hard. And both Lily and Rose are kneeling on the hardwood beside me with tears of their own. My throat burns, and it takes me a moment to recognize that everything swirling in my head came right out of my mouth.

  That story—they heard every little detail. All the bits and pieces and the pain.

  “It’s over,” Rose says, rubbing my back. “They can’t hurt you anymore. We won’t let them.”

  I nod, believing her words. I haven’t been confronted by someone in months. Ryke’s made sure of that.

  “Daisy.” Lily speaks, her voice surprisingly steady. She’s the one that holds my hand tight. I finally look up, staring into her bloodshot eyes that flood with tears. “I’m really sorry this happened to you. And I know…I know it’s hard sharing this stuff, but thank you for telling us.”

  My chest swells, and I nod a couple times.

  Rose wipes some of my tears for me with the brush of her fingers to my cheek, and she asks, “Have you told your therapist?”

  “Parts,” I whisper.

  Rose shakes her head. “Daisy, you have post-traumatic stress. It’s probably why you aren’t sleeping.”

  My tears just keep coming, silently.

  “You need to tell your therapist the rest, okay?” Rose adds, sniffing. She dabs a tissue under her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara.

  “I told Ryke all of it,” I murmur.

  “And I told Lo about my problems,” Lily replies sweetly. “It’s not enough.”

  I stare at Lily’s hand in mine. Her nails unpainted and bitten to the beds, but she has a beautifully strong grip, one that makes me feel okay and safe.

  “Boys are like pillars,” Rose tells me. “Ryke is something to lean on. But they don’t make you move. You have to do that for yourself.”

  “I want to be stronger,” I whisper. “I just don’t know how.”

  “One step at a time,” Lily says.

  “And you’ve already taken the biggest one.” Rose kisses me on the head and Lily tackles me with her hug. I smile into these tears, this sadness that is ready to leave.

  I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.

  But it feels good.

  I feel light. Airy. Like I can breathe.

  < 68 >

  RYKE MEADOWS

  We don’t rush the living room. I walk back and forth in the kitchen a couple times, and then I see Daisy curled on the couch and Rose tucking a flannel blanket around her. Her black dress rises to her thighs as she sits beside Daisy, stroking her hair. Normally Rose would pull down the hem of her dress, but she’s too concentrated on her sister to notice. She whispers to Daisy, who tries to sleep.

  Lily pads into the kitchen first, dried tear marks all the way down her cheeks. Lo pulls her into his chest, leaning against the cabinets while she wipes her face.

  I’ve spent the last ten minutes explaining what happened with Daisy’s friends to both Lo and Connor. She asked me to do that part, so it would be less awkward. I would have told everyone months ago, but it wasn’t my place. That story is too fucked up and personal and she needed to talk about it with other people. I couldn’t do that for her.

  When Rose’s heels clap into the kitchen, the tension breaks. Her blazing yellow-green eyes are on me, and my back straightens, on the fucking defensive. “I’ve tried to get her to talk—”

  “Thank you,” she cuts me off. Surprise coats my face. I can’t hide it, but she continues anyway. “You were there for her, and if you weren’t, I don’t think she could have managed… So thank you.”

  My throat squeezes, and I nod in reply.

  Connor sidles behind his wife, and his arms slip around her waist. I notice how his palm rests on her stomach for a brief moment or two. His head lowers, and he whispers in her ear.

  The silence strings through the kitchen, and there’s this unspoken feeling of regret, of wishing we could have been there to fucking stop it from happening. The most I could do was protect her afterwards, but it was hard while she was still living with her parents. She had to walk down the hallways and find an inner-strength that I couldn’t give her. I don’t think anyone could.

  Rose is the first to disrupt the quiet. “I can’t believe it was her own friends.”

  Friends aren’t forever. Daisy used to tell me that a lot. One of her fucking theories. I wish I could disprove it, but we’ve all had shit luck with friends since the fame. Small price to pay, most people would claim.

  “I never fucking liked her friends,” I say, stuffing my hands in my leather bike jacket. “They were fake.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Connor adds. “Teenagers can be crueler than most. They feel above the law, especially the ones who come from our kind of lifestyle.”

  Lo nods like he understands that. In prep school, he was known to be a fucking bully and be bullied. But he was also verbally abused as a kid—not an excuse, just a fucking fact.

  Lo stares down at Lily as she starts drifting off into space. “You okay, love?” he asks.

  “I wish that had been me,” she says softly.

  He kisses her temple and holds her closer. The room blankets in a velvet silence. No one saying much of anything. But I think everyone’s heads are at the same place. The kitchen is barren, with boxes and boxes piled high. We’re all moving, separating, but it seems like we’re not at the place we should be.

  Any of us.

  Splitting apart—it feels fucking weird, not right.

  “Does your offer still stand?” Lo asks, his eyes on Connor.

  “Which offer?”

  “The one where we move in with you guys,” Lo says. “I was thinking that we could buy a house with a lot of security. More than this place. And Daisy could live with all of us. I think she might feel safer than living alone with Ryke. And then when the babies are born, we’ll just…we’ll figure it out then.”

  It’s probably the most selfless suggestion my brother has ever m
ade. Because I know how much he hates to be moving back in with Connor and Rose. How much he feels like a little kid on a leash, even though it’s probably saved his ass on numerous occasions. But I also know how much Daisy will love this.

  How much it will help her.

  It’s why no one says anything else about it.

  It’s just understood.

  < 69 >

  RYKE MEADOWS

  My phone vibrates in my pocket as I walk down the carpeted staircase. I simultaneously check my text and follow Lo out of the heavy double doors. Our new house sits in this rich neighborhood in Philly, not the same one our parents live in—but fucking close. At least it’s gated.

  At least we can fucking run down the street without fearing a swarm of paparazzi.

  I open my phone.

  I love you. Maybe we can meet up, if that’s alright. Anywhere you want. – Mom

  I stop on the stone steps outside, the birds singing. 6 a.m. My favorite time of day. The sun hasn’t risen, but the sky is lighter and the air is fucking cooler.

  My mom.

  She hurt me more than my father ever could have. Because I loved her unconditionally. Because I sided with her against Jonathan out of blind loyalty. Because she destroyed Lily and her family, and there’s no going back from that.

  But she’s still my mom.

  She’s still the same woman who went to my track meets, hugged me tight Christmas morning and signed me up for any hobby that I asked, for any sport that caught my eye. She gave me the fucking world—I was just a little fucking lost inside of it.

  I’ll always have those good memories. I just need to hold onto them.

  “You coming?!” Lo calls, already at our mailbox, stretching his legs.

  “Yeah! Hang on.” My fingers move quickly across the screen.

  I’d like that.

  I press send and slip the phone back in my pocket. It’s the first text in two years that I’ve replied to, the first hand I’ve extended. Time to start over.

  I walk to Lo, and I stretch beside him in the yard, not saying anything at first. But then he speaks up. “So…I watched the interview.”

  I don’t look at him. I just sit on the fucking grass and reach out to my shoe, my muscles pulling in taut strands. “Yeah?”

  “Was it hard?” he asks.

  I stare off, my gaze on the dewy blades of grass, the ground cold in the December morning. A couple weeks ago, I sat down with a reporter.

  I tell Lo the honest truth, no lies. “It was one of the hardest days of my fucking life.”

  It had been more difficult than climbing three rock faces back to back. More difficult than sitting in a jail cell. More difficult than having a civil lunch with my father.

  “You didn’t stutter or anything during it,” Lo says. “Connor was worried you were going to forget your name.”

  I laugh lightly. “Yeah…” It’s all I can really say. The reporter, a woman in a sleek gray suit, a microphone attached to her blouse, asked me pointblank what the nation has always wanted to know.

  “Did Jonathan Hale ever inappropriately touch Loren?”

  I denied every allegation, every claim that painted my dad in a bad light and caused my brother pain.

  Lo’s Nike sole knocks into mine as he stretches on the ground too. “You said the hardest things are usually the right things, right?” His brows furrow. I think he’s worried that I’ll regret making a statement to the press.

  I don’t.

  Not all. The allegations weren’t true. There was no reason to keep quiet other than to punish my father, and I needed to unhook that fucking chain from my ankles. “It was definitely the fucking right thing,” I say with all my confidence.

  His shoulders relax. “Thanks,” he says. “I mean it. Not just for this but for taking care of Daisy, for being here for me during these rough months. I take you for granted sometimes, but I never fucking forget that you’re the reason I’m sober.”

  I actually smile. I think my face says it all. Sometimes it’s hard to tell that he cares, and when moments like this come, the tough parts don’t seem so fucking bad. It’s worth everything.

  We stand at the same time and head to the mailbox again, letting go of the heavy shit before we run.

  “Five miles,” Lo says jumping up and down to warm his blood. “You’re not beating me this time, big brother. Watch yourself.”

  I stumble on his use of “big brother”—said with endearment. Somewhere along the way, I’ve earned the title. That feels fucking good.

  “Hey you, staring off into space, did you hear me?” Lo asks, waving his palm at me.

  I smack his hand away. “You have a lacrosse stick lying around? I like my fucking legs, so don’t break them.”

  Lo spreads his arms out. “No cheating. Fair race. I expect a fucking trophy when I beat your ass at your own sport.”

  “Fat fucking chance.”

  And then we both look at each other, no countdown. We just take off at the same time.

  Our paces are mimicked. Stride for stride. Leg for leg. Step for fucking step. He runs right beside me, our rhythm exactly the same. He pumps faster, and I push harder. Matched.

  My breathing steadies and my head feels light. When I look beside me, for the first time, I don’t see that weight on my brother’s chest. I don’t see anything tugging him backwards.

  He’s fucking smiling.

  The sun streams through the trees, our distance shortening with each step. Pride, for him, consumes me.

  And it’s at four miles in—when he leaves my side and takes five lengthy strides ahead—that I know.

  He’s going to outrun me.

  < 70 >

  DAISY CALLOWAY

  “Oh my God, it’s cold,” Lily complains, hugging one of Rose’s white fur coats tighter around her tiny frame. Along with her Wampa cap, she looks like a little furry creature. Totally huggable. Which is why I have an arm around her shoulders, taller than my older sis.

  Our breath smokes the air, standing in two feet of snow that blew in yesterday. We hide behind a fir tree in the front lawn. Or as Lily likes to call it: the big ass Christmas tree.

  “I agree,” Rose says, so cold that her bones have frozen her into a rigid stance.

  “I offered you my sweats,” I remind her. She’s in black tights and a maxi dress that soaks in the snow. Her booties are completely sunken in the white powder. My outfit isn’t better. I slipped on the shoes by the door in my haste to pull my sisters outside quickly.

  They were flip-flops.

  Let’s just say the chill is most definitely creeping in, and my numb toes scream for a warm bath.

  Rose gives me a look at my comment, and I think she would put her palm to my face like don’t even. But she’s too cold to stretch her arms past her sides.

  “I promise this is going to be worth the pain,” I say with a big smile. I reach out and shake both of their arms playfully. I love that I have more time left with them, and Lily shares my smile like it’s contagious.

  Rose rolls her eyes. But I swear the corner of her lips lift. She takes out her cell, and Lily reaches over me to grab it, but she’s too far away. Rose easily clutches the phone to her chest.

  “This is a stealth mission, Rose,” Lily whispers.

  I snatch the phone out of Rose’s hand and pass it to Lily, who starts checking her texts.

  Rose sets her hand on her hip. “Why are you whispering?” she snaps. “There’s no one here but us.”

  Lily gapes at the screen. I lean over her shoulder and see a series of texts back and forth between her and Connor. “You couldn’t leave his texts unanswered for an hour?” she asks.

  “He was annoying me,” she retorts. “My voice had to be heard.”

  My own phone buzzes in my jeans, and I check it quickly.

  Will you be coming to the luncheon on Sunday? – Mom

  A pit forms in my stomach. I text back: Yeah, but Ryke is coming with me.

  I wait a couple se
conds since she usually replies quickly, but my phone stays silent. Every time I stop by the house, she refuses to acknowledge Ryke. I think she’s partly embarrassed by what she did with the cops, and she’s too proud to admit fault.

  So she’s sticking to her guns.

  But I can’t be fake to her. I can’t be friendly when she’s being rude. And I’ve told her numerous times that if she doesn’t apologize to Ryke, then I won’t be the warm, cheerful daughter around her. I’ll be a little colder.

  I’m willing to meet my mom halfway. My dad told me that she loves me too much to be stubborn for so long. To just give her time. I hope he’s right.

  “Shhh,” Lily whispers, her eyes bugging. As the silence descends, I hear the sound of Rose’s Escalade rolling into the driveway.

  “One…” I whisper, listening to a couple car doors popping open.

  Lo’s edged voice resounds across the yard. “Christ, we need to get someone out here to plow the driveway again.”

  “Two,” I count to my sisters.

  “I can do it later,” Ryke tells him.

  I smile wide. “Three.” We run out of our hiding places, or really, I run with frozen feet and they walk. Snowballs lie in their gloved hands (mine gloveless).

  I focus on the guy in the leather jacket, carrying a case of Fizz Life and a carton of eggnog. And I pelt him with a snowball, square in the chest, the snow bursting open and soaking his gray shirt.

  I grin. And his eyes darken on me while his brows rise. “Really, Calloway?”

  “Really, really,” I say, already scooping up more snow for my second attack.

  Lily shrieks, and I glance over, realizing that Lo’s hair is wet and he’s started chasing her around the snowy yard. She abandons her pre-made snowballs and runs away with a silly smile, her hands on her head like her Wampa cap may blow off.

  “Nice hit, Lily!” I call.

  She gives me a thumbs up.

  And then cold blasts my bare skin. Right in the face. Waking me in an instant. I smile and look at Ryke who has ditched the soda and eggnog. He bends down to make his second snowball.

  Game on.

  I dodge his next shot and land another one at his shoulder. I try to take a step towards him, but my flip-flop gets stuck underneath the snow. I outstretch my arms for balance, but my weight tilts me backwards and I fall, the white powder catching me like an icy pillow. My hair and my long-sleeve tee is soaked through and through.