Fuel the Fire

by Krista Ritchie

  “Are you okay?” Willow tries to rush closer, but I yank her back to me.

  “You’re not wearing shoes either, Willow,” I tell her.

  He hangs his head in more guilt than pain, I think, his hair falling into his eyes. “I tried to turn the lamp back on. I ended up knocking it over and I…” stepped on the glass. He winces, trying to pull out the shard in near darkness.

  “Don’t,” Connor warns. “Rose, can you go get a first-aid kit and check on Jane?”

  “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  Loren’s half-sister snuck her friend into the house. I’m sure she had a reason for this, but it doesn’t assuage the fact that an eighteen-year-old little asshole has been camping out upstairs and my youngest sister is terrified downstairs.

  And by the look on Connor’s normally stoic face, he’s not pleased either.

  [ 48 ]

  CONNOR COBALT

  I learn that Garrison has no phone on him. He gave his cell to Willow when he stowed away in the Escalade’s trunk, wanting to show his friend that he had no plans of deception. When we first checked out the house, Willow stayed back and “called her mom” so she could sneak Garrison inside.

  It’s basically all I gather before Rose returns with the first-aid kit, Jane in arm, and a pairs of shoes. “I want to talk to Daisy and Lily,” she tells me. Her eyes ping to Willow.

  “I’m sorry, Rose—”

  “I understand what it means to be loyal,” Rose says, “but you shouldn’t have kept this from us. If you wanted to bring your boyfriend along, we could’ve worked something out.”

  “Friend,” Willow amends, paling and avoiding her “friend’s” eyes.

  Garrison looks at Rose. “Would it make it better if we were dating?”

  I answer, “It would make it exponentially worse.”

  He shuts up and hangs his head again, beaten more by his own guilt.

  Willow hesitates by the door frame and focuses on Rose. “Can I explain…I want to apologize to Daisy too…?”

  Rose nods. “Follow me.” Both girls disappear.

  Maybe a minute later, Loren enters the room with candles and Ryke comes in with a broom, already up-to-date thanks to Rose. Since all the girls want to be together, the three of us decide to take care of the mess upstairs.

  Loren lights candles around the guest bedroom while Ryke sweeps the glass. I sit on the bed next to Garrison with the first-aid kit.

  “I can do that,” he says while I take out the tweezers.

  I pass them to him. “You need stitches, and the nearest hospital is more than two hours away.”

  Ryke sweeps harder, pissed off since Garrison scared Daisy for a second time, but he’s not about to say: I’m not fucking driving him. He would drive Garrison. He’d drive anyone to the hospital because he cares too deeply about human lives.

  I’m not that way with just anyone, but I appreciate when other people fill the role.

  Garrison seems to grind his teeth back and forth, his eyes clouding, and he glances quickly at me. “Can you stop watching me?” His voice is as serrated as Loren Hale’s.

  “I could, but I’m waiting for you to answer me.”

  He nervously inspects his foot, the tweezers hovering above the glass. He says something under his breath that I can’t hear.

  “What was that?” I ask, easing the tone of my voice for him.

  His nose flares and he shouts, “I’m not going to the hospital!” He jabs the tweezers towards the door. “I promised her I wouldn’t ruin the relationships she’s made with any of you—and if I go to the hospital, people will see you, take stupid pictures, and everyone will know whatever nowhere-ville state we’re in. So no, I’m not going.” He takes a strained breath and focuses back on his foot, jaw tight.

  He has a heart. And maybe he has learned from his mistakes. Enough for me to forgive him for his past transgressions? It may take longer for me to want to spend my time on him, but I can forgive. I can give him that.

  “Relax,” Lo snaps. “We’re not going to force you to do something you don’t want, but I would like to know why you’re here.”

  Ryke crouches to sweep the glass into a dustpan, his face darkening. “If he’s here to get laid—”

  “What?” Garrison cringes. “No.” He recoils at Lo’s glare. “Not that I don’t like Willow.”

  Ryke joins in on glaring at him, so he turns to me for comfort. My face is welcoming among the hard and rough edges of Ryke Meadows and the sharp and jagged ones of Loren Hale.

  Garrison says with bite, “Some starship trooper nerd asked her to prom, okay?”

  “Declan,” Lo says. “You know who he is. Lily told me that he stops by Superheroes & Scones at least four times a week.”

  “To try to talk to Willow,” Garrison complains. “And what the fuck kind of name is Declan?”

  “What the fuck kind of name is Garrison?” Lo retorts.

  Garrison rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Whatever.”

  Garrison hid in a duffel bag in a trunk for twelve hours, and he doesn’t seem the type to go to that length just for a girl. I cut in, “As amusing as all of this is, we’re still no closer to answers, and I’d like them sometime in the next five minutes.”

  Ryke dumps the glass into a trash bag and then disappears into the bathroom. Lo kneels beside the bed and gestures for the tweezers from Garrison.

  He hesitates and then relinquishes them to him.

  “Is there anything we can use to sew up the cut in there?” Lo nods to the first-aid kit.

  Garrison relaxes further at the idea that we’re not going to the hospital.

  “We can find an alternative if that’s what he really wants,” I say. I’m sure we can suture the wound ourselves, but it’s not going to be pretty.

  Garrison nods. “That’s what I want.”

  Ryke returns with a cup of water and hands it to Garrison. I pass him a packet of Advil, the best we have to stop the pain.

  Garrison looks between us, and strangely he seems like he might cry, maybe just overwhelmed. “I thought you two hated each other?” He gestures from Ryke to me. Based off tabloids, it would appear that way.

  Ryke answers before I do, “We’re good friends.” I’d label us in a similar manner. Not just friends, but a friend that I count on, rely on, a person that I need in my life.

  Garrison grows quiet, eyes fixed on the carpet.

  “What is it?” I ask, unable to read the sentiments beneath his features.

  He shakes his head and tears open the packet. “I was just thinking…I don’t even know where I find the kind of friendship that you three have. My friends are dicks.” He lets out a short, pained laugh. “I’m one too…”

  I glance at Ryke and Lo. Through years of ups and downs, fights and riffs between us, we’ve each become closer, and they’ve both taught me valuable things: how to be selfless and how to bear the pain in love.

  I don’t live for money or for titles or achievements like I used to.

  I live for people.

  There is nothing greater than that.

  “We’re all assholes,” Lo tells Garrison. “But one day, you’ll meet an asshole that pushes you to be a better person. Those are the ones that stick with you.”

  Garrison rubs his eyes once, trying to hide the movement from sight. Then he downs the pills with a swig of water.

  “We’re encroaching on my five-minute time limit,” I tell him.

  His throat bobs. “I needed a place to crash…I’ve been sleeping in the breakroom at Superheroes & Scones for the past month. But I found out that Lily planned to install more video cameras in the store…I just…I don’t know. I couldn’t think of anywhere to go.”

  I’ve already compiled a list of five places that seemingly should outrank where he is now. “Your parent’s house,” I suggest.

  He licks his chapped lips. “They think I’m at Faust. You went there, right?”

  I nod. “And why aren’t you there?” Lightning cr
acks outside the windowpane, the thunderstorm still raging on.

  “I flunked out in April…” He tugs his hoodie’s string harder. “Most of the senior classes are college-level, you know that?”

  I nod again. I know.

  “I failed so badly that they wouldn’t even let me take another exam or even attempt the finals in May.” He pulls the hood over his head. “And you know, it’s my parent’s fault.” His bloodshot eyes meet mine. “Why’d they have to send me to a new school in the middle of the year? I know…I know I fucked up, but if I even want a high school diploma, I have to be held back. Do you even know what that feels like?”

  No. “What about your friends? They have houses, I presume.”

  “You mean all my friends that broke into your house to scare you? Those ones?”

  “No,” I say, knowing what happened to them. Their court date passed in April, and they were all tried as adults. They were each sentenced to serve a year. “Your other friends.”

  “I don’t have other friends,” he says. “No one wants to be associated with the bad guy, not at Dalton and definitely not at Faust.” He shrugs. “I had nowhere to go, okay? I had Superheroes & Scones and Willow, that’s it.”

  If Lily and Lo hadn’t been sympathetic towards him—where would he have gone then? I stepped into Loren’s life with zero altruistic motives at first, but these small instances, where we touch another person’s life when they need it most, can be the deciding factor in whether or not they choose to wake up the next morning.

  “I burned the letter that Faust sent my parents before they got it—the one that said I flunked. And you know…” He chokes up. “I’ve never been a good person. I don’t even know what some of you see in me…because I’m shit.”

  If he can see his flaws and ache terribly at the sight of them, I think he’s going to be okay, especially with someone like Lo on his side.

  “You’re not shit,” Lo tells him, as forceful as Ryke would have. “You want this glass out of your foot?”

  Broken souls are mended every day by mended souls that were once broken.

  “Yeah,” Garrison finally lets out a deeper breath. “Yeah, I want it out.”

  [ 49 ]

  ROSE COBALT

  Poppy arrived this afternoon with her husband and daughter, missing the power outage, the surprise of Garrison, and Daisy’s small panic attack. I don’t have the energy to share all of this, so Lily and I just act as though the trip has gone smoothly and listen to updates from our older sister.

  “It’s been chaotic,” Poppy says, removing the whistling kettle from the stove. “There’s always at least four cameramen following Maria to school, and I’ve resorted to escorting her in with three bodyguards.”

  Lily sets three teacups onto the counter. “It’s not so different from before, is it?” This is Lily’s attempt to rouse my spirits. I’m more pissed at paparazzi than sullen and guilt-ridden, but I understand that I’m to blame for the increase in media attention. The newsworthy story centers on Connor and me, but I’d rather plan revenge strategies—that will most likely never come to fruition—than mope.

  “That’s true. There used to be one or two cameramen hovering around us before.” Poppy’s wooden bangles clink on her forearm as she pours hot water into three cups.

  Lily plops in the teabags.

  My joints feel stiff and useless as I stand in the middle of the kitchen. “Neither of you need to waste time cheering me up. I’m never cheerful to begin with.” My voice is chilled. I decide to put in my diamond earrings. “Don’t you remember? I’m made of thorns.” When I was in prep school and being particularly prickly and cold, Poppy would often tell me pointedly, not all of us are made of thorns, you know.

  Poppy gives me an apologetic look, considerate of my feelings even when I’m telling her I have none. I can wave a black heart in her face and she’d still say it beats like everyone else’s.

  “What’s happening is awful,” Poppy says, “and I don’t mean to turn it around and victimize myself.” She passes me a teacup, as a peace offering. “I’ve been trying to tell Mom, Dad, and even Sam to stay out of your business. This is between you and your husband, and none of us have a place to tell you what to do. If I was in your position with Sam, I’d expect the sa—”

  A guttural scream from outside slices Poppy off mid-sentence.

  Daisy.

  The teacup slips from my hand, and I barely hear it shatter as I rush to the sliding glass door, heaving it open. When I reach the deck railing, Poppy and Lily race up to me.

  Below us near the lake, Daisy stands on the long wooden dock with Ryke by her side, their husky sitting at his feet. With her hands balled to fists by her sides, she simply screams into the air. The hairs on my arms rise, her shrilled, pained wail scorching the mountainside.

  Ryke is careful not to touch his girlfriend, cautiously watching her expel whatever has burdened her. I force my feet to this place, wanting badly to aid my sister, but I won’t disrupt them this quickly.

  Give them twenty minutes, Rose. I wince. Or ten.

  “What happened?” Lily asks softly.

  “What hasn’t happened?” My tight voice burns my throat. What if it is something new and not just her panic attack from the séance?

  Poppy puts her fingers to her lips. “I think he broke up with her.”

  Lily’s face scrunches in horror. “No.” She shakes her head repeatedly.

  I’d like to think I know Daisy, and I can’t picture her screaming because a guy ended their relationship, even if that guy is Ryke. And if she did want to scream, she’d never do it standing next to him. What I can imagine: Ryke saying, we’re taking a break and then Daisy retreating to her room to cry, alone.

  And why in everything that’s beautiful would Ryke stomp on my sister’s heart during a trip? A trip that has a twelve-hour car ride home?

  He wouldn’t.

  “He didn’t break up with her,” I tell them.

  “Are you sure?” Poppy asks.

  Lily looks like she might cry. I remember Ryke’s declaration in the kitchen some time ago. About marriage. He wouldn’t end things with her, but there is always the microscopic chance something happened—something I didn’t see in their relationship. They’re just so…private.

  “Not one-hundred percent, but I can’t see him doing it, not here.” I cross my arms, struggling to stay on the deck and not hurry to Daisy’s aid.

  “I can’t see him doing it at all,” Lily says. “He loves her.”

  Poppy twists one of her bangles anxiously. “Not long ago, I told Ryke how important my year break from Sam was for me. Maybe he considered this for Daisy.”

  I press my lips together, already knowing about her talk with Ryke. Poppy just finished saying how she wouldn’t meddle in my relationship, but she’s willing to interject herself in Ryke and Daisy’s. I understand though that Poppy just has experience being young and in love, and she relates more to their relationship than mine.

  I glance at Poppy. “Ryke told me about your conversation, and he was more pissed than anything.”

  Poppy frowns. “Are you sure?”

  Daisy screams again, deep from her core, one that rattles her body. My neck pricks. Don’t cry, Rose. I’m the stoic, severe sister that can carry them anywhere, and I can’t be that sister by drowning in tears.

  I try to let out a constricted breath. I’m familiar with Daisy’s vibrating scream, only I prefer doing it into my coat. My mind rolls through my childhood and adolescence, and I keep hitting a roadblock that Daisy and I share: our mother, the one who likes to interfere with our relationships.

  I slowly turn to Poppy. “Did you talk to anyone other than Ryke about this ‘break’ idea?”

  Poppy open and closes her mouth like a dying fish. “I did tell Mother and Father in passing and…”

  My eyes flash hot. “And what?”

  “She pointed out that I had barely any worldly experiences at eighteen, so it made sense that I’d wa
nt to be independent from Sam after prep school. But Daisy has traveled to nearly every continent since she was fourteen. I hadn’t thought of that until she mentioned it.”

  I freeze. “She disagreed with you?”

  Poppy nods. “A lot, actually. Ever since she threw Ryke in jail, she’s felt guilty. And she felt a little too similar to Sara Hale for her taste, I think.” Our mother hates Ryke’s mother, so comparing them at all must send her into a fit of rage.

  It’s hard for me to believe that I agree with my mother on anything, but I’d much rather have her on my side than going rogue.

  Lily sniffs, her nose running. “And Dad?”

  “He said that they’ve been so committed to each other that it doesn’t make sense for them to break up unless Daisy wants to go to college, but she doesn’t.”

  Regardless of our parents, Daisy’s opinion matters most. “Have you talked to Daisy yet?” I ask Poppy.

  “No, I just keep forgetting every time I see her.” Poppy covers her mouth, upset, and I hear her curse beneath her breath.

  “You didn’t influence him,” I tell her.

  “I don’t see how you can be so sure,” she whispers.

  Lily stops biting her nails and answers first. “Ryke is one of the most independent thinkers I’ve ever met, and if he did this…then he did it on his own…right, Rose?” Tears well in Lily’s eyes.

  “Don’t cry yet. It’s like sobbing at the title screen of a film.”

  She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “You cried at the title screen of Titanic.”

  “I was pregnant and hormonal,” I rebut and huff. “And I knew the tragedy that was about to ensue. We don’t even know what this is about.” These are my defenses to keep the waterworks at bay, and I share them with her as much as possible. Because if she starts bawling—it’s going to create a domino affect between us all.

  I straighten, focusing on the dock. I go utterly silent when Daisy staggers back in exhaustion, her last scream already leaving her lips. She breaks into a sob and her legs buckle beneath her.