Hothouse Flower

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RYKE MEADOWS

I’m in a room alone with my fucking father, my girlfriend’s dad and Connor. Right when I stepped onto the plane, Greg put his hand on my shoulder and said, “We need to talk.”

I thought he was reserving that talk with Daisy, but I’m sure he’ll have another one with her later, just to confirm that I didn’t sleep with her when she was fifteen.

He steered me into the front cabin and pushed me onto a cream leather recliner.

My sore muscles tense the longer I’m in a room with the fucking devil and his sidekick. That devil, by the way, has already poured his second glass of whiskey: straight, one ice cube. By the window, he takes big sips, sitting on a chair next to Connor, watching Greg face me in his own seat.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Greg admits, his green eyes zeroed in on me like a fucking target.

I rub the back of my neck and say, “You can ask me anything.” I can’t look at my father, only ten feet away, right fucking there. I haven’t been this close to him in years.

“I can think of a hundred places to start,” my dad pipes in, swishing his glass of whiskey. Instead of meeting my father’s eyes, I look at Connor beside him, his expression unreadable, drinking red wine. He easily fits among these men who are twice his age, and Connor exudes far more fucking confidence than either of them.

I’m no longer outdoors. I’m no longer in my element. I’ve entered Connor’s fucking realm, and I wonder if he’s mentally snapshotting this picture of me, here. Like I did to him back in Tennessee.

Greg’s eyes never leave mine. “I have this, Jonathan.” His jaw clenches once, and he says, “I let you chaperone my daughter on her sweet sixteen trip.” His voice shakes, seething. “I put my trust in you, and you spat at me.”

I don’t interrupt him. I breathe through my nose, trying not to get defensive.

“I want to know,” Greg says, clutching his knees, “if you’ve been avoiding me for the past two and a half years because you knew what you were doing was wrong.”

“No,” I say, my chest inflating with these raw emotions.

“Speak up, Ryke,” my father says from the window. “And he deserves more than a half-hearted no from you.”

I run my hand through my hair. That movement stretches my sore deltoids and biceps, and I stifle a fucking grimace. I wonder if it looks like I’m pissed at Greg. I know I’m hard to read. I know the only thing people see is this fucking black expression.

Truth is, I care what he thinks of me. Maybe a year ago I’d say believe what you want. I don’t give a fuck. But I don’t want Daisy to have to choose between me and her parents. I don’t want this fucking headache for her. I’m trying to do what’s right.

“I never thought being her friend was fucking wrong,” I start. “So no, I never intentionally avoided you because of Daisy.” I avoided you because you were friends with my father, who I never wanted to see.

I can tell Greg is fuming inside. He breathes heavily. “Let’s cut the bullshit. You were more than just her friend.”

I’m too exhausted to lean forward and start shouting. Which may be a fucking good thing. “No, I wasn’t. I never kissed her until Paris,” I tell him the truth.

Greg is still on the offensive. “Help me to believe you, Ryke. I work eighty hours a week. I don’t have time to hover over my daughter, but I have been very aware of how much time she’s spent with you. And I’ve been very aware of how much she’s fallen for you.”

“Then why not tell her to get the fuck away from me?” I ask, extending my arms. “If you thought I was such a bad influence, then why let her hang around me for so fucking long?”

He lets out a tight breath. “Samantha didn’t care for you, but I remembered you as a young boy. You were tough and strong, and you didn’t take shit from anyone, not even Jonathan.”

My dad smiles at that and raises his drink. His eyes meet mine, and I see a glimmer of fucking pride. That I’m strong like him.

My stomach roils.

“Out of my four daughters, Daisy is the most reckless. She never sits still. Even as a child, she always found a way outside when her mother or nannies weren’t looking. And you came into her life around the same time that our family became a public spectacle.”

I read into the rest. “You liked that I could keep up with her,” I realize. “You wanted me to be her fucking bodyguard, and you never thought I would be stupid enough to cross that line.” No matter how hard Daisy flirted, no matter how much she teased me, he believed I would never take her shit. I’d shut her down every time.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because I fell in love with her.

He nods once. “All this time I’d been worried that you’d lead her on and she’d be crushed from the rejection, but I never actually thought you’d get with her.” He lets out a short breath. “It was naïve of me.”

I shake my head. How do I change how he sees me? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I comb my hand through my hair again, a weight on my chest. “I’m not like her ex-boyfriends,” I say. “I’m not in it for…” Fuck. I can’t end that thought.

Greg looks just as uncomfortable.

“The sex,” my father finishes for me. “No need to beat around the proverbial bush.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “You don’t have any daughters, Jonathan.”

“Thank God for that.”

Connor looks amused by the whole conversation. He leans back and sips his wine.

Greg has simmered down some, but his shoulders still stay locked and rigid.

“Let me help you out, Greg,” my dad says. “It’ll be easier for me to ask the harder questions.” No. Fuck no. Still, I don’t shoot to my feet. I stayed glued to this fucking chair, my eyes flickering to an ash tray on the glass end table. Avoiding my dad’s gaze for another moment. The plane shakes as we fly through a cloud.

My dad rises and holds onto the back of Greg’s chair, the turbulence rough. “Did you ever think about Daisy sexually when she was fifteen?” my father starts.

My chest inflates with anger again. “Fuck off.”

“I’ll take that exceedingly rude and annoying answer as a yes,” my dad says, sipping his whiskey.

I glare. “No. I had no intention of…” I trail off and glance at Greg.

“Act like her father isn’t in the room,” my dad says.

That’s fucking impossible. He’s four feet away from me. “Look,” I say, “Daisy is gorgeous, but I tried not to think of her like that.”

“Tried? Did you fail?” he asks.

“Why are you prosecuting me like a fucking lawyer, Dad?” I retort.

His eyebrows rise in genuine shock. “So you still consider me your father? That’s funny considering you’ve returned only one of my calls in a year.” Before I tell him to fuck off again, he asks, “Did you masturbate to her image or likeness?”

“No,” I growl. A few times. Once recently. She was eighteen already. A part of me will always feel guilty for it.

“That’s enough, Jonathan,” Greg says. His eyes actually soften on me, noticing how worked up I’m getting. I’ve balled one of my hands into a fist, and a bitter, nasty taste rises in my mouth.

Greg asks, “What’s your longest relationship, Ryke?”

“A few months, maybe four.”

Greg sighs. “Okay, here’s where I stand. I believe that you weren’t with my daughter until Paris, but that doesn’t mean I approve of you with her. You’re still twenty-five, and maybe in ten years the age difference won’t seem as significant, but what you’ve just said makes me think you’ll last three months. You say you’re not in it for the sex, but I’m not that naïve.” He pauses and adds, “She’s given you her heart, and if you’re going to give her anything less than that, then you need to end this right now. Understand?”

I nod a couple times. I can’t just leave it like this. I dig inside my soul, trying to produce something more. “I hope,” I say, meeting Greg’s gaze, “that one day you’ll be able to see how much I love your daughter.”

“If you stay with her long enough, I just might.”

It’s definitely better than where we started. He reaches out to shake my hand.

It’s a kind offer, one that I won’t fucking reject.

I’m going to build a relationship with her father, even if it means having to get closer to mine. It’s a sacrifice I am willing to make a thousand times over.

I’d fucking call that love.