“No.”
She stares at me for a while and says, “You’ve always been the most scatterbrained of the girls. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Her eyes narrow a little though. I guess that’s the best I’m going to get. It’s good enough for me.
And then she scrutinizes my hair, combing her fingers through the shorter, badly hacked strands with a crinkled nose. “We can get you some extensions and take out this color… Did you cut this yourself? It’s god-awful.” She takes out her phone and makes a note to call the salon. Just like that, she acts like I didn’t make a pledge, but I won’t ever back away from it. Even if she chooses to forget or feign confusion. I’ll remind her.
“I love it,” I say.
“Funny,” she says, typing on her phone.
“No, I do,” I tell her seriously. “I love that it’s not perfect, and I like the highlights. I’m not changing it.” I glance at Rose, and she wears a proud smile.
“You can’t like this,” she says. “It’s ugly.”
Rose butts in. “It’s her taste.”
“Well she has bad taste,” she snaps. “And I’m trying to help her see that.”
Rose groans. “Mother, why do you have to be so—”
“Because I want what’s best for my girls,” she retorts. Her eyes land on me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You always liked your hair before.”
“I never did,” I say.
She glares. “It’s Ryke, isn’t it? You’re changing because of a boy.”
“Ryke never told me how to cut my hair or what color to make it. He’s only ever told me to think for myself.”
I catch her eyes flickering to the door of the front cabin, where Ryke lies. She glares at it like it accosted her somehow. She blames him for my thoughts and feelings and probably my sudden career change.
“Is he telling you to push me out of your life?” she asks.
“Mom, no. He’s never been like that.”
“He doesn’t like me,” she says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s telling you all of these things—”
“Listen to me,” I plead. “He’s not saying a word about you. I love you, Mom, and he respects that.”
She shakes her head, disbelieving. She doesn’t even need to add the next line for me to sense it, but she does anyway. “You would have never gotten hurt if Ryke didn’t follow you to Paris.” She shakes her head again and again.
The sad thing, there is some truth to that.
I would have never gone to the pub to retrieve Lo if Ryke didn’t show up.
We would have never been stuck in that riot.
But without that violent wake-up call, I would have never realized how much I needed to voice my opinions. Even if it hurt my mom. Even if it pissed her off. All of this had to be said.
For me.
No one else.
You are your own anchor. Do you want to keep burning or are you going to let yourself rise?
No more dragging myself down.
I’m finally ready to rise.
< 56 >
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.