by B. Celeste
Blotting my chin with a napkin to wipe up the water that escaped, I clear my throat. “I… If you really want me to, then yes.”
“It’s nothing personal,” he tells me. Seriousness crosses his face, any trace of flirtation and playfulness from before is now gone. “When you’re a recovering addict, anything can trigger you. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been clean. It takes one bad decision to mess up any progress you’ve made. I refuse to do that to myself and to the people closest to me.”
I get it. He needs to be sure I won’t screw up his sobriety if we both agree to be temporary roommates. “Okay. I’ll do a drug test.”
There’s a moment of pause between us before he nods once. “You’ll need to try finding a job.”
Before I can stop myself, I wince. “Well, I actually have one.” I focus on cutting up the steak and stabbing a piece with my fork. “It doesn’t pay very well is all. I’ve been looking for extra work here and there, but nothing has caught my eye.”
“Any insurance?” he randomly asks.
My shoulders slump at one of the biggest hurdles I’ve dealt with. “Nope.”
“You need a new job then.”
I scoff, glancing up at him. “It’s not that easy. This place is saturated. Maybe if I wanted to be a fast-food worker or waitress I could find something, but that isn’t what I want to do.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
Stalling, I take a bite of my dinner and look around the restaurant he brought me to. It’s one of those fancy ones that has separate dining rooms. The one we’re in is spread out, more secluded, and I have a feeling he paid extra for the isolation.
“Rylee.”
Chewing with my mouth half-full I explain, “I don’t want my food to get cold.”
His eyes narrow knowingly, but he starts eating too. Even I know better than to believe he’ll let it go just like that. “What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.” I barely hear my own voice, but the star across from me must have super-sonic hearing.
“Like a screenwriter?”
I slowly shake my head.
“Books?”
My bottom lip is sucked into my mouth by my top two teeth.
He sighs. “Rylee, talk to me.”
I set down my fork and sit back in the chair until our eyes are locked. There’s no way he’s going to be okay with what I’m going to say, so I brace myself. “The reason this won’t work out is because I write for the L.A. Free Press. I get paid per article that they publish, and there’s a lot of competition in the tabloid world, as you know.”
I’m not surprised to be met by silence.
“Listen, I appreciate what you wanted to do for me. It’s more than anyone would have even considered, but—”
“Do you feel bad?” he cuts me off.
I blink a few times. “Excuse me?”
He regards me with a causal demeaner, and I don’t understand why he’s being so levelheaded. “Do you feel bad about what you write? What they publish?”
“I…” I swallow my words, considering the answer I give him for a few moments. “Yes. Well, maybe like 90% of the time I do.”
His head cocks. “Why do you do it?”
“It’s money.”
“At what cost?”
What does that even mean?
“I’m pretty good at reading people, Rylee. You seem like the type of person with strong morals. So why have a career that breaks your internal code so often.”
Again, I’m speechless, unable to conjure a better answer other than the financial benefits. It’s a job that used to keep a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and gas in my car. Even if I struggled with the outcome of what I wrote, it was something that supported me.
“It’s not all bad,” is what I come up with, but my answer is weak at best.
He shakes his head, an empty smile tilting the corners of his lips. Eating in contemplation with his eyes on his plate, I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.
I’m half tempted to grab my bag and leave before he can tell me to, but I suck it up and wait it out instead. He told me I could go at any time, but something is urging me to stay.
He gestures toward my food. “You need to eat something.”
I stare.
His brows pinch. “You clearly have a thing against eating cold food, so sitting there staring at me—as flattering as it is—won’t do you much good.”
I can’t help but shake my head, fighting the heat that wants to settle into my cheeks. “I don’t understand you. I just told you I work for the kind of people who have gone after you and your band before. Why aren’t you angry?”
“Do you want me to be?” he returns, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. A shoulder lifts, and once he swallows he says, “I’ll let you in on a little secret of mine, love. Anger gets you nowhere. It takes up too much room inside a person—blocks their creativity and ability to love something instead. Being angry isn’t worth it.”
Letting that soak in, I play around with the steak until I find myself nodding along in agreement and taking another bite.
“Did you write about Violet Wonders?”
A few second pass, my chewing slow and calculated as I gather some courage. Suddenly, the meat doesn’t taste so good. “No.” I look at him through my lashes, conscience heavy. “I wrote about Zayne though.”
He stops eating, his plate half-empty as he studies me rather than what’s left of his meal like he was doing before. This time, I feel his eyes on me like fire licking the surface of my skin. It doesn’t burn, but it’s there to remind me that anything can happen if I move in even the tiniest way.
The fork in his hand slowly gets placed on the table. “We have met before, haven’t we?”
My nostrils twitch as an indescribable feeling fills my chest. “Once.”
“Those eyes…”
Our one interaction was over in a blink, but I still remember the way he watched me when Zayne brought me into that club they were hanging out at. I’d had my doubts about going through with the story, especially when I saw how Garrick Matthews was watching me with so much interest I almost believed he liked me. But I needed the money more than I needed the boy-bander’s attention, and he wasn’t who I was there with anyway.
“Zayne introduced us a few years ago. I look different now, but—” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath and getting to the point. “I was tight on money and my boss kept pressuring me to get a story. It’s an excuse, one that I’m not proud of, but I was desperate.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if I like his silence, but I brought it on myself.
“I took some photos during one of the get togethers you guys were having. He invited me and I saw an opportunity.” Eyes lowering, I feel the atmosphere shift with the realization of what photos I’m referring to. “I’m sorry for what I did but those pictures… The story helped me get by. They got me out of a tough spot for a while.”
The only sound around us is the clattering of plates and utensils, and the low murmurs of other conversations. Our waiter is stationed on standby close enough where I’m sure he’s getting an earful.
It takes a few awkward moments before he finally decides to speak. “You’re the one who leaked pictures of him with the drugs, aren’t you?”
I close my eyes.
Take a deep breath.
Then nod.
There’s a quiet curse that escapes him before I make myself look up. He’s scraping a hand through his thick hair, looking confused and contemplative.
“It was wrong of me,” I repeat. “But you don’t understand. Sometimes we have to do bad things to make ends meet. That’s what I did.”
“You could have found another story.”
I lick my lips. “You’re right. But instead, I chose the one that I knew would make me money. The one that would pay the rent and help me buy food for myself and pay for my medicine. Does that make me horrible?
Probably. But when was the last time you struggled to afford things you needed to survive? Or when you had to make a tough decision even if it impacted your moral beliefs because it was that or feeling half-human and in need of some relief because you’re sick? You have the money and the means because you’re Garrick Matthews. Just like Zayne is…Zayne. People like you have the chance to get better because you have the resources. I’m not trying to justify what I did or make it seem right. It wasn’t. But at least try to understand my perspective.”
His gaze moves over my face, paying attention to every detail available to him—my thin, expressionless lips, my button nose, and how my right eye is slightly bigger than my left one. I’m nothing like the women he’s involved himself with, but I’m not self-conscious over it.
He lifts a hand, eyes going to the wait staff until our waiter tips his head once when Garrick says, “Check please.”
My heart drops, but I accept defeat. He may have not started with money, but his life is saturated with it now. Why would he want to put himself in my shoes?
Once he gets the check, the waiter also brings over two boxes for us. I don’t dare touch mine, feeling bad about taking anything from Garrick after he slides some cash into the folder before passing it back to the server.
“Come on,” Garrick tells me, pointing toward the Styrofoam box. “Put your food in that and let’s go.”
I blink. “What?”
It’s obvious that he’s upset, but he doesn’t let it show in his tone or expression as he scrapes his chair back to stand. “The money I’ve earned has been with the memory of what it was like to struggle. I don’t want to go back to that place because I’ll never forget what it was like. For me. For Chase. For my mum.”
There’s a pause.
“I’m rich, Rylee. Not heartless.”
7
Garrick
I see my brother’s shirt before I notice the rest of his get-up as I pour my shake into a glass. It’s hard to control the amusement on my face, so I take a sip of my drink to hide the smile.
“Did you tell Mom that you moved a girl in with you yet?” he asks, walking over to the drawer he hides Swedish Fish in and digging some out.
It’s hard to concentrate on his question when I eye the sexy Velma from Scooby Doo plastered on his shirt with a quote next to it that reads I like my women nerdy, curvy, and dirty. I can’t help but snort. He’s wearing his thick rimmed black glasses that amplifies his nerdiness even though I’m 99% positive he doesn’t even need them to begin with, and a pair of black and white checkered skinny jeans. “What are you wearing? You look like you did when we let you dress you as a child.”
He ignores me. “Did you tell her?”
“Why would I? It’s no different than one of the guys staying here. Zayne has crashed here for a while. So has Calder.” Giving him another once-over, I can’t help but bust his balls. “Seriously, though. Are you about to film a porno where some desperate housewife needs an IT guy? Maybe needs her router unplugged and plugged back in? Someone to check her code?”
He doesn’t find me funny. Lowering his palm full of lollies, he glowers. “Are you going to keep using your sarcasm as a way to mask the fact you’re actually pissed off? Because if you are, I’m going back over to Mom’s, so I don’t have to be the butt of your jokes all the time.”
Frowning, I realize he’s being serious when the annoyance shines in his dark brown eyes and by means of the barely-there accent. “I didn’t mean it literally, Chase. I just like messing with you. And since when do you have a degree in psychology? I’m not masking anything.”
“You can’t bullshit me. I know you too well. Ever since you brought Rylee home you’ve been in a bad mood. You want to help her, but you’re not talking to her. You’re obviously avoiding each other and it’s awkward as hell around here, so what’s going on?”
Staring at my drink, I stifle a sigh. He does know me better than most people—better than Mum, even. The only person who has him beat is Zayne, and that’s a close call. “Not sure what to say to her, man. That’s all. I’m sorry if I’ve made things weird for you here. I want you to be comfortable.”
My little brother glances away, then pulls out one of the purple stools from under the island and sits. “There was something I wanted to run by you, actually. I haven’t brought it up to Mom yet…”
It’s not often he asks for my advice, mostly because I tell him what I think anyway without him wanting my opinion. I sit across from him, pulling my shake in front of me. “It must be serious if you’re talking to me about it before her.”
We’re both close to our mother. She’s been the constant rock in our lives, supporting and encouraging us in any way she can. Without her, I’m not sure where either of us would be.
He shifts, elbows resting on the edge of the white granite countertop and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m thinking about getting my own place. It’s about time I get out of Mom’s basement and your house and find something just for me.”
Surprise renders me speechless. He’s never talked about his interest in moving, but it shouldn’t shock me that he wants to. He has the money to do what he wants with, and he’s careful about how he spends it like Mum taught us to be. I probably scared him when I nearly drained my account on drugs back when I used. Not that I’ve told him, but he inspired me to be better. To save, to be frugal, and cautious with my spending.
Gripping the glass, I say, “Shit, man. That’s great. If that’s what you want to do, you know I have your back. I know some great realtors around the area that won’t trick you into spending more money for shit places.”
He nods, almost mindlessly. Knee bouncing, he asks, “Do you think Mom will be upset?”
That’s what he’s worried about? “Mate, you’re 21. If you went to college, you would have been out of the house long before now. You have the money, you’re responsible, there’s no reason Mum would be upset. Hell, you’ve had a better head on your shoulders than I have, and she trusts me out in the world.”
Mum may even be happy to be an empty nester, not that she’d ever admit it. And I’m not about to shatter his bubble. “I think she’ll be fine, Chase. You know she’s always been in our corner. If this is what you want, she’ll do what she can to help. She’d be a good person to go house shopping with.”
He considers it, then nods. “You’re right. And I’m sure you’ll be happier having your space back.”
I refrain from making a smartass comment that might upset him. If he’s not here, one of the guys will be. My house hasn’t been just my space since I signed my name on the dotted line. As soon as Sasha, my interior designer, furnished it, everyone showed up and stuck around to celebrate it being my first real home since rehab. It’s been the only property I own that feels like mine, something to settle and grow in. The entire first floor is modern-rustic—open, light, wood, and white accents with pops of color in the furniture and art, but with pieces that remind me of the split-level colonial I grew up in with Mum and Chase before Violet Wonders was even a thought in the back of my mind. On the outside, people think it’s another celebrity home with money to burn. With little to see, there’s less attention from the press. I don’t mind the boring assumptions people make from the outward appearances because I know the second I step inside I’m home.
The feeling only intensifies when I see friends and family linger, making themselves comfortable and admiring the photographs from over the years and the hard work put in to bring me where I am. Having my brother here has reminded me how badly I want to fill the space, how much I enjoy having people here, but I’ll never admit that to him. Not when he wants his own space that I hope he experiences the same feeling in. “You know I like having you around, but if this is what you want to do then I’ll support you no matter what.”
Chase is quiet as he glances down at his folded hands, and I wonder if there’s something else on his mind. But if he wants me to know, he’ll tell me in his own time. “Thanks, G
.”
I drum my fingers against the edge of the counter. “Want to play something on the Xbox?”
His eyes snap upward. “You have time?”
I’m not supposed to meet the guys until tomorrow for another recording session, something I negotiated to move back when Rylee agreed to stay here. “Yeah. I think Zayne mentioned stopping by later, but I’m not sure. He’d probably play a round of Call of Duty even if he sucks at it.”
That makes my brother laugh. “He’s not very good at most of the games we challenge him to.”
I grin. “That’s why it’s so entertaining.”
We both snicker.
He checks his phone and frowns. “I can probably play a round now, but I actually have plans later.”
“Look at you, Mr. Popular. Work?”
He fidgets with his glasses. “Er…no.”
I cock my head. “Date?”
His shoulders lift. “Something like that.”
“Does Mum know you’re putting yourself out there again?” Not that it’s any of her business until Chase makes it, but she’s always been nosey about who’s in our lives.
Pushing himself up and shoving the stool back into place, he shoots me a wry grin. “If she doesn’t need to know about the girl you moved in here, then she doesn’t need to know about the girl I’ve been seeing.”
Touché. “Does that mean this is serious if you’re seeing the same someone more than once?”
Anyone who doesn’t know my brother wouldn’t notice the smallest tick he has when something bothers him. His right eyebrow twitches. But I notice every time because I’ve spent a lot of time helping raise him.
All he says is, “I’ll get the Xbox set up.”
I watch as his disappears from the room, my curiosity officially piqued. If he doesn’t tell me, I’m sure Mum will figure it out on her own. She could have been a private eye if she wanted to because she has eyes and ears everywhere.
I debate on going upstairs to see if Rylee wants something to eat since she hasn’t been downstairs yet. From what I read online she needs to have a routine eating schedule to take her medicine with. As soon we got back here the night of our dinner, I locked myself in my room and Googled everything there was to know about her condition once she came clean about it.