by B. Celeste
Pulling my hand back, I offer her a shy look before tidying up the table. “He did, I just…” Her eyes are piercing me, and I force myself to meet the blue orbs staring back that Garrick clearly inherited from her. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. Like I forget this is happening. It’s a lot to take in, I suppose.”
She straightens, eyes going down to my bare hand again. “I’d like to see it if that’s all right. I’m curious as to what my son thinks is appropriate jewelry. I used to worry that he’d ask one of his friends to help him pick something like that out, and I think that scares me more than him doing it himself.”
Something about her chiding tone makes me smile, and it’s the first real one that’s graced my face since seeing her. For a second, I wonder if she can tell the difference. “The one he chose is perfect for me, though I would have been fine without one at all. I’m not big into…well, big things. Expensive things make me uncomfortable most of the time.”
Her abrupt laugh surprises me, one of her hands settling on her hip. “Sweetheart, you married the wrong man if that’s the case. But it’ll be interesting to see how quickly that changes once your relationship blooms. And based on what I’ve been seeing online and hearing from my book club girls, the world is waiting to see how this will work too. This has only just begun for you.”
My throat feels like it’s closing in.
I knew this would happen.
Welcomed it.
Wrote about it like a challenge to the world.
But I knew I’d never be ready for the truth, especially not when my name becomes attached to the articles.
Elaine reaches out, a sincere but serious look on her face. “Yasmin seems to think this is going to last, and I trust her word. She’s always been a good judge of character. It’s my boy who has a heart of gold and will do anything for the people he cares about that I worry about.”
My brows pinch. “Why?”
“Because very few people in his life extend him the same curtesy.”
I hear the words she doesn’t say perfectly clear, nodding as I press my lips together.
Don’t hurt my son.
“He deserves someone who will treat him with the same kindness he offers others,” I agree, not giving anything away.
I don’t know what to expect her to say in reply, but all she gives me is, “I have a feeling about you, Rylee.”
She doesn’t elaborate about whether it’s a good or bad one, and I’m grateful. I’m not sure what all of Garrick’s dealbreakers are, but something tells me if his mother doesn’t approve, it’s probably best that my bag is still packed.
When the man in question joins us back downstairs, hair damp and body smelling clean and masculine from whatever bodywash he uses, we sit side by side so close that I can feel his body heat soak into me.
His leg bumps my thigh.
His arm presses against my arm.
When I look at him, he smiles.
And I wonder what he sees when his eyes take in my face slowly, first one eye, then the other, until his eyes roam toward my lips.
I don’t know what he’s thinking.
And I’m glad.
The resignation letter attached to the email for Sarina is still left unsent as I stare at the computer screen. The telltale ache in my eyes says I’m seconds away from getting another headache, the third one this week from stress, while I will myself to hit the SEND button.
My thumb raises to my lips, my teeth nipping at the crooked edges of my nail, until I feel another set of eyes on me from the curly-haired boy sitting on the couch across the room. So, I bite the bullet. “Can I ask for your advice?”
Chase glances up at me from his laptop, blinking slowly. “You want advice from me? Didn’t our mother give you enough earlier?”
Elaine Matthews definitely gave me a lot to think about, but considering my job never came up even though she tried digging, nothing she said could help me now. “Would you give up your job if you were in my situation?”
A gargled snort comes from him. “I’d never be in your situation. Marriage has never been for me, especially not to someone like my brother. Total attention-seeker. Talk about draining.”
I force myself not to frown. Chase has never struggled like I have, so I doubt he’d be able to put himself in my shoes. Leaning back in the dining room chair, I internally sigh and drop my hands into my lap. “I’m not saying I love this job because I don’t. But it’s still mine.”
The excitement I’d had over being free of Sarina went away the second I saw the money deposited into my account. It’s money I earned. Not some given to me or supplied by someone else in control. I’d been in a relationship like that in the past, not a serious one, not one I’m scarred from, but one I learned from.
I don’t want to rely on anyone and feel like I’m never able to contribute.
Chase’s head cocks as he stares at me for a few seconds before smirking. “You’re going to give Garrick a serious challenge. I’ve met some of the bimbos he’s had around. They never want anything of their own as long as they have him. He probably has no idea what to do with you.”
I’m not sure I like the feeling that buzzes under my skin. It reminds me too much of past jealousy over petty things that riled me up—an ex getting into a new relationship, or someone at work getting a promotion when they don’t put in as much effort as me. My voice is quiet when I simply say, “I like my independence.”
“You can still have that without this job. Just find something else. It isn’t like he’s going to lock you up in here, though you may want to consider it for a while.”
Face draining of blood, I squeak, “Why?”
“You’ve worked in this industry for how long? C’mon. Everyone is going to be on you the second you resurface. They’ll want to know how you snatched him up, why, when, and everything in between. Garrick gets followed everywhere he goes. He ignores it, pretends the people pointing cameras don’t exist, but they’re there. Always harassing. Always waiting for the next story. You should know that since you were one of them, ready to sink your talons in the second you got the chance.”
His words penetrate the part of me that I like keeping locked up. They’re true, and that’s why they hurt. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t get you. And it’s hard for me to trust people that I don’t understand.”
I cringe. “I get that. And just so you know, I never wanted to do him any harm by writing about him. Or anyone I was assigned to.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t.”
My throat feels tight as I stare down at my lap, my fingers twisting together nervously. “I’m afraid of who I’ll become if I have to start relying on other people, that’s why I don’t know what to do about this.”
Chase stands, closing his laptop and slipping it under his arm. “Hate to break it to you, but you signed up for this knowing that there was going to be attention on you and what cost it’d be for both you and my brother in the end.” His tone comes off matter of fact, not too harsh or condescending, but not light either. Not that I’d expect him to spare my feelings. “If it makes you feel any better, the fact you’re worried about losing yourself means you’ll always be cautious about staying humble. My brother may be an annoying asshole sometimes, but he’s probably the most selfless person I know. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, especially not with him.”
I know anyone could say that in defense of the person they care for, but I believe Chase when he tells me I have nothing to worry about. Garrick has given me space and proven himself to be respectful time and time again.
After breakfast, he told me he’d help his mother clean up so I could go on with my day. He never once asked about my lack of ring, though I saw his eyes trail to my bare finger, and always found ways to answer his mother’s questions without lying because he knows it makes me uncomfortable. He hasn’t pressured me to do anything more with him, or even
sent any more suggestive texts that make me blush.
Garrick is a good person.
And the world will know that.
I bite down on my thumbnail the same second I hit the SEND button, listening to the snap of my nail sync with the message sent noise I receive as soon as the task is done.
It’s step one to making Garrick see that I trust him, to show I know who he is.
“Thank you, Chase.”
He pauses for only a moment at my soft tone before walking toward the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Just don’t hurt him. We both know he doesn’t deserve that.”
Two warnings in one day tells me all I need to know about my husband.
While he’s off worrying about everybody else around him like his mother and Yasmin says he is, his family will always have his back. And even though it’s temporary, I’m glad to be part of it.
15
Garrick
The door to the studio flies open, and the guys pour in with Nelson, one of the security guards, stepping in front of the wood separating us and the paparazzi gathered outside. The building is somewhat soundproof, a nice feature knowing the second that door opens it’s a rush of loud voices and clicking, blinding cameras.
Considering I’ve been avoiding their texts and calls save the “be at the studio at 3” message I sent the group chat, I’m not surprised to see a mixture of glowering and disbelieving expressions staring back at me. My feet are propped up on the edge of the sound board, a keyboard in my lap, and a casual smile on my face.
“Boys,” I greet, carefully sliding the board off me and dropping my feet onto the floor.
Manning winces as Zayne shoves him and Jax out of the way until he’s standing in front of me. I don’t expect any hearty congratulations from any of them, but I also didn’t anticipate the furious expression my friend is giving me. “What the fuck, Matthews?”
The guys all cringe, Cal seemingly finding the plant in the corner of the room fascinating, and Jax studying the records hanging on the wall as if they haven’t been there all the years we’ve come here. I meet Zayne’s eyes, but he barely locks my gaze before he gestures toward the recording room.
Following him in, I say, “I know you’re all probably wondering why I didn’t tell you—”
“Why her?” he growls, slamming the door closed and facing me with pure white rage I’ve only seen on his face one other time. It was right before the band called it quits. He walked away and never looked back until I reached out to make amends over what had gone down between us.
It takes me a few seconds to understand his question. “Rylee?”
“Why. Her?”
I blink. “I’m not following, mate. She—”
He cuts me off again. “You could have chosen anyone, and you had to pick someone who fucked me over. You’re one hell of a friend, Matthews.”
I hear a muffled “oh shit” come from outside the room and know we have a captive audience watching. “Rylee came clean about what happened, Zayne. She never hid the article about you or her contributions to it. I was going to tell you.”
He throws his hands up before turning around, gripping the sides of his neck. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Am I meant to be happy that you married a girl I introduced you to when I was seeing her?”
Instantly, I know what he’s implying, and I don’t like it. Eye twitching, I clench my fists that are tucked into my armpits where my arms are crossed. “I wouldn’t have done that to you. I’ve never touched a girl you laid claim to. You or any of the guys.”
His eyes snap to me, raw anger challenging me. “That’s hilarious considering you married the one I actually saw something in.”
Shit. “You really liked her?”
“You know I did.”
“I—”
“I went to you, Garrick.” One of his hands flies out toward the guys watching through the glass, all looking like they wish they had popcorn right about now. “The guys all told me I was fucking crazy for going after her because it wouldn’t last with our crazy schedule, but you told me to do what made me happy. And up until the day those goddam photos surfaced she was the thing that made me happy. I felt normal. Not like some guy from Violet Wonders. A dude who liked a girl and wanted it to work. That’s it. She didn’t ask about the band or the money or the fame. I could talk to her about anything and not feel judged or used. You told me that was something special when I went to you about her.”
I scrub a hand down the side of my face. It’s no secret that I’m a tool when it comes to women—a cheat, a player looking to have fun for a while before growing bored. And, sure, I’ve been known to steal women a time or two from others, but that was when I was out of control. Younger. Stupid. I never once went after someone that I knew a bandmate was into.
The day I met Rylee…
It’s a blur. Everything from that period was because I’d been so focused on trying to pull myself out of the pit of overwhelming anxiety I’d buried myself so deeply in. I was ten times more selfish than usual, only concerned with myself, on trying to get healthy and fight the intense need to seek out anything to ease the craving.
The world had taken a backseat to my sobriety—Chase, Mum, my friends, my career. I don’t recall a lot of the shit that happened because it wasn’t what I wanted to concentrate on then.
Not Zayne’s problems.
Not what Rylee did to him.
All I remember is the way my eyes always found hers from across the room the night Zayne introduced us. How I’d twitch whenever one of his hands touched her waist, or when she’d brush up against his side to get closer whenever he’d talk over the loud music. They didn’t stay long, and that made me irrationally angry.
The feelings I recall vividly—the keyed-up intensity that I blamed on the detox. How the emotions fed into my need to escape. I begged myself to call someone to get me out of there before I did something stupid. Like use. Like go after them because, deep down, I knew where Zayne was going and what he was doing every time he slipped into the bathroom.
I’d been there.
Fuck. I taught him the ropes.
I’d relived those exact moments constantly over the years, but the woman’s face was always out of focus. Her hair was brown, her body was fucking sinful, and those eyes…
I didn’t want to believe it was Rylee.
It wasn’t until she even told me we’d met before that it clicked into place.
All those feelings, those choppy memories, because of a girl I didn’t even know.
I dropped the ball on my best mate’s feelings in favor of my own, and clearly crossed a line by giving her my last name. And as much as I want to feel bad, to tell him I’d take it back or make it better, I couldn’t do either. I’d given Rylee my word.
“Zayne, I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly, voice rough but sincere. I’m sorry for more than just what happened with me and Rylee. I gave him the drugs that night, making me partially responsible. I’m the reason a lot of shit has happened to him—to all the guys. “I was going through hell back then. You know some days were worse than others, and I was struggling.”
He looks like he wants to grab the microphone and smash it through the glass. Face red, he distances himself from me. “That’s the thing, Garrick. You may have been struggling, but so were the rest of us. We put everything on pause for you. We stopped touring. Stopped recording. Took a hit in the media. In sales. As long as you got better, we didn’t care about any of that shit. But it’s always been about you and what you wanted. The few times any of us have tried getting something for ourselves, you have to do something that pulls it back to you because heaven fucking forbid anyone else is happy around here.”
He barely takes a breath before continuing, and I know better than to try speaking, to reassuring him anyway I can. “Did you know I was sick to my stomach when the tabloids blasted my photos everywhere? I thought you’d relapse if you saw them. I thought I’d ruined everything for you because I wasn�
��t done having fun yet. I felt like the shittiest friend, the most selfish ass I could have been because of what I’d been caught doing. And what was worse was that the first girl who seemed normal, who granted me a sense of peace, was responsible for the biggest regret in my life. Yet here you are, all this time later, with the same woman I poured my heart out to you over. So, out of the two of us, who’s the real selfish friend?”
He’s met by silence as I take in every word, every accusation, and every truth that slips past his lips.
I can’t refute any of it.
I’m a shitty friend.
I used to be a shitty friend.
I used to be selfish.
Indifferent.
A hothead.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m still that person, trying to mask my true personality with layers of fake bullshit so people won’t hate me. Like maybe one day that version of me will resurface the second it becomes too tiring to pretend I’m anything but.
I know that version of me was ruled by drugs and alcohol, woven together by poor decisions, and stitched up by the users who wanted whatever was left.
For a split second, I feel hollow. As if I’m not standing in the middle of the recording studio with my band, being watched and scrutinized by my friends, but rather somewhere far, far away.
I wish I was.
But I’m not.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him again. “We all know how I used to be, and hell, maybe I’m not that different now. There are things I can’t explain—” My eyes subtly move to Nelson, still guarding the door. Despite the graying man working with us for a while now, one can never be too careful of what they divulge around others. “—but I do want to explain myself if you’ll let me. We can do it at the house if you’re comfortable. Or somewhere else if you’d prefer. But you should know, mate, that I did this for you too. If I’d known about Rylee and you…”