Tell Me Why It's Wrong
Page 25
Oh my God. Feeling like I’m going to get sick, I scrape back the chair and dart toward the little half bath off the main hallway. Slamming the door shut, I sink onto my knees and gag into the open toilet.
A knock sounds at the door. “Ry? I’m coming in.” The door cracks open and a moment later Moffie closes it behind her, walking over until she’s kneeling beside me. “Hey. People probably won’t even believe her. Who is she in the grand scheme of things? She’s always told you to forget about your morals and go after a good story and you did.”
When I realize nothing is going to come up, I sit and drag my bent knees to my chest. “It doesn’t matter if people believe her, it’s out there in the world for everyone to dissect. This is karma, isn’t it? It’s because of all the things I wrote for money.”
My forehead slams against the tops of my knees as Moffie rubs my back. “You made mistakes, but this isn’t karma for them. This is just your boss being a bitch. I never liked her. She’s a snake.”
I groan. “There are pictures.” I may not have gone out with Zayne often, but enough for people to take photos when we weren’t looking. I told myself not to pay attention, to pretend I didn’t care. And most of the time that was easy because Zayne would keep my attention by telling me fun stories and the things he wanted to accomplish for himself. It wasn’t hard to ignore the people around us when I was with him.
Then again, he was never as big as Garrick. The whole band has a massive following, but only the lead really has a crowd of loyal followers gathered on all platforms and crowds form no matter where he is.
The people and press loved Zayne, and it wasn’t until me and the horrible photos I had published when the media turned on him.
“This is definitely karma whether Sarina is a snake or not.” I shake my head and clench my eyes closed. “And now the world is going to think I slept with Zayne and Garrick and probably call me a groupie.”
“So what?”
Looking up, I eye Moffie. “What do you mean ‘so what’? I don’t want to be a groupie! I’m not one. The world is going to look at me like I’m some sort of gold digger who’s obsessed with Violet Wonders and pried my way into their inner circle by marrying Garrick.”
Clearly my reaction doesn’t mirror hers, because she sighs and settles on the floor across from me. Our legs are pressed together because of the limited space in the tiny room. “Don’t be mad when I say this, but you technically are the definition of a gold digger in this case. But, like, an honest one. Garrick offered you his money and you accepted. It’s an arrangement. And as long as you guys know the truth, and Zayne knows the truth, and probably the rest of the band, then who cares?”
“I do.” It doesn’t matter that the band knows the truth because hundreds of thousands of others think something else.
“You shouldn’t.”
Just because I shouldn’t doesn’t mean I can turn off what the press is bound to dig up about me—all the things I wore to fit in, the articles I published, the bad things I’ve done for money. I never told my parents about them out of shame, not wanting them to see me as that girl.
I guess I have no option now.
“Sarina wants fifteen minutes of fame,” my best friend reasons, eyes firm to drill it into my head. “That’s all. She’s using you and the position you’re in to gain some traction. She runs a tabloid that only exists to tear other people down, and people won’t let that go unnoticed. Especially those who are in your corner. Like me and Eli. And Garrick.”
Knowing she’ll try to get vengeance for me, I quickly shoot her a warning gaze. “Don’t do anything that feeds this fire. I know you. Garrick and his team have told us multiple times now that we need to let this type of stuff fade.”
“You’re no fun.”
“You know I’m right.”
She grumbles, “Doesn’t mean ‘right’ can’t be a little fun.” I roll my eyes as she leans back against the opposite wall. “If you’re really worried about the world thinking you’re obsessed with Violet Wonders, we could totally dig up some old photos and videos of us in your bedroom in front of those pictures of The Wild.”
Blood drains from my face over the idea that has her cackling. “That’s not even funny.”
Don’t get me started on the awful videos of Moffie and I singing to The Wild’s songs that journalists could probably find if they looked hard enough. We used to dress up and sing along to their biggest hits in high school, pretending we were at one of their concerts. We never got to go to one, and I’m sure if we ever did now the media would make it seem like I was after one of them next.
“People have done far worse things than get together with a couple of sexy men. And considering you didn’t actually get together with them you have nothing to worry about.”
Her reassurance does little for me, so we fall to silence.
It isn’t until a few minutes later when Eli knocks on the door, clearing his throat. “Rylee? Your phone was going off and it was Garrick. I hope it’s okay that I answered. He’s on his way back.”
Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath. “I appreciate it, Eli.”
Moffie and I exchange a look, hers sympathetic. I never liked it when people felt bad for me. Ever since I started feeling sick it was always the same from her and my family, and it became tenfold when the doctor’s figured out what was wrong.
“Please stop looking at me like that,” I whisper, glancing down at the tile floors. They’re a mixture of mint green and white, something Eli says he wants to change. My dad mentioned he’d help since he’s done tile work before, so the men plan to start this summer.
“I’m just looking at my badass friend who’s going to get through this because she’s strong,” Moffie remarks.
I roll my eyes. “That’s not what you were thinking, but I appreciate the lie.”
The corners of her lips tilt upward. “If it’s any consolation, it’s the second thing I thought. The first was me hoping you’d at least get some dick action from that fine ass man you married so people have something really good to talk about. You have an entire fall season of cobwebs to clean out, and he’s perfect for the job.”
“Er…” Eli knocks again and only after the door creaks open do I see his red face, followed by the amused expression painted on the much taller, much toner man beside him. “I just wanted to let you know Garrick’s here.”
Slowly, my eyes go to Moffie, who bites her bottom lip and shrugs, not looking like she feels bad at all that Garrick overheard her little rant.
The man in question stares down at me, lips wavering, but end in a neutral, endearing smile. “Want to head out? We can go back to your parents’ house while I call some people about the bullshit circulating.”
We both know it’s not really bullshit.
But I accept the hand he holds out for me anyway and let him haul me up. Eli does the same for Moffie until we’re all back in the kitchen where I grab my phone, slide it into my pocket and turn to see Garrick holding up an unfamiliar black jacket with fur coating the hood.
“What is that?” I ask as he holds it open for me to put on.
“What does it look like?” he muses.
“It looks like someone else’s coat.”
“I bought it for you.” He eyes the zipper and shakes it, gesturing for me to come over. “It actually works. No need to thank me.”
I wasn’t planning on it.
Moffie’s eyes light up as I turn around and let Garrick help me slide my arms into the sleeves, then slowly spin me to face him. When I meet his eyes, the blue in them are warm as he puts the two ends together and lifts the tab to pull up the zipper, our eyes never breaking contact. When his knuckles graze one of my boobs, I involuntarily shiver and feel a spark go straight to my core.
He doesn’t remark on it.
But Moffie murmurs, “I think the tension in the room just got me pregnant.”
Eli chokes.
Garrick winks at me.
I blush.
Eli looks at his wife, not surprised by her comment as he pulls her into his side and presses a kiss on the top of her head like Garrick always does with me. “You’d miss me too much.”
She doesn’t confirm or deny, but we all know it’s true.
26
Garrick
The sound of a nail cracking under the pressure of teeth pulls my attention away from the road to the woman curled up in the passenger seat beside me. Her eyes are trained on her phone screen, her brows pinched, and her knee bouncing anxiously as the thumb not in her mouth scrolls through whatever is being posted online.
“You shouldn’t do that to yourself,” I tell her, flipping off the radio since neither of us are listening to the alternative rock station.
She doesn’t even pause. “Chase said you used to watch gossip shows to stay up to date on what’s being said about you.”
I sigh, wanting to strangle the dick for telling her that. “Yeah, I used to. I realized how degrading it was and stopped setting myself up for failure a long time ago. My brother shouldn’t have told you that.”
“He has a point.”
“Don’t tell him that,” I grumble, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “And, for the record, he doesn’t. Even he knows it can get bad if you focus too much on the headlines.”
We’ve been back in California for a few days, and it’s been a whirlwind of phone calls and meetings with Michael and the team. After we landed at LAX, the paparazzi made it nearly impossible to find Chase’s car. We got slammed with question after question that I kept refusing to answer, shoving my hand in front of the cameras pointed at Rylee.
“Garrick, is it true you stole Rylee from Zayne and caused the band’s breakup?”
“Can you comment on the state of Violet Wonders with the new reports that Zayne is stepping back?”
“Is it true the L.A. Free Press is suing for repayment of wrongly paid dues from the article Rylee published about your marriage?”
I’d gently pushed her along so she wouldn’t be tempted to stop and give them an ounce of her attention, but I could tell the assholes were getting to her.
When we’d slid into the backseat of my little brother’s car, I’d told Chase to drive and turned to Rylee. The second I saw those beautiful eyes dim with defeat, I knew I needed to tell her everything would be okay even if it didn’t seem like it. And I was glad, surprised even, when Chase had added, “We’ve got your back, Rylee.”
After meeting with Michael and the rest of my PR team downtown, I’d convinced the woman curled up in the passenger seat to get coffee with me in a little brick and mortar not known by many. It was an easy in and out without any hassle beside the barista asking me to sign a to-go cup for her, and I’d held Rylee’s hand from the second we walked in together to the second we left.
But not even the hot chocolate that’s sitting untouched in the cupholder between us seems to pull her from her thoughts.
“I deserve this,” she whispers.
Jaw clenching, I make sure nobody is behind us before jerking the car over to the side of the street and put it into park. I don’t realize it until I tip her chin up to meet my eyes that she’s crying. I swipe at her damp cheeks and feel the pain radiating from her, letting it soak into me like it’s my own. My chest feels tight as I peel the phone from her and scan the screen before cursing under my breath.
She’s nothing but a band slut.
He’s probably already cheating.
No wonder Zayne dropped her.
I turn the screen off, stuff the cell into my jacket pocket, and turn my body to her. “Look at me, Rylee.” When she doesn’t, I make her, my eyes hard with the determination to make her see my point of view. “Those people are not worth your tears. They have nothing better to do than troll the comments of news articles and let the world know how unhappy they are by trying to make everybody else feel the same way. They. Don’t. Matter. Nothing good can come from you going through and reading what these people’s opinions are. The public is always going to have something to say, and you know that. It’s not your job to listen or give them the reaction they want.”
She closes her eyes and squeezes her eyelids as if she hopes it’ll stop more tears from escaping. “I knew it would be hard, so I don’t know why I’m so upset over people hating me.”
“Plenty of people hate me, love.” I stroke a finger gently over her cheek until she cracks her eyes open. “Not everyone is going to like you. That’s life. Did you read the comments of the articles you wrote?”
She hesitates. “No.”
“Then don’t read these.” She’s about to speak when I press my finger to her lips to quiet her. “I had a friend, a real good girl, who went down this rabbit hole. She had the whole world in front of her until she let the haters win. Starved herself because she believed what they said about her being too fat to survive in this industry. Did drugs to lose weight. Hid away and let everything she worked her ass off for go. And for what? With every hater comes a group of loyal followers, and we forget that because we always focus on the bad first. I’m telling you, Ry, that you’re going to get through this, but you need to trust me. You trust me, right?”
Thinking about the way Amber tortured herself still kills a part of me. I couldn’t help her no matter how hard I tried. She wouldn’t listen to reason—not from me, her friends, or her team.
Sniffing back tears, Rylee gives me terse nod, so I lower my finger. It’s a moment before she asks, “What happened to your friend?”
Darkness shadows my heart, circling the beating organ and vice gripping it. “I guess she didn’t trust me enough to help her the way I hope to help you. It didn’t end well.”
It’s hard to swallow as the grief enters my pinched expression. Pushing it away, I shift back into my seat and put the car into drive.
She doesn’t think twice before reaching over and putting her hand over mine where it’s white knuckling the gear shift between us. She doesn’t try to hold it, or squeeze in comfort, like she doesn’t think it’ll help.
Like it’s just there in case I need it. Her.
She seems startled when I flip her hand over and capture her fingers, dragging her palm over to my thigh and resting our interwoven hands there on my worn denim.
We don’t speak.
Don’t listen to the radio.
We watch the scenery go by in silence, her giving me the same curtesy I did when words were the last thing she wanted, but company was what she needed.
Maybe she’s finally seeing that we may be two very different people, but we’re cut from the same cloth.
27
Garrick
The owner of the Lazy Croc may be a jackass, but he keeps tight reigns on the paps that try entering his club. As soon as I told Roderick we were coming, extra security was out and meeting us by the door. A few vultures were outside snapping photos as Rylee and I walked side by side to the door, and as much as I want to enjoy the way she’s sticking so close to me and clenching my hand, I wish it were under better circumstances.
One of the asses jumps in front of Rylee and shoves a recording device in her face before I can stop him. “What is it like being married to a playboy? Is it an open marriage? Are you both remaining faithful? Do you have anything to say about the accusations made against you by your former boss?”
Having no patience, I forcefully move his arm away and shield her with my body. “Back off, mate. That’s uncalled for.”
“I’m just doing my job,” the man states with a slimy smile on his face. “Just like your wife used to do if I recall. Only give interviews with people you want to fuck, is that it?”
My fists clench and flex open again before they can see the reaction.
“Rylee just has the magic touch,” a different person says, a slightly shorter, less dickish yet preppy looking guy steps forward with a camera strap over his shoulder. Rylee stiff
ens next to me, causing the arm I have around her shoulders to tighten. “Sarina sends her best, by the way. Thanks for all of this, I’ve been needing more leads and with you gone it’s like they’re being handed right to me.”
My eye twitches. “You know this douche hole?” I ask her quietly. She nods a few times but doesn’t contribute to how, not that she needs to elaborate. “Come on,” I coax softly, turning her away from the people waiting for us to talk and toward the building.
Her former coworker doesn’t appreciate the cold shoulder. “How much money are you getting for fucking him? I’d love to get this story printed for Sarina and the Free Press. I could use a new car.”
Rylee grips my arm and shakes her head at me as I begin turning to the fucker who has a death wish. She simply murmurs, “He isn’t worth it, remember?”
The fact she’s using my words against me has me scowling, but I nod in reluctance. “I can’t promise I won’t try breaking his nose if he ever says something like that to you again.”
“Then you’d be back at square one with the media,” she points out. “It’s what they want.”
I hold the door to the Lazy Croc open for her and shake hands with one of my favorite bouncers. It isn’t until we’re being escorted to the VIP lounge upstairs when I say, “I think we both know by now that this was never about the press I was getting, love.”
She pauses on the first step to look at me, her eyes wary, her lips pressed in a straight line. I don’t think she’s going to say anything before her breath hitches. “I think I realized that a little while ago.”
Zayne is sitting in our usual booth, the only difference being that the rest of the lounge is empty. When I talked to Rick the Dick earlier, he said he’d keep the space open for us for a while—for a price, of course. One I was willing to pay for a semblance of peace for this conversation.