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…”
Well, I can’t say I’d choose differently. I guess that makes me as bad as he says I am.
My offer is a long shot, one I’m not sure he’ll take, so I try not to let it sink in too deep when he says, “I need some time to think. I’m not saying no, though. Until then, you can all get your parts recorded today and I’ll come back to do mine. If Reg has a problem with it, tell him to kiss my ass when he gets here.”
He opens the recording room door and doesn’t look back as he approaches Nelson. They speak quietly between each other before the guard nods once and opens the door for him, helping him get through the masses gathered outside.
The remaining members of Violet Wonders all turn to me.
Jax says, “Bro, we didn’t even get to have a bachelor party. The fuck?”
Manning smacks him.
Cal rolls his eyes.
I do nothing but advise them to get inside so we can start the session. It’s the only thing that’ll keep my mind off things, a temporary fix, but better than the alternatives.
I close the front door behind me with thoughts weighing down every step as I drop my shit down and heave out a long sigh. Chase is gone doing whatever he’s been secretly sneaking out to do, which is a blessing in disguise, because I don’t feel like dealing with him while I talk to Rylee.
He may not admit it, but he doesn’t mind having her around, especially since he has someone to torture who will actually react unlike me. I’ve gotten used to his shit and know how to dish it back, but Rylee is hesitant. Unsure if she should cross that line with him. The only time she ever has was when movies were brought up, and the passion in her voice when she talked about some of her favorites made me want to hear her talk about other things she was into if it meant hearing that heat in her tone.
Her car is parked in the garage, but there’s not a sound coming from inside the house. Sometimes I’ll get home and she’ll be in the kitchen making herself something to eat. The other day, she even tried cooking dinner for Chase and me, but she’d managed to burn the spaghetti sauce, overcook the meatballs, and make a huge mess of the stovetop in the process. I tried not teasing her about it, but it was obvious both me and my brother found her valiant efforts amusing and not even her cute, tinted cheeks could keep us from saying anything.
I head upstairs after checking the backyard where she’s started a small flower garden with the help of Yasmin. I check on the progress every day I get home, sometimes even watching her methodically play in the dirt. The plants definitely add to the aesthetic, and Yasmin winked at me when I smiled at the purple petals gracing a majority of the flowerbeds.
I’m about to knock on her cracked door, but the silence inside makes me ease it quietly open instead. She’s sound asleep on one side of the bed, her hands balled up under her cheek like a pillow, half covered with the throw blanket Yasmin insisted on keeping in here because she said this room is “the coldest one in the house”, not that I knew that. I wouldn’t have put Rylee in it even if it’s a more isolated space if I’d known.
Walking in, I study the bags in the corner that she’s clearly living from and spot the closed ring box sitting on top of her clothes. My lips twitch, but I decide not to think much on it.
Turning to Rylee, I watch her chest slowly rise and fall with peaceful breaths and carefully pull the blanket up to cover her better. She makes an unintelligible noise I can’t make out, then drifts back off, curling a hand around the hem of the blanket and tugging it closer to her face.
I want to ask her about her history with Zayne, get a feel for what she felt before she sold those pictures. There’s nothing I can do to change what we’ve already done, and neither of us can go back in time to stop her from snapping those photos if she ever considered him more than a job, but it’d give me peace of
