She sure as hell doesn’t hesitate around me.
The more I watch her sleep, the more I realize that there’s a reason she captured my attention the first time. Sure, looks had something to do with it. But there’s an air about her, something that encompasses her tiny frame that people can’t help but find captivating. Knowing how much I hurt Zayne, I don’t want to think about why she broke past the haze I was in that night, and the many nights following, because then I’m playing a dangerous game.
If I make the wrong move, my best friend will call it quits again, Rylee will be caught in the middle, and the press will get everything they wanted and then some from the drama. The others will be collateral just like before.
History repeating itself.
I’ll need an answer soon enough from her, but I back out and close the door quietly behind me until then.
By the time I change into my typical work out attire, there’s a message waiting for me on my phone.
Zayne: Ur an asshole
Garrick: I know
Zayne: Let’s hope she doesn’t fuck you over too
It’s the only approval I’ll get from him.
And I take it.
16
Rylee
I know it’s going to be a rough day when I wake up and my body is limp with fatigue, my stomach twisted with nausea, and head pounding with a migraine to the point my ears thump.
This usually happens after my injection—side effects that beat me up for a day or two before making me feel halfway normal. It’s not always so bad, but the stress of news alerts with my name attached to them, paparazzi coming into the small cul-de-sac that Garrick has unsuccessfully tried hiding from me, and my poor decision to avoid my family has led karma straight to me.
After relieving myself in the bathroom, I walk with heavy limbs back into the bedroom and crawl into the warm blankets until I’m flat against the mattress. My eyelids weigh down as I slip back into sleep hoping a few extra hours will help make a difference. Yasmin and I were supposed to work on building a small garden box for vegetables, something she seemed excited about when I told her old stories of my grandparents and the summers I’d spend at their house, but I don’t see that happening now.
I’m not surprised when I wake up from the quiet knocking on the door that syncs with the throbbing in my temples. I try to answer but it comes out in a garbled groan, which makes the person behind the wood crack it open.
“Rylee?” The accented voice is full of worry, and I can’t pick my head up or open my eyes to see it carved into his face. Suddenly, there’s a hand on my forehead and a soft curse coming from him as he sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re burning up, love. Are you sick? Cold? Is it your medicine? I read online that this can happen.”
“Meds,” I confirm, squeezing my eyes closed as tight as they can go to block out the light. “Can you get me some Motrin please?”
He’s quick to act, getting up and walking to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is well stocked with my medication and some painkillers that help for moments like these—some that I bought, and others that showed up a week or so after I agreed to stay here. Yasmin told me Garrick had her make sure I had everything I needed.
As he’s walking toward me, I feel the telltale sign of something bad about to happen. Pressure forms in my stomach, violently rising up my throat until I’m bending over the side of the bed and emptying my stomach onto the carpet. The white, pristine carpet. Hair is being pulled away from me, though I’m sure I got vomit in it already, and a hand rubs my back in comforting circles.
“Shh,” he sooths. “Deep breaths.”
“I puked on the floor,” I cry weakly.
Embarrassment will smack me hard later, but right now all I can focus on is the horrible taste in my mouth. I faceplant into the mattress and let out a shaky sound as Garrick stands up and goes to the door.
“Yasmin,” he calls.
Oh no. I sit up, feeling dizziness take over, and say, “I’ll clean it up,” in a small voice.
I don’t expect him to widen the door, roll up the sleeves of his shirt and shake his head. “I will clean this up.” When his housekeeper arrives, she gasps at the mess. “Yas, while I get this cleaned, can you help Rylee to the bathroom. She’s going to need to wash up.”
I pry my eyes open and stare at the man giving orders. “I don’t need—”
“You vomited on yourself, and I’d put you in the tub myself and wash you off, but you’d probably be more comfortable if Yasmin helped. I’ll get everything set out here. Okay?”
I don’t have the energy to argue. He helps Yasmin get me to the bathroom and has the water in the tub running before leaving his employee to help me. Not wanting to strip down completely, I pull off my sweatshirt with Yasmin’s help and get into the streaming water. Because it’s hard to stand, she guides me to sit on the side of the tub while she helps me wash my hair.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She pats my shoulder gently in comfort. “I have three kids, sweetheart. This is nothing.”
It barely helps, but I’ll take it.
I’m soaking wet by the time she’s done but at least getting sick helped the pressure in my head ease enough for me to stand on my own without risking falling. Yasmin sits me on the closed toilet seat while she fetches me fresh clothes to change into after I dry, and I hear
