“We can go somewhere to get you a new—”
“No!” I blush at the quick answer, seeing the way his brows dart up at the reaction in return. “I’m an introverted person by nature, so knowing what’s probably waiting for me…for us… I don’t even know if there is an ‘us’ you know? I mean, of course there is, but not really. You’re…you. And our situation isn’t ideal, so what the hell would we even say to people? I know how this works because I used to be the person on the other end of this situation. I don’t feel like walking into a trap.”
“Take a deep breath,” he directs calmly, not commenting on the jumbled rant of worried words that fly out of my mouth.
I do as he says.
“Another. In for three. Out for three.”
I nod once and close my eyes, letting oxygen flood my lungs and ease the tightness trying to suffocate me from within.
My eyes remain closed when his soft voice penetrates the wall I’ve built up. “When I was in rehab, I’d have anxiety attacks when life became too much. I was always thinking about what would come after I left, if I’d relapse, if I’d stay strong. I worried about what my family, friends, and fans thought of me. My situation was public knowledge, something my team chose to be honest about when they had to cancel or postpone tour venues.”
Cracking my eyes open, I notice that he’s sitting back against the headboard, eyes closed like he’s lost in thought. “My counselor there taught me breathing techniques. How long to inhale, how long to exhale. It doesn’t always work—” He opens his eyes and catches me staring at him. “—but it does the trick when we let ourselves give it a chance.”
Our eyes don’t stray from one another’s as he pats the empty spot beside him on the bed. My feet push me forward despite a part of me wanting to hesitate until I’m cross-legged next to him, body stiff and chest tight from panic.
I ask, “How do you deal with it? The anxiety? The fame? People like me coming after you all the time?”
His legs stretch out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other, and arms resting on his broad chest. “Some of us don’t have a choice. It was hard to adjust when Violet Wonders first made it big because none of us saw it coming. We soaked up the attention at first since we’d never experienced anything like it before. Got whatever our money could buy us. Lived the high life without thinking anything or anyone could touch us. We felt invincible, until we realized we weren’t.”
His somber tone tells me it wasn’t easy figuring that out, and he confirms as much. “It was only a matter of time before one of us went off the deep end, and it was no surprise to anyone that it was me. I’m glad though. I don’t think Cal or Jax would have been able to pull through it if they had to. They don’t have many motivations outside what our music can do for us. Zayne, me, Manning, we have things to fight for. I still worry about them going too far like I did and never being able to come back from it.”
Garrick’s eyes are focused forward, staring off at the wall across the room, lost in whatever thoughts are circulating in his head. It’s hard to decipher the emotions he must be feeling, because he keeps a steady grip on the mask he’s always wearing.
The one of sarcasm.
Humor.
Indifference.
Who are you, Garrick Matthews?
When his head turns, he leans it against the upholstered headboard behind him and blinks lazily. “It’s hard to face people when you don’t know what they’ll say, and you can never properly prepare yourself for it because anything can happen. But that doesn’t mean you can avoid them forever. That goes for the people who will be shouting our names and shoving cameras in our faces when we leave the house, which we’ll have to do eventually, and the people you’ve been ignoring on your phone who actually give a shit about your wellbeing.”
Heat settles into my cheeks. “I don’t want them to be mad at me.”
“So what if they are? It’ll likely only be for a little while. They’re your family, Rylee, you can’t avoid them forever. They mean too much to you, I know they do.”
How can he say that with so much certainty? “I’ll never understand how your brain works.”
The subtle smile is almost unrecognizable on his face because it’s not full of humor or charm. It’s light and genuine, comforting. “Trust me, you don’t want to understand my brain. It’ll save your sanity.” He bumps our shoulders together. “If my family can forgive me for the things I’ve done, then yours can forgive you for this. You got married, Ry, you didn’t do drugs or get arrested or hurt anyone. This isn’t the end of the world, no matter how people out there try making it be.”
My heart reacts to the nickname. “Moffie calls me Ry.”
His brows go up. “Should I call you something else?”
Quickly, I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. My friends call me that.”
A small grin tilts his lips. “Are you telling me we’re friends?”
I shrug. “Friends. Married. You cleaned up my vomit, and very few people can say the same.”
He chuckles. “Fine. Friends. Though I can’t say I kiss many of mine. Or marry them for that matter.”
The word ‘friend’ is simple enough, but the meaning is less so. There’s a stigma to it, expectations. And I’m worried I can’t fulfill them because the only other friend I’ve ever had is Moffie and she’s used to me by now.
He fidgets for a moment, eyes going to me, then away like he’s debating something. If he’s already regretting the loose label, it’s the quickest friendship I’ve ever had.
“What?”
