“I know that’s what you’re asking.”
“I…” Words get trapped in my throat.
He nods. “Thought so.”
“I just…”
“Listen, can you tell Garrick I swung by? I don’t think it’s a good idea if I stuck around. Doubt he’d be okay if he knew we were alone.”
My nose scrunches. “Why?”
He shakes his head, chuckling dryly. “I know my best friend, Rylee. He doesn’t do things like this. Even for someone in need. Give them money? Sure. Marry them? Hell no. I wouldn’t be surprised if he liked you the day I introduced the two of you.” There’s a silent question in the sure statement, but unlike him, I don’t answer it.
Clicking his tongue, the drummer turns to the door and grips the handle. “I hope you’re doing okay too. Being with him can be a handful I’m sure, no matter the reason why.”
I hesitate only for a minute before softly admitting, “It’s not so bad. He’s a good guy.”
Zayne takes a few long moments to look at me, but it doesn’t make my toes curl the way Garrick’s sweeping gaze does. “Yeah, he is.”
Neither of us say goodbye before he leaves, and it’s only then I take a deep breath and head up to my room.
Picking up my phone, I type out a text to Garrick before staring at it and backspacing each letter. He’s busy.
Tell him later.
About what? Zayne? New York?
Dropping backwards onto the bed, I stare at the ceiling and hug a pillow to my chest. If Grandpa Al were here, he’d tell me everything would be all right. If Grandma Birdie were here, she’d tell me to go after Garrick and “make a man out of him” like she told me to do at my high school graduation when a family member of one of my classmates that was dressed in army greens was walking toward the parking lot.
“You don’t see men like that every day, Rylee. You have to snatch them up before you let all the good ones go.”
I used to get embarrassed whenever she’d forget to use her inside voice and let everyone in the tri-state area know how single I was, but now…
I’m going to take her advice.
18
Rylee
Encroaching on Garrick’s space feels wrong as I raise my hand to knock on his closed door where music is playing. It’s soft, acoustic, and I wonder if it’s his own or someone else’s. I haven’t even lingered by his door since the morning he put me in here after the incident.
Before I can even touch the wood, the door swings open. Startled, I stumble back, nearly tripping on the floor rug in the hall. Garrick reaches out and catches my arm before I fall on my ass, trying to hide his amusement by pressing his lips together and steadying me.
“You good, Ry?”
Ry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to him saying my name like that. But we agreed.
Friends.
I repeat that again as I peel my arm out of his grip and nod, flattening my shirt like he wrinkled it somehow. “I’m good. Er, can we talk? We don’t have to talk here. We could go somewhere else, or—”
“You’ve been pacing outside my room for five minutes, love. It’s fine to talk in here, though you’ve created a bit of a draft. May want your Snuggie to keep warm.”
My cheeks fire at his teasing tone. I didn’t realize he’d known I was out here. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to come here. It’s your space…”
Hurt flashes in his eyes, but quickly vanishes into something neutral. “What’s mine is yours now, remember?”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, giving him a lame nod. “Right.” My voice isn’t convincing as he gestures toward the open room, watching as I sneak past him and stop in the middle of the space that’s so…him. “Wow.”
He sidles up beside me, crossing his arms and examines the room like I’m doing since I didn’t bother to last time. As soon as I felt better, I’d rushed out of here like it was on fire, like if I stayed too long I’d get far too comfortable. “My home away from home,” he muses.
It’s painted an off white, sans the wall with the bed frame built in, which has built in expresso brown shelving. His king size bed fits perfectly into the open space, like the shelving was custom made exactly for it. Each shelf surrounding the bed is full of books, awards, CDs, and other knick-knacks that seem random to me, but probably mean something to him, just like the décor scattered around the house. His bed is covered with different tones of white and brown, and there are guitars, pictures, and posters of his band hanging up strategically on the other walls. The music is coming from the small desk set up in the opposite corner that has a laptop and speakers stacked on it.
“Is this your song?” I ask, gesturing toward the laptop. “It’s pretty.”
He smiles, warmth settling into his face as he walks over to the computer and hits a few buttons to turn it down. “It’s a work in progress. Haven’t been very motivated lately, but I’ve been working my ass off to get shit done.”
“Why haven’t you been motivated?”
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“Oh.” I nudge the beige carpet with my toes and stare at the chipped blue paint on my nails that I need to redo at some point. “Because of me, you mean?”
I don’t hear him approach, but he’s suddenly guiding me to sit on the bed. I hesitate a few seconds, staring at the comforter and wondering how many other women have been in here—something I was too sick to wonder before I passed out wrapped in his linens.
“Everything is clean,” he murmurs, causing me to glance over my shoulder at him. I blush knowing he read my face. I sit on the very edge of the mattress, feet hovering off the ground and
