“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.
Moffie sighs. “If only I could be Rylee for a day. The things I would do…”
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
