Thinking about the way Amber tortured herself still kills a part of me. I couldn’t help her no matter how hard I tried. She wouldn’t listen to reason—not from me, her friends, or her team.
Sniffing back tears, Rylee gives me terse nod, so I lower my finger. It’s a moment before she asks, “What happened to your friend?”
Darkness shadows my heart, circling the beating organ and vice gripping it. “I guess she didn’t trust me enough to help her the way I hope to help you. It didn’t end well.”
It’s hard to swallow as the grief enters my pinched expression. Pushing it away, I shift back into my seat and put the car into drive.
She doesn’t think twice before reaching over and putting her hand over mine where it’s white knuckling the gear shift between us. She doesn’t try to hold it, or squeeze in comfort, like she doesn’t think it’ll help.
Like it’s just there in case I need it. Her.
She seems startled when I flip her hand over and capture her fingers, dragging her palm over to my thigh and resting our interwoven hands there on my worn denim.
We don’t speak.
Don’t listen to the radio.
We watch the scenery go by in silence, her giving me the same curtesy I did when words were the last thing she wanted, but company was what she needed.
Maybe she’s finally seeing that we may be two very different people, but we’re cut from the same cloth.
27
Garrick
The owner of the Lazy Croc may be a jackass, but he keeps tight reigns on the paps that try entering his club. As soon as I told Roderick we were coming, extra security was out and meeting us by the door. A few vultures were outside snapping photos as Rylee and I walked side by side to the door, and as much as I want to enjoy the way she’s sticking so close to me and clenching my hand, I wish it were under better circumstances.
One of the asses jumps in front of Rylee and shoves a recording device in her face before I can stop him. “What is it like being married to a playboy? Is it an open marriage? Are you both remaining faithful? Do you have anything to say about the accusations made against you by your former boss?”
Having no patience, I forcefully move his arm away and shield her with my body. “Back off, mate. That’s uncalled for.”
“I’m just doing my job,” the man states with a slimy smile on his face. “Just like your wife used to do if I recall. Only give interviews with people you want to fuck, is that it?”
My fists clench and flex open again before they can see the reaction.
“Rylee just has the magic touch,” a different person says, a slightly shorter, less dickish yet preppy looking guy steps forward with a camera strap over his shoulder. Rylee stiffens next to me, causing the arm I have around her shoulders to tighten. “Sarina sends her best, by the way. Thanks for all of this, I’ve been needing more leads and with you gone it’s like they’re being handed right to me.”
My eye twitches. “You know this douche hole?” I ask her quietly. She nods a few times but doesn’t contribute to how, not that she needs to elaborate. “Come on,” I coax softly, turning her away from the people waiting for us to talk and toward the building.
Her former coworker doesn’t appreciate the cold shoulder. “How much money are you getting for fucking him? I’d love to get this story printed for Sarina and the Free Press. I could use a new car.”
Rylee grips my arm and shakes her head at me as I begin turning to the fucker who has a death wish. She simply murmurs, “He isn’t worth it, remember?”
The fact she’s using my words against me has me scowling, but I nod in reluctance. “I can’t promise I won’t try breaking his nose if he ever says something like that to you again.”
“Then you’d be back at square one with the media,” she points out. “It’s what they want.”
I hold the door to the Lazy Croc open for her and shake hands with one of my favorite bouncers. It isn’t until we’re being escorted to the VIP lounge upstairs when I say, “I think we both know by now that this was never about the press I was getting, love.”
She pauses on the first step to look at me, her eyes wary, her lips pressed in a straight line. I don’t think she’s going to say anything before her breath hitches. “I think I realized that a little while ago.”
Zayne is sitting in our usual booth, the only difference being that the rest of the lounge is empty. When I talked to Rick the Dick earlier, he said he’d keep the space open for us for a while—for a price, of course. One I was willing to pay for a semblance of peace for this conversation.
My hand gestures toward the booth, free hand pressing to the small of Rylee’s back until she slides in. Her body is tight, her eyes not lingering to look around like they did the first time she was here. Not much has changed over the years, so she isn’t missing much.
Despite the
