Tell Me Why It's Wrong

by B. Celeste

  Well, I can’t say I’d choose differently. I guess that makes me as bad as he says I am.

  My offer is a long shot, one I’m not sure he’ll take, so I try not to let it sink in too deep when he says, “I need some time to think. I’m not saying no, though. Until then, you can all get your parts recorded today and I’ll come back to do mine. If Reg has a problem with it, tell him to kiss my ass when he gets here.”

  He opens the recording room door and doesn’t look back as he approaches Nelson. They speak quietly between each other before the guard nods once and opens the door for him, helping him get through the masses gathered outside.

  The remaining members of Violet Wonders all turn to me.

  Jax says, “Bro, we didn’t even get to have a bachelor party. The fuck?”

  Manning smacks him.

  Cal rolls his eyes.

  I do nothing but advise them to get inside so we can start the session. It’s the only thing that’ll keep my mind off things, a temporary fix, but better than the alternatives.

  I close the front door behind me with thoughts weighing down every step as I drop my shit down and heave out a long sigh. Chase is gone doing whatever he’s been secretly sneaking out to do, which is a blessing in disguise, because I don’t feel like dealing with him while I talk to Rylee.

  He may not admit it, but he doesn’t mind having her around, especially since he has someone to torture who will actually react unlike me. I’ve gotten used to his shit and know how to dish it back, but Rylee is hesitant. Unsure if she should cross that line with him. The only time she ever has was when movies were brought up, and the passion in her voice when she talked about some of her favorites made me want to hear her talk about other things she was into if it meant hearing that heat in her tone.

  Her car is parked in the garage, but there’s not a sound coming from inside the house. Sometimes I’ll get home and she’ll be in the kitchen making herself something to eat. The other day, she even tried cooking dinner for Chase and me, but she’d managed to burn the spaghetti sauce, overcook the meatballs, and make a huge mess of the stovetop in the process. I tried not teasing her about it, but it was obvious both me and my brother found her valiant efforts amusing and not even her cute, tinted cheeks could keep us from saying anything.

  I head upstairs after checking the backyard where she’s started a small flower garden with the help of Yasmin. I check on the progress every day I get home, sometimes even watching her methodically play in the dirt. The plants definitely add to the aesthetic, and Yasmin winked at me when I smiled at the purple petals gracing a majority of the flowerbeds.

  I’m about to knock on her cracked door, but the silence inside makes me ease it quietly open instead. She’s sound asleep on one side of the bed, her hands balled up under her cheek like a pillow, half covered with the throw blanket Yasmin insisted on keeping in here because she said this room is “the coldest one in the house”, not that I knew that. I wouldn’t have put Rylee in it even if it’s a more isolated space if I’d known.

  Walking in, I study the bags in the corner that she’s clearly living from and spot the closed ring box sitting on top of her clothes. My lips twitch, but I decide not to think much on it.

  Turning to Rylee, I watch her chest slowly rise and fall with peaceful breaths and carefully pull the blanket up to cover her better. She makes an unintelligible noise I can’t make out, then drifts back off, curling a hand around the hem of the blanket and tugging it closer to her face.

  I want to ask her about her history with Zayne, get a feel for what she felt before she sold those pictures. There’s nothing I can do to change what we’ve already done, and neither of us can go back in time to stop her from snapping those photos if she ever considered him more than a job, but it’d give me peace of mind. I may not remember a lot from the time period, but if I think hard enough I remember the way she’d stiffen around him, hesitate like she was never completely comfortable.

  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 the faint murmurs of her and Garrick until she comes back in and clicks the door closed behind her.

  She helps me dry and brush my hair. “I haven’t seen him treat anyone like this before.”

  I offer her a timid smile. “You mean he hasn’t cleaned up puke from any of the women that’s stayed here before?”

  She laughs lightly. “You’d be the first.”

  Wanting to groan over that, I internally shake it off. All I say is, “Lucky me.”

  Her hand squeezes my arm as she turns her back while I change. She knocks on the door twice, signaling Garrick to walk in once I’m all set.

  “You don’t—”

  I yelp when he picks me up, cradling me to his chest and carrying me out of the bathroom. I protest when he walks us out of the room and down the hall, but all he says is, “The room smells like vomit. You can stay in mine for now until we air it out.”

  I blush.

  “And don’t say you’re sorry,” he tells me firmly, eyeing me knowingly. “It happens. I’ll get you some water and medicine after you’re settled in.”

  He nudges open his bedroom door and carefully brings me inside. My nerves skyrocket the second we get into his space, but I don’t have time to look around or overthink before I’m being placed on a cloud-like mattress that I imagine came from heaven itself.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He’s gone before I can blink, and I barely remember him getting back, passing me some pills and water, before I fall back asleep.

  There’s a fuzzy purple blanket folded on my bed that wasn’t there when I was carried out this morning. As I approach the new item, I graze the fleece material and smile when I pick it up.

  “A Snuggie,” I laugh, shaking my head as soon as I realize what it is.

  “I never use it,” a new voice states from behind me, causing me to whirl around. Garrick gestures toward the piece. “It’s been collecting dust in my closet since it arrived. Don’t worry, I washed it.”

  “It’s purple,” I state dumbly.

  He snickers at the astute observation. “Violet, to be more accurate. My favorite color.”

  I blink a few times. “I thought you always joked about that when people asked. Most men say blue or black or something.”

  He casually strolls into my room and sits on the edge of the bed, seemingly not caring about the mess I made in here earlier. Though whatever he and Yasmin did to the carpet makes it look like nothing happened at all, a magic trick I’ll have to ask her about. “I prefer colors with personality. The guys hated me when I came up with the band name, but nothing else stuck. Then all of a sudden we had branding and merchandise that were all violet and they learned to deal because the people loved it.”

  I don’t remember the origin story of how Violet Wonders got their name well, only that Garrick was the one who’d suggested it. Obviously, it stuck.

  “What about you? What’s your favorite color?” he asks, his eyes on the Snuggie instead of me.

  His casualness makes me study him for a moment before I shrug. “I don’t really have one. I guess it depends on my mood. When I was little I’m pretty sure I told everybody that it was pink. My room was painted that color, my bedspread was the shade of bubble gum, and so were my pillows, curtains, and everything else.”

  His head cocks, something flashing in his eyes as they capture mine. “And what’s the mood now?”

  My tongue runs along the seam of my lips as I study him, then the Snuggie in my hands. “I suppose violet isn’t so bad.”

  He grins. Instead of torturing me with more comments, he changes topics. “You’re feeling better, yeah?”

  “Yes, much. Thank you for…everything. I’m not sure how you got the stain out, but I’m glad you managed. And I’ll make sure to thank Yasmin next time I see her too.”

  “Yasmin likes you.”

  “Still doesn’t mean she had to do what she did,” I reason quietly. “Not everybody would have, so I appreciate it.”

  Garrick is quiet for a moment. “I would have called your mother to see if there was anything I should have done, but I didn’t have the passcode to your phone, and I don’t know what they know about us.”

  This time, I’m the quiet one.

  “Chase said you haven’t been answering your phone,” he adds, leading to a conversation we haven’t touched on before.

  “I wasn’t aware he was keeping tabs on me,” I murmur, slightly hurt over the idea he’s been keeping an eye out.

  One shoulder rises casually, either not hearing the strained tone in my voice or not caring. “He’s quiet half the time, but the other half he’s watching. It sounds creepy, but that’s just my brother. He’s a wallflower.” His brows raise. “So?”

  Lowering the Snuggie, I place it back on the bed and walk over to the window. “I’ve been getting a ton of calls, texts, and emails from people since some of the headlines started.”

  A Modern-Day Cinderella Story

  How A Reporter Snagged A King

  Meet the Woman Who Tamed Hollywood’s Biggest Bachelor

  I hadn’t planned to shut my phone off completely because I knew my parents deserved answers, but my name was everywhere, and my contact information along with it. I’m always told to reduce the stress in my life so I don’t make myself sicker, but that’s basically impossible when the world is contemplating if I deserve my new role or not. The only peace I got from people wanting interviews was when the device was off and far, far away from me.

  Moffie had instant messaged me to let me know my parents were hounding her for answers, but the best I could do was “tell them I’m fine and that I love them.”

  She’d said one thing back.

  Chicken.

  Blowing out a breath, I shake my head and lean my hip against the wall. “I knew this would happen. Your brother told me I’d need to change my number, but I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. At least, not so soon.”

  “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.”