by B. Celeste
Michael never got back to him about that, something Garrick hasn’t forgotten about.
“Where are we?” I ask for the fifth time since he told me to trust him. I’ve been off ever since my parents left. Dad gave me a big hug, Mom did the same, and I’d held back my tears long enough for their car to pull away before letting them loose into Garrick’s dress shirt until a hideous water stain was left behind.
I hear him snicker as we stop walking, his hands on my hips as he turns me toward something. My nerves are firing a mile a minute until I hear something…meow?
“Garrick?”
“One more second, love.”
There’s shuffling, then a bell ringing that sounds awfully like the one on the door at our favorite eating spot where rarely anybody bothers us. Suddenly, there’s a hand in mine, callused from the time they’ve spent tuning and strumming guitars and scaling piano keys, and rough from the work they’ve done helping me build flowerbeds.
He guides us inside somewhere, the warmth quickly heating me from the chilly breeze outside.
Then I hear it.
Animals.
Dogs barking.
Cats meowing.
Metal rattling.
When I was younger, I used to go by the pet store and play with the animals hoping my parents would let me choose one. I even saved up the money I’d gotten from the veggie stand my grandparents let me help run in hopes that I could pick out something of my own. In hindsight, it’s better that they said no even if I threw a big tantrum and told them I hated them approximately ten times. It would have been nearly impossible moving across the country with a pet and finding a place that’d take them.
“I’m going to take us into the back, so walk carefully. There’s a narrow hallway ahead.” I do as he says, one foot in front of the other as my hand reaches out and rests on his shoulder as he walks us somewhere far enough away to drown out the noises.
I fidget when he stops me again. “I’m getting nervous. What’s going on?”
A door opens and another set of footsteps comes in. I hear more rattling, shifting, metal clinking like the old cage we used to keep my childhood dog in during his potty training.
Are we…?
“You can take your blindfold off,” he instructs, giddiness in his voice.
I probably break a world record with how quickly I pull it down until it drapes on my neck. My eyes instantly find a small cage on top of a table with a small, multi-colored cat inside it.
Oh my God.
My eyes snap to the man who’s grinning ear to ear at me. “What is going on?”
He walks over to the cage and opens it up. There’s an older woman in the corner wearing a t-shirt with a logo I vaguely recognize from animal shelter commercials on TV. “Remember how I told you that I always wanted a dog but never had one?”
Slowly, I nod.
He’s patient as he reaches into the cage, letting the small brown, black, and white cat slowly creep toward him to sniff his fingers. “I was thinking about what you told me back in New York. I’m Garrick Matthews. I can have anything I want.”
I watch as the cat brushes its head against his fingers, letting him scratch the back of its neck before the purring starts. When Garrick gently pulls the cat from the cage and holds it in his arms, all while the happy feline nudges his chin for attention, I melt.
Garrick Matthews is holding a cat.
This would break the internet.
I stare at them and point out the obvious as if he’s confused. “That’s not a dog.”
He grins. “Correct. This is a one-and-a-half-year-old Tortoiseshell cat named Kit-Kat.”
I blink, not registering anything other than the name. “Kit-Kat? Like the snack?”
He nods. “That was his name when he got here.” Readjusting Kit-Kat in his arms, he strokes its back. “Since you always come up with good ideas, the guys and I volunteered at an animal shelter for some good press. Bonding, since they seemed to miss me so damn much for some reason. Turns out, Jax is highly allergic to cats. It was pretty funny.”
Poor Jax. “And that made you decide to get a cat?”
“Not just any cat,” he counters. “This one. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was mine. The plus side is, Jax won’t likely throw anymore parties at the house now that we have a new addition.”
Reality slams into me. “You’re getting a cat?” It’s a dumb question considering he’d already said as much. “I didn’t even know you liked cats. And cats are…they’re a lot of work. We never talked about it. We don’t even have anything it’ll need—”
“Can I have a moment with my wife?” Garrick asks the woman in the corner. The woman nods and slips out the door to give us privacy. He turns to me, still fussing over the cat in his arms. “Why are you freaking out? You’ve told me before that you’ve wanted a pet. Cats are low maintenance and independent once we show them where the things are.”
My eyes go to Kit-Kat. “It’s not that I don’t want one, but pets are commitments. That’s…”
He nods slowly. “Ah. You’re afraid.”
“I’m not—” He gives me a look that stops the words about to escape me. “Okay, yes. I have no idea what’s going on here. I’m confused.”
“About what? A cat?”
“Us, Garrick!” I hiss the words at him, nervously looking at the door. “We’re…getting to know each other in ways that’s foreign to me. And while that’s, er, nice—”
“We both know it’s more than nice based on the way you call out my name, love. But since we’re in public, I’ll let it slide for now.”
Face heating, I push away his casual statement. “The point is, having a pet is a big deal. Just because we both want one doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because.”
“Tell. Me. Why.”
I close my eyes and palm them with the heels of my hands knowing I’ll have to say what’s been bothering me for a while now. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
“Well, we are,” he informs me. “Because I need to know where your pretty little head is at. So tell me why it’s wrong. Give me your reasons and I’ll tell you why they’re stupid.”
I deadpan. “Wow. Thanks.”
He simply shrugs.
Eyes going to the door, I drop my voice so nobody can hear. “We’re not really together. Maybe in an intimate sense, but that’s it. What happens when two years are up, and Michael is shoving divorce papers into my hand? I’d have to walk away from you and Kit-Kat, and I’ll be…” Voice hitching, I clear it. “It doesn’t matter what I’ll be. The point is, it’d be difficult to form any type of attachment to an animal and then have to leave it behind.”
His face shadows with anger. “Michael would never do that because I wouldn’t let him.”
“Be reasonable here.”
“I am! Christ.” He puts Kit-Kat back into his cage but doesn’t close the door. Turning to me, he crosses his arms on his chest. “Did you ever think that I want more than two years with you? That sharing a room with you makes me feel content for the first time ever? That watching you garden makes me happy because you’re happy? That hearing you talk about your family brings me peace? That staying up late with you and watching stupid commercials until we nearly buy something we don’t need makes me laugh more than I’ve laughed in a long time?
“You expect the worst in me, Rylee. How about taking a step back and really looking at what’s in front of you. If I thought for even a second that I didn’t want to keep this going for the long term, I wouldn’t have brought you here. I’m not daft, I know what a responsibility a pet is, and I know what that means. You’re afraid that I’ll break our commitment and you’ll be left with nothing. But guess what, love?”
I say nothing, unable to answer his rhetorical question as he stares me down.
“Maybe I’m afraid of being left with nothing because you’re too scared to give me a real shot at proving to you that I
am in this. You. Me. Kit-Kat. You’ve met my mum. You get along with my brother. My mates think you’re cool. Our families spent the holidays together. You haven’t moved any of your things out of our room, which tells me that you want to sleep with me every night and wake up next to me every morning. I know what makes you tick, inside and out. I know your pleasures, your pains, the things that nobody else does because you trust me with that knowledge. I am asking you for one thing and one thing only.”
Heart thumping with adrenaline, I ask, “And what is that?”
Stepping up to me, he cups my face and brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. “Give me a chance to love you fully. I’m already well over halfway there.”
I shudder a breath. “You love me?”
His smile is warm, not cocky. “You make it easy.” I stare at him, our eyes never moving away from each other as I absorb every word. “I don’t want or expect you to say anything right now. Think about it. We’re already married, might as well take our time.”
Brushing his fingers through my hair, he bends down for a chaste kiss and inhales the wild cherry scent I’m sure to be radiating from the Lifesavers I stole from his stash on the way here.
“Garrick,” I whisper when he pulls me in for a hug.
“Hmm?”
“Can we take Kit-Kat home?”
I hear the smile in his voice the second he says, “I thought you’d never ask.”
31
Garrick
January passes by with radio interviews, photoshoots, and album promotions leading up to its drop in the beginning of March. Two more songs released, one that hit the number one spot for three weeks in a row on the Billboard charts, and another that barely scraped into the top ten.
Michael has been on my ass about the upcoming Golden Globes that I’m supposed to appear at to give one award. And considering he hasn’t addressed my ultimatum about scheduling Rylee in to see the same renown designer who styles me for bullshit like this, it’s looking more and more like the award ceremony is going to need a backup.
My manager has been especially nippy because of the limitations Violet Wonders set for interviews. There’s a script to follow, questions we get in advance and prepare for so there’s no surprises about the shit still lingering in the background about our lives. Our last interview ended with me storming out after the host boldly said, “People have been seeing old photos resurface of your bride and best friend looking awfully cozy. It must make working together difficult at times if there’s still feelings there.”
I’d given one look at the beer-gutted, red-faced asshole asking me and the guys’ questions before answering, “Not that it’s anybody’s business, but there’s no hard feelings regarding the past. Rylee and I are quite happy. Zayne and I are doing fine. This interview is over.”
I’d slid the headphones off, stood up, and walked out not knowing or caring what would happen after my departure. The guys all followed close behind, with a slew of people calling after us as we left the building and got into the car that’d brought us there.
None of us spoke all the way to my house, where we all gathered inside to watch Rylee play with Kit-Kat. It took five minutes for Jax to bow out after sneezing and cursing my name, with Manning and Cal leaving close behind him. I tried not to study them too closely, how they were never far from each other, always whispering to one another, and how their plans always coincided.
Mum was right. I’m an idiot.
With old pictures of Zayne and Rylee making their way around the media, there’s been a rise in conversations about our marriage. And considering I’ve asked Michael to take care of the tabloids that have blatantly slandered our names, little has been done.
Garrick Matthews in Open Marriage
It’s Not Over Yet, Ladies!
Wife of Garrick Matthews Having Affair with Zayne Gray
The Woman Behind the Breakup of Violet Wonders
Which Man Will She Choose?
I close myself in my room that now smells like sugar and spice and is littered with Rylee’s belongings that look oddly good spread across the space and dial the number I’ve been dreading dialing all day since I get nowhere with the man who’s managed me for years.
“You promised,” I tell Michael, venom in my tone after his long-winded rant about them not being able to take control of the free press.
“We can spin a story on you and the band, but anything else is—”
“She’s not just anybody else,” I cut him off for the hundredth time. “I seem to recall telling you that before, yet you don’t hear me. Who pays you?”
He pauses.
“Who. Pays. You?”
“You do.”
“So who should you listen to?”
He sighs. “Garrick, I’m trying to be reasonable here. You know that people are going to come after her no matter what since you both have refused to sit down and talk with any reputable source. That’s the best I can get you. Maybe Hot in Hollywood or one of the morning talk shows will allow you to come on, but you can’t pull the same stunt you did with Penny Gomez or they’ll never ask you back.”
Good.
Rylee doesn’t want to go on live TV, and I won’t force her too. There’s a lot of prepping for interviews that she’d need to go through, and she’s told me countless times she doesn’t want to be a public figure. Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t have much of a choice since signing her name next to mine on the marriage certificate.
“They’re defaming her,” I point out.
“She wouldn’t be the first one.”
“She doesn’t deserve it.”
“For Christ’s sakes, Garrick. Most of the people who’ve gotten dragged through the mud don’t, especially not the women who attach themselves to people like you. Maybe if you’d spoken to your goddam team before putting a ring on it, we could have talked her out of going through with it at all.”
My nostrils flare at his condescending tone, as if the man only a decade older than me knows enough to talk down to me like I’m a fucking child.
“Careful, Michael. You’re on thin ice.”
“I’m pointing out the obvious. It’s not my fault you’ve lost one too many braincells from the shit you’ve snorted. There’s plenty of pussy out there to choose from that’s better trained to handle this, you could have done better than her.”
Pure rage blasts through my body, every vein bubbling as my fists clench so tight that I hear the phone crack. “You’re done.”
His sigh makes it obvious he doesn’t think I’m serious. “We haven’t even talked about what you’re going to wear at—”
“Let me clarify, Michael. You’re fired. I no longer plan on paying you, working with you, or hearing you give me an opinion I didn’t ask for. You can belittle me for the things I’ve done in the past, but you’ve disrespected Rylee for the last time. I warned you before.”
Silence greets me, and I decide it’s better to leave it that way. Hanging up, I toss the phone on the bed and squeeze the sides of my neck while I pace.
Michael works with the entire band because Violet Wonders employed one of the best management companies to deal with us from the beginning. He was the one specifically assigned to me when I started releasing solo music after the breakup because they felt his connections could get me farther.
But I’ve long since built a following that could get me even further without him because of their loyalty if I decide to work on solo music again.
Walking over to the discarded cell phone, I type out a text.
Garrick: Your manager still accepting new clients since you took a break with your woman?
I’m heading for the door of the room when I get a reply.
Kyler B: I’m starting to think you only like talking to me when you need something
Garrick: Is that a yes?
Kyler B: Yes. Need his contact?
Garrick: Please
Garrick: And if it makes you feel any better, I enjoy talking to you any day
if it gets a rise out of you. Today’s just not that day
Kyler B: I’ve seen the articles. If Rylee needs a friend, you have Lenny’s contact information you could give her
I don’t tell him I appreciate it even though I should. The only constant contact Rylee has consists of video calling Moffie and her friend’s husband, and phoning her parents. Chase comes over and watches movies with us once in a while, and Mum still joins us for our traditional movie nights, even letting Rylee pick a few and making her smile over the small sentiment. We go out to eat, occasionally see one of the guys at one of their places, or take drives to get out of the house, but Rylee has no friends of her own here that she can talk to if she wants to.
Garrick: I’ll pass that along
Kyler B: Here’s Gordon’s number
Garrick: You wouldn’t happen to know a stylist who has time to dress two people for the GGs do you?
Kyler B: I’m sure Mia does
Garrick: I’ll call her
Garrick: Owe you one
Kyler B: I’ll remember that
Oh, I’m sure you will.
The red carpet rollout started thirty minutes ago, and I’m glad that I didn’t get an invite to prance around in front of the cameras and strike a pose in the Tom Ford suit I’m fitted in. As nice as the gray threads are, they’re nothing in comparison to the black Armani number Rylee is wearing. The woman who took it off the rack at her studio said the two-tone ebony floor length gown would complement her eyes beautifully, and I thank the maker for the plunging neckline that Rylee was uncertain about.
Since this is our first public outing together, we still capture plenty of attention from people who want us to stop and talk to them as we follow people inside to find our seats.
“Keep an eye out for Zayne,” I tell her over the loud conversations around us.
