by B. Celeste
She’s got a firm grip on my arm as we walk side by side, her other hand picking up the skirt of her dress to walk easier. The stylist tried putting her in heels that looked like they could double as a weapon, but she could barely walk in them. The ones she ended up with are chunky little things that she still wobbles in if she isn’t gripping me as she walks.
Once we find our table, I pull out her chair and help her sit down so her dress is tucked in and out of the aisle. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”
Her hair is braided in a clean updo, something I reluctantly accepted when I realized there’d be nothing for me to brush away. The woman doing her hair had tried hiding a smile when I attempted to convince her to leave something down so I had something to play with when I got bored.
Rylee had come back with, “How can you get bored at the Golden Globes?”
She’d see soon enough though.
Once I’m seated, tugging the suit jacket so it’s free of wrinkles, my wife turns to me and replies, “You tell me that every day.”
“Because it’s true.”
Her eyes roll, but that smile I love seeing graces her painted lips. “Even when I was wearing a pair of stained sweatpants and wrapped in a Snuggie all day? That’s hardly beautiful.”
The fact she doesn’t see what I do says a lot, but I don’t bother convincing her otherwise because she won’t believe me. “Do you see Zayne?”
Her eyes move around the room where other A-listers are roaming and talking amongst themselves. When her eyes turn about as wide as the favors on the table, I trace them back to the tall, tattooed man a few feet away.
Christ.
“It’s Cannon Rhodes,” she whisper-hisses, face turning bright red. “What is he doing here? I never heard about any performance. Do people even perform at these kinds of shows?”
Snickering at her quick words, I shake my head. “Not here. I think I heard he’s presenting an award too. Would you like an introduction?”
“No!” she chokes out, shaking her head adamantly. “Nope. Then I’ll turn into Moffie when she met you. I’ll get all red and squeaky and then people will know me as Mouse Girl or something.”
Grinning, I nudge her leg with mine. “I suppose that’s one way to get the press off other topics surrounding you. Mouse Girl doesn’t have a bad ring to it.”
She glares. “Not funny.”
“Hate to break it to you, love—” I brush my knuckles along her cheek. “—but you’re already red. Redder than your lipstick, in fact.”
Rylee groans, her eyes darting back to where The Wild band member is talking with a few other people I vaguely recognize.
I lean close to her. “Deep breaths. In for three, out for three. Remember? Don’t turn into me when I met Olivia Newton-John.”
“At least people sang to you to lighten the mood. I’m about to sweat myself to death.” She squirms in her chair, flattening her hands down her dress. “Am I allowed to sweat in something this expensive? I’m terrified to move or do anything. Eating? Forget about it. You know I always get something on myself.”
I laugh lightly. “What are you going to do, sit there and look pretty all night? There is such thing as dry clean, Ry. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
She’s about to speak when a well-known actress and her plus one stops at our table and examines the name cards across from us. I only know her from one of Mum’s favorite rom coms that she watches on repeat, so I offer a smile in greeting as they sit down.
The woman, Sienna Cross, looks between Rylee and me. “I’m glad to see we’re in good company. Last year we were put next to Luke Clark and his now-estranged wife and we all know how that turned out.”
Rylee cringes, probably remembering all the breaking news articles that went viral online after the couple was escorted from the premises after one too many drinks led to a huge public fight at the award show. Not many people noticed their absence in between filmed commercial breaks during the broadcast, but they definitely did after the news came out.
Sienna notices the empty chairs left. “Do we know who else is joining us?”
“Si,” the man beside her murmurs.
She brushes him off. “I’m just wondering, Russel.”
I nod toward the spot beside me. “My mate Zayne is supposed to be here. Not sure about a plus one.” When he told me he was invited, he’d never said who was coming with him, if anyone.
Things have been…odd between us. We still talk but avoid the large elephant in the room which seems to be making the tension worse. Every time I try bringing it up, Zayne makes an excuse to leave without saying a word about what he admitted.
Before I can think too much about it, I see the man in question walking toward us. He bumps into somebody and stumbles to the side, apologizing a little too loudly before stopping behind the empty chair next to me.
It’s obvious the second he looks at me that he’s tanked. After he sits down, I lean over and whisper, “You reek, mate. You’re pissed, aren’t you?”
He gives me a lopsided grin, before jabbing my shoulder with one of his fingers. “No, I’m drunk. Might have pre-gamed a little before the event to loosen up.”
Cussing under my breath, I pour him a glass of water and shove it into his hand. “Drink.”
Scowling at the glass in his hand, he grumbles, “What are you my mother?”
Sienna clears her throat. “I heard you’re presenting tonight.” She directs the statement toward me, then trails her eyes over to my mate who’s guzzling the water down all at once.
“Yes. I don’t go on until the end.”
She gestures toward Zayne, an unimpressed look pinching her face. “Probably a good thing.”
Her comment makes my jaw tick, but I brush it off. Looking over at Rylee, I see worry sketched into her expression that’s pointed at my best friend and know none of us are going to have a good night like I’d promised when she agreed to be my date.
32
Garrick
Running a hand through my hair, I help lean Zayne against the side of the building as we wait for our car. It’s been a grueling night of babysitting, and whatever he had before coming here is quickly leaving his system.
“Is he okay?” Rylee whispers, eyes wide as people pass the three of us with curious stares.
I murmur, “He’s crashing.” He starts to slide down the wall, but I quickly correct him. Rylee stands beside him, putting one of his arms around her shoulders to keep him steady.
There’s no doubt people have gotten some interesting photos of the three of us tonight. It’s something I’ll have to deal with after I get us out of here because it isn’t just alcohol Zayne has been indulging in as a pre-game based on how much he fidgeted during the entire program.
“Come on, mate,” I direct once our car pulls over to the curb. I help Rylee walk him forward, sliding him in first and getting him positioned to lean against the car door.
Not wanting Rylee near him, I slide in after and gesture for her to get in last. The man driving us closes the door behind her and walks around the front while I turn to my drummer.
“What did you take?” I ask, shaking his arm. He shoves my hand away and grumbles unintelligibly under his breath. “Zayne. Tell me what the fuck you’re on right now so I can help you.”
His face shifts toward me, a mixture of anger and annoyance plastered on his glazed features. The redness to his eyes and paleness of his skin makes me half-tempted to tell the driver to take us to the nearest hospital. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I start patting down the pockets of his jacket and pants. He tries shoving me away when I reach the right one, which means he’s definitely hiding something he shouldn’t have. I quickly dart to pull whatever it is out, going rigid when I see the dime bag of white powder in my hands.
Rylee’s sharp breath barely registers as I stare at the drugs I’m holding. She softly says, “I think you should give those to me.”
/> But I don’t. “No.”
“Garrick—”
I shake the bag in front of my friend. “I thought you said you were clean. Hmm?” When he doesn’t comment, looks out the window instead, I about lose my shit. “You said you were sober, mate. Do the guys know?”
He says nothing.
“Fuck.” I grip the bag in my palm and clench it in my fists.
Rylee puts her hand on my leg. “Maybe they’re not hi—”
I laugh bitterly. “Oldest bullshit in the book, love. They’re not mine. I’m holding them for someone else. I was never going to use it. I’ve said it all before, and I’m sure he does too. We’re all a bunch of fucking liars.”
She shrinks back, and I don’t have time to feel bad about my tone before paying attention to the man whose leg has begun bouncing. “I want to know how long.”
Nothing.
“For Christ’s sakes, man!” My voice startles both the people in the back with me, Zayne’s eyes cutting to me cautiously. “If you don’t start talking, I swear to God I’ll open this bag and take what’s in it. Is that what you want? Me to throw away years of sobriety?”
He pales even more. “No.”
“Then tell me.”
“I—” Stopping himself, he tries reaching for my hand and taking it back, but I fight him on it. Between the two of us playing tug-of-war, the bag breaks and white powder goes everywhere.
On me.
On Rylee.
On Zayne.
Rylee gasps, Zayne gapes, and I stare at the powder coating my hands and floating in the air, taunting my nose. I breathe in heavily, jaw tight, head turned away from the mess, and stare at the ashen expression on my wife’s face.
“G-Garrick?” Her breath is barely audible as her eyes go to the drugs. Taking action, she uses the skirt of her dress to wipe off my skin and clothes frantically while Zayne sits there and does nothing.
Doesn’t help.
Doesn’t say a word.
I feel it.
The anger.
The rage.
The restlessness deep in my bones.
Rylee takes my face in her hands, keeping me from looking back down. “You’re okay,” she says, nodding quickly. “We’ll be home soon, and you can change and wash up. Okay? You’re good.”
My nostrils twitch.
My lungs sting.
I suddenly remember with great clarity the night at the Lazy Croc when I saw Rylee for the first time with Zayne.
I’d wanted her—wanted to take her from him. Wanted to appreciate what he clearly couldn’t. It all comes flooding back. The nervousness on her face. The way her hands would fidget by her sides or in her lap. How she wouldn’t drink whatever he’d put in front of her so I’d help get rid of it.
I watched as she followed him to the bathroom, phone in hand. I knew, deep down, what she was planning to do. And I let it happen.
Supplied the drugs.
Watched the outcome.
“We’re okay,” she whispers, rubbing her fingers over my skin while her eyes water with anxious, adrenaline-filled tears.
Zayne did that to her.
In a grim, no room for argument tone, I say, “It’s time the band called it.”
It’s not directed at Rylee, but the man sitting on the other side of me witnessing the panic attack he caused in the woman trying to keep me from making a bad choice.
“I’m done,” I add, leaning my forehead against hers and closing my eyes.
It’s only then Zayne speaks. “Okay.”
The breaking point peaked.
And we’ll all go down if I don’t stop it.
I look at Rylee’s ruined dress and frown knowing her worries the second she slid on the pristine material. “Like I said,” I tell her quietly, “at least it can be dry cleaned.”
33
Rylee
“After pictures of Violet Wonders frontrunner Garrick Matthews and drummer Zayne Gray surfaced with Matthews’ wife Rylee Simmons outside The Beverly Hilton Hotel where the Golden Globes were held, speculation began circulating the internet regarding the sobriety of Matthews and Gray. Videos taken by bystanders show the famous band members being hauled into their vehicle shortly after the final award of the night. This comes four years after Matthews’ second stint in rehab.”
Fire burns in the pit of my belly as I fumble with the remote control until the show is turned off. There’s no way people who saw any video from that night believe Garrick is the one using. Not when Zayne could barely stand on his own two feet.
It’s been a week since me and Garrick helped Zayne inside and settled into a spare room. The Australian singer set his friend in the walk-in shower clothes and all, turned the cold water on, and blocked the door so he couldn’t get out until he sobered up. Only after did he call his friends and demand they all come over for an emergency meeting.
And it didn’t end well based on the yelling coming from downstairs.
I’d hid in our room, body by the cracked door gripping the wood while the five Violet Wonders members hashed it out. Not once did I hear Zayne speak up as accusations and arguments flew through the air, cutting and slicing in every direction until a door slammed sometime later while others cursed.
The only thing I’d heard loud and clear from where I eavesdropped was Garrick’s firm statement that left little to be argued with. “This band is tearing us apart. Because of my choices. Because of Zayne’s decisions. We can’t handle it anymore. I’ll make sure a statement is made after the album comes out, but this is it.”
And that was that.
Everyone stopped arguing.
It was a few hours later when Garrick came upstairs and slipped into the room, still covered in his dirty suit to make a point I wish he didn’t have to, when he looked at me cross-legged on the bed with my phone. I don’t know what passed between us, but I stood up, slid off my shirt and leggings leaving me in nothing but skin, and pulled him into the bathroom to strip him of his clothes too.
We took our first shower together where he’d pressed me against the wall and showed me what shower sex was like.
And then I lathered my hands in soap and washed him while he watched with an intensity that still curls my toes whenever I think about it.
The headlines that sputtered out after new, more interesting things came to light from other celebrities were now going full force again because of the night at the Beverly Hilton. I can only imagine what the papers would have said if they knew what happened once we were all inside that car.
Still, Garrick’s new manager, who I’ve met twice now and already like twenty times more than his old one, keeps us up to date on what’s being said and how to handle it. Unlike Michael, Gordon Fuller has already shut down two different articles that made me sound like I was playing house with both Garrick and Zayne.
Rylee Simmons in Relationship with Two Violet Wonders Musicians
Two for One Deal! Newly married Simmons Allegedly Moves Zayne Gray into New Home
Not to mention the interview Sarina had done had come to light when follow-ups were made to the L.A. Free Press about legal actions they were supposedly going to take about the payout I’d taken for my last article. But the second Gordon fired back with threats of lawyers, not one more peep was made from anyone there because they knew they had “no case” according to the new manager.
He’s even given me options to make money while still writing, suggesting a lifestyle blog of everyday life that I could get paid for by advertisers sponsoring me. I’ve given it a lot of thought since he initially brought it up, realizing it was the perfect way to introduce the world to the version of Garrick I know and have fallen for.
Walking into the kitchen, I plug in my Ninja air fryer and get out the ingredients I need for homemade chicken tenders. Since Garrick doesn’t eat food like this, I usually indulge on the days he’s out. According to the note he left me this morning, he’s got a day full of interviews with people about the news that they plan on
sharing after their album releases.
It’s twenty minutes later when I hear the sound of the door opening that I turn down the music I have blasting as I cook and watch Chase walk in with a confused look on his face.
“That’s not my brother’s music,” he remarks, dropping his keys onto the counter and staring at the mess I made. He looks tired—dark bags are under his eyes and his shoulders look weighed down. “Are you making chicken tenders?”
He sounds hopeful, so I smile. “Want some?” Nodding, he pulls out the stool and drops onto it with a heavy sigh. I can’t help but say, “I know it’s none of my business, but are you okay?”
Staring at the counter for a few moments, he gives me a loose shrug. I grab a second plate, pull the tray out that contains the crispy chicken, and split the food. Since this isn’t the first time I’ve made fried food for the two of us, I know what condiment to grab him from the fridge.
“Forget I asked,” I offer lightly, sitting across from him with my own plate.
“It’s too surreal to even admit.” His voice sounds beat, defeated. “Telling my family was one thing, but the world?”
I make a face. “I’m hardly the world.”
He grumbles, “Tell that to my brother.”
Blushing, I break apart the chicken and watch steam billow from the halves. “I was listening to The Wild.” The topic change causes him to look up from his food. “That’s what I had on when you got in here. It drives your brother nuts, but I saw him mouthing along to the lyrics when he didn’t think I was paying attention, so I don’t think he minds that much.”
Chase’s lips tilt upward at the corners. “I think I’ve heard of a few of their songs. They’re not bad.”
“You should tell Garrick that.”
He snorts. “I’m glad he has you,” he says after a time passes. “I know I haven’t been that warm or welcoming, but for what it’s worth I think this is good for him. For both of you.”
I drag the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip. “Has he told you about what’s going on with him and the band?”
