Rowan Conaway.
Lead singer and songwriter for the Rusty Trinkets.
I’ve seen stories about him in the media time and again. I’ve never read them, because not only do I not care about him, but also, I know those stories are most likely fabricated, or at the very least, exaggerated beyond belief.
But knowing that Freya was connected to him?
A shiver races down my spine.
He’s constantly followed by the press, just waiting for his next publicity stunt that will no doubt help sell him more albums.
He took one look at mine and Freya’s entwined fingers last night, and I swear I saw dollar signs in his eyes like he was a fucking slot machine.
My stomach knots as I try to predict what might already be online.
Hailee was right to warn Freya. But she couldn’t have guessed that we’d bump into him only a few hours later.
Now he doesn’t just have photos online to spin a story out of, but an actual in-person encounter.
I need to get up and get my cell. I have no doubt that Hailee has already blown it up. And if I’m right and there’s a bullshit story doing the rounds, then I’m sure a few others will have something to say about it as well.
But I can’t. I don’t want to deal with reality or know what’s going on outside the safety of my apartment. I just want to be here with Freya sleeping soundly in my arms, pretending that everything is okay.
I know that we can handle whatever is happening on the outside. But she shouldn’t have to handle anything. She’s already been through enough. I already knew it was bad from the things she’s said and the way she reacts to certain situations, but now, I’m pretty sure I’ve underestimated everything.
If she wakes up and decides that she can’t do this with me, honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
She’s already lived part of her life with someone who is constantly in the media. My level of fame doesn’t really compare to his, but still.
I understand her fear.
Pain rips through me at the thought of her leaving me.
But that’s what everyone does.
Why would Freya be any different?
The minutes stretch on, and the longer I have nothing but her silence and occasional snore beside me, the more I start to lose control.
The easiest thing would be the one who walks away first.
I could let her go, allow her to live the quiet life that she wants.
But…I can’t.
There is no way I can let go of the first person who’s ever truly meant something to me.
Call me selfish, but I want to keep her.
I close my eyes, hating myself for being such a selfish prick. But I can’t help it.
Don’t I deserve to have someone in my life?
“I can hear your thoughts racing,” she whispers, scaring the shit out of me.
“How?” I whisper back, tightening my hold on her, terrified that now she’s awake, she isn’t going to choose me.
“Chronic overthinker, remember? I know the signs.”
