He turns to Kayla, smiling down at her like she hung the moon. “I’ve gotta go, babe. Remember what I said, no dancing. It’s fucking crazy tonight, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
“Knock it off, you two,” Kayla argues, her dark gaze bouncing between me and her fiancé. “As much as I’m dying to get out there and shake my booty, I’d never do anything to jeopardize my baby, so you can both cut the crap talk. No one needs to mollycoddle or babysit me.”
She puts her hands on her hips and juts out her lower lip, and I can’t help laughing because she just looks so funny with her swollen baby belly and fierce expression. “I’m damn well able of looking out for myself and my unborn child.”
“I fucking love you to bits, Kayla,” Gage exclaims, kissing her softly as his hand tenderly rubs her stomach.
“And I love you too, stud,” she says. “Now get out there and do your thing.” He kisses her again before leaving, and Kayla practically melts into the seat.
“You two are nauseatingly in love. It’s disgusting,” I joke.
“We are puke-inducing, aren’t we?” she proudly agrees, sipping her water.
“Yep. That you are.” I hate the pang of longing that races through me. And I hate that my mind automatically returns to Ryder.
You’d think, after all this time, that I’d be over him, but there’s no getting over that boy. I’ve tried everything, and I can’t erase him from my mind. It doesn’t help that his gorgeous face is plastered all over social media and our TV screens. His outrageous actions ensure him prime coverage, and even if I wanted to avoid any mention of him, it’s virtually impossible.
I’ve lost count of the amount of sex videos and tell-all’s he’s been the subject of. Ryder has taken advantage of all the perks that come with being one of the world’s hottest rock stars, and he seems so far removed from that deep, sweet boy I knew in juvie. The one who traded his guitar to keep me safe. The boy who visited me every week for months after he got out. I still struggle to accept the contents of that letter. To understand why he left the way he did.
“You should just talk to him,” Kayla says, interrupting my troubled inner thoughts.
“To who?” I frown, playing dumb.
“You know who.” She treats me to one of her intense stares. “Ryder.”
I shake my head. “No good would come from that.”
“You know that’s bullshit. You need closure, Zeta, and he’s the only one who can give you that.”
“I can’t just show up after all this time demanding answers.” I fold my arms over my chest as the band kicks off with their opening number.
“Why not?” she questions.
Kayla knows about my past with Ryder, but she’s sworn to secrecy, and I know I can trust her not to mention a word to anyone, especially not the man himself. “Because he’s long since forgotten about me, and I’d only end up even more humiliated. We were just stupid kids, and it wouldn’t have gone anywhere anyway.”
She taps a finger off her lips, looking contemplative. “I think you’re wrong.” She eyeballs me seriously. “I’ve interviewed them every year for the past five years, as you know, and I’ve never seen a man so unhappy or more troubled than Ryder Stone.”
When I first joined the magazine, I told Harrison—the CEO and my boss—that I had bad history with Ryder and that I never wanted to be assigned to anything to do with Torment. He wasn’t happy about it at first, believing my connection with him could give us an in, but after their manager contacted the magazine, specifically requesting Kayla be assigned to report on the band, he backed down. Although it was something I’d asked for, because I didn’t trust myself to be aroundhimand not fall apart, I remember going home and crying myself to sleep that night.
“Anyone can see that, Kayla,” I reply, because you only have to read the headlines and look at pictures of him falling out of clubs, completely smashed, with groupies hanging off his arms, to know he’s not in a good place.
Even though he ruined me, it still hurts to see him hurting, especially knowing I can do nothing about it. Becoming the rock star he always wanted may have given Ryder fame and riches beyond his wildest dreams, but it seems to have tormented him on a personal level. I don’t need to be an active participant in his life to understand that. “And it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, looking unsure of something, and that’s rare for my outspoken best friend.
“Just say what you’re going to say.” I knock back the last of my beer and signal at the waitress passing by for another.
“He always asks me about you,” she quietly admits. “Every single time I’ve interviewed them, he’s pulled me aside at the end and asked me if you’re happy.”
My mouth drops open. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” I shriek.
“Because he asked me not to.” She sighs. “And because you are so reluctant to talk about him. I didn’t know if you’d want to hear it.”
“I don’t know what to make of that,” I honestly admit, feeling conflicted.
“Do you want to know what I think?” she asks, as the waitress appears with another beer and bottle of water.
