This sucks. But what I need to do next is way worse. It’s something I promised I would never, ever do again.
But I need to know. That compulsion from years ago comes upon me. I have to go there. Just this once, I promise. And never again.
So I do it.
I click on the comments section of the video. And steel myself for the worst.
Even I couldn’t have prepared for it.
CHAPTER 18
Ryder
(TEN YEARS AGO) RYDER’S JOURNAL
Chase warned me away from Daisy again today. It was awkward as fuck. I promised him we were just friends. But he said that if I wasn’t careful, I would crush her heart. And then he would crush all of me.
NOW
I stare at the screen in shock. I’m sitting on the bed in my room, still wet from a swim, with my phone clutched in my hand. I thought I’d check my messages quickly before I got into the shower, but my publicist’s urgent tone, asking me to watch the two videos that she forwarded, immediately halted me in my tracks. I thought the first video of Daisy and me singing together was bad. Damning, given the way we looked at each other on the stage.
But then I clicked on the second video. And it’s so much worse. Daisy was secretly filmed. I listen, my heart pumping in overdrive, as she tells her friend how much she loves me.
Loved me. Past tense.
For ten years.
I knew Daisy had a crush on me that summer. But how is it even possible that she loved me for a decade?
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I swear, remembering our fevered kiss the other night.
This video is such a violation of her privacy. And it’s out there for the world. I need to call my publicist back and do whatever it takes to get this buried. If that’s even possible.
My phone buzzes, and the name Chase pops up on the screen. Hell.
“Hey, man,” I say casually. Chase is in the middle of the desert directing a movie, making the transition from actor to director. He’s incredibly busy, so I know this isn’t a social call.
“Don’t fuck with me, Ryder. Daisy’s your pet sitter? You’re singing and making eyes at each other? She’s on the fucking internet declaring her love for you? Did you not learn from the last time? You better start explaining. And then when you get done explaining, you’re going to get my PR agency and your PR agency together and come up with a plan to make sure that you take care of this and that Daisy isn’t humiliated. I will shut this entire production down, come over, and kick your ass in a heartbeat.”
I rub my forehead, trying to press away the beginnings of a tension headache. “First, blame Emma for the pet-sitting thing. Second, I’ve stayed away from Daisy all these years. That she still had a thing for me is as much of a surprise to me as it is for you. And third, I’m already on it. If you’re done giving me shit, I’m going to hang up and call my agency.”
“Good,” he grunts. “Fuck,” he says. “Sisters, man.”
“I didn’t realize. If I had…” I don’t even know how to continue that sentence. I had no idea just how long and how deeply she’d cared for me.
Would it have changed things if I’d known? I wish I’d handled it all differently. But it wouldn’t have changed my decision to not pursue anything with her that first summer. She’d escaped her mom’s house and needed somewhere physically—and emotionally—safe to stay. Her age. Her vulnerability and what she’d been through. The fact that I didn’t do relationships, not like she wanted or needed. All of that meant friendship was the only option. But it’s one of my deepest regrets that I didn’t handle it better. That I hurt her so badly. She spiraled in ways I would have never imagined.
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” Chase interrupts my turbulent thoughts. “We’re in the middle of a complicated sequence, and I have a hundred people waiting for me. Call me when you have a plan. And I’ll be talking to Daisy as well.” Chase sighs. “You may be one of my best friends, but Daisy is family.”
I rub the tension in my neck. “You may not believe this, Chase, but I care about Daisy as well. So you don’t need to threaten me. I’d cut out my heart for her.”
Chase is quiet. “I know,” he says after a minute, surprising me. Living with Olivia must have softened some of his rough edges. “But you’ve hurt her before. And I know firsthand that having good intentions guarantees nothing. So get this shit sorted, and then call me back.”
When we hang up, I phone my publicist, my heart and stomach rolling with the combination of nerves and nausea I always get just before going onstage.
And what she says doesn’t make those nerves go away. It ramps them up a thousand times higher.
“Are you kidding? You’re recommending that?” I snap.
