“You’re going to let me drive Nana’s car? This is both an honour and a privilege.” He nudges me with his shoulder before taking my hand and kissing the back of it. “Ready?”
It’s a short drive to the studio, but my body is vibrating. Ryan keeps glancing at me as I will myself to go still beside him. I watch buildings pass without really seeing them, my mind circling the same questions over and over. Why is this happening? How could I have prevented it?
I swallow, staring straight ahead. “My life is kind of a mess right now,” I whisper. “You didn’t sign up for this.” Isn’t that the understatement of the century?
Ryan reaches across the console and rests his hand over mine, steady and warm. “Hey,” he says quietly, waiting until I look at him. “Messy is okay. I’m not afraid of messy. We’ll see what we’re dealing with when we get there. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.”
He turns the car into the parking lot and eases to a stop. Banks, Logan, and Mason stand near the back of the building, their attention fixed on the splash of red paint.
My view is obstructed when Carson pulls his truck into the spot beside us. He climbs out and opens my door.
“Good morning, fam.” Judging by the amount of dirt on his jeans and shirt, it appears his morning began hours ago.
“Hey. What are you doing here?” I ask, climbing out and slipping my bag over my shoulder.
“Logan called and asked me to bring my pressure washer,” he says simply. “I’m sorry this is happening, Beck. You don’t deserve it.”
Ryan comes to stand behind me. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me back until I’m leaning on his solid chest.
Opening his tailgate, Carson lifts the washer down along with a coiled hose and walks it over to the building.
“Thanks, man,” Ryan calls after him. Carson raises a hand in response and keeps on walking.
“That’s good, right?” I ask, spinning around and searching Ryan’s eyes. “It mustn’t be that bad.”
“Let’s go see for ourselves.” Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he leads me across the lot.
As we approach, everyone stops talking and steps back, allowing us a clear look.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, raising my hands to my mouth.
The light bulb above the door has been shattered. Shards of glass scatter across the ground.
Someone scrawled the words BITCH, CUNT, WHORE in chunky block letters across the door and wall. Not someone. Braden. It’s a message to me.
I swallow and force my hands to my sides. My eyes scan the group of men until I land on Banks.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea he would do something like this,” I say, willing myself not to cry in front of everyone. The tears can come later. Privately. “What do you need me to do?”
Banks has always been so good to me as a boss, mentor, and friend. I feel horrible that my personal life has hurt him.
He steps closer. “This isn’t on you, Beck,” he says firmly, voice low and controlled. His dark brown eyes are kind. “It’s just some paint and glass. It won’t take long to get it cleaned up.”
I nod once and roll my lips inward. Anger and embarrassment buzz under my skin, but right now I’m focusing on standing up straight and not giving anyone another reason to feel sorry for me.
Mason clears his throat, drawing my attention. “I have already taken some pictures. There’s no evidence anyone tried to break in. I was telling Logan and Carson that they can go ahead and clean up. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
I offer each of them a small, grateful smile. I don’t know what I would do without my friends.
“We can go inside and talk in my room,” I suggest. This isn’t a conversation I want to have with an audience. It’s humiliating.
“That’s fine,” he agrees.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Ryan asks, placing his hand on the small of my back.
“No.” I shake my head quickly and step away. “You need to go to work. Take Nana’s car. You can pick me up and drive me home when you finish work for the day.”
“I’m not leaving you, Beck,” he insists. “I don’t have to come inside with you, but I’ll be here when you’re done.”
