Page 67 of On The Edge

Each and every goddamn article is cutting. The anonymous comments below from the keyboard warriors are even worse. I shouldn’t care. Lies and rumors and all the bullshit come with this career, come with the limelight . . . and yet, one look at Maddix and I can see the toll it’s already taken on her.

“It’s all bullshit, Maddix. You know it and I know it.”

“Is that supposed to make it easier? My parents are seeing that and wondering what the hell is going on. They’re worried sick about me, threatening to hop on flights here that they can’t afford. Kevin has called me, telling me I’m not doing my job well enough because it looks like we’re about to break up.”

Fucking Kevin. Her parents’ concern? That’s well founded and expected. But her boss? The only thing he cares about is his income.

I was the one pushing her away and he blames her? She’s a fucking stranger to me and he knows that. What a prick.

And then I recall her phone call.

“I don’t care if Michael’s calling you. I’m not obligated to pick up the phone when he calls. Neither are you. From the looks of it, he’s one of the anonymous sources so . . . no, I don’t owe him anything.”

“And Michael?”

Her wince hits me in the weirdest of ways. Is it because I wonder if she still cares about him when she shouldn’t or is it because he did something to hurt her?

Both piss me off.

Her shrug confirms one of the two and I’m not sure which one. “Some articles quote him but . . . I don’t know if he’d really do something like that.”

“It’s amazing what money makes people do.” He’d sell the story for money. No doubt. He let her walk away without a fight after all. “So that’s it? That’s why you’re upset?”

By the look on her face, that was the wrong way to phrase that.

“Why I’m upset?” The evenness in her voice is almost ten times harder to listen to than if she were screaming at me. “You threw me to the wolves yesterday. This situation is for you so you get your billion-dollar deal. It’s not for me. I’m in your world, your fishbowl, for you and your benefit, and when you told me to leave the grounds without you yesterday, you left me to fend for myself with the media. Look at me.” She throws her hand at the computer. “I’m far from helpless, but this is your realm. This is where you were supposed to step in and tell me how to handle it. Instead, I look like a total bitch in these photos. I was flustered and overwhelmed with the flashes and the questions and everyone staring and now that person—that crazy-looking woman in the photos—is who’s splashed everywhere. That’s what people know me as. Who they assume me to be.”

Fucking hell. I scrub a hand over my unshaven jaw knowing there’s not a goddamn thing in the world I can do to fix this. I can’t even take all of those shitty pictures back.

“I have hundreds of messages and requests and disgusting comments on my socials from your fans.” She works a swallow and thank God she pauses, because the break in her voice is a gut punch. “I have thick skin. I can handle a lot. But it still hurts. It still fucks up your head.”

“I’m sorry, Madds. I am. There’s nothing I can say or do or—”

“If that’s what you think then that’s half the problem, isn’t it,” she says, shutting her laptop, shoving it in her carry-on. “Do better. Think about someone else besides yourself.” And with those parting words, she heads out the hotel room door.

She leaves the coffee untouched. A subtle dig. A reminder that she’s done way nicer things for me, and I’ve treated her much the same way.

Abandoned.

Fuck.

Her silent treatment remains. Through the car ride to the airport. Through preflight check. Through the small talk she makes with the flight crew but not with me. Thank fuck Lola doesn’t choose today to showcase the fact that we’ve fooled around.

From behind my sunglasses, I watch Maddix work on emails in silence, her expression changing with each and every word she types.

One is to Kevin. That one I saw when she set her laptop down to go to the restroom. A reassurance that all was fine and she was doing her job to the letter as he’d outlined. A subtle fuck you for putting me in this position if ever I read one.

She responds to texts. Some with a soft smile. Some with a bittersweet grimace. Others with downright hurt in her eyes.

She takes the time ignoring me to catch up or check in with those in her life. A life I guess I never considered she up and left for this. To help me make a fortune while she gets what in return? To be raked over the fucking coals? To be demeaned by the public and belittled by my father?

Did I stand up for her? Did I tell him to go to hell?

The problem? I don’t fucking remember. I’m so used to brushing off whatever the fuck he says that I can’t fucking recall.

And then when she finishes her correspondence, rather than have a conversation with me, she sleeps. The slow, even rise of her chest. The lock of hair that falls over her cheek. The way she moves every few minutes as her head slips down to an uncomfortable position before it jerks back up as she tries to get into a more comfortable one.

I can’t look away. I try. I have emails to answer. I have texts to respond to. I have a life to check in with, and yet the one thing that holds my interest is sitting across from me.