Nash draws my attention as he steps next to my bed on the side opposite Keaton. He doesn’t hesitate to grab my hand, squeezing it in his firm hold. A small smile tugs at his lips as if to say all is better in his world for now, like he was holding himself back from reaching for me for too long.
“We need to address the media fallout and the strategy you want me to use.” Izzy’s tone shifts, pulling me back from the comforting silence Nash’s touch had drawn me into. “There are going to be rumors, accusations... and if we can count on Mr. Lexington’s tactics in the past, your name is going to be dragged through the mud.” Her voice is calm, her eyes steady, but the weight of her words creeps up on me like a specter in the night. Reality seeps in, cold and brutal.
Images flash through my mind—brutal headlines accusing not only Darius, but my past drug use, ultimately blaming me. Then there will be the social media threads teeming with speculation, fans and enemies picking apart my life thread by thread. A lump forms in my throat.
Keaton grips my other hand—a sturdy anchor clearing the stormy seas threatening to take over my thoughts. There’s the reminder of his promise in his gaze that we’re in this together.
Izzy continues, bringing me back to the present. “I want us to put out a statement of what happened and encourage the authorities to search for the man who’s actually responsible. We need to make it clear that Darius was the one who saved you and had nothing to do with your attack. It might be beneficial toadd that his arrest and accusation could be racially motivated. Those officers at the scene knew he wasn’t at fault.” She scowls, and her hand tightens around the tablet she’s holding. It makes me wonder what else might’ve happened when Darius was in custody. “Once we make that abundantly clear, I want to give them an update on how you’re doing—your health, recovery, and gratitude for your fan support that’s pouring in. We want to be transparent that even if your voice is affected, this isn’t the end of your career, no matter what anyone else may say.”
She doesn’t need to tell me that Dickless and the label may very well be trying to spin this in a completely different direction. We can’t control the media, but the fans have already proven that they aren’t so easily swayed.
I nod my head and give her a thumbs up, hating that my voice has been taken from me, even if it’s temporary.
“I know this has been a lot, but do you think you’re up for getting the interview with the detective out of the way?” Izzy asks, compassion shining from her eyes.
I give her a sharp nod, even as exhaustion presses in on me. I want nothing more than to get rid of the stupid fucking restraining order. Darius means more to me than any amount of fatigue wanting to win out. I’ve overcome it before, I can certainly do it now.
Light slips between my closed lids, beckoning me from my fitful sleep. I’m not sure how I know it wasn’t peaceful, I just do. Blinking, the harsh light floods in, but it’s not the warm glow of the sun coming through a window.
Confusion pinches my eyebrows together, and the unbidden sound of my mother’s voice fills my head.“Don’t make that face. You’ll get a wrinkle.”
Fuck. No matter how hard you try to escape someone, sometimes they cling to your soul like the stink in the bottom of a well-used trashcan. No matter how hard you try to scrub it clean, you’ll never remove the stench…
Taking in the room, it hits me. The attack, my throat and the possibility of never singing again, Tristan coming back, the interview with the detective.
For a blissful moment, I forgot it all.
With a blink, the detective’s face looms in my mind, sharp and unyielding, his voice echoing with relentless questions that cutdeeper than I expected.“Why were you there? Who else was with you? What did you see?”
It felt like I was under attack all over again, the detective’s motives hazy with the way he asked his questions. Did he even see me as a victim at all?
I push myself up on the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, still feeling the tension coiled tight in my muscles. My fingers curl into the fabric, gripping it like a lifeline. It’s absurd how, even now, I can feel his gaze dissecting me, stripping away my layers of composure until I’m just… exposed. Vulnerable. Raw.
To make things worse, I felt like I was muzzled. I should’ve been able to voice exactly what happened, the truth of Darius’ innocence, but instead, I was forced to type my answers on Izzy’s tablet. Maybe my lack of speaking up for myself made him believe me less…
He didn’t seem to care about my story; he was hunting for cracks, trying to exploit my past. I hated the way he leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as if he could pry open my thoughts and expose every dark corner. He held all the power, while I sat there fumbling with the tablet.
“That’s enough.” Izzy stands there, her presence solid, a shield against the storm. “You don’t get to pry into her life like this.”
The tension snaps, and I feel the glow of gratitude blooming inside me. Her fierce protectiveness radiates warmth, a reminder that I’m not alone in this fight. The detective falters, momentarily taken aback by her assertiveness, and I watch as she leans forward, unwavering. “Respect her boundaries, or we’re done here.”
The memory leaves a smile on my lips. Watching Izzy dress down men who think they hold all the power is becoming one of my favorite things.
Taking a deep breath, my nose is assaulted by the sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with something floral—perhaps lavender from a nearby vase? Searching for them, I find Nash in the chair next to the bed.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” his familiar voice cuts through the haze, teasing yet comforting. He rests sprawled casually in the chair next to my bed, his auburn hair catching the light like flames, and his lip ring glinting mischievously. The best part of all is his infectious grin.
It’s such a nice change from the morose version that was in here earlier. Or is it yesterday now? I’m not sure how long I’ve been sleeping.
“Nice nap?” he asks, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout. “Do you think there’s room for me on that bed? You look like you’re missing a Nashy-sized cuddle buddy.”
I can’t help but smile, a small crack in the tension I’ve been holding inside. For a moment, the weight of the past several days dissipates, replaced by Nash’s playful energy. He stretches out his arms, palms up, wanting me to welcome him into the hospital bed with me… but I can’t help but feel as if he’s really inviting me into his world—a world where humor shields us from the harsh realities we face.
I grin and shake my head, but take his hands, wanting to have him close. He takes the hint, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “Definitely enough room,” he murmurs, then before I know it, he’s pushing me over, wiggling onto the bed next to me.
“Ahh… Much better,” he croons in my ear.
A soft sigh escapes me, even if it’s painful to release. His playful demeanor eases the tension tightening my chest. And he’s right, it is much better. With him here, I can breathe a little easier, even with the memories lurking just beneath the surface.
