Page 12 of See My Words

Corey stood. “Don’t come to the club until the swelling and bruising are gone. People don’t pay good money to see a—a horror show. I’ll have Pete take over Fantasy Friday hosting duties until you’re back.” He nodded stiffly at Rylan before turning and walking out the door.

Rylan, his face burning with anger, perched on the couch next to Scott and put his hand on his knee. “Wow, what an asshole. Are you okay?”

Scott closed his eyes. “Not really, no. I’ve let him down.”

“What? How do you figure that? You were attacked, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t ask for this.”

“Rylan, I don’t think you realize how much of Corey’s marketing budget goes into my brand. It’s an awful lot.” Scott snorted out a watery laugh. “I’m high-maintenance. The highest. There’s gym fees, tanning, nutrition coaching, supplements, salon appointments.” He waved his hand at himself. “None of this happens by accident, Ry. He was counting on the MC₂ gig, and me, to really put Spectrum on the map and pay off on his investment. If I can’t go to Miami—I’ve let him down.”

Rylan squeezed his knee. “I get that he’s disappointed right now, but there’ll be other chances to ‘put Spectrum on the map.’”

“This business is fickle, Rylan. Today’s hot commodity is tomorrow’s old news. MC₂ is worldwide, and they asked for me. The value of the exposure to Spectrum is priceless, and if we miss our chance—”

“Okay, so it’s shitty timing. But like I said, you didn’t ask for this. How in the world can he possibly blame you?”

“Don’t you get it, Ry? Someone did this to me on purpose, because of something I did to them. Whatever it was, it’s my fault. I caused this.”

“But it could be random, right? Wrong place, wrong time?”

“If it was the club’s bat? One that was kept in the booth? Sometimes Teena uses it for a prop when she’s insulting people, so anyone who’s been around would know it’s there. Some rando walking the streets looking for someone to carjack would bring his own weapon to the party, right?”

Rylan couldn’t argue with that logic, but he still said fiercely, “It wasn’t your fault, Scott. It wasn’t. If someone was pissed at you, or hurt by you, they made the choice to seek out a baseball bat and bash you in the face with it. Who does that? You can’t possibly know every person’s state of mind when you interact with them. Blaming yourself for this is crazy.”

“Look.” Scott’s voice was growing more slurred with pain and drugs. “All this is, is me being a fuckup. Again. I let Corey down. I let my fans down. I let MC₂ down. Shit, Rylan.”

Rylan scooted closer to him and slid his arm around Scott’s shoulders. “The way I look at it, it’s only a setback. The important thing in all this is that you’re going to be okay, you hear me? That’s all I care about and all anyone should care about. Fuck ’em if they don’t.”

Scott quirked his lips. “Sweet Ry. Thanks for being here.”

“Always.” Rylan wrinkled his nose at the sour, rusty smell of Scott’s hair, saying, “C’mon, let’s go get your face fixed so you can take a proper shower. You stink.”

Pushing lightly at his shoulder, Scott quipped, “What, you don’t like my Eau de Assault Victim? I was thinking of bottling it.”

“Not funny.”

Rylan pulled Scott to his feet, steadying him when he swayed a little. “Whoa.”

“Can’t wait to get off these fucking painkillers,” Scott muttered. “I hate the way they’re making me feel.”

Rylan made a quick detour to the bedroom to get Scott’s wallet and phone from the dresser, and he handed both to him before leading him out the door and to the elevator. The trek across the lobby was just as excruciating as the first time, but Scott didn’t react to the pointing and whispers, staring straight ahead as they walked.

The surgeon’s office wasn’t far, and as Rylan drove, he glanced at Scott, who was scrolling through his phone. Shit. Maybe he should have “forgotten” it on the dresser and spared Scott the sight of the trolling comments just a little while longer. Rylan could have kicked himself when Scott heaved an unhappy sigh, letting the phone drop to his lap.

“Hey,” Rylan said, waiting until Scott looked over at him. “Try not to let the assholes get you down.”

Scott shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t expect this, Ry. I had one job, to look good and be a fantasy. Of course people are going to turn on me.” The forlorn thread in his voice wrapped itself around Rylan’s heart and tugged, making his chest ache.

They were silent for the rest of the drive and before long were sitting in the surgeon’s back office, reading over a sheaf of paperwork while they waited. Scott tossed his copy onto the desk. “My eyes won’t focus, Ry. Tell me the highlights.”

Rylan ran his finger over the post-fixation instructions. “Can’t do any heavy lifting while you’re wired,” he said, wincing as Scott’s face darkened. “And you can expect to lose anywhere from fifteen to twenty pounds since you’ll be restricted to a liquid diet.”

“Son of a bitch.” Scott’s curse was low and fervent. “Fifteen to twenty pounds?”

“They recommend using a syringe with catheter tubing to ‘inject’ your liquid meals into your mouth.” Rylan grimaced. “But it says some people can use a straw. In two to three weeks, the wires will come off, but you still won’t be able to chew for a little while longer.”

“Fucking hell. Might as well just kiss my career good-bye right now,” Scott grated. “If I can’t lift or eat right, I’ll lose all the definition in my body. Nobody wants to see a scarecrow in a jockstrap.”

An image sprang to Rylan’s mind, and he couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.