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“I need to go.” I turn before he sees tears flood my eyes, unsure if I’m crying over my MIA mom—who stumbled out of my life long before Dad kicked her out—or over losing what I never had with Gabe. Yanking open the door, I step out of the bathroom.
Right into Gretchen and a video camera.
chapter 28
Gabe
“Your mistakes don’t need an audience.”
~ Meredith Morgan
(played by the award-winning Meredith Wade)
Raising Ryder: Episode56
When Jess opens the door to Gretchen’s cameraman, what’s left of my flailing buzz crashes. Hookup headlines Jess doesn’t need and exiting a public bathroom together is guaranteed to score them.
“Jessica Thorne.” Gretchen swoops in, trapping her three steps into the alcove. “You seem to be everywhere.”
Jess’s sluggish backward shuffle gives the illusion she’s stuck in quick-dry cement.
Grabbing her sweater off the bathroom counter, I slide next to her, still reeling from the reality check of her rejection. And shit if there isn’t a camera trained on my face capturing every second.
Like any high-on-the-food-chain predator, Gretch has a sixth-sense for exploiting weakness. With the bullseye focus of a starving vulture, she motions for the cameraman to zoom in on the strap of Jess’s tank that’s pushed off her shoulder, the mismatched buttons on my shirt, and the damp sweater balled in my hands. “Lucky for me, I have a few minutes before I interview the cover models. Let’s dish on Gabrica.”
Color climbs Jess’s neck.
Kicking myself for today’s round of crap choices, I turn up my swagger and add a mile-long smile. “Anything for you, Gretch.”
“We certainly won’t fault a girl for being all over that.” Speaking to Jess, she waves her hand toward me. “Not when most of us watchThe Packfor the ninety seconds of shirtless screen time but”—she leans in like she’s about to offer Jess a life hack—“I’d hate to see you get hurt. Our favorite wolf may binge in-between breakups, but he always seems to end up with Kimberly Kane. In fact, I did a Skype interview with her yesterday. I believe her exact words were, ‘That girl in Dallas is nothing but a quick side trip.’” Gretchen tips the mic toward Jess. “Care to comment.”
There’s not one part of Jess that isn’t trembling, and it takes a herculean effort to keep my mouth shut, but whatever I say will only fuel the tabloid flames.
Gretchen turns to me. “Is Kim wrong?”
Technically, no. Returning to her has never been my choice, but that part of my contract stands until post mid-season finale. So does the part that says I can’t talk about it.
“Or maybe you aren’t here for a girl at all.” The slow spread of Gretchen’s savage smile kicks my stomach into a rough spin.
My jaw tightens over what she thinks she knows. I press my fingers into my thigh to keep my face neutral.
Jess’s gaze hits the hand I moved to my leg. She’s figured out my tell. Blinking, she clears her throat and then faces Gretchen. “You want to know what happened in that bathroom?”
In a blow-me-away move, the girl I just lost slips her arm around me, fingers fumbling for a place to land like this might be new territory for her.
“I ate something bad at lunch, and Gabe was nice enough to hold my hair while I threw up.” Her hand pushes into my waist like she’s trying to use the pressure to inflate her saggy smile. “Hot and sweet. The perfect boyfriend.”
That could’ve been the save of the year—clear across home plate—if Jess’s hair hadn’t been strangled into that fancy braid.
I squeeze her into my side and award her the run for balling-up to Gretch. No one stands up for me. No one sees deeper than my mask. No one but Jess. And she doesn’t want anything from me. She doesn’t even wantme.
Gretch’s quick touch to Jess’s braid is all it takes to out the obvious lie. Gretch’s candy-coated smile is all it takes to trigger a low sound from my chest. Screw what the tabloids will say. I push the camera lens out of Jess’s face.
In what might be my only good karma for the week, one of the elevators in the alcove opens and people step off, offering a temporary distraction and a quick way out.
Holding Jess close, I maneuver her onto the elevator, push her sweater into her arms, then lean close because my words are only for her. “I’m so sorry.” Reaching inside, I hit the number for our floor without getting in.
“What are you doing?” The doors slide closed as confusion spreads across her face.
