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There is a beat of silence as I just stare at her. The enormity of what she just said weighing on me. My throat bobs as I swallow. “You hate when you have to depend on other people.”
“I do,” she admits. “But you’re not other people. And I’d rather hold your hand than insist on independence right now. I’m not ready to let go just yet. It might be a while before I will be able to do that.”
I tighten my grip on her fingers. “You always surprise me, Penelope Adams.”
“Good.” A smile spreads over her lips. “I like to keep you on your toes.”
She tugs at my hand, taking a step back, but I pull her to me. “Other direction.”
Together we make our way down the hallway alongside my mother, who keeps giving me instructions on how to deal with the press.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Mom. Chill,” I mutter as we come to the exit. Even through the closed door, I can hear the murmur of the crowd coming from the outside. People give us curious glances as we pass by, but I try to ignore them as I tighten my grip on Penelope’s arm.
“Don’t let go,” I say softly.
Penelope’s body turns rigid the moment we are close enough to hear the crowd outside, but the champ that she is, she just nods her head, so we make that final step, the door sliding open.
Instantly, I’m blinded by the late afternoon sun. Squinting my eyes, I look out at the mass of people.
The moment they see us, it’s like all hell breaks loose. There are probably hundreds of reporters, all throwing questions the moment they lay their eyes on us. Flashes from all sides go off in a cacophony of noises that make my ears hurt, and I’m not the only one. Penelope moves closer, her grip on me tightening.
“I’ve gotcha,” I say, although I highly doubt she can hear anything.
Mom goes to the podium that was placed a few feet away from the entrance, and it’s like she turned off the switch because everybody calms down instantly. I pull Penelope to a stop behind her, the weight of all eyes settling on us as the cameras keep flashing.
“Good evening, everybody. We’ve asked you all to come in light of recent events. As you can see, Sebastian and his girlfriend have been discharged from the hospital.”
I listen with half an ear as she gives them the rundown of what happened last night and what the doctors have told us before she gives the reporters the chance to ask questions.
The first few are easy ones, just people wanting to know how I’m feeling and how my arm is. I even start to relax, but then a woman in a dark blue suit raises her arm.
“Bash, is it true that the attacker was Bobby Stone? The brother of your late friend Christian Stone?” a woman asks, an eager look on her face.
My throat bobs as I swallow the lump and move closer to the microphone. “That is correct,” I say evenly. There is no sense beating around the bush. I knew they dug up everything there was to dig up on Bobby before coming here, but I didn’t have to give her more than one answer to her question.
I start to turn around, but before I can call out somebody else, the woman continues, “A source has told us that Bobby held a grudge against you. There was even an altercation at the funeral before he threw you out. Is his brother’s death the reason for his attack? Did he want to get revenge?”
I want fucking revenge for my brother. That’s what I want! I want you to suffer like he’d been suffering for years, always having to be in your shadow until you finally killed him.
Pushing Bobby’s words to the back of my mind, I focus on the woman asking the question.
“Christian’s death clearly affected his brother more than anybody ever realized. I…” My tongue darts out, sliding over my lower lip, my palms sweaty with nerves as I watch all the reporters waiting for my answer. Some bullshit excuse is on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second, I change my mind. “It’s true. Bobby wanted to get his revenge because he blamed me for Christian’s death.” If possible, even more flashes start to go off, and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead as my stomach tightens. But I have to get it out. I know I do. “What most of you don’t know is, Christian overdosed last May before my concert in New York, where he was playing as a guest star. That was part of the reason the concert was canceled, but the rest of the tour was postponed because I couldn’t deal with the loss of my friend, but also because losing him made me realize how close I was to taking his path.” I look down at the podium, taking a moment to brace myself, before I continue: “I tried to help him, I really did, but by the time I found him, it was already too late. He was gone. Bobby believed that I was the one to blame for his brother’s death. In a way, he might be right.”
In the background, I can hear Mom curse silently, but I ignore her and focus on the people in front of me.
“Christian loved music as much as I did. We spent all our time together, playing music, chasing girls, partying. You name it, we did it together. I should have noticed that something was going on with him. I should have noticed that what started off as blowing off some steam turned into a fall down the rabbit hole, but I didn’t, and I’ll carry that on my shoulders until the day I die. Maybe I could have helped him if only I looked. So yeah, maybe Bobby has—had—the right to hate me, but he should have found a different way to deal with it. I can relate to Bobby’s grief, but Penelope didn’t have anything to do with it except fall in love with the wrong man.”
Penelope’s fingers tighten around mine, and she gives me a little tug. I look down at her, those big, dark blue eyes staring at me with unshed tears. “You’re not the wrong man, Sebastian. You’re just flawed like the rest of us, but I love you just the same.”
Slipping my hand out of hers, I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, warmth spreading through my chest. “I love you, Birdy.”
She leans into my touch, her lips brushing against my palm. Cameras keepclickingaway, blinding me with their intensity.
“Penelope, how do you feel today? After everything that has happened?”
“Penelope, how long have you and Sebastian been dating?”
“How did you two guys meet?”
