Page 65 of Opening Strain

“Yeah, well. Those were his experiences.”

She stops at a light and turns her head toward me. “What did you do when they were out?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Probably hung out at a local bar or club.”

“Sounds lonely.”

My lip quirks. “I can assure you, I wasn’t alone.”

“Hooking up with random women is different from spending quality time with friends.” She presses on the gas when the light changes.

Friends. There’s that word again. I’m not ready to confess my utter lack of them—correction, my lack of need for such frivolity. “I’m a loner. I prefer it that way.”

Her finger taps against the steering wheel. “You do you.” Her lips purse.

Why does it feel as if I sabotaged anything between Jenna and me before it even began?

Chapter Twenty-One

We continue in silence for a few minutes until she pulls up in front of my rental. “We’re here.” Her door handle clicks.

“Great.” I open my car door and stand, taking long, yet careful, strides toward my front door. Seems like the paps haven’t figured out where I’m staying since they’re not camped out on the sidewalk. I enter the code and let her enter before me.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a minute.”

My body takes me down the hallway to my bedroom, where the door closes with a snick and I lean against it. My phone rings to the beat of Eminem’s “Cleanin’ Out My Closet.” It’s Mom.Hell no.

I toss my cell onto the bed and cross the room to get my physical therapy workout clothes. After all, that’s the only reason why Jenna’s in my house, to take me to her clinic. I strip and take a shower, remembering everything that’s happened over the past twenty-four hours. My physical therapy. Dinner with Jenna and her mother to celebrate her birthday. Being chased by the press. At least King and Angie helped save the morning.

Those kisses.

Soapy water runs down my body and onto the shower floor. My head lowers, watching it circle the drain. Metaphor for my life.

I wrap a towel around my waist and toss one over my head, drying my hair. My stubble needs a trim, but I’m not taking the time to do it now. I walk into the bedroom and pick up a pair of underwear. Dressed in another pair of grey sweats, I suck in troubled air stirred up by the paparazzi. I pause for a minute to remind myself that despite the current difficulties, I am Bennett Hardy, lead singer of Untamed Coaster. I can take whatever the universe dishes out today and make it my bitch.Jenna’s help doesn’t hurt.

Returning to the living room, Jenna’s on her phone. She holds up a finger, indicating I should wait so I go to the fridge and take out some orange juice. It’s impossible not to eavesdrop. “I know, Ma, I’ll be careful. It’s not me they’re after.”

Guilt pings through my armor. I’ve been so selfish, shoring up my story about why I’m in town. I glance over at her and notice her wiping her eyes. No matter what, she doesn’t deserve this. When she catches my interest in her, she turns her back and lowers her voice. She even walks over to the sliding glass doors and slips outside.

I’ve been an ass. I tried to distract the press away from her, yet they still shouted questions at me about the “Black Widow.” She didn’t kill Darren. Truth be told, she tried to save him. How can I lure them away from her? I send a text to UC’s PR team, asking for more ideas. Ones that will helphersituation over mine.

The woman taking up more real estate in my mind than the properties we toured reenters the rental. With an overly perky tone, she asks, “Are you ready to go to the clinic?”

“Sure.” I drain my cup.

On the ride there, the question flows out of my mouth before I can censor it. “How’s your mother doing? I’m sure she’s worried sick about how you’re being portrayed in the media.”

Her shoulders rise then fall. “She remembers how it was for me when I was together with Darren. She knows the deal.”

“You didn’t sign up for this when you agreed to take me on as a patient. The press shouldn’t treat you this way.”

“I’m sure you explaining things to them this morning will make them back off.”

If only her optimism coincided with my experience. “I hope you’re right. Hate to say it, but they don’t go away fast. Especially when they’re in a news slump.”

Her chin lifts. “Then we’ll simply ignore them.”

She turns toward her clinic, where news vans are lined up on the sidewalk. Immediately, I drop the seat so it’s prone and turn my head to avoid being identified. “Drive to the back of the building. They won’t be able to take photos back there.”

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