Page 47 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
“Stop it. You’re not dumb, you’re not broken. You’re beautiful.” I pause, exhaling hard. “You just need time to recover. People will understand.”
“I don’t remember other people seeing me like you do.” A glossiness covers the red lines creeping through his eyes. “You can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you here.”
With deep purpose, I stare into his eyes. “I’ll never leave you.”
Eight
The only thing that pulled me away last night was Wyatt’s obvious exhaustion despite his nap. Nurse Ronnie walked me out after dinner. She told me, seeing me would’ve given Wyatt such a thrill that he used up more energy than usual. I can’t help feeling bad that my visit wiped him out. A crushing amount of confusion running through his head, unable to remember how much time we’ve spent apart.
I got back to my hotel after the man in black called for an SUV to pick me up at the clinic. After wiping off my makeup, I replied to the several unread texts from Kylie, and sent her the cutest photo of me and Wyatt on my camera roll. I then called Mom and checked if it was too late to read to the twins. She gladly put them on the phone, obviously exhausted from dealing with them solo. After our story session, I was outas soon as my head hit the pillow.
Waking up after the best sleep of my life, breakfast was brought to me in the presidential suite. Not only was the bed like sleeping on a cloud, but I was on a high from actually being in the same room as Wyatt.
I’ll never get enough of it.
After conference-calling my parents on their respective commutes, I take a shower and dress in my freshly cleaned pink outfit from yesterday. With a final check of my curls in the mirror, I leave the suite to find Erika and Randall. They wanted to meet up before I leave for the Clearview Clinic.
When I step into the hallway, I stumble backward, awkwardly retreating into my suite. Ahead, Wyatt’s parents are talking with Erika and Randall. Mr. and Mrs. Hayes’s arm movements are wild, and there’s aggression in their stances. I gulp, holding myself up with the door handle as I take in the heated intensity.
Randall gestures at the elevator, his eyes fixed on Wyatt’s parents. “Let’s get a coffee and talk about this.”
“Why are you pushing us out?” Mrs. Hayes wails. “He’s our son. We are entitled to more than this.”
Entitled? Why does that word make my muscles cramp?
“No one’s pushing you out,” Erika’s voice cuts through.
“This is just like before,” Mrs. Hayes says, her arms flailing. “You’re still playing games with us.”
Games? Oh geez, I really shouldn’t be listening to this.
“Wyatt is pulling through,” Mr. Hayes says, clutching his wife’s shoulder. “Soon, he’ll be well enough to voice his opinion.” He cuts a look at Erika. “Hisrealopinion.”
As sweat builds against my hairline, I swallow the jitters warping their way through my body.
“I don’t like his limitations either,” Erika says. “But we brought Wyatt here because Dr. Fincher is one of the best neurologists in thecountry. Working with him is the best way to ensure Wyatt’s memory returns.”
“The doctor said there are no guarantees,” Mrs. Hayes says, shivering against her husband.
“Please don’t fret,” Erika says. “We aren’t sparing a dime.”
Mr. Hayes stands tall and his voice is gruff, “Yet that’s where you people always cut off the conversation, isn’t it?”
“Josie?” Randall’s voice halts their conversation as everyone in the hall turns and stares at me.
I stumble against my ajar door. “Umm. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I swear.”
Randall turns back to Wyatt’s parents and gestures toward the elevator. “Please, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, come downstairs to the restaurant and we’ll talk this out. I understand your frustrations.”
With huffs of defeat, Wyatt’s parents leave with Randall. Before they board the elevator, Mrs. Hayes turns back at me with red-rimmed eyes and it crushes my heart. I can’t imagine what they’re going through. First, their son becomes a star, and now he’s in a clinic, struggling to come to terms with the person he’s become.
“Josie,” Erika says, storming toward me. “Open up your room. I need to light up and your balcony is the closest place.”
I flinch as she enters my suite. “You smoke?”
Shehumphs, taking out a cigarette pack and a lighter from her purse. “You would too if you had my life.”
She makes her way over to the sliding door, leading to my balcony, and I fidget my way across the room. Am I supposed to join her or give her space?
