Page 12 of Paint the Town, Dove
It took a few seconds, it usually did, for Ryden to find the courage to speak. That’s how I knew it was bad, how I knew that whatever set him off was a complete act of insensitivity, of snakes wanting to settle a score.
“That journalist, uh –” he scratched at his jaw – “he knew about my past.”
My jaw cracked in place.
I found Morty’s eyes in the rearview mirror before he returned his attention to the road.
Paparazzi, press, journalists, all those spineless savages who deserved a kick in the face. They could never sympathize with someone like Ryden, understand the extent and pressure of a celebrity. A mere mortal turned icon, under constant beratement and scrutiny by the public eye because of a gift.Talent.
Did they ever stop and think for one second that underneath the parties, the people, the parades, there was a person? Someone who existed beyond the fame and fortune? A little boy who wanted nothing more than to escape a terrible circumstance – to run away from a life he didn’t fuckingdeserve–
Breathe, Scar. Breathe...
None of that mattered unless they got a story, and that story –Ryden’sstory – wasn’t meant for public consumption.
We pulled intoArtist Pass Parkingat GQ’s headquarters, the rest of our team trailing directly behind us.
As we walked through the sliding doors, I let my hand graze Ryden’s. “Howdo you figure that journalist found out?”
A weighted shrug. “Might’ve been one of the girls from the scandal, no idea. I run my mouth when I’m fucked Scar, you know that.”
What an understatement.“Limit those lips from now on, okay?”
He swallowed hard. “Maybe Yasmine.”
“No,” I shook my head. “I mean, she’s a foul fucking person but she wouldn’t –”
“She stole my song.”
“Stealing a song and selling a story are two different things.” He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off. “She’s not worth the energy.”
“Not many people are.” He smiled sadly, knocking my shoulder as we rounded the front desk.
Baby blue eyes looked up at me, then to Ryden, a peony glow emanating beneath the peachy blonde’s cheeks.
I rolled my eyes as she mumbled a faint hello to him, tongue tied like twigs, completely unaware of my presence.
“Hi,” he replied, flashing a signature Ryden Spectre smile her way.
Sheloved that.
Everyone did.
“Hey there.” I threw in my equally gorgeousgrin, not like she cared to see it. “I’m here for Mr. Spectre’s interview with Abe Turner.”
“Oh, right! Um… just, one second –” The girl fumbled with a notepad, then a sheet of paper, then a random file to her far left.
Ryden and I exchanged a glance – mine impatient, his contemplative. “What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Last night, Scar.” His jaw was set. “I don’t want my private life thrown in the dirt.”
“It won’t be.”
“It already is.”
“It’s not!” Peach cheeks behind the desk piped in, holding a red sticky note that matched her flush.
“I, uh – I mean… you’re still incredible, Mr. Spectre. Your music is phenomenal.”
