Page 165 of Paint the Town, Dove

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His eyes never strayed. “You will always get your way.”

Oh no.Noyou don’t.NOTtoday.

“And what way’s that?” I stepped forward, anger brewing. “Keeping you off socials because for once,onceRyden, you were actually kind of happy. All I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you. To help you. To –”

“Well maybe you should let me suffer,” he stood up, tall frame towering over mine.

My heart drummed in my chest as I stared into the predatory gaze of an Eagle. Lions and wolves battling against the bars, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

The mimosas at midnight were forgotten.

The slow dancing in silk, kisses in the dark –

A momentary blip of peace for a lifetime of war.

I saw all the posts while he daydreamed. Turned off all his phone alerts when he wasn’t looking. That was the beauty of my managerial role in some ways. Ryden never really learned how to navigate social media. Even when we were kids.

I posted on the platforms.

I ran ads with Flack’s stolen credit cards.

I advertised his fame so the world could see how deserving he was of the success.

I knocked on those bar doors.

I rounded up the press.Me.

Ryden was surrounded by noise – his whole life was music and sounds and melodies – Mallory, Tav and I took care of the debriefing.

So when I asked him to keep his phone in a lock box for the duration of the holidays, he trusted me.

But I had a spare.

He didn’t.

Rydenwas a fragile boy like a porcelain shell.

I could take the pain.

I could see the tabloids.

I could monitor the news.

He didn’t have the heart.

He didn’t need to see what those vultures were saying.

He deserved to be happy.

Just. This. Once.

And I –

… I let myself be happy too.

“I’ve seen you suffer enough” – the venom in my voice was inconsolable – “forgive me for growing tired of it.”

He blinked, green eyes blazing with fury.

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