LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(84)

Beside me, I heard Scotty let out a choked kind of gasp. His eyes went wide, his cheeks paling as he glanced at his mom. It was obvious from her expression Cyndee knew exactly who Polly was and exactly what she’d just overheard—the biggest, most sought-after piece of celebrity gossip in years.

Scotty cursed under his breath and raced to his mom, taking her by the arm and trying to lead her from the room. “Mom,” he said under his breath.

But she held her ground. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Polly seemed oblivious to the tension in the room. “And I also need carbs,” she continued. “Like a really eggy bread? Challah or brioche? Hell, I’d even take an English muffin, honestly. Oh, and do you have—”

“Pol,” I hissed under my breath. Didn’t she know better than to spill her secrets in front of strangers? I shoved my hands in my hair, grabbing hold and yanking.

Just then the doorbell rang. Again. “Jesus fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

“I’ll get it,” the helicopter pilot said, appearing from the kitchen.

“Ignore it,” I snapped. I couldn’t handle anything more at the moment. Not with Scotty on the edge like he was. The pilot shrugged and sauntered back into the kitchen.

I was past the point of caring. My heart raced a million miles an hour and my chest felt tight. It was all just too much at once.

And the look on Scotty’s face: panic and terror. It struck me to my very core. Because they were not expressions I’d ever seen on him. They were not who he was to me. Scotty was light and air and joy, and it was my fault he now bore creases across his forehead and tension in his jaw.

It was too much. All of this—my life, the chaos of it. I believed him when he told me he was strong enough to face the scrutiny that came with being with me, and I didn’t doubt that. Scotty was one of the strongest men I knew. He’d endured more hardship than I could ever imagine. He’d fought for everything he owned, everything he earned, every dream he’d achieved.

If I asked him, he would fight for me. Fight for this. Fight for us. But this was what it would look like. I realized that now. The constant pressure, the unrelenting stress would dull the brightness of him. It would take its toll, bearing down on him. The weight of it a constant burden.

That’s what loving me was: a burden. Something to be endured rather than celebrated.

It wasn’t just that Scotty deserved better than that, it was that I couldn’t bear the thought of being the one responsible for dulling his sparkle. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

“Scotty.” I took a step toward him, my hand outstretched, my voice breaking on his name.

But then, two things happened at once. First, Marigold appeared in the doorway, dragging the statue of the freeballing gladiator behind her. It made a terrible grating sound as the base of it gouged against the wooden floor. “I can’t find the fucking hidden cubby,” she growled. “I think Oscar might have been lying.”

Second, I heard the front door open and glanced down the hallway to see a swarm of photographers stampeding toward us.

Fuck.

If Scotty got attacked by the paparazzi right now just as everything was going crazy, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d stay. They’d scare him off. I was sure of it.

It was Pete all over again.

“Scotty, I need you to go to the den. Take your mom too.” My voice came out short and brusque because I had about half a second before the paps overran the room and I needed him gone. I needed him safe. “Now!”

His eyes widened in surprise tinged with hurt. I didn’t have time to explain, so I met Cyndee’s eyes and gave her a pointed look. She understood instantly, grabbing his elbow and pulling him away down the hallway.

As they left she glanced back at me. But Scotty didn’t. It was more painful than any physical blow. My chest grew tighter, my lungs squeezing until there was no air left.

Just then a man with vibrantly blue hair sauntered into the room gesturing over his shoulder. “These guys were all waiting outside for some reason? And it was cold so I, like, let them in? Hope you’re cool with that.” He chucked a set of familiar car keys onto the coffee table and collapsed onto one of the couches. “Also, dude, whoever loaned me their car? You have shitty taste in music. Like, the worst.”

At the sight of him, Marigold shrieked, “Cyan, you motherfucker!” as she let go of the gladiator to storm over to him. The statue wobbled, catching for a moment against the wall. It stayed that way for a heartbeat, teetering, looking like it almost might stay standing. Until it finally tipped, crashing to the floor with a massive bang that shook the walls and sent vibrations surging through me.

The wave of paparazzi hit then, snapping pictures, firing flashes, missing nothing.

And suddenly all I saw was white. All I knew was panic. I was a child back in the car as a thunderstorm surged around me, my father forever unreachable outside. I turned and bolted, the familiar sound of camera shutters clattering behind me, capturing it all.





25





Scotty





Mama Said There’d Be Days Like This



The moment I’d heard the angry tone of his voice I’d known it was over between Roman and me.

I’d wanted to stay, to face the craziness of the day at his side, but instead, I’d run like the coward I was. And when I’d turned, I’d seen what had caused him to bark at me: a man with blue hair leading a swarm of photographers right to him.