Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“You tell me. Are you saying that you had no part in all of this?”
“I don’t know anything about any of it. I’ve been either at the bottom of a bottle or coked up out of my head since the day before I got married.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. She promised, that’s why I didn’t mind staying away. They said it was better for you that we stayed away. That you didn’t need any reminders of the past.”
“Who said? What are you talking about?”
“Janie, her dad, that Mary person, and Matt.”
“Matt? My spiritual advisor?”
“Yeah, they were all in agreement that it was what was best for you.”
“Something’s not right. Listen, Mom, I need you to get to the bottom of this. I have too many eyes on me right now to do much of anything, but please promise me you’ll look into this. Take this money, use it, and if you need more, get back to me.”
I gave her the bricks of cash I’d brought along with me. “This is too much, Ryder; how much money is this?”
“I don’t know, a couple of hundred grand, I think.”
“We don’t know how much this is gonna cost; keep it. I’ve got to get back; no one knows that I’m gone. I need to be back in my room at the hotel across the border when they wake up.”
That alone should’ve told me that there was something off. I just never had a clear enough moment to put two and two together. Now it was all becoming clearer; I just don’t know the why of it. Why had they said all those lies about her? Why did they go through my phone and even use my accounts at some times to tarnish her like that?
Is this why she made the documentary? Knowing her, she’d have come out swinging when backed into a corner. My sweet angel does have a mean streak in her when riled, but she’s always been fair, and there isn’t a lying bone in her body.
She’d made the last play; she’d hit back at them with the documentary. What are these fucks going to go after her with next? And what the fuck am I gonna do about it?
Chapter 15
*Elena*
“Who says it’s about me?” I kept my face hidden from Sydney, who was trying to get a rise out of me. She’s been going on and on since she got here about Ryder’s latest hit and how it was all about me. “I’m telling you, that’s all anyone can talk about. It’s so damn obvious.” And she sounded so pleased at that prospect.
“Don’t you want to at least hear it?” This was a change from her usual refrain. She’d have cut her arm off just a few weeks ago before letting anything have to do with Ryder near me. Now here she was, trying to talk me into it. “You know you want to. I know you’ve never gotten over him, and that’s something I’ve had to accept.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but after watching your documentary, I’m ready to admit that you’re strong enough to make your own decisions. I’m not saying you should dive back into social media, no one should have to deal with that cesspool, but this, I think you can handle.”
I’ve been tempted to listen to the song that everybody’s been talking about for a while now, but I just haven’t had the courage. I’d heard the whispers, of course, and more than one member of the paparazzi had yelled out to me, asking about my thoughts, but I was still too afraid to open that wound that had taken so long to heal.
But isn’t that what the documentary was about? Healing and moving on? Why is it that at the first mention of him, I want to crawl back into my hole and bury myself away from the light? Along with bearing my soul, I also had some much-needed professional help that helped me to see what needed to be done.
I needed to focus more energy on myself now that I was no longer burying my head in the sand. I’d come a long way with the exercises that I’d learned, had been working very hard on facing my fears with the truth, and knew that I was in a good place now, a better place than I’d ever been.
“Fine, let’s listen to it.”
“Wait a minute, let me lock the door. We don’t want any interruptions.” She got up from the bed where she’d found me lounging as I flipped through the TV channels when she came by to visit and went to lock the door.
I was tempted to tell her that I’d changed my mind in the time that it took her to go from the bed to the door, but I knew that she’d grill me to death if I did. It was better to just get it over with since I was bound to hear the stupid thing at some point. When could be a better time than this, when I was alone with my best friend?