Chapter 5
5
The Next Morning
Sydney
W hen I was little I used to go with my mom to get groceries and we had to walk from the trailer park outside of North Star, Oklahoma into town. We’d arrive sweaty and grubby from the dust on the road and the store’s air conditioning would feel like a dream.
I used to love going to the grocery store.
But when I got older, I saw how people looked at us. How when Mom pulled the food stamps out of her wallet, the cashiers always made a big deal about it. One day a cashier called the manager and accused me of stealing something and I started crying. My mom left all those groceries behind and dragged me out to the parking lot by my elbow.
“You give them nothing,” she’d hissed in my face. “You don’t show them nothing or they’ll use it to make you feel smaller. You look these assholes in the eye and act like you’ve never been so happy. That’s the only way to win.”
So, that’s what I did. All the time.
I was doing it sitting on the couch next to Wyatt, with Trish the viper sitting across from us getting ready to ask us personal intrusive questions.
I gave her nothing. I smiled like the happiest new bride that had ever lived.
Wyatt placed his arm along my back and squeezed my shoulder in a gesture of support. I thought about putting my hand on his knee, but that seemed awkward and I was already nervous enough.
A bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face and I reached up and wiped it away. A little more powder would have helped with the sweat, but the little bit we got on him was a fight.
The lights were in position. The cameras were already rolling. Tricia’s deep red hair was perfectly curled around her shoulders. Her makeup expertly applied.
I wore a light pink dress that looked both virginal and sexy, which was on brand for me. Wyatt looked bigger than ever in snug dark wash jeans and a form fitting button down shirt.
“Well,” Tricia said with what I knew was a fake smile. “This is super fun. Surprise wedding. I’m just going to ask the questions that your fans will want to know.”
“Pretty sure my fans only care about my blocked shot percentage,” Wyatt said. “You going to ask me about that?”
Tricia laughed as if he’d made a joke, Wyatt was taking his job as protector very seriously. Which was really sweet of him.
Tricia was one of those interviewers who sprinkled in personal commentary between questions. So it sounded positive, when really her questions were a backhanded insult.
“You’re so lucky to have been with so many handsome men. Would you say you have a type?”
“You weren’t nominated for a single Grammy this year, is the problem now that you’ve reached such heights that anything that’s not nominated Album of the Year feels like a letdown?”
“You’re so brave to go with short hair. Are you making a statement about gender neutrality now that you look more like a boy?”
“So I’m just going to jump right in. First question, how did you two meet?” Tricia asked.
Tyler had showed up at eight this morning and run us through our fake relationship timeline. How we’d gone from just friends to dating and then ultimately to our decision to get married. He’d quizzed us, while I made coffee.
Wyatt was an excellent student. He picked up the dates better than I did. Even Tyler seemed pleased.
“It was at a charity auction last year,” I answered Tricia, looking at Wyatt with a smile.
This part of the story was true. Wyatt and I had been at the same charity event last year, promoting Autism Awareness.
I hadn’t seen him at the event, at least not that I could remember, but he said he’d seen me.
In this version of the story, he approached me, we talked and he got my number.
In the real life version, he’d seen me across the room, but it never occurred to him to introduce himself. Which for some reason made me sad. We could have known each other all this time.
“Weren’t you dating John Bernard last year?”
“I was,” I said, trying not to take offense at her assumption that meeting someone immediately resulted in me hooking up with them.
“Syd’s a big hockey fan,” Wyatt jumped in. “That’s all we talked about. I didn’t reach out to her again until after she and John announced that things had ended.”
“Quick to move in, were you?” Tricia asked.
“Not really,” Wyatt said, but I could feel the tension in his arm around my shoulders. “I considered Syd a friend. Wanted to see how she was doing after her breakup.”
“So you were friends first?”
“Definitely,” I answered. “Friends. I think it’s important to get to know a person before romance complicates everything.”
Tricia smiled, so quick, so sharp, it was like a knife slashing through the room.
“I see,” she mused. “So where will you two be living?”
“Here,” I said.
“Denver,” Wyatt said at the same time.
We looked at each other quickly.
“Here, in the off season,” I said. “Denver once he starts playing. Obviously.”
“Sydney, Wyatt just described you as a big hockey fan, yet, you didn’t go to any of his games? Including the finals? Was that hard for you?”
“Very,” I nodded. “But we were trying to keep things low key.”
“Off the radar,” Wyatt added.
“For the team?” Tricia nudged.
“Yes,” I said. “For them.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow hockey, what team does Wyatt play for again?”
“The Denver team,” I said quickly.
“The Peaks,” Wyatt said. “She was there when I needed her and that’s all that matters.” Wyatt said, putting an end to that conversation.
“Yes,” Tricia smiled. “Obviously. But you haven’t been on any of her red carpet events. The Grammys last year? Her album launch party in New York?”
“Well, it’s real hard to get to know each other when all the cameras are around,” Wyatt said.
“Right. All this secrecy and time alone. Then you must know each other pretty well?” Tricia asked and I wanted to stand up and cry, it’s a trap! Wyatt put his hand on my shoulder like he knew what this woman was doing and he still wasn’t scared.
“I like to think so,” Wyatt said, smiling down at me. His eyes were warm and reassuring. “What about her favorite meal? Tell me you’ve made that for her at least once, Wyatt.”
I froze. Tricia was probably referring to that interview I did last year when I said…
“Oh yeah. Sure. She loves it with a lot of ranch dressing,” Wyatt said.
Oh no.
“Interesting. You make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with ranch dressing?” Tricia asked, looking confused, only somehow not. Like she knew exactly what she was doing with these questions.
“I dip it. In the ranch.” I interjected. “It’s amazing. You just take that peanut butter and jelly and dip away. Doesn’t ranch make everything better?”
“If you say so,” Tricia said, her smile now pure evil. “On to more serious topics, Wyatt. Your mother died at the beginning of the post season.”
“She did,” he said, and now he was stiff. I put my hand on his knee, trying to reassure him the way he had me, but his knee was rock hard and starting to bounce.
“You said Sydney was there for you when it mattered, but Sydney wasn’t there, was she? In fact…” she made a big show of pretending to check her notes. “Sydney, you were at a club opening in Manhattan, while you, Wyatt, were burying your mother a few states away in Vermont.”
There it was. She’d had that in her back pocket all along waiting to lead us to it.
I could hear Tyler hiss behind the lights like an angry cat.
“Yes,” he said stiffly. “The funeral was very private.”
“So private you didn’t have your girlfriend there?” Tricia hit us with the infamous head tilt. The one that screamed through the camera Are you lying? Because I think you are.
“I hope you both know you can tell me the truth. You wouldn’t be the first couple to let things get out of control in Vegas.”
Oh, she was so patronizing. I would have gagged if my stomach wasn’t in knots.
“Tell me, Sydney,” Tricia shifted away from Wyatt back to me. “What does your record label say about all of this? Rumors are that they aren’t too happy with your sales or your reputation for being a problem in and out of the studio.”
“I’m not a problem in the studio,” I said. At least that was true.
Wyatt took my hand and stood, pulling me up with him.
“What’s happening?” Tricia asked.
“Interview’s over,” Wyatt said firmly. “Turn that camera off.”
“Wyatt, it’s okay, we just need to…”
I was stopped by the expression on his face. It said back me up and so I did.
“Interview’s over,” I said. Behind the lights, Tyler looked apocalyptic.
“Turn the camera off,” Wyatt said to the man behind the camera who hadn’t listened the first time he said it. “Or I will turn it off.”
The camera light went dark.
“This isn’t an interview. You’re just looking to set her up,” Wyatt told Tricia. “Syd doesn’t need that in her life.”
Tricia stood, brushing imaginary lint off her narrow skirt. “So you’re her champion now?”
“Yep,” he said.
I had a champion? That was new. This was the part where I was supposed to stand up for myself. To say I could fight my own battles because I was a proud and independent woman.
But I sucked at confrontation. It’s why I kept doing what everyone told me to.
Including this interview.
“I don’t buy your story, even a little bit,” Tricia said, as she flung her hair behind her shoulder. “I think you got drunk and did something stupid and we’ll be talking about your divorce in a few weeks.”
“Lady, I don’t give a shit what you think,” Wyatt said.
“No, we’re totally married,” I exclaimed a little too loudly. “Very happy. Really really happy.”
Wyatt squeezed my hand.
“Oh, Sydney. Let me tell you something,” Tricia said. Behind her the small crew she’d brought with her packed up their shit. “You were made to be unhappy. It’s why your sad songs sell so well.”
Ouch.
“It’s why people follow Celebrity Truth. So they can see you get your heart pummeled. Over, and over, and over and over-”
“Okay,” I snapped. “That’s one too many overs . You can leave now.”
“Tyler?” Tricia said, turning around to find my manager leaning against the fireplace. “Is this really the story you want me to lead with tonight?”
He looked at me and shrugged as if in despair. Like I was a lost cause he couldn’t help anymore.
Maybe I was.
“Lead with whatever you want, lady,” Wyatt said. “We know the truth.”
“Prove it,” she snapped, tossing a gauntlet at our feet.
“Beatrice,” I said. “Don’t we have a copy of the marriage-”
Wyatt kissed me.
He had warm lips, firm, but also a little soft. His beard brushed against my skin and it tickled. This was awkward and performative. I didn’t want to kiss in front of these people. What was this going to prove? I was stiff in his arms and wished I could pull away when his hand stroked my back. A soft touch.
It’s okay. That touch said. It’s just us. Don’t worry about them.
His body curled over mine, blocking out everything. Tricia and her crew and the sun and the ocean. It was him and me and he was my champion.
I kissed him back. For show, of course. Just playing along. I curled my arms up around his neck and he pulled me closer until I was standing on his feet on my tip toes. Like that was a thing we did – because we kissed so much.
He smiled against my lips and I smiled against his and his beard. Which was so soft and so scratchy at the same time, and I had this sudden heat flash thinking of that beard against my neck, my breasts.
I gasped and his tongue swept into my mouth. The kiss started to smoke and burn and I wanted everyone to leave. Then I wanted to spend the rest of the day in these arms.
You’re supposed to be here.
I was completely and utterly out of my depth, like a virgin at an orgy, because I could do nothing but take him in and let him overwhelm me in every possible way.
He planted me firmly back on my feet and spun me so my back was against his front and I could feel him against me. A hard wall of Wyatt.
“If you don’t mind,” he said to Tricia, who was looking at us in shock, and, dare I say, a little envy. “We’re on our honeymoon and we’d like to get back to it.”
“He means sex,” I blurted. Because he’d kissed my brain into mush.
The only ones who knew that wasn’t true were me and Wyatt.
“All the sex,” I finished lamely. “On our honeymoon.”
“Let me show you to the door,” Beatrice said, stepping into the middle of the living room like the experienced body-man she was. Sparing me any further embarrassment.
When the crew was gone, it was just Tyler and Beatrice looking at Wyatt and me like we were misbehaving children.
“Well, that went to shit in a handbag,” Tyler announced.
“That’s not the proper expression,” Beatrice reprimanded him. “We should talk about our next steps.”
“ We’re not talking about anything,” Wyatt announced. “Syd and I are the only two people who have to talk.”
“What do we have to talk about?” I turned to look at him over my shoulder.
It was a legitimate question, but it only made him scowl more.
“Come with me. You two can leave,” he said to Beatrice and Tyler.
He took my hand in his and pulled me back down the hallway towards my bedroom. Once inside, he shut the door, cutting us off from the rest of the house.
He didn’t want to have sex right now, did he?
Did I want to have sex?
“We can’t have sex,” I hissed at him. “I barely know you.”
“Fuck, Syd, I didn’t bring you back here for that. That kiss was just for show.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. Good show.” I knew I must be turning red all over. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and along my neck.
“I don’t give a shit what your manager wants or what your fans want. What do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“I helped to get you into this mess, I can help get you out of this mess. Just tell me what you want. Because that fucking interview can’t be it. Do you want to keep pretending, or do you want to end this?”
A thousand thoughts raced through my head. What did I want? That was such a loaded question. It was always just easier to have people tell me what I wanted.
Fame. Money. Awards. Pretty dresses. Handsome, famous boyfriends. That was what I was supposed to want, so I did what I was supposed to do to get it. I played the game. The game was never about me.
I plopped down on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisted together.
“I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what’s best. I know it’s shitty no matter what we do. So why don’t you just make it easy and decide. You tell me what you want and we’ll just go with that.”
I thought he was going to say a quick divorce. It would be the easiest course of action. Undo the mistake we made and move on with our lives. There would be fallout for me, sure, but I’d survive it. I always did.
He cupped my chin in his big beefy hand and gently nudged it up so I was looking at him directly. I had no idea what he was thinking.
“Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s stay married.”