CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SKYLAR
AFTER MY RUN-IN WITH BREE AND THE PAPS, I DON’T LEAVE THE PROPERTY.
In the town where I finally felt free to roam and make genuine connections, I feel trapped. I know on West’s property, I’m safe from the cameras. And I’m safe from the prying eyes of everyone in town.
And yet, I feel more vulnerable than I ever have.
Telling the kids there might be stories and pictures about me when they go back to school was a conversation I wish I could scrub from my brain. But West and I knew they needed to hear it from us first before they heard it at school.
It fucking sucked. Sugarcoating it and spinning it in a way that was palatable for a child. It was a long, harrowing conversation riddled with Emmy’s curious questions. I remember the expressions on their faces as they absorbed the news. Their innocent eyes. Their bright red cheeks.
Their hugs.
It was their hugs that made me bawl. In fact, I believe I may be defying science with how much I’ve cried. After years of not crying, it seems I’m now unable to turn the tears off.
I’m gutted, and I’m furious, and I’m terrible company.
The thought of facing anyone makes my skin crawl. And the worst part is knowing I’ll have to put on a happy face and strut around events and concerts like nothing happened. I’ll have to answer probing questions about the
scandal.
So I sit and stew by the lake.
I don’t even leave to watch West ride. I haven’t told him about my run-in with Bree because I don’t want to add one more mark in the Feel Bad for
Skylar column. Plus, I know he’ll march out there and try to fix it. And I don’t want to add to his burden. But it makes things strained between us.
There’s a distance that I can’t figure out how to bridge.
I don’t mean to be punishing him. His hugs, his gentle touches, and his reassuring words, they…they don’t match the way I’m talking to myself on the inside. And I’m back to feeling like there’s a part of me that believes I don’t deserve his brand of kindness. His brand of unwavering love.
I’ve avoided intimacy since the bombshell, and he hasn’t pushed. He’s a gentleman, so he spends all night holding me instead of fucking me.
He has a beautiful life here, and I can’t stop thinking about why he’d want me here when I bring shit like this to his front doorstep. Deep down, I know these thoughts are just popping up because of the headspace I’m in.
And I know they may not be totally accurate. But anxiety works in mysterious ways, and I find their sentiment following me all the same.
They’re hard to shake.
I feel like he should be angry with me—disappointed with me—and he’s just not. He’s steadfast in his love and affection, and I’m convincing myself it’s a front. It’s pity.
You’re going to hurt him, and you probably won’t even mean to do it.
That’s the sentiment that haunts me. Because I’m realizing I would endure any level of pain to keep West and those kids from hurting. The burden is cumbersome.
I want to go to sleep and wake up to realize this was all a terrible dream.
“You’re gonna grow right into that log if you keep sitting here.”
My head pivots as Rosie saunters down the narrow path to the lakeside.
She’s dressed casually in jeans and a crewneck. Socks and Birkenstocks— which I try to overlook.
When she gets to me, she brushes her hands together and stares out over the lake before plopping down on the log beside me.
“How are you, Skylar?”
“Ha!” I bark out a laugh. “Oh, you know, just fucking peachy, Rosie.”
“Yeah, being violated is just a walk in the park, right?” From her biting tone, I get the sense she’s got her own story too. We all do, I guess. But still I sigh, feeling a little more at ease around her.
“How bad is it?”
Her head joggles, and I can tell she’s considering her next words. “Ya know, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s pretty bad.”
My stomach drops like I’m on an awful carnival ride. “Cool. Love that for me.”
“I would have come sooner, but West is acting like a fucking wolf protecting his den. He told me you wanted to be alone, and he hasn’t allowed
me over.”
“I did tell him that.”
She snorts. “Well, he’s taken the duty seriously. The way he’s working his horses is by patrolling the property fence lines.”
Tears spring up in my eyes. What a good man. What a good fucking man.
And what an inconvenience to have to patrol your own home like that.
“I should hire security.”
“Ford already did.”
My lips clamp down to hold back a sob.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod swiftly, not trusting myself to talk.
“Do you like being famous?”
“Not right now.”
“Have you ever?”
I scoff now. “Of course I have. I…must have…”
“Like, what parts?”
Rosie’s gaze wanders my face as I rack my brain to remember the parts of my life I can honestly say I’ve enjoyed. “I like singing.”
“You can sing at church, Skylar. What is it that makes you want to go out there and perform? Sell the music? Do the interviews? See and be seen?”
“I…” My mouth opens and closes as I scramble, searching for the answer. It shouldn’t be this hard to find. In fact, I’m so well media-trained that I can recite all the answers people want to hear.
I love my fans.
It’s a thrill every time.
I have the best job in the world.
But none of them ring true.
“I…I guess…I guess I just always have. I was told to as a child. It started with pageants and modeling and snowballed from there.”
Rosie nods along, bent over her legs as her fingers flick through the different pebbles at her feet. “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t have to? You don’t have to keep doing this job if it doesn’t bring you joy.”
It makes me miserable. It makes me sick.
I whisper, “No. No one has ever told me that.”
Rosie sits up and looks me in the eye. “Skylar, you have done more in your young life than most people accomplish before they die. How much money do you need to live comfortably? Happily?”
“I…” I shake my head. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
I don’t answer her because I don’t know. No one has ever asked me what I want when it comes to my work.
She takes my hands in hers and squeezes as she orients in my direction.
“You are allowed to quit.”
I suck in a breath.
“I know you don’t need my permission. But it’s okay to turn over a new leaf. It’s okay to sing. Hell, it’s okay to record and release songs for absolutely no one but yourself. So what if they don’t top charts? You don’t have to feed the machine for the rest of your life. Especially not when it’s clearly killing you. You could be here and healthy.”
Silent tears roll down my face as I squeeze her hands back.
I wish it were that simple.
Maybe it would be healthy for me to stay here, but what about everyone else?