“Sorry.” He adjusts his black-rimmed glasses. “Rhys, am I early or
…”
“No. We, um . . .I’m ready.” Rhyson propels a sigh, looking at me.
“Bristol, I—”
“Are we going to this club or what?” I cut him off, slicing a look Grip’s way.
“Uh . . .” Grip’s eyes skid from me to my brother. “Maybe you should—”
“Never mind. I’ll go by myself.”
I charge down the hall, my red bottoms making a meal of the carpet and eating up inches with every step. I’m almost at the studio exit by the time Grip catches me, grabbing my elbow and turning me to face him.
“You don’t even know where you’re going, Bristol.” Concern and irritation blend in his eyes.
“I’m pretty good at figuring shit out.” I tug on my arm. “Let go.”
“Just calm the hell down.” He scowls and doesn’t let me go. “Come on. The car’s parked out front.”
I follow him to his Jeep, blinking at the tears rising up as I mentally replay the argument with Rhyson. How dare he question my motives? I’ve gone above and beyond to show him how important he is to me, and he insults me? Doesn’t trust me? I’m tempted to demand that Grip stop the car and hitch a ride to the airport. Just leave all my crap at Grady’s and go back to New York right now.
“You’re both so damn stubborn.” Grip negotiates the traffic,
sparing me a quick glance.
“Me?” My harsh laugh bounces off the Jeep’s interior. “He’s the one.”
“You know he’s just hurt, Bristol.”
“He’s hurt?” I turn in my seat to face him, the seatbelt cutting into my chest. “He’s the one who left five years ago. He’s the one who acted like I was a nuisance every time I reached out. And then I come out here on my spring break, just to have him work the whole time. I swear he’s using it as an excuse not to deal with me.”
“He does have actual work,” Grip inserts.
“And he’s the one hurt?” I power on. “The hell.” “You can’t control him, Bristol.”
“Contr . . .you’re on his side.” Even though Rhyson is Grip’s best friend and I’ve only known him a day, I feel betrayed. “You think I’m trying to control my brother? I’m trying to help him fulfill his dreams.”
“No, they’re not his dreams.” Grip shakes his head adamantly, eyes trained ahead. “Not right now. They’re your dreams for him. The same way your parents worked him to death doing their dreams. It feels the same to him.”
“It isn’t the same.” I say it even though what he says makes sense. I don’t want to accept it. He takes my pause as the chance to speak some more.
“Think about it.” Grip’s voice gentles, and the look he sends me from behind the wheel gentles, too. “Their priorities weren’t straight. They seemed more concerned with the career than with him. When you take the reins like you did back there, it makes him think that you’re just like them, especially your mom.”
I let that set in for a second, let it sink through my pores and trickle down to my heart. It hurts because, though I love my mother and have done all I could to please her, she’s a hard-nosed bitch.
Am I?
“You’re not like her,” Grip says softly, as if he read my mind. “At least not the way he described her to me. You’re not that.”
I turn my head and look out the window so he won’t see my lip trembling or the tears quivering on my lashes. It feels like I keep hiding from him when he seems to see everything.
“Maybe I am,” I whisper. “I just . . .he’s so talented. I will never believe he’s supposed to be some hack who just writes for other people.”
I whip my head around, eyes wide. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Grip laughs, the cocky smirk firmly in place. “I already know I got the goods. It’s just a matter of time and the right opportunity before I’m on somebody’s stage.”