“It’s not weird,” she said softly.
“How about you? How are you doing?”
“I was feeling powerless earlier, but Nina talked to her attorney. They’re creating a cease-and-desist letter for Riley, and then they’ll send a copy to Instagram and Facebook. She’s told that makes the companies respond faster.” She sighed. “I just want the posts down.”
“Me too.” I nodded toward the small suitcase sitting beside her bed. “Are you all packed?”
She was, so I grabbed her bag and carried it downstairs. She hung out in my room while I pulled my shit together and texted Preston.
Colin: Need a big favor. Can Mads and I crash at your place tonight?
Preston: I’m sure my dad will be cool with it. I’m here whenever you want to come over.
Colin: Thanks.
Once that was done, I put my phone on ‘do not disturb.’ The notifications and texts from people were coming now in a steady stream, but there was nothing left I could do to get the posts down, so I didn’t need the constant fucking reminder.
As we got ready to leave, Scott was waiting in the hallway. Shame instantly slammed into me. The Woodsons hadn’t asked for any of this, and it was their address posted. Even though Petal Productions wasn’t tagged, their logo was in the bottom corner of the screenshots Riley had posted.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea he’d do something like this.”
That surprised him. “You think we blame you?” His expression softened. “You’re not responsible for his actions. Do I wish he hadn’t posted our address? Yeah, absolutely. But Madison told us what happened, and it sounds like he put you in a tough spot. So, don’t think Nina and I blame you—because we don’t.”
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear it until it’d been said. It took a small amount of weight off my shoulders that had been dragging me down.
“Thanks, Scott.”
He nodded, and his gaze went to the bags in my hands, then Madison at my side. “Where are you staying? I’ll drive you.”
“My friend’s place. You don’t have to drive us; it’s just down the road.”
He waved my comment off. “It’s faster this way. Plus, if Judy catches you walking down the street with suitcases, she’s going to have questions.”
It was a good point, so we loaded into his BMW and let him drive us down to the Lowe house, where we found Preston outside mowing the lawn. When we pulled into the driveway, he stopped the riding mower and jogged over to meet us.
“Hey,” he said as I pulled the bags one at a time from the trunk. His gaze slid over the BMW and on to the driver, and his head tilted in confusion. “Do I know you?”
Scott’s window was down, and a shadow of a smile crossed his lips. “I live up the street.”
That seemed to satisfy Preston, and when I shut the trunk, I was surprised to see my friend pick up Mads’ suitcase and carry it toward the house.
“All right, you two,” Scott said. “If you need anything, you know where we are. Let us know if anything changes, okay?” He was only fifteen years older than we were, but he nailed the fatherly concern. “Stay safe.”
Mads nodded. “Thanks, Scott.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Preston’s posture straighten abruptly.
We followed him through the open garage and up the two steps into the kitchen, where Cassidy was baking cookies. When she saw us, her expression hung.
“Hi, Colin.” Her voice was overly cheery, like she was trying too hard to sound casual.
“Hey, Cassidy.” I motioned to Mads. “This is my girlfriend, Mads.”
“Madison,” Preston corrected before I could, amused. “Only he gets to call her that.”
Because I’d informed him the nickname was mine alone when I’d introduced her to everyone the night we’d gone out to the club.
“Nice to meet you,” Cassidy said.
Mads smiled. “Yeah, you too.”
Now that the introduction was out of the way, Preston zeroed in on me. “Scott Westwood, huh? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” But then a shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Mentor program. If you’re going to learn, learn from the best, am I right?”
Cassidy used a spatula to transfer the cookies from the baking sheet to a wire rack. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Preston ignored that. “Colin and Madison just got dropped off by Scott Westwood. He lives up the street. Fucking wild.” He paused. “Do you know who that is?”
“Yeah,” she answered quickly, focusing all her attention on her cookies.
“Oh, really?” Preston either couldn’t leave it alone or didn’t believe her. “You’re familiar with his large body of work?”
She set down her spatula and leveled a gaze at him. “I was more familiar with it when we were together. I don’t need to watch it these days when I want to get off.”