My brows tug together as I peer up into his eyes.
The humor and mischief that I usually see in them are gone. Instead, uncertainty takes the stage in Coy’s handsome features.
I feel my spirits fall.
I grab the dangling ends of my tie and cover myself.
Something is wrong.
I know it.
But he wasn’t gone that long. What could’ve happened in that little while?
I open my mouth to ask but then it hits me: Meadow.
Fear licks at me. It’s a form of oral that I wasn’t expecting.
I back away from him as he wars with himself, biting his fingernail and shifting his gaze to the floor. Whatever this is about isn’t good. If it were, he wouldn’t look so miserable.
“Just tell me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest in defense. As if, somehow, my posture will keep whatever Coy is about to say from inflicting damage on my heart.
“It’s … not a big deal.”
“Cool. Then tell me.”
He clears his throat. “Meadow called.”
“I know.”
“No, she called again.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he forces a swallow. “And I have to go to Nashville.”
Okay.
“I knew that.”
He stills. “Today.”
My arms drop slowly to my sides. What does Coy mean today? Like now?
My brain scrambles to make sense of this development—one that takes me by surprise. There are so many things that are still up in the air. He can’t just go.
But he’ll have to.
I take a deep breath and try not to let my anxieties take over.
“Did something happen?” I ask. “This seems … sudden.”
“There’s going to be a story drop today—it’s already on some sites—that says I’m either going to rehab or that I’m there now or something. I don’t know.”
That doesn’t make any sense.
“Why would that be a headline? It’s not true,” I say.
“I know. But apparently, Willa Welch and a new boyfriend of hers or something ran into a photographer last night and said something about it. So, naturally, that gets printed because I’m the easy target. It makes for a good headline.”
“So, because some girl you use to date—”
“Fake date.”
“A girl you fake dated,” I say, correcting myself, “can just say what she wants, and then that’s it for you?”
“Apparently.”
I close my eyes and try to stay calm.
Breathe, Bellamy.
“There’s something else,” he says carefully. “Meadow texted me on my way over here. There’s a picture of us at the hospital yesterday. Meadow’s team is trying to get it pulled, but I can’t guarantee that it’s not going to show up somewhere online.”
My breathing gets shallow. I stare at Coy in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head.
“Who is it of?” I ask.
“You, Joe, and me.”
“It’s of my dad?” I ask, bewildered. “At the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of … monster would do that?” My jaw continues to drop. “I mean, I knew those women at the desk figured out it was you, but they took pictures of my dad?”
“Yes. And you,” he says, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
Lord, help me.
“What are they saying about it?” I ask. “Is that why you’re ‘at rehab’? Because you’re at an oncologist with an old man?”
He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense but, in this world, it doesn’t have to.”
I pace a circle around the room, licking my lips.
“They could say anything, right? Like, if they can say you’re at rehab, they could say anything about any of us. People could show up here. Call my dad. Hound us.”
He nods. “Yes, that could happen. But it won’t. No one bothers my family. If it does happen, I’ll hire security for you. You know that.”
My shock turns into disbelief. “Hire security? What? Coy … how do you live like this?”
“It’s the business. I mean, I’m used to it. But …”
“But I’m not.”
I walk to the couch and sit down. I try to process this.
This is a lot. More than I bargained for, and I should’ve thought about this, but I didn’t.
But it’s fine. I’m fine. It’ll all be fine.
I look up at him. “So, you’re leaving. That’s what you’re telling me.”
“Yes. I have to. Meadow says I’ll likely lose my record deal—or, at the very least, my position in negotiations—if I don’t show up tomorrow morning. I don’t have a choice.”
Everyone has a choice.
Except my dad. He didn’t have a fucking choice about cancer.
“When will you be back?” I ask.
“Honestly, I don’t know. As soon as I can. But I’ll be here for you. I am here for you. If you need me, call me. I’ll answer.”
“If you ever need me, all you have to do is call.”
My stomach flip-flops as the words he whispered to me all of those nights ago on the boat come ringing back. I squash down the shot of bile that threatens to launch up my throat.
“So, that’s the plan then?” I ask him, swallowing hard. “You just go on to Nashville and I just … call you when I need you?”