Page 117 of Fame And Secrets

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Julian

“Mom’s coming tomorrow.”

Glancing up from my cereal bowl, Ryker stared at me from the kitchen.

“I know,” I mumbled.

I actually didn’t know. I’d forgotten. The days melted together since I’d been staying with the guys. I appreciated the couch to sleep on, but I missed my own bed. I missed my house. I missed my wife.

The last thing I needed was my mother letting me have it for acting like a jackass.

“She says you’re a jackass.”

Exactly.

“I know.”

“You are a jackass.”

“I know.” I went back to eating my cereal.

Ryker slammed the cabinet. “Damn it, Julian, is that all you’re going to say?”

“Yep.”

God, I’m an asshole.

“I saw Phoebe.”

That got my attention, and I pushed the bowl away. “You did? When?”

“Oh, he does have a vocabulary. Amazing.”

I stood and dumped the contents of the bowl down the sink. “Don’t be a smart-ass. When did you see her?”

He peeled a banana and took a bite. “Yesterday. You asked me to get you more clothes, remember?”

When I left, I’d taken a backpack stuffed with enough clothes for a few days. I’d been at Ryker’s for over a week. With paparazzi now camped out on his lawn, the last thing I needed were pictures splashed across the tabloids of me in the same fucking clothes. Phoebe didn’t need mixed messages of me showing up at the house.

Nothing had changed. I still didn’t trust myself, and she refused to back down from her Predator Confidential publicity stunt.

The last time she pulled this shit, she wrote an article in Vinyl magazine outing my stalker. A few hours later, she was in the emergency room having her stomach pumped from being poisoned with a high potency narcotic. I thought she’d learned publicity didn’t come without a price.

“I see the old Phoebe coming back,” he said, tossing the peel in the garbage. “This interview is giving her life.

“Too bad it’s going to take Iris’s.” I stumbled back to the couch, unaware he’d followed me, until I felt a boot on my ass knocking me forward. As my face hit the arm of the couch, I jumped back, ready to knock him out.

“Sit down,” he hissed.

Never knowing my brother to buck up to me, I let it play out, curious to see where he’d take it. “Fine. Say what you have to.”

He snapped his fingers in my face. “Wake the fuck up, Julian. Don’t you watch the news? This shit happens every day. You think you’re fucking special because you’re famous? There are thousands of families who’ve lost children. Some get them back and some don’t.”

“Is this supposed to be helping me?” I growled through clenched teeth.

“The point is, I’ve read stories about how it tears families apart. The stats are against you, bro. Couples blame each other, they blame themselves, they blame the police. They blame everybody but the person who took the kid.” He groaned and raked his hands over his shaggy hair. “Don’t you see, man? You’re playing right into his hands. He took your kid, now he’s taking your marriage. The only thing left is your sanity. From the looks of Phoebe and you, he almost has it.”

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