Page 35 of One More Made Up Love Song
He grins. “Don’t let Wren hear you. She loves this suit.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Break a leg out there.”
“See you after?” he asks, holding my gaze.
I nod, but as soon as he disappears out the door, I sink onto the couch behind me and sigh. “Where else am I going to be?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ivy
“Freddie,you can’t come with me,” I say, hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Too late.” He tugs the Appies Hockey cap he stole from Adam a little lower on his forehead. “I’m already buckled in.”
“Thenunbuckle,” I say, voice rising. “Does Wayne know you’re out here?”
“Relax,” Freddie says. “Waynebasicallyknows. Or he will as soon as he realizes I’m not getting the massage you booked for me.”
“Freddie.”
“Just drive, all right?” he says. “It’ll be fine.”
I shift the rental car from reverse into park. I had one delivered to the hotel in Los Angeles this morning and cleared my travel with Wayne. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me going by myself, but since hisconnection within Margot’s security detail knows I’m coming, he begrudgingly agreed. Not that I gave him any choice in the matter.
I’m not his responsibility like Freddie is his responsibility. If I want to go somewhere on my own, I still have that luxury.
But Freddie doesn’t.
“I’m not driving anywhere with you in the car,” I say. “This is not like going to CVS where you onlymightget into trouble. This is going to see Margot where you willabsolutelyget into trouble.”
“What kind of car even is this?” Freddie asks, tugging at the strap of his seatbelt.
“It’s a Honda. The kind of carnormalpeople drive.”
“You’re saying I’m not normal?”
I let out a little laugh. “Yes, Freddie. I’m saying it’snotnormal that you aren’t familiar with the interior of a Honda.”
“I wasn’t judging,” he says. “It’s fine. Nice, even. How long will it take us to get to Malibu?”
I groan. “Freddie, please don’t do this. I covered for you when you went to North Carolina on your own, but there’s more at stake here. Carina ismysister. Just let me handle this.”
His jaw tightens. “No,” he says simply.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this? If you don’t get out of the car, I’m not going. It’s really that black and white.”
“Why areyoubeing so stubborn?” Freddie shoots back, eyes flashing. “It’s my fault you’re even having to deal with this in the first place. Do you know what it feels like to always haveotherpeople fix your problems? Clean up your messes? To just sit, idle, because going anywhere or doinganything is too risky? I care about this. I care about you. And I’m going with you. Now drive.”
My heart rate spikes at the vehemence in his voice. Freddie is always so good-natured, so chronically optimistic, it’s not very often I see this side of him.
“Margot’s security detail knows I’m coming,” I say, my tone gentler now. “If Wayne trusts that I can do this on my own, you should too. I appreciate you wanting to come, but there’s a lot more at stake for you than there is for me.”
Before he has the chance to respond, the back door of the Honda opens, and Wayne climbs inside. It takes him a minute—he is a very large man, and the backseat of the Civic I rented is not particularly accommodating. But after a few seconds of struggle, he pulls the door closed with a grunt and buckles his seatbelt.
“Seriously?” I say, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. He looks ridiculous squeezed into such a tiny space, his knees almost up to his ears.
He shrugs and motions toward Freddie. “If he goes, I go.”
