Page 41 of One More Made Up Love Song
And Ivy knows all of that.
And she was still willing to help me.
I reach for my phone, itching to talk to her. To thank her, but also to apologize.
Wayne is right. The kiss might have been Ivy’s idea, but she was acting to protect me. And I’m the one who put us in a position where I needed protecting in the first place.
I also can’t deny that when it comes to stuff like this, Ivy has the better brain. She’s smart and logical and practical. She can always see the clearest path forward, the one that will minimize drama and have the least amount of collateral damage. It’s one of the things I appreciate about her the most—she has good vision. And she’s great at reading emotion, at guessing how people will react and steering focus to the things that matter the most.
But is that even fair? Can I truly expect her to advise me, assist me, when I’ve pulled her right into the middle of the drama?
I pull up our text thread, fingers hovering over my screen as I debate what to say.
Freddie
Hey. I owe you an apology. Once Carina is settled, can we talk?
She reads the message almost immediately, but she doesn’t reply. Little dots appear letting me know she’s typing a message, but then the dots disappear, and no message comes through.
I breathe out a sigh, then I switch over to Sloane’s profile and hitcall.
Maybe I’ll get lucky.
Maybe the photographer won’t sell the photos. Maybe his camera was broken or the lighting was bad or Margot was standing in the way and he didn’t get any shots of me and Ivy kissing.
“What have you done?” Sloane asks as she answers the call, which can only mean one thing.
I didn’t get lucky, and the photos are already live.
CHAPTER TEN
Ivy
It’s latewhen I finally make my way to Freddie’s hotel room. Carina sobered up enough to take a shower and climb into pajamas, but she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
I already called my parents to let them know Carina is safe, and I’ve been making a list of questions I intend to ask her as soon as she’s well enough to hear them. But for now, I have bigger problems to worry about.
My phone has been blowing up all afternoon—texts and emails from all the important people who manage Freddie’s career. His agent, his record label’s publicist, his personal publicist—that conversation was the longest and the most overwhelming, by far. I also heard from my best friends from college, three friends from high school I haven’t talked to in years, and my mother’s Pilates instructor. Which, I need to talk to Mom about why her Pilates instructor has my number.
Then there are the texts from Leo, Jace, Adam, and Adam’s girlfriend, Laney, who all messaged me separately to offer some form of congratulations. It was Adam’s message that stung the most.
Adam
It shouldn’t have taken him so long to realize how great you are. I’m glad he finally did.
They’re going to be so disappointed when they realize it’s all pretend.
Not that my mother’s Pilates instructor will hear the truth.
But Freddie will tell his former bandmates. Of course he will. Since the four of them reunited last year, they’ve only gotten closer. He basically tells them everything.
I pace outside Freddie’s room for five full minutes before Wayne opens the door and finds me. He pauses as soon as we make eye contact, then glances back into the room before tugging the door closed behind him and leaning against it.
“You okay?” he asks.
“A guy I haven’t talked to since the tenth grade just texted me a link to his demo on YouTube,” I say. “He asked if I could pass it along.”
Wayne grimaces. “Guess that comes with the territory, huh?”
