Page 86 of The Ballad of Us
“Not if I have anything to say about it. This village protects its own, and you and Gray are ours now.” Leslie is fiercer than I’ve ever seen.
The studio door flies open before we reach it, and Gray is there, his face a storm of emotions that run across his features—anger, worry, and something that might be guilt.
“Rhea,” he breathes, pulling me into his arms so tightly I can barely breathe. “Leslie told me what happened. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.”
“It's not your fault,” I say against his chest, but even as I say it, I'm wondering if that's true. This is what comes with dating someone famous. This is the price of loving Gray Garrison.
Inside the studio, the rest of the band is gathered, all wearing expressions of concern and anger.
“We saw the footage. Those dicks were live-streaming it. They were completely out of line.” Andrew fumes.
“How did they even find us? We've been so careful,” Parker asks.
“Someone had to leak it. We've been here for months without any problems, and suddenly they know exactly where to find us?” Zep is beyond angry.
Gray is still holding me, his body vibrating with barely controlled rage. “I'm going to kill them. Every single one of them.”
“No,” I say, pulling back to look at him. “You're not. You're going to stay calm and not give them any more ammunition.”
“They hurt you?—”
“They scared me,” I correct. “There's a difference. And Leslie handled it.”
“Damn right I did,” Leslie says, settling into his favorite chair with the satisfaction of someone who's won a particularly important battle. “Though I may have channeled my inner Liam Neeson a bit too enthusiastically.”
“How bad is it online?” I ask, finally brave enough to consider the digital aftermath.
Cody, ever the social media expert, is already scrolling through his phone. “It's... mixed. The footage of them mobbing you makes them look terrible. But there are also about fifty articles already about 'Gray Garrison's mystery woman' and 'the woman who saved rock's bad boy.'“
The woman who saved him. As if I'm not a person with my own identity, my own life, my own dreams? I'm just an accessory to Gray's redemption story. This label feels like a shackle, reducing me to a role I never intended to play. I gather my thoughts and turn to the band, feeling a surge of determination. “For the record,” I say, my voice clear and deliberate amidst the heavy silence, “I am not Gray's savior. I'm his partner in all this. We saved ourselves. We love each other, and that's the story that needs telling.”
“I can't do this,” I say quietly. At first, my words slip out so softly I almost wonder if I’ve really spoken. The surprise hits me next. Then the weight and finality of what I'm confessing crash in, sending a jolt of fear through me. The room’s tension snaps from shocked concern to silent alarm, my own confusion joining it.
Gray's face drains of color. “What do you mean?”
“I mean... I love our life here. I love the quiet mornings at the coffee shop, the way everyone knows each other, the peace we've found. And now that's gone. They're going to keep coming, aren't they? More photographers, more questions, more invasion of the sanctuary we've found for ourselves here.”
“We'll figure it out,” Gray says desperately. “We'll hire security, or?—”
“Gray.” I touch his face gently. “This is what your life is. This is what success looks like for you. And I'm proud of you, I'm so proud of what you've accomplished. But I don't know if I'm made for this.”
The studio falls silent, except for the hum of the equipment. I can feel everyone holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next.
“You're stronger than you think. I saw you out there. You were scared, but you didn't break. You stood your ground until I got there,” Leslie says softly.
“But why should I have to?” The question comes out harsher than I intend. “Why should anyone endure that just because they love someone who makes music?”
Gray looks like I've stabbed him straight through the heart, and part of me wants to take it back immediately. But another part, the part that's still shaking from the encounter, needs him to understand.
It's as if time itself is ticking, reminding me of the urgency and the need for clarity. My head swirls with thoughts and conflicts. But amid the confusion, a sense of resolve begins to build. I know I cannot ignore what happened, and I cannot let fear dictate my future. The fear of losing what Gray and I have formed together won’t leave me.
“I need some time,” I say, steady and intentional. “To think, to figure out if this is something I can manage long-term.” I imagine spending the days ahead sitting by the lake to reflect, talking to trusted friends like Leslie for guidance, and even journaling to sort through my feelings. The path isn't clear yet. But I am sure I need to face these questions—alone, for now—even if only for a short while.
“Rhea—”
“I'm not leaving,” I assure him quickly, my voice steady. “I'm not running away. But I am choosing to confront this and decide, for myself, what kind of life I want. I need to process this. To understand what being with you publicly really means.”
Gray nods, though I can see how much it costs him. “Whatever you need. Whatever time you need. Just... please don't shut me out.”
