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“Do what?”

“Shut me out.”

She throws her arms up, her voice rising as the mask finally slips. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“I am being honest.”

“Bullshit.”

Her breath catches—hurt flashing in her eyes—but not surprise. Because she knows I’m right.

I take a step forward, softer now. “How many times has he called?”

She drops her gaze. Her fingers twist in the hem of her jacket.

“Laney,” I say, gentler, quieter. “Look at me.”

She doesn’t move. I reach out, brushing her hair back, cupping her face. “Look at me.”

She does.

God, her eyes. The weight in them. The fear she’s been carrying alone.

“He’s been calling a few times a day,” she whispers. “And… texting. I blocked a couple of numbers, but he just keeps finding new ones.”

My arms are around her before she can even take another breath, pulling her in tight, one hand cradling the back of her head as I hold her to my chest.

I feel her sigh into me, her body sagging like the fight has been knocked out of her.

“Let me see them,” I say.

She’s still. Silent. Then, slowly, she pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it over.

I unlock it, scrolling through the recent texts—unknown numbers, unhinged words. The first few are desperate, pleading. Apologies. Classic manipulation.

Then the tone shifts.

So this is what you are now? Sleeping with a washed-up rockstar?

You’re disgusting.

You think he gives a shit about you?

You’re nothing.

The last one makes my vision go red.

My jaw locks. My hands shake. I want to throw the phone through the wall, get in my car, find the bastard, and make sure he never opens his mouth again.

Laney’s watching me now, eyes wide, scared—but not of me. She’s scared I’ll take it too far.

I lower the phone, set it gently on the table, and wrap her in my arms again, burying my face into her hair.

“I’ll handle it,” I say into her skin. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

She shakes her head against my chest. “I don’t want to talk about Randy anymore.”