Page 58 of Shy Girls Can’t Date Celebrities (Shy Girls Sweet Romances #6)

“Josie, what were you thinking?” Mom hounds me when we walk through the front door. “Skipping school?”

“Mom, we were...”

“I don’t want excuses.” Disappointment wrinkles Mom’s face. “I couldn’t believe it when the school called me. My daughter doesn’t walk out on her classes. At least, she didn’t .”

I step in front of Wyatt. “Don’t blame him. I did it all on my own.”

Mom frowns. “Not according to the school.”

I hold my middle as I droop with sadness. I didn’t mean to get Kylie and Parker in trouble too.

“You’re lucky they’re not suspending you.”

I gulp. “They’re not? ”

Mom steps forward and gently rubs my arms. “You have a good reputation, Josie. You don’t want to wreck that.”

My vision turns glossy and I sniff hard. “I know, but people were talking about me in classes.”

Wyatt steps beside me. “Who was talking?”

Mom shakes her head. “This is no reason to skip school.”

I clasp my hands in front and let out a sigh. “I just couldn’t handle it.”

Mom steps aside. “We’ll talk about this later. Go freshen up.”

I move toward the staircase, but Wyatt grasps my arm. “Who was talking about you?”

I hunch, wincing. “Wyatt, I...”

“Tell me,” he says softly. “What did they say?”

I lift my palms up. “Does it matter?”

He blinks at me. “Of course, it matters.”

I shake my head. “Not now. You’ve got your memory back.”

Mom gasps and clutches Wyatt’s shoulder. “Is that true?”

Before Wyatt can respond, Casey and Callum race into the foyer.

“Did you ground her, Mom?” Casey asks with glee.

Mom waves them off. “Not now, you two.”

Callum’s lip upturns as he glances around at us. “What the heck is going on?”

Mom goes to shoo them again, but Wyatt stops her.

Wyatt nods at Casey and says, “I think I can answer some of your Circle 8 cult questions.”

Casey lifts on the balls of her feet with interest. “You suddenly have intel?”

Wyatt rubs the side of his head. “My brain might be less broken now.”

Callum gasps, hugging his arms around Wyatt’s waist. “You got your memory back? ”

Wyatt nods. “It’s jumbled, but I’m getting there.”

Mom ushers us into the living room. “What can we do to help you?” she asks, gesturing for Wyatt to take a seat on the couch.

Wyatt picks up his phone, which he left on the coffee table before we went to Main Street. “Maybe I should call my psy-psy...”

Mom gasps, motioning at the phone. “If you have a psychologist helping you through this stuff, you should definitely call them.”

Wyatt mumbles a laugh. “Dang it. I thought I could say the word this time.”

I lean into him for support. “No big deal. The fog inside your head is clearing. It’s amazing.”

Wyatt braces himself. “And scary.”

Casey’s eyes widen. “What if you remember stuff you don’t want to know?”

Mom plants her hands on her hips in scolding-mode. “Casey, don’t be heinous.”

Wyatt blows out a breath. “She’s got a point. I forgot this stuff for a reason.”

I sit back. “What do you mean?”

“The doctors told me I’d suffer some kind of em-emotional shock.” Wyatt takes a beat before continuing. “Something major happened, and I dealt with it by blocking it out.”

“So it’s more psychological than physical?” I ask. “I remember Dr. Fincher saying something about that. That your injury and your memory loss didn’t exactly match up.”

Wyatt rubs his forehead. “I remember a lot of shouting. Arguing. Just a lot of tension on set.”

Mom gestures at Wyatt’s phone. “Do you want to make the call? I can show you to Daniel’s den.”

Wyatt nods, thanking Mom and following her out of the living room .

As the twins speculate on Wyatt’s recent memory comeback—Casey going wild on theories—I hear a distinct car noise out the front of the house.

I leave the couch and approach the foyer, nervous at the familiar sound.

Dad’s keys jingle outside the front door, and I may as well be ten-years-old when I see the disappointment on his face.

“You’re home early,” I quip.

Dad sets his briefcase down and closes the door behind him. “I settled things with my last client after the school called me.”

My insides spasms and loud warning sirens blare in my head to retreat.

I quickly b-line for the staircase, but only get a few steps before Dad’s voice turns stern.

“Josie,” Dad says firmly. “We need to discuss you cutting class.”

“ Dad .” I pout, turning toward him on the step. “Can we not?”

Dad crosses his arms. “The discussion isn’t up for debate. I don’t like this, Josie. You spent a week in opulence, and now what? You’re acting like a brat?”

My jaw drops at the accusation. “I am not!”

Dad forces me to sit, and I take the third and fourth steps as my seat. Dad crouches before me and his eyes gleam with kindness. “Tell me what happened?”

I hug my knees and sigh. “I just can’t imagine going back.”

“Why?”

I shake my head, sinking deeper into the hunch. “The only future I see is homeschooling. Kylie will be fine without me. She has her boyfriend’s friends to hang out with. I was fine being a loner. I was totally invisible.” I sigh harder. “Now people will target me and hound me with questions.”

“I know you have your mother’s nervousness inside you,” Dad says gently, “but you also have a strong resolve.”

I shudder. “All I do is imagine all the eyes on me. It makes me sick.”

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth. “It’s the questions you’re worried about?”

Something sour lines the back of my throat as I nod.

Dad’s smile spreads. “Didn’t you sign an NDA when you got to Cherry Beach?”

At that, the tormenting panic inside me pauses. I blink at Dad, my mind rewinding to my first moments in the presidential suite with Erika and Randall after I landed.

Dad chucks my chin. “Darling, you can’t answer any questions.”

With relief flooding through me, I launch forward and wrap my arms around Dad.

Dad chuckles as he rubs a circle on my back. “Feel better?”

I cringe. “I think the NDA was only about the clinic and Wyatt’s medical stuff.”

Dad hushes me. “It doesn’t matter. Anyone starts hounding you, you just stop them. Say, you signed an NDA, and legally you can’t say a word.”

I pull out of the hug. “Won’t that entice them more?”

“Initially,” Dad agrees. “But when you keep giving the same answer, with the blankest expression you can muster, they’ll get bored. Trust me.”

I crack a smile, no longer feeling like eyes are burning into me.

“You promise to never cut class again?” Dad asks.

I give him my pinky. “I promise.”

He links his pinky with mine. “Good girl. Where’s Wyatt?”

“He’s on a therapy call. He got his memory back.”

Dad’s mouth falls open. “Fully?”

“He said it’s a bit scrambled, but the pieces are coming back. ”

“This is incredible.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Casey’s voice sounds in the living room.

When I’m about to ask her what she means, I hear it.

The distinct sounds of cars parking.

The chatter between numerous people.

I move into the living room with Dad. “Is that coming from outside our house?”

The twins and I move to the front window. Instantly, I jump back with a gasp.

Outside our house, news vans are parking against the curb. Traipsing up our front lawn are reports with microphones, followed by people with camera equipment.

“What the heck?” the twins cry out at the sight.

“What is it?” Mom asks, making her way into the living room. “Daniel, you’re home?”

Dad doesn’t respond, stupefied by the sight beyond the window.

I point at the scene, horrified. “It’s... It’s...”

Mom moves past me, taking in the view. She gasps harder than I did and the knocking of her knees creates an echo. “How did... Why did...”

“ Duh , Mom,” Casey says flatly. “They’re here for Wyatt.”

Callum pulls a confused face. “How do they know he’s here?”

The horror quakes through my body and I’m ready to keel over. “Because we were seen together.” I retch. “Oh my gosh, it’s my fault.”

Callum’s lip upturns. “Did you give them our address?”

“Ugh.” Annoyance billows off Casey. “They know who she is after people saw them together in Cherry Beach.”

“This is horrendous,” Mom says, snatching the curtains closed. “They can’t just camp in front of our house, waiting to catch a glimpse of Wyatt.”

Three knocks thunder against our front door, making us all jump in alarm. The four of us huddle together, not daring to make a sound, as Dad creeps toward the front door.

“Don’t answer it!” Mom shrieks.

“Is everything okay?” Wyatt asks, making his way back into the room. “I could hear the noise at the other end of the house.”

I can’t stomach the words. I don’t want him to know what’s beyond the curtain.

Casey breaks away from our group hug. “Reporters are here for you.”

Wyatt recoils. “You’re kidding.”

Mom trembles, dropping her hands from around us. “Whoever saw you on Main Street must’ve leaked it to the press.”

I think about those girls at the park. When I pushed Wyatt away from them, I can imagine them whipping out their phones and recording us. “Ugh. Or they put it online.”

Wyatt moves toward the closed curtain, but Mom and I block his path.

“You don’t have to look,” Mom says softly.

“But it’s my problem,” Wyatt replies. “Not yours.”

“I’m sorry,” I utter, tears blurring my vision of him. “It’s my fault they’re all here.”

Wyatt smiles gently. “No, it isn’t. They’re here for me.”

“But I...”

“It’s my fault,” Wyatt whispers. “I should’ve known better than to leave the house.”

Mom sighs. “We don’t want you feeling like a prisoner.”

Dad pounds on our side of the front door. “Get off my property!” Dad catches his breath, red-faced. “I was not expecting this when I got home.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bartlett,” Wyatt rushes. “I never meant...”

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “It’s all me. If I didn’t skip school, they wouldn’t be here. Ugh. I feel sick.”

Wyatt wraps an arm around me as Dad dashes past, checking out the scene from the front window.

“This isn’t safe,” Dad utters.

“Of course, it isn’t,” Mom murmurs, making her way to his side. “But what can we do?”

“ Duh .” Casey’s eyes roll hard. “Call the police.”

Dad snaps his fingers. “Of course. They’re trespassing.”

“I’ll let it slide, considering you’re in shock,” Casey mutters.

Dad pulls his phone from his pocket, but his fingers are shaking so much that he fumbles and drops the phone onto the carpet.

Mom bends down to scoop it up, and Dad’s expression crumbles.

“Daniel?” Mom questions with trepidation, holding back the phone.

Dad gestures at the window. “This is after one day of you being here.”

My core jitters when Dad’s gaze lands on Wyatt.

“We can get rid of them today,” Dad continues, “but what happens tomorrow?”

Wyatt nods, swallowing hard. “I know. I’m sorry.”

I clasp Wyatt’s hand hard. I don’t want him to be sorry. It’s not fair.

“We can’t do this.” Dad pulls his arm around Mom. “I know you didn’t plan this, but I can’t put my family’s safety in jeopardy.”

“Dad,” I utter, stepping in front of Wyatt. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his aged skin paling. “Wyatt, we have to rethink you staying here.”

“ Dad ,” I balk.

“Josie,” Mom says, tears welling in her eyes. “This is out of control. It’s a mob out there.”

With a tremble, Wyatt tugs on my hand. I turn and see the reluctant resolve in his eyes. “It’s, it’s okay,” he stammers. “Th-they’re right. I have to go. ”

My chest constricts and anger bubbles up from my gut. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s...” Wyatt gulps and stumbles, taking a step backward. “It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t ask for this,” I argue.

Mom’s chin dimples. “The twins shouldn’t have to witness this.”

“No,” Callum whines. “Wyatt can’t go.”

“Yeah,” Casey says, hugging an arm around Callum. “He just got interesting.”

My jaw aches and pain twists between my shoulder blades. “Where do you expect him to go, Mom? He doesn’t have anyone but us.” I glare at Dad. “Or maybe he only has me on his side.”

“Joze,” Wyatt whispers, tugging on my arm. “Don’t do this. Don’t fight with them.”

“You’re not leaving,” I raise my voice. “There’s no other place for you to go, but back to Ferndale.”

Wyatt shrugs and his face droops. “Maybe th-that’s where I belong.”

My heart splinters. “You don’t deserve to be miserable.”

“I’m not kicking him out this minute,” Dad says, surveying the crowd behind the curtain. “But we need a more realistic plan.”

I stomp my foot to gain Dad’s eye contact. “If the crowd wasn’t here, you wouldn’t be kicking him out.”

Dad falters. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it.”

My heart races. “You need a plan to keep the reporters away for good?”

“It’s not so simple...”

I backtrack toward the foyer. “I’ll keep them away.”

Mom and Dad have trouble computing my words, and I take the opportunity to reef the front door open. I hear the calls from my family to stop what I’m doing, but I slam the door behind me .

I’m not letting anyone take Wyatt away from me.

Even though there are eyes on me, and even worse, cameras pointed at me, the zing in my heart has me powering through. All the questions pointed my way, can’t hurt me. I won’t let them ruin what I have.

I trudge down the front path and my hands ball into fists as everyone circles around me. I stamp my feet, clench my eyes shut, and let out a high-pitched scream.

Once the ringing in my ears stops, I notice the surrounding voices have muted. Taking a few large breaths, I open my eyes, finding bewildered faces.

I stare back at them, my throat scratched and strained. “Get out.”

Still, there’s no movement or sound from anyone around me.

I stomp my foot again. “Get out!”

Two people on my left jump back from my outburst.

Before I can make my next move, sirens blare in our direction. As everyone faces the road, I contemplate their arrival being too soon, even if Dad’s calling the police. Standing amongst the mass of stunned reporters, two patrol cars slow by the news vehicles, escorting a shiny black limousine.

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.

A limo?

As in Circle 8?

Oh my gosh. Erika found us.

Okay, she already had my address and phone number from when she first called me to fly out to Cherry Beach. I just thought she’d give us more time.

My insides clench as the sheriff’s department clears the press from our front lawn and ushers them to their news vans. I can’t help keeping my eyes on the limo, sick at the thought of Erika dragging Wyatt back to Ferndale.

Is there anything I can do to stop her ?

As the lawn clears of the violating press, the limousine driver exits the car. He’s a tall and slim, older gentleman. Not exactly the burly type associated with Circle 8. The driver opens the passenger door, and a young man exits.

My heart stops for a millisecond.

It’s Devon.