Page 122 of Wrong For Me

“I need to silence it,” I say.

“Let me do it.” Cash takes it from my hand before I can so much as glance at the screen. Jesus, what could be so bad that they don’t even want me to look at my phone?

“River,” Reed calls out. “Let’s go!”

Our apartment has an open floor plan, so when I turn I can clearly see my brother, standing in the kitchen, head bent over his phone. When he looks up, his expression is…horrified. There’s no other word for it.

I walk to him, ignoring my uncles calling my name, and take his phone out of his hand.

The headline on the screen is for the same celebrity gossip blog that Brian sold his interview to all those years ago. But these words are much worse than anything he ever said about me.

Rose Ransome Resents Mother for Suicide Attempt.

The subheading might be even worse.Rose confesses all to new boyfriend; Daisy Ransome’s mental health issues and their negative effect on the family.

The roaring sound in my ears is so strong I don’t even hear River saying my name until he catches my chin. “Rose.”

“I can’t…” I whisper, shaking my head. My entire body is shaking, a violent tremble I can’t seem to stop. “River, I can’t.”

He says something to our uncles and then I’m being pushed into a chair. After a moment, a cool glass is pressed into my hands. “Take a drink, Rosie,” he says, voice more gentle than I think I’ve ever heard it. For some reason, it’s that—my snarky, teasing brother’s gentleness—that has my eyes stinging with tears.

“The twins,” I manage to croak out.

“Went with Cash and Reed. They’re going to take them to the neighborhood and you and I are going to follow.”

“I told Leo,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, like I’ve been screaming instead of standing here mute and dazed in our kitchen. “Not the way they said. Not that I resented her…” I squeeze my eyes shut, Mom’s face filling my mind. “I told him about her suicide attempt. I told him that was the reason I went into psychology.” I told him that her reaction to what happened to me is what kept me from confiding in my family.

Fuck. My mother is going toreadthat.

“We can worry about how it got out later,” he says, voice a lot more strained now, like he’s trying to reign in his anger—whether at me or Leo I don’t know. “I told them we’d be right behind them, Rose. We should get out of here before…”

Before the paparazzi shows up. Before they start shouting their questions at me.

I’ve experienced paparazzi before. It’s pretty much routine with our parents, photographers getting in their face when they’re out in public. They did everything they could to shield us from that when we were little, hiring security, renting out entire restaurants and stores and movie theaters when we went out. But it still happened, sometimes.

It was a lot worse when Brian sold his story. I pretty much didn’t leave the house for weeks after that. Sometimes they still show up on campus or when I go out with my cousins. Last spring, when Will and Eva started dating, the paparazzi camped out in front of our apartment building for a while. It had been annoying butthis…

This is going to be so much worse. This isn’t just about a famous musician’s kid and her dating life. This is about my mother. Her story had been a big deal when Ransom was first breaking out. Eventually she had spoken out about it, sharing her experiences in the hope it might help others.

And now here I am, caught talking shit about her and what she went through. Jesus.

“I can’t see photographers,” I whisper. “They’re going to ask questions…I can’t—”

“We’ll go, Rosie,” he says, gently pulling me from the chair. “We’ll go right now.”

Everything feels unreal as my brother helps me out of our apartment and downstairs. It’s like I’m moving through quicksand, every step difficult to take, my surroundings barely registering until we’re in the car and somehow already on the highway. I hadn’t even noticed us leaving the parking lot.

Relief washes over me that we got of there before the paparazzi showed up.

“You okay?” River asks, eyes darting from the road to me and back. “You’re freaking me out a little bit.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m okay. Freaking out myself.”

He snorts. “Yeah. I can tell.”

I pat his forearm, hating the fear I hear in his voice. “Thank you,” I say, throat tight. “For getting the kids out of there.”

He shakes his head. “Knew you were going to put on a brave face and shit. Figured if we drove alone at least it would give you a little time to feel what you feel.”