Page 63 of Defying Ella
“I promise.” Amusement filled his voice as he wrapped his arm around me again. “I guess it’s pretty simple. I told you about my dad, right?”
I nodded, the motion awkward against his chest.
“Then you realise, he wasn’t the best role model.” His fingers grazed up and down my arm. “I’d hesitate to call anyone a waste of space, but he is one, without a doubt.”
Part of me knew where he was going with this. This entire image had been built around not screwing up. He would class his dad as the ultimate screw-up.
“You could never be him, Jared.” I smoothed my hand over his chest, rubbing circles I hoped were soothing.
“Thank you.” He squeezed me. “But you’re not psychic. No one can know that for sure. The best I can do is remove myself from situations where I could screw up.”
The need to refute his plan thrummed through me and I had to stop the words short before I putmyfoot in it. Heprobably didn’t want me calling him out on his avoidance and I really didn’t want him to stop talking.
I hummed noncommittally instead.
Jared chuckled. “Say it, Ella.”
“Nope. I’m good.” I patted him on the chest, as if that would emphasise how fine I was. “Continue.”
“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “I know you, remember? Try it on someone else and give me the truth.”
“Fine,” I muttered, reluctance dragging out the word. “Everyone screws up. No one is perfect. Isolating yourself isn’t the solution.”
“What if it paralyses me?” he asked, his voice oddly strangled.
I frowned at the question. “Which part specifically?”
“I…” For a second, he paused and had there been light, I was certain I’d find his eyes narrowed on the ceiling. “I don’t know. The band. The fans. My relationships, both friends and”— he swallowed hard before his grip tightened around me— “others.”
I ignored the odd pang in my chest at his mention of others. He didn’t need to outright say it for him to know he meant me.
“Well, those are all separate issues. I can’t imagine you doing anything severe enough to make the guys force you out.”
His vehement rejection of spending time with me and Phoebe started to make sense. He couldn’t possibly be scared of upsetting Phoebe.
Or me.
But then he’d run.
Clearly, Jared’s grasp on damaging situations was warped. The need to help him thrummed through me, even though I didn’t know if he wanted my help. The old Jared definitely wouldn’t have.
“You don’t know that,” he whispered, sadness rippling from him.
“Yes, I do. I know you, remember?”
He scoffed at me repeating his own words back at him.
“You don’t know the guys.”
“Will you stop arguing and let me finish?” I pushed away from him, sitting up enough that I could lean over him. My fingers itched to turn the lamp on, but Jared’s fingers found mine, weaving us together before I could even try. “I know them well enough to know they aren’t unreasonable. You already said you hate the playboy image you’ve built. They love you and if they could deal with you snapping for no reason, flaunting women around backstage or being generally manic, I don’t think you have anything to worry about when it comes to the band.”
The silence deepened around us and I settled back down, hoping it meant he was giving it serious thought.
“And the fans love you,” I said when I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about there.”
“What if I can’t deal with the crowds?” he whispered, uncertainty making his voice thready.
“When did the crowds start bothering you?”
