Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,70

of darkness that festered deep inside.

Knew it was bullshit. They bit onto any morsel that could be chewed.

But they’d taken a moment that’d felt private and twisted it into something salacious.

Which maybe it was, but they were so off base that it made my vision turn red. Hazy with rage.

Headline read: Look who’s #gettingwetwithrhys!

I scanned the article used to incite scandal. Typical of the site but, for the first time, it made me want to throw a fist through the wall. I scanned over the crap about my upcoming trial because I didn’t give a shit about that, getting to the part I knew would be there.

The Carolina George bassist was seen yesterday afternoon cavorting in the small town of Tybee Island, Georgia with the daughter of late record mogul, Karl Fitzgerald. The country-rocker couldn’t seem to keep his hands off the young rock ‘n’ roll heiress.

Maggie Fitzgerald had been embroiled in the criminal trial against her late father as well as Cory Douglas, the former lead of A Riot of Roses, who’d stolen that head spot from none other than Maggie Fitzgerald’s older brother, Royce Reed.

Royce is currently married to Carolina George’s lead, Emily Ramsey, and it’s been rumored the band is currently recording at the Stone Industries mansion located on the small island.

Manning is no stranger to being photographed with gorgeous women, but we’ve never seen him look quite so enamored. But is it dollar signs he has in his eyes or has this young girl stolen the heart of country music’s most infamous cowboy?

I couldn’t even keep reading when it went on to imply I was robbing the cradle. That I might be using her in some way. Nothin’ but a sad, sick cliché.

Anger rippled beneath my flesh and nausea swirled in my stomach.

Hot and sticky.

My hand curled around my phone as Melanie continued to ramble about making an official statement, like this was just any other day or any other article.

Took me a second to realize it wasn’t my own growl hitting the air when the sound ripped through the room.

I looked up just in time to see Royce’s mouth curl in fury.

Richard scoffed.

Super loud.

“What bullshit. Rhys and I ran into Maggie at the coffee shop yesterday. I was the one who convinced him to stop by, and Maggie was already there. We offered her a ride and Rhys helped her into the car. Simple as that. Gettin’ sick of the fabricated stories to make a buck. That shit should be illegal.”

He stole a glance at me as he said it.

Dude had my back.

While I sat there feeling like I was gonna come out of my skin.

“As long as there are people hungry for that garbage, they’re gonna continue feedin’ it to them,” Mel said, nonchalant. “Besides, I doubt y’all would have that much use for me if I didn’t have to fend off these stories, anyway. But I know now that you have families, you want to keep things a little more private. I’ll try to temper this so people won’t come sniffin’ around. Now, about tomorrow’s practice…”

They continued on like nothing had happened.

Like Royce wasn’t looking at me like he was figuring out exactly where he was going to bury my body.

Rest of practice passed in a painful, awkward way. I couldn’t tap back into the vibe. My heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go to the girl and apologize for what they’d said or stay far, far away.

Far, far away would be the correct answer.

What I needed to do was take away the opportunity to even look at her because even that was leadin’ to all sorts of indecent things.

Then that disquiet became fucking unbearable when my phone blipped with a message.

This feeling takin’ me over before I even looked at it.

The dread that had been drip, drip, dripping into my bloodstream suddenly gathered to a flashflood.

Warily, I clicked into it, just knowing, anxiety so heavy and dense that I knew it couldn’t be anything else.

It was the same picture as the article, the one where I had my hand on Maggie’s waist. But what was most noticeable was the expression I was sporting that had gone missin’ a long, long time ago.

The message behind it was simple.

Nothing but pure hate.

Knew she had a name. Maggie Fitzgerald.

All it took was the same accusation he’d made at the bar back in Dalton to send rage blistering through my body. It blew and battered against the fear until it became