Page 2 of Thanks for Coming Along
Adulthood had only fortified that armor. The music industry didn’t just sharpen the knives—it threw them with precision. Eden had faced scandals, endured lies splashed across tabloid covers, and brushed off whispers that could have toppled her career. She knew how to survive the storms, how to laugh off the jabs from strangers who only knew the version of her they saw on a screen. She could handle this, just like she always had.
But seeing Ingrid step forward, unflinching, ready to throw herself into the fire for Eden, stirred something raw. It wasn’t about needing someone to fight her battles—she didn’t. It was about the fact that Ingrid would, without hesitation.
Eden blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, her chest tightening with affection.Man, her best friend was the best.
"Whoa, ladies!" a resonant voice boomed, a burly security guard burst in from a back door. He stepped in between Ingrid and the girls. With a firm grip, he seized Ingrid's wrists, halting her flailing arms in their tracks just as she was ready to charge.
"But things were just getting interesting," Eden moaned dramatically from her spot on the floor, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her lips. The absurdity of it all was almost too much to bear. She couldn't help but feel like the luckiest person on the planet to have a friend like Ingrid—one who’d go to bat for her without a second thought.
Eden knew her manager and publicist, Sloane, would make her pay for this debacle come morning, but it was a price she’d gladly shoulder. As long as Ingrid’s image stayed pristine, everything else could be sorted out later.
"It's time to call it a night, Miss Percy," the security guard's gruff voice rumbled, clearly trying to keep things from escalating any further. Eden shot him her best smile and gave a thumbs-up gesture.
The security guard released Ingrid's hands with a final, almost reluctant gesture, then ushered the hostile girls out the door and onto the street.
"Let's go, Indy. We’ve got an IN-N-Out burger with our names on it," Eden declared, grinning as she grabbed Ingrid’s hand. With her friend’s help, she managed to push herself off the ground and onto wobbly feet. "My bruised tailbone is begging for sustenance."
Whoever saidLos Angeles was the city of angels was sadly mistaken. The combination of the beating sun and her hangover throbbing in her temple was anything but heavenly. The In-N-Out burger from the previous night had been a delicious but vain attempt to stave off the impending hangover, and despite her best efforts, it now gnawed at her like a persistent demon. One drink had brought about this misery, just one. It was undeniably pathetic, not to mention hugely embarrassing. Yet, she recognized that she wasn't the person she used to be, and that's life. Ebb and flow.
You would think her expensive sunglasses, in conjunction with the umbrella from the table at Urth Cafe, would shield the blazing sun from her eyes, but instead, bright sunlight burned into her retinas. The bing of a text message alert set forth a sharp pain in her temple as she peered down at her phone.
INGRID: Woof, I went full attack dog mode last night. I am so sick of people talking badly about you. I just LOST it, like the already loose screws just detached themselves. And the crazy train just left the station, Choo choooo!
EDEN: Heel girl, heel. You were foaming at the mouth. Please don't worry, Indy. I have been doing so much better lately. I can handle it! But I appreciate you so much, my little Rottweiler.
INGRID: Love you, see you tonight xx
EDEN: Of course, love you xx
Her eyes blinkedfrom the glare from her phone screen. Could eyeballs get sunburnt? Why had Quentin chosen an outdoor cafe at 9 AM on a scorching Wednesday morning? Eden couldn't help but suspect he did it partly to torture her, a thought that made her lips pursed with annoyance. A broad silhouette emerged, framed by the blazing sun. The figure's features were partially obscured by the harsh backlight.
"You look constipated," the voice declared, its tone mixed with amusement and teasing.
"Yeah, that's my signature look," she replied with a touch of sarcasm, taking a sip of her matcha latte in hopes it might wash away the bitter taste of her discontent. Her long-time friend, Quentin Ramos, plopped into the wrought iron chair in front of her. Quentin and Eden had become friends at an award show when Eden almost face-planted on the red carpet. Quentin had grabbed her arm in the nick of time when she stumbled in her four-inch heels which had been exceeding wobbly after a few "pregame" drinks. Quentin had a soft spot for strays, whether they be cats, dogs, or "messy" Eddy (as the tabloids so nicely coined her).
That had been nearly two years ago, back when she first moved to Los Angeles. Their friendship had endured the past two years, solidified by the shared experience of living under the unrelenting spotlight of fame. They often found relief in each other's company, commiserating about the pressures of life as public figures. Quentin outshone her in terms of fame. Eden still had the luxury of venturing out in public without attracting an overwhelming crowd of fans or paparazzi. On the other hand, Quentin occupied the upper ranks of international stardom, known for his roles in blockbuster superhero movies and other action-packed thrillers.
"Rough night? I hear you spat in some poor woman's eye, then proceeded to dropkick her MMA style." Quentin's voice carried a teasing lilt, the unmistakable sound of a grin in his tone. Bastard.
"Trust me, I had nothing to do with it. Ingrid was like a woman possessed last night. I have honestly never seen anything like it." Eden replied, her frustration evident. Quentin's face finally came into focus, his thick eyebrows arching beneath the shade of his blue baseball cap. "Honestly, we might need an exorcism for her later today. My main concern right now is keeping Ingrid out of the tabloids."
"I'm sure it will all blow over soon. You know how these things go. It's old news after a day or two, and TMZ will be onto the next big story." His wide shoulder shrugged, the metal of his oversized watch glinting in the sun.
Eden slouched further into her chair, taking a small sip of her matcha latte as her eyes caught a flicker of movement to her left. She turned her head, only to find an eager paparazzo clicking away with their camera, capturing candid shots of her and Quentin.
Quentin was the quintessential action hero, the epitome of all-American charm. With a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and a physique that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves, he was the kind of man cis men aspired to be and straight women daydreamed about doing their laundry on—his perfectly chiseled abs serving as the washboard of their fantasies.
Eden had no interest in either of those prospects. She did wonder about the practicality of abs when it came to household chores; maybe the Victorians were onto something with their washboards after all. Abs aside, Eden appreciated the friendship they shared. She considered Quentin to be like the annoying younger brother she never had, even though he was three years older than her.
"Quentin, I am not hanging out with you anymore. Whenever we meet up, the paparazzi come. I never have this issue unless I'm with you!" Eden huffed, adjusting her sunglasses and sliding her long chestnut brown hair over her face. A thought struck her. It was slightly deranged, but maybe it could distract from the mishap that occurred last night.
"Hey, Quentin," she began, her tone shifting to a more cajoling one. "What if we pretend we're on a date? You know, to throw them off the scent from last night's drama? I'll even sweeten the deal - I'll watch one of those nerdy space documentaries with you, the ones you love. Pretty please?" Eden jutted out her bottom lip in an exaggerated begging expression.
"Think of it as a favor for Indy," she added, knowing that Quentin had a soft spot for her best friend.
"Seriously, Eden, don't we have enough rumors about us already? People have been gossiping about us since we first met." Quentin scratched his clean-shaven face, exasperated. He did have a point. The tabloids have always tried to connect the two as dating. They will latch on any morsel they can get their claws on. A quick, friendly hug turns into a secret relationship.
"Don't be a stick in the mud! It's so fun reading the headlines the next day. They always think I'm pregnant with your unborn devil spawn." Eden smiled with all her teeth, and then she slowly stretched her arm on the table and wiggled her fingers.
