A/N: Changing a few things in facts. John will be thirty, one year younger than real life. And just so it's not really awkward, Dave will be forty-five. This really only changes how old he was when Rylee was born, which will now be twenty-six, not twenty-one. Hope no one is too confused by this. It's just so Rylee isn't dating someone eight years younger than her father. That'd be creepy.

A/N 2: This is separate, hence the number two. Anyways, the songs referred to are by Nikki Flores and Paula DeAnda. Therefore I do not own the songs. I also do not own Arista Records or the president L.A. Reid.

Stand by Me

"Rylee, open this door right now!" With a sigh and a roll of her brown eyes, Rylee lifted her head from the mattress. Instead of resting her head on the pillows at the top of the bed, her feet were located there. Her purse was thrown onto the bed next to her, with a few things falling out of the bag. From what she could tell, she was still dressed in what she wore out last night.

She took a seated position in the center of the bed, adjusting her eyes to the headboard she faced. Wiping a hand over her face, she glanced to the clock on her nightstand and emitted another sigh. 9:04 A.M.

"Rylee Arella, open this door!" Turning her head towards the pounding on her hotel room door, she threw her legs over the side of the bed. "Ari, I don't have all day."

Trying to gain a sense of balance after just waking up and walking in stiletto heels, she called back, "Chill out. I'm comin'!"

After stumbling in the direction of the door -- and her father's never-ending banging -- she reached the piece of wood and rested her head on it. With the door unlocked, she turned the doorknob, and moved out of the way for her father to enter her hotel room.

"Whatever you have to say, don't yell at me."

Dave scoffed at the comment his eldest child made and watched her retreat to her bed. "Are you hung-over, Ry?" he asked, slightly concerned.

"Nope," she offered before falling backwards towards the mattress. "Just exhausted, seeing as though I got in maybe seven hours ago."

"You should know better than to go out that late, Ari."

Rylee just shook her head, her already messy locks going everywhere on the bed. "I'm not a child, Dad. I can go out and have fun on vacation."

Retrieving a few pieces of rolled up printer paper from his back pocket, he tossed them on the bed next to his daughter. "That's what you call having fun, Ry?"

Rolling onto her side, she grabbed the paper and unrolled them. "It's me and Sam going into the club we went to last night. What's the big deal?"

"The next few pictures."

On the next few pieces of paper were the foursome after they left the club, Rylee with a tight grip on John's hand while having a conversation with Sam. This time it was Rylee who scoffed in her father's direction. "Really, Dad?" She raised and eyebrow and turned to "The Animal" who just crossed his arms over his chest. "I was holding John's hand. So what?" She placed the papers on the bed next to her and laughed. "That's why you busted into my room? I do that with all of my guy friends, Dad. Do you have any idea of how many pictures the paps have of me holding Randy's hand?"

"That's not the point, Rylee. You know how your management gets."

"I do," she agreed. "But, they should realize I'm nineteen years old. I'm not going to go off of the deep end like Britney did or something. After all that I've been through it in the past few months, I deserve to be able to go out with friends and have a good time. And that's what I did."

"Explain that to Kev. And TMZ while you're at it."

With that statement, Dave exited the hotel room, leaving Rylee laying on the bed.

Once her father had shut the door, Rylee rolled over on the bed to further examine the pictures from the previous night. In her mind, she had done nothing wrong. In her management's mind, she was a nineteen year old girl who was still starting her career. Though her first published album went Double Platinum, they were focused on the toughest album of a performer's career: The Sophomore Album.

Many an artist were known to fail while releasing their second album. But Rylee was determined to not be that artist. She worked way too damn hard for what she had at the moment, and she wasn't about to let some photos of a night out with friends ruin it for her.

xXx

Once showered and changed, with her multi-colored locks resting in a damp bun atop her head, Rylee sat in the center of the queen sized bed and waited for the inevitable. The TV was playing on E! News, figuring they would unveil the footage from the night before. She was also expecting a phone call from her manager, Kevin Quinn. Since signing with Arista Records at the tender age of sixteen, Kevin was set to guide Rylee to the top.

And that's just what he did. When Footprints on my Heart was released in mid-2007, Rylee Colasanti became a household name. From club tracks such as Strike and Doing Too Much to ballads along the lines of When It Was Me and This Girl, Rylee had a fan everywhere.

But what fans loved so much about the up-and-comer, was her sense of self. She wasn't set out to be the next Mariah Carey or Celine Dion. She focused on being herself. Through turning down offers from Playboy and Maxim, the first she got just after turning eighteen, and gracing the cover of Shape in a very tasteful cover, Rylee gained several young fans -- and parent's approval.

She made the right choices on her own, but to say that Kevin Quinn didn't have a say in the process would be a lie. He led her in the right directions for not only her career, but how her fans viewed her.

When the crimson Blackberry Curve placed on the bed in front of Rylee started to ring, the brunette closed her eyes and took a deep breath before checking the caller I.D. Kevin Quinn. The singer cracked her knuckles before reaching for the ringing device and pressing the green button to answer. Slowly, she put her phone to her ear and tried to sound as calm as possible.

"Hello?"

"Rylee?" Oh yeah. Any thoughts she had that it just might not be Kevin were erased. She could tell his voice anywhere. "It's Kev."

She rolled her eyes. That's what caller i.d. is for, genius. Inwardly, she laughed before responding, "Hey, what's up?'

"What did you do last night?"

Again, Rylee rolled her eyes at Kevin's lame attempt to start a conversation. He would beat around the bush if she did something he wasn't proud of. "Uhm, I hung out with a few friends at a new club downtown. I figured I'm on vacation so I should be allowed to do that."

"And you are, Ry." She could just picture him now. Sitting at his desk in his prominent office at Interscope, ready to report back to the President about what his plan of action with Rylee would be. "But you're setting a bad example by being out with guys who are that much older than you."

She scoffed. "Really, Kev? Because I was just out having a good time with the parents of my god-daughter and their friend. Who is now a friend of mine."

"Just a friend, Ry?"

She had to bite on her lower lip in order to not spit out something she might regret. "Yes, Kevin. Just a friend."

What was so hard for everybody to understand? She figured John wasn't the kind of guy to go around spreading the fact that they had made out for a majority of the previous night. She sure as hell wasn't going to. So they could keep their secret until the media accepted their relationship. And more importantly -- her father.

Had Randy not been married or engaged during the time when most of the photos that involved Rylee and the St. Louis native were taken, people would have thought they'd been dating. John, though, was a different case. The two were both single. Rylee's over-publicized break-up was old news, at least to her, though paparazzi loved to bring it up on occasion. And John's recent culmination of his engagement was a hot topic in wrestling forums.

Why couldn't she just move on? Because Kevin had to make sure he knew all about any person she was involved in. He knew all about Trey Woods and look where that left Rylee. Completely heartbroken. "Rylee, do you know how bad this will make you look. John Cena? As in the thirty year old John Cena?"

"Wow, Kev, thanks for the update."

"Rylee, now isn't the time to be making jokes."

Mimicking his words with lip-synced words, she stifled a laugh. "Kev, what do you want out of me? I needed a night out with friends, more importantly people who really care about me. And that's just what I did. Why am I getting the Wrath of Kevin Quinn on my ass for having fun?"

"Because it's setting a bad example." Listening to her manager emit a sigh on the other end, she laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I've already talked to L.A. We're gettin' you on a plane to come home tonight. No ifs, ands or buts about it, Ry. You got time off to visit your father and you messed up by hanging out with his steroid-injected co-workers."

"Ex-fucking-cuse me, Kevin? Did you really just go there?"

"Yeah, Ry, I did. Flight leaves at 5:15."

Knowing full well that the man on the other end of the line can't see, Rylee shakes her head, droplets of water spraying the room from her hair. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Exactly what that two letter word means. No. N-O. I'm not going home."

"I don't really want to get L.A. into this, Ry."

"Then don't." Slipping the phone away from her ear, she turned it onto speaker phone and rested the device on her knee. "Stop getting all pissy when I do something you don't approve of. I'm sorry, Kev. But you really need to get over it."

"You know you shouldn't speak to me like that, Rylee."

With a roll of her eyes, Rylee slipped her hair out of the bun and let it splash across her back. "Kev, put yourself in my situation. I just got out of a relationship, I got my ass dragged through the tabs, I'm being stalked by crazy men with cameras documenting my every single move, and I just needed a release. And dancing at a club with friends was the release I needed."

"Rylee."

"No, Kev," she started, softening her voice. "You're how much older than your wife? Eight years? So don't go preaching to me about possibly being involved with someone eleven years older." Catching on to what the thirty-four year old was thinking, she cut him off, "And no, nothing is going on between John and I," she lied.

"I'll think of something to tell L.A. Just, uh, enjoy the rest of your time in Houston."

"Thanks, Kev. I promise when I get back to the studio, I'll be one hundred percent."

"You better be, Ry. I'll see you in a few days."

The two said their goodbyes, and Rylee couldn't help the feeling of satisfaction emitting through her body. She had yet to actually stand up to Kevin Quinn like that in the three years that she had known him, though many a time she had wanted to. And she had to admit, it felt pretty damn good.

Once disconnected from her phone call with Kev, Rylee searched through her cell phone contacts and landed on a new contact. Pa. She laughed at the nickname and clicked on SMS Text Pa.

Hey Pa, want to hang out for a bit? -Ry

xXx