Page 80 of Unguarded

“Okay, a horse then! I don’t know, just something that nods to him being an authentic cowboy and all that. We’ll keep breadcrumbing them for the next few weeks until the tour picks back up and he shows up, still as your bodyguard. I’d suggest then that you bring him up onstage, perform a song for him?—”

I shake my head. “No, absolutely not. I’ll do the pictures, but he’s just going to be my bodyguard, no infiltrating him into the show.”

Katherine sighs again. “All right, dear, whatever you say. Get that photo to me soon—and make it good. This is going to boost your streams like crazy. I bet we’ll have Ariat boots and Wrangler on the phone with offers in a week!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “All right, Kat, I’ll get you the photos.”

“If you need a photographer for it, I could arrange?—”

“No, I got it. I’m on vacation, remember?”

“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind!”

“Thanks. I will. Bye.” I hang up before she has a chance to respond.

I lean back against the sofa, exhaling. Chills run over my skin. I grab the blanket from the side of the couch and pull itover me before curling up into a little ball. Tears begin rushing down my cheeks, and I start to sob. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

My father abandoned me. My mother pawned me off when I was a teen to run off with her flavor of the week. I have friends, but they’re celebrities and models who I’ve never felt very close to because there’s so much at stake for all of us. I can’t risk sharing the wrong secret with someone who might suddenly decide to exploit me for their own personal gain. It’s happened to me time and again in this industry. I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t open up to people unless I want to hear about it online the next day. So, I have trust issues, and I close myself off from people.

I just want to feel like someone in my life gives a fuck about me, enough of a fuck to ask me if I’m okay before storming out of the house right after something traumatic happened to me.

I cry harder, soaking the pillow under me. What did I do to deserve to feel this way? It feels like I’m not safeanywhere.My stalker got into my hotel bathroom. Someone even found me out on this massive private ranch and photographed me in a vulnerable moment to share it online.

The realization that the stalker is going to see it hits me like a tidal wave. I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering into my hands.

After several minutes, I sit up. I dry my eyes with the edge of my T-shirt and walk into the kitchen.

I spy the two bottles of rosé wine Dolly kindly left for me. I have no idea how she knew it was my favorite.

“I doubt her brother cared enough to tell her,” I grumble.

I pull out a drawer in search of the bottle opener. The clock on the stove reads 11:07 in the morning, but fuck it. I deserve a drink on this royally shitty day.

It didn’t start off that bad.

It started off pretty damn good actually, but the nosedive it took was steep.

I twist the opener into the cork, yanking it out with a grunt. My grief has also taken a swift dive into pure rage.

I grab a wineglass from the cabinet and fill it all the way to the brim. The first gulp burns down my throat. I don’t care. I down the whole thing without taking a breath.

“I didn’t make it this far to get taken down by some creep with a camera phone.”

As I’m pouring myself a refill, the light bulb in my head illuminates. “Fucking Kacie. It had to be her.”

I walk over to the kitchen window, taking another sip of my wine. My eyes travel over the cars in the driveway that I can see from here. I don’t know what she drives, but I’m assuming it can’t be a big truck like the Redford brothers all have.

I pull out my phone, tapping through my Contacts until I get to Duke’s name. Duke put his number in my phone when he briefly joined the tour, in case I wasn’t able to reach Cash.

I tap the Call button. A twist of anxiety shoots through my chest, but I dismiss it instantly. Cash shouldn’t have left me when I was a mess right after we hooked up.

My abandonment issues should be a topic at my next therapy session.

The phone rings in my ear twice before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Duke, it’s Monroe.”

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