Page 52 of Faking Ties

She laughs. “Definitely not.”

“Go get your feet in an Epsom salt soak now. Talk later?”

“Will do. Thank you…for everything.”

“I can’t takeit anymore. I feel like a prisoner,” Stella says, her face drawn while we video. “It’s been two weeks and I can’t even go on a walk anymore. I don’t even know what the sun feels like on my face.”

“Why don’t you come visit me? I’ll keep you safe and we can hire a security team here to take care of us.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she says with a sigh. “Rachel insists I have to lie low still. She’s making me fly home every night after my shows since she doesn’t trust anyone.”

“She can’t keep you locked up like this. Let me talk to Rachel.”

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that.” She grins for a few seconds, the first I’ve seen since the incident, before sobering. “It’s fine, I can make it work. I just…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She forces a smile, a fake smile. “I’m just tired.”

I wait her out, hoping she’ll tell me what’s wrong, but she doesn’t crack. “Where are you performing tonight?” I ask instead to distract her. It’s Friday, and our game was yesterday. I don’t have to rush back for our usual Sunday game and could come to her apartment tonight and surprise her.

She’s having a difficult time, and her team’s not taking care of her. Physically, they’re keeping her safe. But mentally? They’re doing nothing. And that’s unacceptable. I have this drive to help her, to support her, to be with her. Even though I don’t have any experience with love, I think that’s what I feel for her. But that can’t be right; it can’t be love. What’s between us isn’t even real. It doesn’t matter that she’s the first person I’ve ever wanted to be selfless with instead of selfish because I’m the stupidest person alive. I fell for my fake girlfriend.

“New Jersey,” she says. “At least I don’t have to go far to get home.”

“I have a feeling things will be looking up for you soon.”

“I hope so,” she says before looking to the side. “I’ve got to go. Talk later?”

When she hangs up, I immediately pack an overnight bag and book my flight to New York. Maybe I can feel her out while I’m there, see if it’s fake for her or not. Or maybe I should just throw out our contractand declare us as real. I chuckle, imagining the look on her face in reaction to that.

Brian informs me that he’ll allow me to wait in the lobby, but that I can’t enter the penthouse without her approval. So that’s what I do. I wait on a couch, dozing on and off as the hour gets later and later. Until sneakers squeak on the polished floor and I jerk my head up. Stella shuffles toward the elevator wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her face drawn in exhaustion. She does a double take when she sees me and runs a hand over her sweaty ponytail.

“What are you doing here?” She looks around in confusion.

“Surprising you.”

“Well, you definitely accomplished that.”

I close the distance between us and pull her into a hug. “How was the show?”

“Good,” she whispers, gripping my T-shirt, hugging me just as hard as I’m hugging her. “But I need to shower. Let’s go upstairs.”

I keep my hand on her back while we ride the elevator up to her floor with two bodyguards.

“We’ll just clear the home first and then it’s all yours,” one says.

Stella nods and leans on me while we wait for them to check out her apartment. I don’t remember them doing that before, but I guess it’s part of her increased security. Once they finish, Stella says, “Make yourself at home. I’ll just shower real quick.”

“Sure.”

Minutes later she pads into the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt and socks looking so fucking adorable. She heads straight to the fridge and surveys what’s inside.

“I hope you like grilled cheese sandwiches,” she says. “Because I’m hungry.”

“I love them.”

She grins and pulls out the ingredients. She opens a few cabinets and then a few more.

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