Page 133 of Second-Rate Superstar
I cringed.
Great. I would probably never be able to think or hear the wordshadowagain without feeling a stab of pain at her betrayal.
Not only did a quick internet search confirm the author was the woman I’d fallen head over heels in love with over the past several months, but it also informed me that the book—which had only been released earlier in the week—was now a bestseller. I didn’t know much about the publishing industry, but I could imagine you had to sell a shit-ton of books to earn that distinction.
The initial shock had worn off, and rage simmered beneath my skin.
How many people were privy to my private struggles made public?
That question paled in comparison to the one burning at the back of my brain.
Did she think she was going to get away with this? To keep living the lie at my side?
I couldn’t take it anymore. Shoving off the stool, it clattered to the ground as I stormed to the front door, grabbing my keys on the way.
There was only one person who could answer those questions.
Pulling up in front of the house Dakota shared with Bristol, I’d grown so aggravated on the drive that my chest was heaving. Black spots danced in my vision, and I dropped my forehead onto the steering wheel, closing my eyes and willing my breathing to regulate.
Confident I’d settled down enough, I snagged the paperback off my passenger seat and exited the vehicle. On the walk to the front door, I dragged my feet. It was as if I was headed toward the executioner’s block. Except it wouldn’t be my head laid down to be severed from my body; it would be the connection I’d once thought Dakota and I shared that would split in two.
The last thing I wanted to do was see her beautiful face and be reminded that our time together was a lie, but it had to be done. I wasn’t a coward who could send a break-up text or, worse yet, ghost her. Besides, I needed answers. I needed to know why.
Raising a fist, I knocked on the door and waited.
This was the beginning of the end.
The door swung open, and Dakota immediately threw her arms around my waist and buried her face into my chest. I stood there, frozen, a stiff board, as she whispered, “I missed you so much!”
I was a grown man, and my heart was breaking. I thought what we had was real. She’d put on a hell of an act.
God, I was such a fool.
Eventually, Dakota noticed I wasn’t hugging her back and peered up at me, a question in her eyes. But whatever she saw in mine had her taking a step back.
Good. I needed the breathing room.
Bringing the book forward, I waved it around, the pages flapping as I demanded, “Care to explain this?”
My words were harsh, and she flinched. When her eyes focused on the item I held, the color drained from her face, signaling her guilt.
“Where-where did you get that?” Dakota stammered.
I scoffed. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking questions.”
“Braxton, I don’t understand.” Her beautiful eyes filled with tears.
“Youdon’t understand? That’s interesting because you wrote it!” My temper flared. I was losing control far more quickly than I imagined I would.
Gaze dropping to the floor, her sniffles hung in the heavy silence that stretched between us.
“Do you deny it?” I challenged.
“No,” Dakota whispered softly. Eyelashes fluttering, she peered up at me. “Please, Braxton.”
I shook my head sharply, putting up my walls. Seeing her cry shattered my heart, but I couldn’t cave, couldn’t afford to have her spin a story that would have me forgiving her and pretending like she didn’t tear my fucking heart out of my chest with her actions.
When I threw the book on the ground with force, she jumped at the bang, but it got her attention. “This”—I pointed to where it lay—“is a complete violation of my privacy, and I didn’t give consent for you to use my life to peddle your books!”
