Page 136 of Lovers Like Us
Oscar has been hawk-eyeing the road near me. His gaze darkened, serious. On the second bed, Donnelly flips through news channels like an uneasy tic. Then there’s Quinn, pacing the length of theroom.
“Stop,” Farrow tells him for the hundredth time. He’s the mostat easehere. His shoulder is propped casually on the wall beside me. With a quick glimpse, he checks on me like I check on him, then he eyes thestreet.
Donnelly switches channels, television on mute. “It’s the HaleCurse.”
Farrow chews his gum slower and gives Donnelly an annoyed look. “Shut the fuck up with the HaleCurse.”
“I’m just sayin’ out of all places this has to go down, it’s in L.A. where hundreds of paparazzi live. That’s acurse.”
“The Hales didn’t do anything,” Farrow says. “It’s not acurse.”
It’s a perfect shitstorm.
Being trapped in a hotel room isn’t why everyone’s on edge. It’s a billion times worse. In the masses, fans hoist posters that sayHot BodyguardsandI love SFO!andhireme!!!
Some even scrawled names:Future Wife of Quinn. Akara is mybabe!
Everyone in Omega is on a goddamncliff.
One push from beingfired.
Including my boyfriend. Despite barely sleeping for the past fucking month, determined to find my stalker, I stillwantFarrow as mybodyguard.
Christ, I need him. Evenselfishly.
Luna looks up from the laptop. “What’s a HaleCurse?”
“A made up thing,” I say and my phone vibrates in my clenched hand. I’ve spoken to lawyers, every uncle, every aunt, my parents, security, the board of H.M.C. Philanthropies, publicists, tabloids, journalists—exhaustion tries tooth-and-nail to tug at my limbs and sinkme.
I barelyblink.
I stare in a harddaze.
Thinking, thinking, and I feel three reactions rip at me in differentdirections.
One part of me sayskeep everyone safe, be resolute, resilient.I standstill.
One part pleadsswim, run, go outside and taste the fucking air.I almost tilt my head back, shut my eyes and feel cold water with each forceful stroke, then tree branches slapping my arms and legs, running untiringly until my lungs fuckingpop.
The last part of me screeches,drop to your knees and scream.Heavy pressure bears on my chest, but I’m notdropping.
I’m notscreaming.
“Merde,” Jane says. All three girls look wide-eyed at thelaptop.
I head to the bed. “What isit?”
Jane rotates thescreen.
GBA News, a primetime station on par with ABC, picked up the story. The headline:Media and Fans Congest L.A. Streets to Spot Bodyguards of the Hale, Meadows, CobaltFamilies.
I bend down and use the track-pad to read thearticle.
A “Hot Santa Underwear Contest” video featuring the famous families’ Security Force Omega has gone viral on Twitter and other social medias. The hashtag #HotBodyguards has been trending for over 24-hours, and Facebook shares are quickly growing over amillion.
The overnight fervor and fame has had a serious impact on L.A. traffic. Multiple roads are currently shut downincluding…
I straighten. We were all hoping it’d be fleeting. Like fifteen minutes of fame. But if GBA publicized the story, it’ll air on the 7 o’clocknews.
