Page 108 of The Love Rematch
Sam grips her shoulders and looks directly in Emily’s eyes. A cold sense of dread washes through her, no longer related to Jake.
“What, Sam? What’s going on?”
“You need to call Dr. Hughes.”
Emily scrunches her brows. “Dr. Hughes? I don’t—”
“Em.” Sam cuts her off and digs her fingers into Emily’s shoulders. “You need to call Dr. Hughes, now. He’ll explain everything.”
“I—”
“Here,” Sam interrupts again, shoving a cell phone into Emily’s empty hand. Emily stares dumbfoundedly at the device. She looks up at Nina, who nods encouragingly, then back to the phone, then to her sister, whose eyes have gone wide with unspoken meaning.
If they let Sam bring a phone, they want her to make this call, and they want her to do it on camera. There’s only one problem.
Emily has no idea who the fuck Sam is talking about.
Dr. Hughes?
She stands and turns her back to the camera as she scrolls through the contacts, freezing the moment she finds a listing forDoctor John Hughes.
Her heart skips a beat.
For the first time in hours, it flickers with the barest glimmer of hope.
She only knows one John Hughes, and he sure as hell isn’t a doctor. He’s a director. Jake’s favorite director. The very man who decided eight hours in detention was worth a perfect diamond earring.
Idiot, Emily thinks as she presses the button to dial.You absolute idiot.
“Hello?” His answer is urgent and quick, as if he’s been sitting next to his phone for god only knows how long, desperately waiting for it to ring.
“Hello, Dr. Hughes,” she murmurs, hardly even a whisper. “This is Emily Ann Peters. My sister, Sam, said you’ve been trying to reach me.”
“Em.” He exhales her name as though it’s a prayer. “Thankfuckit’s you. Don’t say anything, okay? Let me do the talking for a minute. I’ll explain everything.”
“Okay,” she mutters softly, then remembers the ruse. “Yes. My birthday is May 24th, 1998.”
“Everything I predicted in my note happened,” he starts.
Emily sucks in a breath.Note?
She cuts her gaze to Nina, who watches eagerly from the couch. A memory flashes of the producer standing by Emily’s nightstand that morning, hugging her clipboard protectively to her chest as if hiding something.
That bitch.
She saw her crying and watched her be physically ill for hours, yet said nothing. All because of this, right here. This stupid moment with Sam, and the phone call they somehow knew her sister would demand. All for television drama, as if her real-life feelings meant nothing, as if she meant nothing.
“I told them about us,” Jake continues, oblivious to the realization racking through her. “Then I quit the show. I made them agree to let you finish out the season, no harm to your brand, and they had me sign an NDA before escorting me to the airport. But before I left, something else happened. I heard them mention a phone call to a doctor’s office, and something about Sam. They wouldn’t tell me anything, so I cornered Sam in the airport, but then she wouldn’t tell me anything, and… I’m scared, Em. I’m really fucking scared. Are you okay? I mean, are you…”
He releases a long, shaky breath.
Emily closes her eyes and pictures him on a chair, running his fingers roughly through his hair with his spine bent, oozing dejection and stress and fear, all for her.
Because he loves her.
And he didn’t run.
And after seven years, he deserves to know the truth.
