Page 34 of Wild Card
“Got it.”
“Dodged the bullet for now though.”
“Yeah.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just probably should go, so I can get ready, and you can talk to anyone you need to. You still going to the party?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there, Spitfire.” My heart warms that she’s still asking, wanting to see me.
“Okay. Well, I just… I’ll probably keep my distance. I don’t want anyone asking questions or wondering. You know?”
“Right. Of course…” I answer, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“Okay. Well, I’m sorry… that all this is happening to you. I’m sure it’s not easy even when you’re as confident and untouchable as you are. Sucks that anyone would do this to you and invade your privacy like this. Fuck that tabloid for wanting to profit off of it too.” There’s a sympathetic tone to her voice that nearly breaks me.
I clear my throat, trying not to choke on my next words.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. If there’s anything I can do, let me know, okay?”
“Definitely. See you later.”
“See you later.”
The call ends, and I toss the phone across the bed. I want to crawl out of my skin right now knowing this is just the beginning of days of endless exchanges around this subject with people. Of my dad’s ranting and my agent and publicist trying to help me slog my way through the mire of trash this is going to pile on top of me and my career.
I just want to fucking get away from it all. Hop on a plane like my sister does and take off for a new location. Somewhere I could start over again. Not be a fucking Westfield. Not have a sex tape. Not have the reputation that comes with everything I’ve done for the last decade plus.
Before I know what I’m doing, I head for the garage, grabbing my keys off the wall for my bike. I rarely take it out anymore. I’m not supposed to do it during the season, and it’s frowned upon even in the offseason. But today I don’t give a fuck. I just want the open road. Wind in my fucking ears so loud I can’t hear any of my own thoughts.
I pull out, down the hill, and off my property, the tire sliding a little when I take a turn a little too close on the semi-slick roads that are still drying out from earlier rain. When I get to the main road, I gun the engine. Whipping out around an SUV in front of me, so I can have an open road to ride like I want.
I feel the stress starting to melt away, my guts untwisting from the mess and my head clearing from the fog already.
This is nothing that can’t be fixed. It’s going to be miserable for a while, but then I’ll get past it. Move on and start fresh. My dad overreacts to every minor issue, and that’s all this is going to be. Minor in the grand scheme of things.
I can still talk to Scarlett. Explain that all of this is fucked up, but that the woman in the video is from a long time ago. That it doesn’t have to change anything between us or what we’re doing. Fuck… Not only is she the only one on my phone, I can’t even picture anyone but her when I close my eyes lately.
I convince myself it’s all going to work out. It has to. I just need to go back, get ready for the party and I can talk to her. Explain everything and we can move on from this. Be with the rest of my friends who will understand and support me through all this bullshit.
I start to slow down to turn around just before a car pulls out from a stop sign without looking both ways. There’s no way I can hit the brakes fast enough. Not with how slick the roads are and the way the bike keeps its momentum.
Laying the bike down is my only shot, so I take the risk—immediately regretting the fact I skipped putting on any of my usual gear when I ride. I lay it down and let go, praying I get enough distance before the car that I don’t end up splattered by one or the other.
The bike skates over the slick pavement, skipping and then tumbling before it slams into the car. I’m not far behind it and I’m wondering whether I’ll have to worry about this whole video problem at all.
It’s the last thing I think before things go black.
TWENTY
Scarlett
I’mat Colt and Joss’s engagement party despite the fact it’s the last place I want to be. I’d rather be home with a pint of ice cream stressing over the fact that I might still have a sex tape released and that things are going to be well and truly over with Tobias now. There’s no way I can keep up the illusion in my head that we’re in some special secret bubble. That I’m special to him, and he might actually change for me.
Not when I’d seen cold hard evidence to the contrary and watched it one too many times in an attempt to compare the way he treated her to the way he treated me. It was wrong, but I also couldn’t help my curiosity. My overanalyzing brain wanted to know if I’d read too much into every interaction we’d ever had.
