Page 68 of Holiday Star
I’ve gotten under his skin. He snaps out, defensively, “It’s not like I came over here thinking about that. I just wanted to talk to you. When I was walking up to your front door, a few reporters approached me and asked if I was friends with you.”
I stand up, my body vibrating with anger. “We’re not friends, because friends don’t sell each other out.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But I’ve got expenses. You wouldn’t understand how hard it is to pay for a wedding on a teacher’s salary,Dr. Wright,” he sneers. “Tell me what’s going on with Caleb. A few details. That’s all I need.”
I point my index finger at the front door. “You know what? You were right earlier. It never was about you. I loved the idea of you, and clearly that man never existed. Now, get out.”
“Gwen, listen, it’s no big deal.”
He doesn’t budge, so I grab his shoulder and yank him up. One quick shove sends him toward the front door. He hesitates on the threshold, and something snaps inside me. Enraged, I shout, “I said, get out!”
So he does.
Jax leaves, just like he’s left me before.
Just like Caleb left me yesterday.
Just like Dad left me years ago.
ECLIPSE
38
New York
January in New York suits my mood just fine. Cold and dark. The leaves stripped bare from the trees. Sounds muffled by the blanket of snow under my feet.
I trudge back and forth the three blocks that separate my apartment from the hospital, with my footprints trailing behind me. Sometimes I look back and pretend they belong to another person walking along with me. Someone with eyes like the ocean.
Mostly, I try not to think of him. It’s a hard task because I’m rarely alone. The paparazzi have found me. Cameras flash and reporters scream when I open the front door.
“Where’s Caleb, Gwen?”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“When are you going to make up?”
All great questions that I’d like to know the answer to as well. Some things they ask are more ridiculous, though.
“Is it true that you’re secretly married?”
“Are you carrying his love child?”
“How did it feel, sleeping with your cousin?”
That last one gets to me. “He’snotmy cousin,” I growl so ferociously that they all take a step back. To ward away the glare of their flashes, I throw my hand over my eyes. I shoulder past them and stomp to the hospital as they surround me, my own unwanted entourage.
After the first day of this chaos, I had opened my door to a burly man who had introduced himself as Dean, my new bodyguard.
“Bodyguard?” I scoffed. “I don’t need a bodyguard. Who the hell hired you?”
“Mr. Lawson did, ma’am. I’m here to protect you.” The man stood ramrod straight, probably ex-military. He had that kind of bearing.
A red haze of fury had clouded my vision. On my doorstep, in front of all the cameras, I lost it. I screamed, “You can tell Caleb Lawson to go fuck himself. I don’t need you or him. Now get out of my face.”
There must have been madness in my eyes. I certainly felt like I was losing my mind. The bodyguard had paled and backed away.
Click, click, click went the cameras. The reporters had twittered, turning to talk rapidly into their phones and recording devices, all trying to beat each other to the headline.
