I walked into the convenience store. It was to be to fuel my car, and myself up for what was to be a long ride through Maryland and up to my new home. I needed a good deal of caffeine, so I grabbed a liter bottle of some diet soda. Seeing myself on one of the tabloids on the newsstand as I passed, I pulled a baseball cap out of my coat's pocket. I hated that it had come into so much use recently. It was the best way of hiding who I was since my local celebrity status had non-consensually been thrust upon me.

Shooting a glance at the paper, I looked over the latest accusation. Apparently I was now the puppetmaster who was telling Bruce that he needs to hire an assassin to take out Mr. Brunswick so we could own the team together.

There were so many logical problems with that plan, that it being false wasn't even the worst of my complaints.

I placed the soda down, and handed over my card to pay for it and the gas. The clerk rung it up, and I did what I usually did – avoided making eye contact with the person I was dealing with. Someone made eye contact with me though, someone who looked familiar.

An older gentleman. Carrying a camera. I glanced away from him, hoping he didn't realize it was me. "Thank you," I told the clerk, grabbing my soda and heading toward my car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the old man making a move. I put a little spring in my step and got my car rolling again. I was done having random pictures taken of me. I wondered if it was even legal, because it wasn't like I was actively seeking fame in any real capacity, barring wanting greater notoriety as a reporter.

I hit the road, glad to be free of the scare. Or at least I thought I was. Looking in the mirror, I saw the old man following me in a tiny little coupe, clearly following me. I cringed, knowing that he didn't just happen to be going the same way I was. He wanted a payday, and some picture of me doing something that he could spew a narrative over was his ticket to it. I had to get creative.

A ramp would lead me onto the highway, where I could drive a little faster. I could put some cars between me and lose him, without going ninety miles per hour through Norfolk proper and drawing police attention. Snapping a photo of me being stopped by police would be giving that vulture everything he wanted.

Up onto the ramp, I accelerated faster, getting over into the fast lane, trying to weave in and out of traffic. I tried to stay focused on the road, but I had to check ever so often. The bastard was doing it damnedest to stay on my tail. Far more reckless than I was being, he was weaving in and out between cars, causing them to honk their horns at him.

All I could do was try to go faster. Try to cut ahead.

Despite my efforts, he stayed close. I was breathing harder, frustrated at the predicament. The last thing I wanted was for him to follow me all the way to Philadelphia. I had to think of something else, but outside driving in circles and going back into the city – which had the aforementioned problem of the police – I was out of ideas.

I kept my eye on him, vaguely hoping that he would get lost, or at least think I was more trouble than I was worth. I had a double take moment when I was peering back too. A car I recognized. Shiny new and polished, was the sports car following the paparazzi?

Shrugging, I figured all I could do was try harder to shake this guy. Going even faster, I cut across the lanes, yet he sped up to match me. He was flat out tailgating me now, not being responsible in the least. I glanced at my speedometer, realizing he was doing this to me at over eighty miles-per-hour. My car was nicer than his, so I had hopes I could lose him through speed alone. Shifting back into the fast lane with a clear stretch of road ahead of me, I slammed on the gas. My car roared forward – and his did too.

Fear was hitting me. This wasn't a healthy way to drive, especially with the ice and frost around. I feared for my safety, for my life – and for the life of my child who was unfortunately forced to come with me everywhere I went.

I started to slow down, realizing I wasn't a stunt driver and that all of this was actually incredibly foolish of me.

That was my biggest mistake.

Even as I tried to slow down gradually, my pursuer? He didn't. He slammed into the back of my car and that was enough to send me skidding as I panicked and struggled to get control of my vehicle again as it skidded through the road.

This was how I was going to die wasn't it? Careening down the high way at ninety-miles-an-hour. They say in these situations we're never really properly trained to react. Training for combat and drills for emergencies are supposed to hone and prepare you for the worst.

As my car rolled over to the lanes, I soon realized I wasn't on the road anymore, despite my best efforts to steer myself straight. The car spun out, hitting the mud, and I could hear my tires scream as I barreled toward a sign. I realized it was all out of my hands and I was at the complete mercy of physics now.

Soon though, there was enough friction from the grass and earth below to drag me toward a stop, the passenger's side of my car tapping against a sign that said 'WASHINGTON D.C. 175'.

My heart was pounding out of my chest, and I looked over to see what followed. The old man's coupe skidded into the ground too, but he wasn't as lucky as I was in lightly sideswiping a sign. Instead, he ran right into a tree that was off to the side of the road.

Panting, I opened the door and climbed out of the car, just happy at that moment to not be dead. Or horribly maimed. Or missing limbs. I had a lot to be thankful for.

I wasn't alone, though. The old man came out of his car too. He seemed more worse for wear. I was hit with a weird conflict of calling for help for him or letting him rot.

After a brief moment of debate I went back into my car to grab my phone. Stupid morality.

I dialed up 911 and gave them a rough estimate of where I was, and then stepped back out of the car.

The old man, never missing an opportunity for profit, was limping toward me camera in hand, snapping pictures. "Wait, what the hell are you doing?" I tried to cover my face, but the flash kept going. What kind of insane story was he going to make due with this time?

I heard a car skid in. It was the black sports car that I noticed earlier.

"Back off, mister," I called out to paparazzi. It did nothing. He was used to not taking no for an answer I supposed.

Out of the sports car though, came a strong, imposing figure. Bruce. He slid over the front of his car and sprinted toward the old man. In a flash, he took him down, knocking his camera out of his hand. Bruce got up, looking incredibly angry as he took the man down. He looked at the camera, and stomped on it, picked it up and tossed it into traffic where the cars flying by proceeded to run over it and break it into a thousand tiny little pieces. Bruce turned around and kicked the paparazzi in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and keeping him down.

Then, he finally turned to me. Just as fast as he tackled my photographer, he was on me. A big powerful hug. One like he used to give me whenever he went too long without seeing me. "What the hell were you doing Noelle?" He said, his tone having this weird combination of anger and concern.

"I, I was trying to get away from him."

"Driving faster in a half ton of steel isn't the answer. You do know what could have happened? What could have happened to you – and to our child."

I froze, realizing his concern. "I'm sorry, okay. I just... The last few months have been very difficult for me, Bruce."

"Why do you keep running away from me? I love you, Noelle. I always have. The way you keep pushing me away is destroying me."

Shuddering in his arms, I realized his words were sincere. I was so afraid that I was wrong, that he was just conning me all over again. I hated the idea that all I was to him was just pussy.

Then I realized what he had did. If I truly was just for sex, why would he have gone through all this? Hunting down where I lived, where I worked. Following my car. It dawned on me more that he was chasing the paparazzi chasing me.

If I was just pussy, I was incredibly inconvenient pussy.

"You pushed me away," I said. "You left me the day after I gave you my virginity. I haven't been able to trust anyone enough to sleep with them since."

He stroked my hair. I could hear sirens from police cars and ambulances in the distance. "All I've ever wanted was you to be happy, Noelle. We were going to be apart for four years. I didn't deserve to keep you from finding love all that time."

"Well you stopped me. You're my one and only, Bruce."

"I don't know how to feel about that. You deserve everything. Everything. Even if I didn't mean to, I've only hurt you. I don't deserve you, Noelle. I want you so damn bad, but I don't deserve you."

His heart was pounding. I could feel it through his shirt. Was it truly all in my head? His explanations made a degree of sense. We were going to college. Most people's time in college ends up being a multi-year orgy. Us being so far apart, determined to stay true to one another would have rendered us celibate, endlessly tempted by the world around us. He wanted to allow me to indulge. He underestimated just how much I loved him.

Then as soon as I reappear, he wants me again. Since I freaked out at him the time before, he didn't want me to think that he was sleeping around on me, just as we started again. As a reporter, I was all too familiar with the craziness that rich people and their children often did, and how they got to write it off as being eccentric. Sally Brunswick didn't look much older than me yet had already gone through so many cosmetic surgeries. She had self-worth issues, likely. I suddenly wanted to write a story on her and somehow get her help in the process.

One more loose end though dangled over my doubts with Bruce. "You left your... well one of your phones behind. Your contact book is filled with women, Bruce. Are you going to tell me you haven't been sleeping around as a man of your status?"

"My phone?" He fished it out of his pocket, and slid his finger around. "I guess there are a lot of women on here."

"So you have been..."

"No!" He shot out. "No, Noelle. These women are contacts for the various companies that beg me to endorse things, or show up at their events. It's a modern world, Noelle, women hold a lot of jobs in today's work force, especially ones that require personnel skills."

I let out a breath. "I'm your one and only?"

He laughed. "I'm not going to lie, Noelle. You're not."

Somehow this made my heart sink. We hadn't been officially together since our senior year. I shouldn't have cared, he was a free person, allowed to do whatever he wanted. "How many? Just tell me. I know I have no right to demean you for this, Bruce. I just want to know."

"One. Just one other."

"In six years you only slept with one other person?"

"Noelle, when I slept with this woman, it felt empty. My heart was wracked with doubt. I didn't even finish, because it felt like I'd be betraying you. It didn't matter you were thousands of miles away. As far as I knew you could have been fucking entire football teams, but that didn't matter one bit to me. I realized that you, Noelle, were the only one for me."

"I want you, Bruce. Please." Everything was lighter. Doubt was slowly fading. It wasn't completely gone, though. Maybe I needed to talk to a shrink to get rid of it all, but I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that this was all lies, no matter how silly that would be.

Then, of course, he finished curing me of those doubts completely.

He fell to one knee in front of me. The lights were flashing off in the distance. The first responders would soon be here, and they would questioning us both incessantly. The time for us to remain alone was growing short.

"Noelle, I don't have a ring on me. But I can't wait any longer for this. I need to make you mine, and I need to make you mine now. Noelle, will you marry me?"

My mouth dropped open. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of this moment. It usually involved candle light, wine, and us dressed in fine clothes. Me in a comfortable dress, him in a sleeveless shirt after a car accident? Yeah, I never saw this coming. It didn't matter one bit, however.

"Yes. Yes, yes!" I called out.

In lieu of sliding an engagement ring on my finger, he simply stood and kissed me again. It was a solid replacement, our lips locking, and fireworks going off in my head.

My mind flashed back to us being in tenth grade. Stupid teenagers, doing stupid teenaged things in the woods. Sitting around a fire, all of our friends asleep. "One day, I'm going to make you my wife, Noelle."

I remember giggling like a madwoman. I never knew when he was going to act on that promise. Even if we wanted to get married then, we were minors, and our parents wouldn't allow such a thing in a million years. I held onto the memory, knowing that it would one day happen. Even through those six long years of misery, maybe that's what kept me going. That I would feel the way I did around that campfire again, loving a man far more than I loved anything else in the whole wide world.

His kiss was deeper. We stumbled over to the hood of my car. His hands were running through my hair, and my fingers were clawing down his back. We were both in a six month dry spell, and more than ever, we wanted to end it. We didn't care where it happened.

Unfortunately, other people did.

"Ma'am? Sir? Ma'am!" The voice called out. It was a cop, and Bruce slowly pulled off of me.

Bruce shrugged, and whispered in my ear. "Let me handle this. I'm a celebrity, you know."

I giggled, and I watched him go to work.

"Officer!"

"You look familiar, son." The officer looked him up and down. "You're Bruce Flynn!"

"Oh yes. I was just stopping off to help this poor woman. You see that man over there?" He pointed to the paparazzi. He was breathing, but barely moving since Bruce tackled him."He was driving so aggressively, he ran her off the road. When I arrived, he was being hostile, shouting profanity and approaching her threateningly. I put an end to it, if you understand."

The officer nodded, and looked over. "Will you verify Mr. Flynn's story, ma'am?"

I nodded.

The officer looked toward Bruce. "Can... can I get a few autographs? My son is your biggest fan."

"Gladly. I hope that the paramedics will check on Noelle here and make sure she's fine, and then I can carry on?"

"Of course! You're just being a good Samaritan."

"Excellent, now what do you want me to sign?"

I watched as Bruce walked over with the officer. He dug a football out of his car along with a marker, and scribbled onto it, along with some photos. The officer seemed pleased.

After believing him to be a liar for so long, this should have been a red flag for me. The doubt wasn't there, though. His devotion, his proposal, made me believe him completely. There was a huge canyon between bending the truth a little to get out of the paperwork that came with a justified assault charge and cheating on your wife, after all. One was betrayal, and the other was simply wanting to get to having me as soon as he possibly could.

The paramedics came. They checked me out, made sure there was no evidence of back or neck problems. The accident was minor, but even a minor one can have effects sometimes. Bruce wanted me to hurry up, but at the same time, he knew my health was important.

Soon enough, they just told me to head to an emergency room if I had any unexplainable pain anywhere. I agreed. Bruce had called for a tow truck to come deal with my car, and was already holding the door to his fancy sports car open for me when I slipped out of the ambulance.

I took advantage of his chivalry, and stepped into the car, letting him close the door for me. I realized that I had a whole mess of things to deal with. My career, Bruce, where I was moving to, Bruce, but I decided it all didn't matter right now.

I had Bruce. After everything that had happened, I had Bruce, and that's all I needed. With him, everything would be a-okay.