Chapter 18: Luna

I couldn’t escape from Thorn no matter where I went. I’d arrived back at my beloved home on Summit Avenue, run up the front stairs and inside, and finally felt safe. I’d felt home even though this had never truly been my home. More like a gilded cage masquerading as a sanctuary. But that feeling hadn’t lasted more than five minutes.

I’d gone upstairs, showered, cried, drank a cup of coffee, cried some more, then sat down in front of my laptop to sort through my emails. I logged on to one of the local news sites out of habit – it was always good to keep track of current events in a business like mine – only to be faced with… well, my own tragic face.

A full blown image of me, dressed in my slinky black designer dress and covered in dessert from head to toe. Corban held my arm, concern in his expression. And there, just in the corner of the frame, half-hidden by partygoers, was Thorn Edwards himself. Standing in the shadows like a nightmare from the past.

Edwards’ Ex Does It Again – Runaway Bride Strikes Gold with One of Twin City’s Top 10 Bachelors.

“No,” I muttered. “No, no, this isn’t happening.” I’d already foisted off one of Larissa’s calls and turned off my phone, but now I was too afraid to power it up again. Too afraid of the social media notifications I knew would be there. The ‘social’ tab on my Gmail account already had three figures worth of hatred just waiting for me.

The odium for me hadn’t truly died down, but in the past year, the number of trolls and nasty messages on social media, my Twitter, Facebook page, and Instagram, had dropped to a minimum. I’d enjoyed less repulsive messages than usual this past month.

And now, I could almost guarantee a resurgence.

“Don’t read it,” I muttered to myself. “Don’t do it, Luna.” But I couldn’t resist. It was one click away. It was too much to hope they hadn’t mentioned Corban’s name.

My mouse hovered over the link. I clicked and leaned in to get a better look at the article.

Luna Anderson does it again! Minneapolis’ very own Runaway Bride has sunk her claws into another of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Marketing guru and businessman, Corban Drake, recently made the Twin Cities Magazine’s list of sexiest, richest, and most eligible bachelors and was seen at the Hotel Ivy last night, treating Miss Anderson to a grand time.

Too grand as it turned out. Miss Faye managed to ruin the party by overdoing it with several signature martinis and consequently crashing into the dessert table at the event. All this in front of her mourning ex, Thorn Edwards.

Thorn, an all-star alumni of the Minnesota Twins, suffered a career-ending injury after a rocky end to his engagement to Faye, who ran out on their wedding and left him at the altar humiliated and heartbroken. Said a source and close friend of Mr. Edwards, “Yeah, it destroyed him. After she left, that was it for him. He gave up on everything. It was difficult getting him out of the bed in the mornings. Luna Anderson ended Thorn’s career when she disgraced him like that. She’s responsible for this. All of it.”

“Oh god,” I said and swallowed bile. This couldn’t be happening again. I hadn’t done any damn thing to deserve this. I couldn’t deal with it right now. Not when I lost the only thing I cared about since the incident. Corban. I had two damn days until the Twins event, and now I’d be haunted by the press all over again. I thought that part of my life was over.

Another line from the article caught my eye.

Miss Anderson was unavailable for comment at the time of printing. We were able to reach Thorn Edwards who said, “I don’t hate her. I don’t want to say I blame her either, but I feel she did this on purpose. She flaunted the fact that she’s dating someone else in front of me. She knows I’m still torn up about her and my injury, and that this betrayal will hurt me most of all.” Mr. Edwards became visibly upset after providing the quote and had to be swept off to his home for an emergency meeting with doctors and a therapist.

Meanwhile, Miss Anderson is still at large and creating havoc for the Twins. It’s come to this reporter’s attention that she might be involved in the upcoming event at the Concord Exchange. Keep your grapes peeled!

“Obsequious little bitch!” I growled. I slapped my hand over my mouth. I wasn’t big on cussing, but that one had slipped out. I couldn’t handle all the drama again. Why had I thought it would be okay with karma that I enjoy myself for just one night? If I’d laid low and hadn’t selfishly danced with Corban so I could wrap myself around him, none of this would have happened. Now, I felt like I couldn’t crawl into a hole and lick my open wounds as much as I wanted to. Corban still depended on me.

“No,” I muttered. “No. You don’t have to do anything but focus on the event. This will blow over. This will blow over, and everything will be fine.” But it wouldn’t be. I’d been determined to treat Corban as nothing more than a fling so he wouldn’t get embroiled in my shame. Simple, right? Except it wasn’t simple.

Corban had snuck past my defenses in the past weeks. He’d crept closer to my heart, and now the organ felt like it had been placed in a vice laced with pain and agony. The ache at the thought that I’d lost him choked me up and fresh tears escaped my eyelids. But what could I do? He’d heard everything Thorn had said, and even though Thorn twisted the story for his own selfish gain, the facts were still the facts.

At first, he’d stuck up for me, but at the end of that conversation, I’d seen his face. That expression of utter shock and anger. He knew I’d held something back. That I never told him about the serious relationship I’d had in the past. He probably hated me for it. I’d lied by omission.

I wheeled back my office chair and hung my head, gripped it in both hands. I needed an answer to this. I needed – yeah, I needed to tell people the truth, even if they didn’t believe. To set the record straight.

But I couldn’t do that without breaching the prenup I signed and the NDA and becoming a destitute homeless woman. How could I continue to help brides plan their perfect day from the confines of a drainage ditch? “There’s got to be a way around it.” I picked up my phone and hesitated. The minute I turned it on, the notifications would flood in.

Swiping the tears from my flushed cheeks, I pressed the power button on the side of the device regardless. The screen flashed, and the logo showed, the welcome tone sang. And then the messages came through. Missed calls, Twitter notifications, Facebook messages, Instagram follows and mentions. An endless stream. I dragged the top bar down and cleared all notifications, then opened my contacts and scrolled down the list to the number I hadn’t used in years.

I dialed it, then placed the phone against my ear.

“Luna? Is that you?”

“Mr. Kerrigan,” I said. “I’m sorry to disturb you so unexpectedly. How are you?”

“I’m fine, dear. I haven’t heard from you in a while. What do you need?”

My lawyer’s kind voice matched his heart. He’d helped me through some of the toughest decisions in my adult life. “I know you’re probably busy, but I need to meet with you. Do you have time?”

“Today?” Mr. Kerrigan scrabbled the phone around and fabric scratched in my ear.

“Yes, if that’s possible. Please? I don’t know if you’ve seen anything, but it’s… kind of an emergency.”

“I’ll be at my office in half an hour. Do you have transportation?”

“Yes, I do.” Though the car had broken down last week, and I hadn’t gotten the chance to fix it. Money was tight at the moment. It was fine, I’d catch a cab downtown. No big deal. I’d just go without groceries this week. Ramen and mac and cheese. “I’ll see you then. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem. I hope you’re well. See you soon.” He hung up.

I sighed and dropped my phone in my lap after calling for a cab. Another ten notifications pinged through. I switched my phone to silent, then slipped it into the pocket of my jeans and rose from the seat. There was no use hanging around here waiting for the time to come.

I decided to take a walk to the corner to clear my head and catch my taxi from there – it was a relatively busy street thanks to the hotel nearby. If I kept my head down and focused on my breathing, I’d be fine.

I hurried down sprawling wooden stairs and up to my front door. A knock rattled it just as I grabbed the handle. I jerked my hand back as if I’d been scalded. “Who’s there?” I called out.

“Miss Anderson?”

Uh oh. That wasn’t a voice I recognized. Damn reporters.

I opened the door anyway – I had to get to Mr. Kerrigan’s offices – and backpedaled a step.

A journalist I recognized from KARE 11 stood there, camera hanging from a strap around his neck, his cell phone up and already recording. “Miss Anderson, do you have any comments about the article published about you this morning?”

I glanced past him at the street. Another van had pulled up. Two more reporters clambered out, cheeks flush from the excitement of a new story. How could this still be relevant? It’d been a year since I’d run out on Thorn. Since he retired, his celebrity status had plummeted.

“This is private property,” I said and pushed past the journalist. My front door clapped shut.

“Is it true that this house is owned by Mr. Edwards?”

I hurried down the porch stairs and away from his question. He followed me, cell phone at arm’s length and a sly fox smile twisting his thin lips. I reached the wrought iron gate at the same moment as the new reporters. I opened it and slipped out.

“Miss Anderson, what do you have to say about the allegations which had been–”

“No comment,” I said.

“Do you take responsibility for Thorn Edwards’ injury, which some say was caused by your break up?” That came from a dumpy woman in a checked jacket and coordinating pencil skirt.

“No comment.” Didn’t they have any shame? Couldn’t they see how much this hurt me and everyone else involved? It was like ripping the scab off an old wound over and over. As long as it sold papers, right? Print and television were dying mediums with the rise of online. On order to attract a readership, the more salacious, the better.

I backed away from the reporters. They’d follow me if I didn’t lose them.

“Miss Anderson, what did–?”

Two more vans had arrived, and noise swelled behind me. Jeers and laughter. My eyes blurred, obscured by tears, but I could make out the triumph in the journalists’ faces. They believed they had me now. I glanced up and saw my taxi pulling up to the curb, but it could have been a mile instead of a block because I couldn’t get to it.

I spun toward the approaching crowd and blinked. They weren’t here for me. It wasn’t a crowd of spitting, roaring Twins fans come to string me up from one of the streetlamps. No, this was a group from the convention I’d heard about. A science-fiction convention.

A grouping of Stormtroopers marched down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the hotel, flanked by everything from Klingons in full cosplay to a group of Princess Leias complete with gold bras. Science-fiction canons mixed haphazardly. It was a recipe for nerdy disaster.

And the perfect distraction. These virgins living in their mom’s basements were going to save me.

I darted into the group, bumping into a Jabba the Hut. “Sorry!” he grunted and continued walking. I glanced around.

The reporters stood outside my home, scanning the crowds for me. I dragged my cell out of my pocket and checked the time. I had twenty minutes to catch my cab and head over to Mr. Kerrington’s office. I doubted he’d leave if I arrived late, but I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I needed to get this finished – now – before it was too late.

A guy in a Stormtrooper outfit marched past and took off his helmet. “Jeremy, it’s too hot in this thing.”

“Stop being such a pussy, Todd,” his friend replied behind his Darth Vader mask. “Like, it’s not that hot, Todd. Chicks dig this.”

“Chicks dig this?” the anti-Stormtrooper asked. He rolled his eyes. “They can’t even see our faces. Besides, I wanted to be Darth Vader. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“You’re my minion,” Jeremy replied and raised his gloved hand. “I’m choking you now. Just think how awesome it will be when you finally get laid.”

“You’re an idiot.”

This might be my only shot. The reporters cut through the crowd, searching for me. They were sharks who’d smelled blood in the water. I rushed forward and bumped into the Stormtrooper hater. He dropped his helmet.

“Hey!” He started to turn.

I snatched the helmet off the hot concrete before he saw me, then rushed through the crowd and pulled it on. It smelled awful inside. Apparently, Todd had a penchant for Cheetos. I ignored the scent and focused on the road ahead. All I had to do was reach the hotel, and I’d be all clear.

I’d whip off the helmet, climb into my waiting cab, and head over to Mr. Kerrington’s offices without any of those damn reporters knowing the difference. I glanced back once and caught sight of the dumpy reporter in the checked suit.

She scanned the crowd right over me and didn’t halt. I was officially incognito.