CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ben
Bertie had called me inside to help her unload a box of Frisbees and a few cases of sunscreen. Sometimes I thought the woman just didn’t like being alone in the store. Chelsea had barely been gone thirty seconds before I got paged for manual labor.
“Only these four boxes?” I called to Bertie, but she didn’t answer. I ripped open the tape and lined them on the floor so she wouldn’t have to strain with the awkward sizes.
“Jake! Jake! You’ve got to come see this. Hurry up.” I heard her shrill voice at the front of the store.
“What is going on, Bertie?” I dropped the last box and headed to the register.
I stared in horror through the window.
There weren’t words. There weren’t thoughts, just complete panic and nausea. Rebecca was climbing the steps of Davis General Store.
Her long blond hair cascaded around her shoulders. She was followed by her entourage and a slew of reporters. Shit. Damn it. Fuck. Fuck.
“Jake, I think it’s a celebrity. Wait, I know her. It’s Rebecca Campbell,” Bertie squealed. “What do you think she’s doing here? Oh my Lord, how does my hair look?” She patted the white curls above her ears.
How in the hell did she find me? I scanned the porch. Becs hadn’t spotted me. If I ran out of the back, I could probably avoid her. But then what? Was I going to keep running? Keep pretending that I wasn’t a star? Pretend that if I went anywhere else on the planet I wouldn’t be besieged by fans?
I inhaled sharply and did the only thing I could do—meet Rebecca head on.
I pulled on the glass door, inviting a blast of hot air into the store.
“Ben. Oh my God, Ben.” She wrapped her hands around my neck and buried her head against my chest. I heard the camera clicks before I had a chance to catch my balance from her embrace. The scent of her familiar French perfume invaded my nostrils.
“Rebecca, what are you doing here?” I pushed her off and away. The few reporters who were observing the exchange crowded closer. “Wait, don’t say anything. Let’s go somewhere private.”
I put an arm around her shoulder to shuttle her inside, but she dug her designer heels into the floorboards.
“No, Ben. I’ve been searching for you for weeks. Please don’t make me move a single inch. I need to just look at you—make sure it’s really you.” She advanced toward me again. “I missed you so much.”
“Ben, is it true you dumped Rebecca?” One of the reporters asked.
“Do you miss her?”
“Does this mean you two are back together?”
The questions came in rapid succession. Becs spun toward the cameras, smiling sweetly. “I’m sure you can all understand how special and precious this moment is to us. We’ll take just a few questions, ok?”
Stepping onto that porch, I had stepped onto a landmine. Mini-bombs that exploded with each question, with each bat of Rebecca’s eyelashes. This entire reunion was an orchestrated ambush. I slid my hands in my pockets and looked at the floor.
“I’m sorry, everyone. Rebecca can take questions, but I’m not making any statements right now.” I smiled widely. “But, I know a great little seafood restaurant y’all might want to try—”
Before I could finish my attempt to derail the media inquiries, another reporter ran from the employee parking lot. “She’s over here! We found the other woman!”
The photographers scurried down the stairs. I froze, trying to sort through what that even meant.
Other woman? What the fuck?
Son of a bitch. I jumped the railing and sprinted to the parking lot.
What I saw tore my heart in two.
“Back off!” I roared as I ran into the center of the circle, pushing bodies out of the way. I had to get there, had to control it. Chelsea was hunched next to her car, her hands over her head.
I scooped her up. She didn’t protest, or if she did, I couldn’t hear over the crowd. My Jeep was at the edge of the lot. I placed her in the passenger seat and sped onto the island road. If I thought I was in a fishbowl before, I was wrong. This was a fishbowl. There was nowhere to go on the island where we wouldn’t be found. It was too small. There weren’t enough roads or exits. There were no gated security systems, and no rock-solid bodyguards. Damn it.
I drove a mile, trying to put some distance between us and the paparazzi nightmare that had invaded our perfect summer dream. I clutched Chelsea’s hand, squeezing it tightly into my palm, but she stared straight ahead as if I wasn’t there.
What had I done? I looked at her, terrified and pale. Right now, I just had to protect her—do what I should have done in the first place. I reached for my phone and scrolled until I found Derek’s number.
“Hey, man. I have an emergency.” I spoke quickly.
“Yeah, yeah. What is it? Waves?”
“Do you think you could call Paul? Meet us at his place?”
Derek paused. “Sure, but what’s going on?”
“Don’t talk to anyone. Meet me there in five minutes and come alone. Understand?” I glanced at Chelsea, her blue eyes closed off from me. “This is serious.”
“Got it, man. See ya.” Derek hung up.
I steered straight and turned at the next road. Paul McIntire had the only house on the island that I knew of with gates. It might be the only place where I could keep Chelsea guarded against the press. They would find her, but she would be safe.
I pulled into the driveway and parked behind a large oleander bush. Until I talked to Paul, I wouldn’t be able to close the gates. I would have to wait for Derek too.
“Chelsea, I’m going to fix this,” I whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
She turned toward me, her hands steady in her lap. Her eyes looked at me, but the light was gone. I felt the pain of what I had done like a knife twisting between my ribs. I was the man who had put out the glow. There was nothing there but cold.