Caught in the Storm

by Brownell, Rachael

  When the headlines about my breakup hit the papers, the number of letters doubled. Even with the heinous accusations against me.

  As we approach the back exit, I place one hand on the small of Amelia's back and whisper in her ear.

  "All you have to do is smile. It sounds easy, but when the camera's start flashing, you'll have to remind yourself to smile. These people are vultures. Don't let them get to you. Block them out and walk straight to the car. Okay?"

  She nods her head as Garcia opens the door and the first camera flashes.

  Holy shit! It's a media circus.

  I feign surprise and do the best I can to shield Amelia who's mouth has dropped open, her smile disappearing.

  "Back up!" I hear Garcia yell as he creates a path for us to the car.

  Reporters begin shouting questions, attempting to crowd us as we step out the door. They want to know who Amelia is. What our relationship is. Where we're going. How long we've been together.

  They want to know everything and anything we'll tell them. True vultures.

  The thing is, they'll run a story no matter how little information they have. Confirmed or speculation. We're going to make headlines for sure. There's only one way to ensure they're positive.

  Amelia slides in the car and I shut the door behind her, turning to the cameras and shooting them a smile.

  "Listen, all I will say right now is that this is new. She's a special woman, and I look forward to continuing to get to know her. In the meantime, I would greatly appreciate it if you would respect our privacy."

  Who is she?

  What's her name?

  How did you meet?

  How long have you been seeing each other?

  They continue to shout questions as I slip inside the limo beside Amelia. As soon as we pull away, I see her visibly relax.

  "I'm sorry about that."

  "When you said they were out there, I was nervous. I didn't expect that, though. Why do they care so much about your personal life?"

  If I tell her the truth, she'll run, and this will become another headline story where I'm displayed in the worst light possible. It could tank the entire campaign.

  "It's all part of being in the public eye. It'll die down after a while, especially after the election. It's not like this outside the bigger cities. Houston and Dallas are the worst. They seem to find me wherever I am. At home, it still happens, but not nearly as often. I lead a much more normal life."

  "So you're running for senator?"

  "I'm running for reelection."

  "It's January. That's almost an entire year away."

  "The first debate was last night. I need the support of the party before they choose me as the candidate."

  "Oh," she says, clearly bewildered. "How did that go?"

  Like shit. Every detail of my past was brought to light, and I was put through the ringer.

  "Fine. Nothing I wasn't expecting. They like to focus on the things you weren't able to accomplish and anything negative before they allow you to speak on your platform."

  Amelia nods as the limo comes to an abrupt halt, causing her body to surge forward. Quickly reaching out, I grab onto her shoulders before she falls to the floor.

  The privacy window lowers and Garcia's face comes into view seconds later.

  "Sorry about that, Boss. There's an accident in front of us."

  "No problem, Garcia. How long before we get to the club?"

  "Five blocks, maybe six."

  "Thank you."

  Raising the glass, Amelia and I sit in silence until the car begins to slowly creep forward. Neither of us speaks until we come to a stop and I hear Garcia get out of the car.

  "He'll accompany you inside to gather your things."

  "That's not necessary," she states as Garcia opens her door.

  "Yes, it is. I want to make sure you are safe, and I'm sure Joseph is inside." Amelia wrinkles her face at the mention of his name. "No matter what you think about him, he's going to want to know where you went last night. I can't guarantee he won't be upset. I'd feel better if you let Garcia stay with you."

  "Why don't you come with me? I'd feel safer with you," she counters.

  I want to argue with her, but I don't. If Joseph tries to talk to her, to touch her, it's going to be tough to keep my anger in check. I already want to slug his arrogant ass. Seeing them together, knowing her had her first, might just push me over the edge.

  That's publicity I don't need.

  Sliding out of the car, I take her hand and pull her into my side. If I’m going to protect her I need to keep her beside or behind me at all times.

  The back door is wide open, granting us easy access. Voices filter down the hall as we approach the door I found Amelia behind last night. Stepping around me and releasing my hand, she casually makes her way inside as if she's done it a million times.

  "It's not here," she says as we round the corner of the tiny room. "I left it on the couch, and it's gone."

  "What's gone?"

  "My purse. It has my phone and keys in it."

  I bet that ass wipe has it.

  "I know you don't like him, but I'm sure Joseph knows where it's at. Maybe he put it behind the bar for safe keeping."

  She breezes past me before I can protest her actions. She's going in search of him, of her belongings. I'm going to have to confront him, and he's going to realize I stole what belonged to him. Let's hope he keeps his mouth shut or I'll have to shut it for him.

  The same bartender from last night is leaning against the counter, talking with Joseph. When he catches sight of Amelia, he nods his head in her direction, which causes Joseph to spin on the barstool.

  "There you are," he calls, his voice laced with concern. "You disappeared last night and I—"

  His words fade away when he sees me standing a few feet behind her. He looks like shit. Like he hasn't slept yet. I'm not surprised. He was probably here all night. He's wearing the same shirt he was in last night and so is the bartender. There's a glassy look in his eye, which tells me he's either still drunk or hung over as fuck.

  "I need my purse. It's not in the dressing room," she says, stopping a few stools away from him. "Have you seen it?"

  Joseph and the bartender share a look before Joseph nods. The bartender bends down and reappears with a tiny black purse and hands it to Joseph.

  "You want this?" he sneers.

  "Please," Amelia asks, reaching for it only for him to pull it out of her grasp. "What are you doing?"

  "Holding it hostage until you talk to me." Turning his glare to me, he continues, "Alone."

  "There's nothing to talk about. I need to call Beth and let her know I'm okay. I'm sure she's worried about me. Can I please have my purse?"

  Amelia's standing her ground, and it's sexy as fuck. She's not backing down from him, and if the sinister look in his eye scares her, she's not showing it. She's stronger than I gave her credit for.

  Stronger than I am at the moment. I have the distinct urge to grab him by his throat and throw him across the room.

  "Not until you talk to me. You disappeared last night. The power went out for less than five minutes, and when it came back on, you were gone. I was worried about you."

  His tone catches my attention. He's attempting to sound like he was scared for her, but his performance is lacking. His tone is spot on but his smirk tells me he wasn’t missing her at all. In fact, he was probably occupied all night and didn’t realize she was missing until he found her purse in the back room. He doesn't give two shits about her. He's just upset she left with someone else. With me.

  The problem is... she falls for it, walking straight into his open arms. Wanting to comfort him.The moment he wraps them around her, he glares at me, a smug smirk on his face. He thinks he's won. He has no idea.

  There’s a storm brewing inside my chest. Rage and hatred are flowing through my veins. Not because of the way he’s acting, but because he’s touching her. Touching what doesn’t belong
to him.

  When she attempts to push away, to end their embrace, he holds her hostage.

  "Thanks for bringing her back to me," Joseph says, gripping Amelia's upper arm as she attempts to pull away from him. "You can go now."

  "Let me go, Joseph," Amelia says, snatching her purse from his hand and tucking it under her free arm. "I'm not staying here with you."

  "Listen to me, you little slut," he starts but doesn't finish. Garcia is behind him, his arm wrapped around his neck cutting off his air supply.

  "Release the lady," he states firmly.

  As soon as Joseph releases Amelia, the bartender reaches for the phone, causing Garcia to draw his gun.

  Damn it. This is not how I wanted this to go down. I should have stayed in the car.

  Seven

  Amelia

  "Put the phone down," I hear Garcia holler as Joseph releases me, and I take a few steps away.

  Turning to look back at Joseph one last time, I notice a gun pointed at Tommy and let out a shriek. When I turn to run, I connect with Johnathan's firm chest.

  "Let's go," Johnathan calls to Garcia.

  I don't hear his response. I keep my head tucked into Johnathan's chest as he walks us out the back door, and we keep going until I'm tucked safely in the limo.

  He closes the door behind us. "Are you okay?" he asks, taking my arm in his hand and gently rubbing the spot Joseph was holding me.

  It's sore. I'm definitely going to have a bruise. He wasn't about to let me go without a fight. I don't understand why. It's not like we were in a relationship. It has to be about pride. He 'lost' me to Johnathan and wasn't going to take it lying down.

  What he doesn't understand is you can't lose something you never had.

  If anything, I'm the one who lost out today.

  I won't be able to perform at the Rustic again. I won't have my one opportunity to be seen. I worked really hard to get that show, did things I'm not proud of, and it feels like it was all for nothing now.

  Maybe it's a sign. A sign I need to let that dream go. To move on with my life.

  There are plenty of other things I enjoy doing, not that I can think of any of them at the moment. All I need is a new plan. One that doesn't involve sleeping with people to get where I want to be. That wasn't a good idea to begin with.

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Where's Garcia?"

  "Probably talking to Joseph. I'm sure he's patching things up," Johnathan says, his voice calm, soothing.

  "Please tell me he's not shooting them and hiding the bodies."

  As off-the-wall as that might be, I'm dead serious. I can see Garcia doing it. He's big and scary and although his stature might intimidate me, it won't intimidate Joseph or his ego. He reminds me of the bouncer, only a few inches shorter. I’ve saw Joseph go toe-to-toe with him one night. The bouncer was the first to back down.

  "No. He wouldn't do that. Garcia's a detective. That's why he has the gun to begin with. He's never fired it around me, even the one time I thought he needed to. Those idiots, he won't kill them. They're not worth it. Not worth his job. He will scare the shit out of them and make sure they don't talk, though."

  "Headlines," I state plainly.

  "Exactly. Everyone is looking for dirt on me, and we just supplied Joseph with a mountain of it. If he talks to the press, it will shine a negative light on my campaign and on you."

  On me? Because I went home with Johnathan last night?

  Wouldn't they just assume Joseph was jealous? I left him for Johnathan.

  It doesn't matter if Garcia is taking care of it.

  "Now what?" I ask.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I need to go home still. My car is around the corner. Did you want Garcia to drive me to it, or can I walk? It's not far."

  Johnathan thinks it over for a few minutes, deciding Garcia should drop me off. I'm not in the mood to argue, especially since I may have stretched the truth a little. My car is three blocks away, and walking in these heels isn't easy.

  Johnathan kisses me gently on the cheek as I slide behind the wheel of my car. I pray it starts without a fuss. It's been running like shit lately, and I have no idea what might happen with it having sat here all night. Still, I wait for him to drive away before I crank the engine. It comes to life right away, thankfully.

  Reaching in my purse for my phone, I find it dead, so I plug it in to charge while my car warms up a little. Once it has enough battery to power up, I quickly type out a text to Beth letting her know I'm on my way home.

  Pulling onto the road, my phone starts to chime like crazy. I'm assuming texts and messages from last night. All things I can look at when I get home. The one thing I refuse to do is pay attention to my phone while I'm driving. I lost two friends in high school because they were texting instead of focusing on the road.

  Senseless deaths.

  I can see my apartment building up ahead. It’s two blocks away, and the only thing between me and it are the railroad tracks. The same tracks I get stuck at every time I need to be somewhere, including right now.

  The lights begin to flash as the gate lowers to keep me from crossing. Looking down the tracks, I ponder what kind of wait I have ahead of me. Please let it be a passenger train...

  When I spot the freight train coming around the bend, I put my car in park and reach for my phone.

  Beth blew up my phone last night. Over twenty texts and ten missed calls. She wasn't the only one. Joseph called and texted me almost as many times. What I don't expect to see is a missed call from my parents this early in the morning.

  With no end of the train in sight, I pull up my parent’s number and return their call. It's almost eight o'clock. Even if they hadn't called me, they would both be up by now. My father is probably milking the cows while my mom makes breakfast.

  The thought of food makes my stomach growl as my mom answers the phone.

  "Amelia Abigail Anderson." Oh shit! What did I do? "Why did I see your face on television this morning?"

  "Good morning, Mama. How are you?" I ask in an attempt to divert her attention.

  "I've been better. The phone has been ringing off the hook for the last twenty minutes with calls from the press."

  Well, that didn't take long. They figured out who I was faster than I thought they would.

  "I'm sorry, Mama. Unplug the phone."

  "You know I can't do that. What if someone I want to talk to calls? They wouldn't be able to get through."

  The last time I was at my parents’ house, the phone didn't ring once. I was there for two days. My mother does not get many calls. Not because she doesn't have friends. She has plenty. She sees them in town when she goes shopping or to Bible study or book club. Outside of that, she keeps herself busy, helping my father around the farm and making sure there's hot food on the table.

  "Why are they asking me about your personal life? I didn't know what to tell them until I turned on the TV and saw you with a man in a suit."

  "That's Senator Lang, Ma. We're seeing each other."

  "And you didn't think your father and I would have liked to hear that from you?"

  How long is this train? I swear it's never going to end, which means this conversation won't end.

  "We haven't been seeing each other that long. I was planning on telling you if this became serious, which we're still not. We're just getting to know each other."

  "You know you're father's not a big fan of that man. He doesn't trust him, and neither do I."

  "He doesn't even know him. Why doesn't he trust him?" I can feel myself getting defensive.

  "He doesn't like his platform. He refuses to vote for him."

  My father. The one-man army. His beliefs are all that matter. If he likes you, you're golden. If he doesn't, may God have mercy on your soul. Nothing will change his mind once it's made.

  I guess it's a good thing my parents will never meet him. Our relationship will be over in a matter of days, I'm sure. He has to go home eventually, and I have no plans o
f going with him. This whole stunt is for publicity and to keep my parents from realizing what really happened last night.

  "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I have to go, Ma. I can see the end of the train," I lie. She knows I won't talk and drive.

  "I expect you to call me later tonight. I want to know more about this man and your relationship. They were making some serious accusations on the news this morning."

  Of course they were.

  "Promise. Love you."

  "Love you too, Abby girl."

  Only my mother calls me Abby. She claims she gave me two first names so she could decide what she wanted to call me. It's Amelia when I'm in trouble, or like earlier, my full name. Any other time she calls me Abby or Abby girl.

  After hanging up with my mom, I wait another ten minutes for the train to pass. It gives me time to think about what I've done, what kind of lies I'm telling people. I hate lying to my parents, but I also wouldn't be able to face them again if they knew what really happened last night. Lying is the lesser of two evils.

  All I have to do is go on a few dates with Johnathan. Let people get used to seeing us together. Then, when the buzz dies down, we'll go our separate ways. I can fake it for a few days. Hell, I faked caring for Joseph for weeks just so I could have one chance to sing at the club, and I didn't even enjoy our time together. At least I'll enjoy the after-hours activities with Johnathan.

  Beth is fast asleep on the couch, her hand clutching her phone, when I walk through the door. I shake her leg to wake her, jumping back when she starts kicking as she sits up.

  "Jesus Christ, Amelia! Where the hell have you been?"

  Apparently she hasn't seen the news this morning.

  "I met someone last night," I say as I walk into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee for her. She's going to need it. I plan to tell her as much as I can before I have to get ready to meet Gina.

  "Nice outfit," she notes as she takes a seat at the table, her chair creaking as it struggles to support her weight. She's not heavy, the chair is just that old. We found two of them sitting out by the road the day we moved in along with the table. After a day spent sanding and staining, they looked almost brand new, but the chairs are far from sturdy. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them collapsed under us one day.