by Arell Rivers
I see red. Jumping into action, I pull the fucker off Ems. “Run, Ems. Go!” Without hesitation, she takes off toward the door.
Grabbing Wade Block around the back of his neck, I pull his head downward as I raise my knee to meet it. He grunts upon impact. Blood spurts as the cracking tells me I hit my target and broke his nose.
He stumbles backward. Not so fast, fucker. My fist meets his jaw, causing his head to snap backwards.
My fists connect with his torso, over and over, going for his kidneys. He tries to get off a punch, but I sidestep the feeble attempt. I left my post and this is what happens. I never should have let Rinaldo’s words—or FPU’s—get to me.
I failed. Again.
I keep wailing on this pitiful excuse for a human being. Pummeling it into a deflated punching bag. Before my eyes, the body on the floor becomes Starr. She stalked Cole and Rose, and killed Jared and Roberto. My fists continue to hit their mark.
“Wills. Wills. Stop it, Wills. He is out cold!”
Something pulls at my pulsing bicep, trying to divert me from my target. Panting, I flip my arm up and around, freeing myself. Another pull. I form a fist and twist toward whatever is trying to stop me.
“Wills!”
My arm freezes mid-air. My breathing stops.
Emilie.
Oh, God, what have I done?
Blinking rapidly, I drop both of my arms. Emilie shakes and calls out my name. A bloodied Wade Block lies on the floor, unmoving. My ears start to buzz. From the doorway, several new voices enter the room. I’m a savage animal, bent over the prone body of my prey, splattered with blood and blinded by rage.
“What’s going on?”
Rinaldo rushes in. The buzzing in my ears grows louder and louder. Emilie takes both of my hands in hers.
I’m not good enough for her to touch. I’m worse than my father ever could have imagined. I’m the lowest form of scum. My demons have won. “No,” I say, staggering away.
Rinaldo pulls Emilie away from me and asks, “Emilie. Are you okay? What did this guy do to you?”
Her eyes are huge and her whole body trembles. “I am fine. Wade,” she points to the asshole on the floor. She continues to talk but the buzzing in my head overtakes all other sounds in the room. I flex my fist, my knuckles already aching.
Wade Block could’ve raped her. Or killed her. On my watch. Just like Three. And Roberto. And Jared. Worse—my own fist could’ve landed on her.
Emilie appears at my side again, trying to get my attention. “Wills. Are you hurt? Talk to me.”
A bruise from where Wade Block smacked her already forms on her cheek. I shake my head. Will I ever be okay again? “I was wrong. He was right. They were right.”
“You are not making sense. I think you are in shock.” She turns her head and addresses someone else in the room. “He should go to the hospital.”
How can she care about me now? Not only did I allow that fucker to corner her, I almost hit her. I stumble backward. Rinaldo opens his arms and says, “Come here, Emmie.”
I continue backing away from the scene in front of me. On the floor, Wade Block groans, turns over and retches.
“This way.” Two cops enter the room and head toward Emilie. Shortly, paramedics wheel in a stretcher and circle the perp. Victim. Of my unstoppable rage.
Another paramedic approaches me. “Sir, let me check you out.”
I remain immobile except for my head shaking negative. I don’t deserve attention.
“Please, Wills, let them take a look at you.”
Emilie’s hands are on my dry cheeks, tears are on hers. I remove them from my face. “Don’t cry. I don’t deserve it.” I almost hit you. I know, once and for all, that my father pegged me right from the beginning.
Wade Block is loaded onto the gurney and wheeled out. One of the paramedics approaches me. “Sir, you need to get checked out.” A police officer stands directly behind him.
Maybe if I agree to the ambulance, Emilie will let me go. She can get back together with Rinaldo or something. Live a happy life in the limelight. My stomach twists at the thought, but I have absolutely no right to be with her anymore. I cause everything I love to die. No exceptions. No hope for change.
Addressing the paramedic, I say, “Fine.”
Without sparing Emilie another look, I follow him to a corner of the room. When the paramedic finishes checking me out—cleaning the blood off my fists, which really start aching—he declares I don’t need to go to the hospital. Most of the blood wasn’t mine.
One of the cops joins us. I give him my statement, explaining that I’m Emilie’s boyfr—bodyguard. That I let her out of my sight, which allowed Wade Block to attack her. His eyebrow raises. Even though he doesn’t say anything, I know exactly what he’s thinking. And I agree. I’m a failure.
I end my statement with, “This is my final assignment.”
Emilie joins our unholy trio, placing her tiny hand on my forearm. “Let me take you home.”
I shake my head. “Go home, Emilie.”
The other cop joins us. “I got the statement from Miss Dubois and we may need to follow-up with you tomorrow. You’re free to go. However, we need to take you down to the station, Mr. Sumner.”
My hand throbs in response. I deserve this punishment. And worse. So much worse.
25
Emilie
I drop my keys on the kitchen island. Rinaldo drove me home and wanted to come in to wait until Wills returned, but I refused. Wills will need my undivided attention when he gets here and having my ex-boyfriend hovering around would not help matters.
Walking into my room, I shed all of my clothes in favor of a pair of white yoga pants and a light blue t-shirt that matches Wills’s eyes. Padding into my kitchen, I put a teakettle on the stove. I need some calming chamomile right now. Wills will need it later.
While I prepare an icepack for my throbbing cheek courtesy of Wade, my cell rings and I race to see if Wills is answering one of my voicemails or texts. Instead, Val’s face lights up my screen. While I am disappointed not to hear from Wills, Val is a welcome call.
“Hello, Val.”
“Emilie, what’s going on over in LA? I saw a breaking Twitter alert about a scuffle at a party you were at.”
News sure does travel fast. Sighing, I relay what happened with Wade while steeping a teabag in boiling water. “Wade was very drunk. He accused me of being a tease when I slapped him on the set of the shoot. Said I really wanted him.”
“Oh, my God, Emilie. I never would’ve thought he could so such a thing.”
Removing the icepack for a second to let my cheek warm up a bit, I reply, “I did not either.”
“Are you going to press charges?”
I consider her question as I press the icepack back to my cheek. “I gave my statement to the police. But, oui, I will.” He cannot do this to anyone else.
“Good. He deserves to go to jail. What an arse.”
“Agreed.” I try my tea, but it is still too hot. “So, Rinaldo drove me home. Right now I am waiting for Wills to get here.”
“You were with Rinaldo at the party?”
“Oui.” I roll my eyes remembering our last conversation. “He keeps pressing me to get back together.”
After a pause, she says, “I would take Rinaldo up on what he’s offering. Think about it. You two were great together. He’s clearly into you, and already is a part of your friend set. Most importantly, he knows how to handle the media. He got you out of the mansion without getting attention focused on you, correct?”
“Well, yes. He did escort me out of the party and shielded me from the papps. He did all the talking while we waited for his car and said all the right things.”
“Right. And where was Wills?”
I blow on my tea to cool it down. “He was with the paramedics and the police.”
“Come to think about it, where was he before that? Wasn’t he supposed to be your bodyguard? Why wasn’t he doing his job?”
My whole body tenses. Rinaldo pointed out the same thing on our way home. “Honestly, I do not know. He was there, then he disappeared. I needed to go the ladies’ room and when I came out, Wade cornered me out of nowhere.” I shudder once again at the memory of Wade grabbing me. “But it was Wills, not Rinaldo, who came to my defense and pummeled Wade into a bloody pulp.” I complete my last sentence on a sob. Tears stream down my face.
“Oh, Emilie. I wish I were there with you. I’d give you a big hug.”
Gulping air, I reply, “I would like it.”
“Sending one through the phone.”
Sniffling, I say, “At least I got in a good self-defense move on Wade.”
She giggles. “No one ever said you weren’t badass, Emilie.”
A half-smile fills out my uninjured cheek, ending on a yawn. “It has been a very long day, Val. I had better go. Thank you for reaching out to me, it means more than you know.”
“I’m always here for you. Please listen to me. You’d be well rid of Wills. I thought he was a bit of a jerk, anyway. Those brooding, silent types are hot at first, but they come with too much baggage. Go back to Rinaldo. He’s guaranteed fun and the tabloids would eat that up.”
After we hang up, my phone rings a few more times, but I do not have the energy to answer any calls. I let McKenna, Rose, even Cole all go to my voicemail. Feeling numb, I finish my tea and put the mug into the dishwasher, my ears attuned to any noise from the street. A Jeep never makes an appearance.
I walk to the salon and peek out my curtains at my empty driveway. Collapsing on the sofa, I remove the icepack. When the silence stretches for too long, I pull up Maman’s number. She is the only person I have the energy for, and who I know will give me the guidance I need right now.
She picks up on the second ring. “It’s early by you, Emsy, is everything okay?”
Maman’s concern cuts through the last of my reserves and I break down.
“Oh, honey, what’s wrong? Please talk to me.”
I recount what happened tonight, earning gasps when I tell her what Wade did to me. “Oh no. I am so sorry you’re going through all this. But you’re alright? You weren’t hurt?”
I shake my head. “I am okay.”
“Dieu merci.” I can picture her placing her palm over her heart. “You said Wills beat up Wade?”
A small smile lifts my lips, but the pain from my cheek makes them drop. “Oui. He was out cold for a while. But when the paramedics took him away, he was awake.”
“Where is Wills now?”
I swallow. “I am not sure. Rinaldo pulled me away when the police said they wanted to take him to the station. I am waiting for him to join me here.”
“Rinaldo was at the party?”
“Did I not tell you?” I proceed to fill her in about my day—hard to believe less than twenty-four hours have passed since I was filming my cameo.
“Oh. I am so happy Rinaldo was there with you. He is a good man, Emsy.”
A vision of Wills with his arm cocked, ready to strike me, resurfaces. I did not know him at that moment, he was so furious. But when he recognized it was me, he dropped his fist. He would never hurt me. Ever.
“I was happy Rinaldo was able to drive me home.”
“You should rethink breaking up with him. It was only a timing issue before. Maybe you can do something to make your timing better now?”
My mind strays to conversations with my attorney about my taking more control over my schedule. “I am working on gaining more control over my calendar. And my life.”
“I’m sure Wills is a nice boy, but he seems to be very complicated. Perhaps he’s more trouble than what he’s worth. On the other hand, Rinaldo understands your life. He lives in the same world you do.”
I cannot argue with that logic. Where is Wills right now anyway? My heart wants him, not my ex. Besides, Rinaldo cannot see past the schmoozing and media attention to focus on having a real relationship. Another yawn takes over my body.
“Listen, Emsy, I’m going to let you get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning, they always do. Call me when you find out more news. I’m so happy you’re safe.”
After disconnecting the call, I check to see if I missed any texts from Wills. No. I toss the phone onto the coffee table and lean against the pillows. I will just stay here until Wills comes home. I know he will as soon as he can. My eyes flutter shut.
Sunlight streams through my window and caresses my face. The sun does not usually come in my bedroom from this angle. I must have slept later than usual. My eyes open and I blink several times. I am in my salon, not my bedroom. Memories of last night crash around me, forcing me to sit up. I call out for the one man I need to speak with. “Wills?”
Silence.
He did not come here last night. Helplessness washes over me. How can I reach out and help him when he is so closed off from me?
I need to see him.
I pull myself off the sofa, stretch my muscles and make my way to my shower. Soon, after applying quite a lot of makeup to hide the evidence of Wade’s fury, I await the car service to pick me up and bring me to my boyfriend’s flat. Despite what Val and Maman said last night, he is the man I want. We are meant to be together. I need to fight for us.
The beep of a horn announces the arrival of my ride. After checking my purse to be sure I have the surprise I told him about yesterday—a behind-the-scenes experience at “Ninja Heroes”—I lock the front door. While I head to the street, I vow to get my remaining fifty hours of driving practice in so I can get my license as soon as the six-month requirement has passed. I do not like having to depend on someone else to take me from place to place. Even Wills.
Sliding into the back seat, I give the address to the driver and text Wills. Again. He has not responded to my last dozen texts, so I have no illusion that he will respond this time. But I have to try.
McKenna texts me, sending her good wishes and asking me to call her. My finger hovers over the send button, but I close the app instead. No. I need to speak directly with Wills and not seek out any more advice. Val and Maman filled my head up enough last night.
From where I sit, I cannot watch the driver’s movements. Instead, I watch the road signs pass. With each exit, I grow closer to being with Wills again. My stomach flips with nerves. I rub my stomach and try to concentrate on the road.
Of course, my mind refuses to shut down, instead tripling the number of butterflies fighting in my stomach. What if he does not allow me in? What if he is not home? What if he does not want to be with me anymore, realizing that I am too much hassle? I am the one who brings out crazy people and, after everything he has been through, he certainly does not need that in his life.
I sigh, wiping my frustrated tears away from my cheeks. I need to get a grip on my emotions. Wills never cries. I cannot be an emotional wreck.
We turn into his apartment complex. I try to swallow over the lump in my throat but end up coughing.
“Are you alright back there, Miss Dubois?”
I suppress my coughs long enough to answer in the affirmative. I am fine—nothing Wills cannot cure. I hope.
The car comes to a halt. “We’re here.”
The door to the apartment building looks exactly the same as the last time I saw it. Only last time, it was open and inviting me inside. This time, it is locked, sending the message that I am an outsider. What did I expect? Him to rush out and greet me? “Merci.” Out of an abundance of caution, I ask him to wait for me.
“Very good.”
The driver opens his door and, within seconds, mine opens. It is now or never. I accept his hand as I exit the car and grab my purse. Squaring my shoulders, I march over to the intercom, my professional mask firmly in place.
I raise my chin. Wills will let me in. He has to. I press 3G.
“Yes?”
My eyes close, as the sound of his voice enters my ears. All of the butterflies fly out of my body along with my sigh of relief
. This will be okay. “Wills, it is me. Let me in, s’il vous plaît.”
Silence.
Then the buzzer sounds and I race through the front door. I press the call button for the elevator but have too much energy to wait for it to come, so I bound up the three flights of stairs. Just like the first time I saw his flat.
I push the door open. Wills stands with his back to the sliding door to the balcony, waiting. He wears gray workout shorts and a Complete t-shirt. His face is blank, showing no emotion at all.
“Wills?”
“Hi.” His voice is flat.
My body tenses and my bottom lip ends up between my teeth. “I texted you at least a dozen times and left you voicemails. Why did you not respond to me?”
“I had a busy evening.”
“How did it go at the police station?”
His jaw tenses. “Why are you here, Emilie?”
Emilie. Not “Ems.” Not “Angel.” I run my hand through my hair. Crossing the room to stand next to him, I start with the truth. “I was worried about you.” I hug him, but his arms remain at his sides.
I step back. “What is wrong? Are you in some sort of trouble? I told the police—”
“I’m fine.” He walks around me, toward the kitchen.
“Wills!” My voice hitches. “Why are you treating me like this? What is wrong? Talk to me.”
Turning, his blue eyes—now a dark, stormy shade—rake me up and down. “Emilie.” He rubs his cheek, his bruised knuckles in relief. “I had a long night, but it’s over now.” He pauses. “It’s all over now.”
Why does it sound as if he is no longer talking about his night, but about us? I shake my head. “I do not understand. Explain it to me.”
“Your life is very different from mine. You don’t live in the real world. You will never understand.”
My breath stops. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you need to stay with the pretty people who live for the paparazzi. And I, clearly, don’t fit the mold.”
“But, I am not like that. You know me,” I manage to get out, holding the tears at bay. Barely. I rush to him and reach out for his hand.