Double Mountain Trouble

by Katerina Cole

  Before I could put together a reasonable response or even better, a question, Brandon hung up. I looked at the phone, now dark.

  There had to be an explanation. There was some sort of mix-up or funny coincidence. Jake would probably laugh at me when I told him Brandon thought they played football together.

  Then I remembered when Jake told me about his concussions. About how he stopped playing, because he was worried it would do more harm to his body as he got older. My mouth went dry.

  The beer? Jake loved his Texas beer, but any guy from Texas loved that stuff, right? It didn’t mean anything. Just because I went to Carolina didn’t mean I was the only girl who loved Moscato. That was a ridiculous assumption.

  Flashes of Jake scattered through my mind. He used to wear a hat pulled over his eyes and dark sunglasses, and he went through a scruffy bearded phase, which didn’t seem to match the guy I knew now. Little by little his Texas accent appeared, and he called me darlin’—something I didn’t hear him say in the beginning. At that time, I dismissed it. But, could I dismiss all those things together?

  It hurt to breathe.

  My breaths were shallower. Even with the AC running, the air in the car felt stagnate. Oh my God, I might throw up right in the car. I reached for the handle, not knowing if I needed the humid August air or just something to keep me from falling into the blackness that engulfed me. I staggered to my feet and pointed my body in the direction of the rental stand. Jake would be there. He could fix this. He could explain. I took a step forward when, out of nowhere, the flashes started and someone shoved a microphone in my face.

  “Are you responsible for the breakup of Rebecca Campbell and Ben Baldwin?” the first voice shouted.

  I turned before the next question.

  “Did you know he and Rebecca were still dating when you hit on him?”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “Would you like to make an official statement?”

  “What’s your favorite thing about Ben?”

  I couldn’t catch my bearings. Everything heaved and rocked as if I was clinging to a raft in the middle of a sea storm. I tried to push past them, but the circle was tight and I didn’t know which way was the best escape.

  There were more questions.

  “Tell us what it feels like to stab America’s sweetheart in the back.”

  “Do your parents live here?”

  “Is it true you used to date a surfer?”

  I grabbed the sides of my head, begging the questions to stop. It was like being swarmed by angry bees. Some stings hurt worse than others, but they were all public and all intensely confusing, leaving open wounds for the world to see.

  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 w
ith 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.

  Thirty-Four

  Chelsea

  Everything felt numb, like when your hand falls asleep, and it hurts when you attempt to shift it. If I tried to move at all, my body seized with the pain of waking up, one piercing, burning twist at a time.

  “Here you go. Paul made you one of those fruity drinks you like so much.” Derek shoved a cup into my hand. “Just drink.”

  I sipped, but my eyes wouldn’t break with the ocean. There were five boats on the horizon, zipping by on their way into the marina before the sun went down. No, there were six.

  “So, this seems like a lot to take in.” Derek sat next to me. “Who would have thought all this time that we were hanging out with a movie star? Wild, huh?” He tipped his drink back, and looked over his shoulder and into the massive McIntire residence.

  Paul and Jake were inside talking, presumably about security measures that needed to be taken. My stomach twisted. He wasn’t Jake. He was Ben Baldwin.

  “Did he tell you anything? Did you seriously have no idea who he was?” Derek asked. “No clue?”

  I tilted my head toward him, feeling the sting of the motion.

  “Ok. I’m going to guess that means no.” He slid his hand along my back. It was an attempt to comfort me, but I didn’t want anyone to touch me. I shirked from the contact.

  “Please don’t, Der.”

  I kicked the cup back and let the coconut mixture slide down my throat. I didn’t want to get lost in the bottom of a cup. I didn’t want the pina colada to be the relief that quieted the pain. That was for people who drowned their sorrows in alcohol. That was for people who had been dumped or were left broken-hearted. I wasn’t one of those people. My heart wasn’t broken. No, it just wasn’t beating.

  “I know I’ve been a real dick this summer, Chelsea. But I am here for you. I don’t really have any clue what’s going on, no clue, but I’m here if you need me.” He stood as Paul and Ben walked on the deck.

  Ben strolled to the chaise lounge where I was propped against a pile of tropical-colored pillows. He had deposited me there before gathering the guys for a talk. “Derek, man, thanks for everything.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to help.” He slapped Ben on the back.

  Ben crouched down, eye-level with me. “I have to go back into town. If I don’t make some kind of statement, they’ll never leave.”

  I refused to look at him—whoever he was.

  “Paul said you can stay here as long as we need, and Derek is going to stay too while I’m gone.” He moved to kiss my forehead, but I flinched at the gesture.

  “Go.”

  “I’ll be back tonight and we can talk.” His voice was soft.

  Derek and Paul made a beeline for the living room.

  “I don’t want to talk,” I answered.

  Ben sighed. “I did this. I did all of it. I know I did.”

  “Stop.”

  The pain in his eyes caught my breath for a second, but I powered through, turning my attention back to how many boats I could count on the horizon. “Go. And do not come back here.”

  He pushed against the chair and stood next to me.

  “I swear, Chelsea, I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  The pain turned to something more intense and more physical. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here.”

  Ben turned on his heels and walked down the side steps.

  My body lunged backward into the pillows. Seven, no maybe that was the eighth boat. I was going to have to start all over again. Damn him.

  This might be the first time I had turned on the TV all summer. Other than a little hurricane coverage, I didn’t have time and not a whole lot of interest. I read. I wrote music. I loved Jake all summer. Who had time for TV?

  I tapped the volume control so I could hear what was being said about him, about me.

  It was all surreal. Ever since yesterday afternoon, my life had been sucked into a paparazzi vortex. They had dug up dirt on me I didn’t even know I had. It didn’t help that Rebecca Campbell was determined to stick around and spin her story. I realized though that Rebecca might be telling the truth. I might actually be the other woman in this twisted scenario. How could I tell what was right and true anymore when my compass had been smashed into a million pieces?

  Derek walked into the living room and slumped into the open space on the couch next to me. He had spent the night in one of the many bedrooms.

  “You don’t want to watch this trash, do you?” He tried to take the remote from me.

  “Actually, I do. Did you know that I slept with a married professor?” My eyes hardened.

  “None of the things they are saying about you or J—Ben are true. The people who know and love you know the truth. Let’s watch a movie or something.”

  I laughed at the irony. If I had watched more movies, maybe none of this would have happened. What dingbat doesn’t know she’s sleeping with the World’s Sexiest Bachelor? That’s what the headline said—he was the most wanted and adored man on the planet. I clutched the remote.

  “Hey, easy tiger. Paul’s parents are pretty generous, but we don’t need to buy a new remote.” He took it from my grasp and turned the TV off before I could get the daily entertainment rundown.

  “Der, I want to watch it.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re sitting in here, beating yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. None of us knew who he was.” He turned me to face him. “He didn’t want us to know, Chelsea. Look at what happened. It’s a circus at the store, all the local press is here, people are camped out at The Carribe Inn of all places. It’s crazy. He was right. There was no reason to subject anyone to this. I have a whole new appreciation for celebrities.” He whistled.

  “Did you just say he was right?” I had hit Derek once before and that was a moment I regretted, but the urge was itching in my palm.

  “I know you’re pissed. I’m not telling you it isn’t justified. But, he’s doing everything he can to fix it.”

  “How do you fix something like this, Der? He lied. He fucking lied to me all damn summer!” I felt my hands tremble. “Everything, the record label was him pulling strings with friends, the book—he’s not a fucking writer! Did he just say that to get in my pants? Is that all guys care about?” I picked up a pillow and threw it against the sliding glass door.

  “I’m glad that wasn’t something breakable.” Derek looked at the pillow and then at me. “What Ben did was shitty, but he’s not a bad guy. It doesn’t take five minutes around him to know that.” He stood. “And no, guys care about more than getting in a girl’s pants.” He winked. “Sometimes.”

  I grabbed the other pillow and threw it at his chest. “Not funny.”

  “Oh, I’m hilarious. You’ve just forgotten.”

  There was quite possibly a smile forming at the corners of my mouth, but I was reluctant to give in to it. It felt better to let the misery and hurt consume me. It kept the memories of Ben farther away. The memories of his mouth, the way he growled in my ear, the way his skin felt pressed against mine, how he could calm me down with his arms around me. No, those memories weren’t welcome here and neither was Ben Baldwin.

  Thirty-Five

  Ben

  “Rick, man where have you been? I’ve been calling you for twenty-four hours.” I breathed into the phone. If there was ever a
time I needed Rick, it was now.

  “Hey. I’ve been doing a little traveling.”

  “Traveling? Ok. Well, have you seen the news? I don’t know how, but Rebecca found me. Everything has gone to hell. What can you do about her?” I waited anxiously for him to give me good news.

  “Ben, Ben, I think we have a bad connection. Let me try you back.”

  “Rick—” I huffed as the call ended.

  Damn it. I threw the phone across the table, and it skidded into the red vinyl cushion.

  Nothing was working out. Damage control was not my strong suit. I was the charmer. I had tried smiling and joking my way through the questions, but the reporters were after more than my usual one-liners.

  I slid into the booth. What I couldn’t figure out was how Rebecca tracked me down. I had been careful. None of the locals seemed to notice me anymore. I had blended in like one of them. It didn’t make any sense. The bigger puzzle was why. Why was she after me like this?

  My reflection looked rough. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I hadn’t shaved or taken a shower. I reached for the hot water knob and grimaced, thinking that just yesterday I had been in here with Chelsea. The water falling over her smooth skin, her body wet and warm under mine. I punched the wall.

  What kind of an asshole does what I did? I had more than one chance to tell her my name, what I did for a living, that I was trying to run from it and chase a new life. The excuses I had created were stupid, so stupid. Why couldn’t I have seen that before it blew up like this?

  If anyone could understand, it would have been her. It should have been her if I had just given her the chance.

  I rinsed the soap off my chest, turned the water off, and grabbed a towel. Chelsea’s was still hanging next to mine.

  I hadn’t bothered calling the store this morning about work. With the firestorm of reporters, I didn’t think Hayden would be looking for me to show, but I was going to have a talk with him. Just not today. I couldn’t take it today.