She wanted to go on automatic pilot and finish getting ready for work, but her legs refused to lift her. How was she supposed to go about the mundane business of applying mascara when she couldn’t even bear to look at herself in the mirror? How in heaven’s name was she going to walk into the Cold Creek and face her customers, or worse yet, her employees?
And worst of all, she knew there was no way for Chase to protect her. He was states away and maybe it wasn’t far enough. She had tempted and teased him knowing full well he couldn’t resist her. The result was that she had single-handedly revealed America’s Golden Boy as some sort of sadist. The one thing he specifically said he wanted to keep to himself. What had started as a romantic interlude was now a travesty. She would call his reputation into question all because she was too immature to control her jaded tastes in public.
Her phones began to ring. And ring, independently and then simultaneously. She remained on the bed, unable to rise, unable to move, just staring at the dark screen of the turned-off television. Her imagination ran amok with what would be happening if she were foolish enough to turn it on. Minutes turned to hours and day to night before she pulled herself off the bed. Halfheartedly hoping her manager showed up to work, but not really caring if the place burned down, she picked up the phone. The tone that indicated she had messages sounded. It wasn’t until she dialed her code and heard that she had sixteen messages that she hung it up, unable to cope with any of it. Her cell phone was beeping like crazy, and she weakly lifted it off the table and returned to the bedroom, lying down and curling into a fetal position. She saw that Chase had called ten times. There were multiple text messages. With shaking fingers, she dialed into her voice mail.
“Honey, call me when you get this message.” The inevitable change was already taking place. He sounded apprehensive. And he always called her “angel” or “baby.” Calling her “honey” sounded grown-up and forced. It only proved Shaw’s point that Chase was operating from outside his element.
Followed by: “Amanda, where are you? I really need to speak to you. The Cold Creek says you haven’t shown up. For God’s sake, call me.”
Next was: “It’s me. I sent someone by your place; they say they got no answer. You’re starting to frighten me. Please, if you won’t call me, call someone. Let them know you’re all right.”
Then there was a message from her mother, her attorney, the Cold Creek twice, Nicki and her father, all asking her to call them right away, but saying nothing more. They were all embarrassed for her, refusing to even touch on the real reason they were calling. Tears streamed down her face. How could she ever face any of these people again?
And finally: “Listen, honey, I know you’re freaking out, I just know it. This is going to blow over, trust me on this. I know it seems awful right now. I’m mad as hell, too, but this is nothing more than the product of a slow news day, you’ll see. I love you, Amanda, we’ll get through this. Together.”
If there were any other messages, she didn’t bother listening to them. Her tears had turned to choking sobs and she hugged herself until she fell asleep, praying for two things: that Chase was right and an ax-wielding psychopath would go on a rampage to grab the headlines.
But it wasn’t forgotten. It only got worse. When Amanda struggled to open her eyes the next day, still swollen from crying, she lay there for a few seconds, confused, until the memory came rushing back. Still in her clothes from the day before and her mouth dry, she dragged herself up and padded to the kitchen to get a drink of water. She felt detached, scattered, and desperate for the normalcy of the day before. Before she picked up the phone and once again Alan Shaw made her life turmoil. Too afraid to turn on the television, she opened the front door, mostly out of habit, and retrieved the daily newspapers she received for the nights when Chase slept over and to check for ads that she ran, keep up with her stock holdings, and any pictures of him. What greeted her was the front page of the New York Post. In bold letters, complete with still photo, was the headline:
WALKER HAS LAST WORD . . . ALWAYS
If she hadn’t been so mortified about her backside looking like the cover shot of some tawdry porno, she would’ve patted herself on the back. Her current workout program with Logan had really paid off. And the jeans were a good choice, after all. A dress hiking up would’ve been the only way it could’ve been worse.
And not to be outdone, the Daily News, while not having a front-page photo, had the headline:
WHY COLD CREEK SHOULD CHANGE ITS NAME TO HOT CHEEK
As new tremors began to rack through her body, Amanda reached for the phone. Before the new tears completely blurred her vision, she did the only thing she could think of.
She dialed her father.
When Rupert Cole walked into his daughter’s small eat-in kitchen, he did a double take. Amanda was barely recognizable. Her eyes puffy and her face pale, she sat at the table, the newspapers spread out in front of her, all opened to either stories or pictures or both. Even the New York Times had a blurb about it in the sports section. He was almost afraid to touch her. She looked so fragile. He opted for scooping up the papers and making his way to the trash. He waited for Amanda to turn red eyes to him before dumping them in the garbage.
“It is these people’s jobs to sell papers. Celebrity sex scandals do that job nicely.” He dropped the papers in. Going to the fridge, he poured two glasses of orange juice and came back to the table, setting one down in front of her and taking a seat. He waited patiently for her to take a small sip before quietly saying.
“A lot of people lost sleep last night because of you. Thanks for texting your mother that you were just ignoring everyone.” Catherine Cole was the only person who sent a message that Amanda answered. It was perfunctory, asking only if she was in physical danger, and she didn’t text again after Amanda’s two-word response: rotten night. Amanda wouldn’t lie to keep up appearances for Catherine, who would be the first to agree. Her daughter had found herself in a rather unpleasant situation. She would rationally tell anyone who inquired that her daughter wasn’t taking calls, and give them all the space needed to digest the information. Alerting the police would only garner more unwanted attention. Amanda sent the text right before falling into a sleep that was like a body shutting down, unable to process one thing more.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent it earlier.”
“Amanda, does he abuse you?”
“No, Dad,” she denied quickly. “It’s nothing like that. We were just fooling around.” Here it comes, the next in her series of awkward conversations. How do you talk about sex with a father who still maintained babies were brought by storks? Not that it mattered one way or the other. Her secret was out.
Rupert believed his daughter and didn’t want to make it any harder on her. “Look, pumpkin, I know that you never bargained for anything like this when you and Chase got serious, but I really think that you might be making more out of this than there really is.” Rupert finished the contents of his glass and leaned back in his chair. “For Christ sake, they spend all day slapping each other’s asses, so this is really no surprise to me or anyone else.”
Amanda let out a laugh in spite of herself. It was a moment of normalcy. Then her chin began to tremble, and she looked at her father with the saddest eyes he had ever seen.
“I probably ruined your chance for a career in politics,” she murmured, tears brimming in her eyes again.
“I was only considering that anyway.” Rupert chuckled reassuringly. “But now I’m probably going to get real pressure to be on the ticket. People are so funny about the bandwagons they jump on. And I think I need to remind you, you weren’t alone in this.”
“What am I going to do here?”
“Well, if it were me, I would have been at the restaurant last night buying rounds for the house every time they aired it.” When he got another little smile, he went on soberly, “But I can’t tell you what to do here, kiddo. What I can tell you is that I support whatever
you decide to do. Do nothing, spank him back, write a book, kill him, it makes no difference to me. But I do know one thing, the longer you let this eat at you, the longer it will stay an issue in your life. What’s done is done. There is only so long you can keep your head in the sand.”
“I know, Dad, I know.” He was right and she knew it, but it was little comfort this morning.
“You don’t live in Nebraska. You’re not getting ready to marry a dairy farmer. You live near New York City and your fiancé is a famous pro athlete. These things come with the territory.” He went on, wanting to see her reaction. “You know, he called the house last night, frantic. Your mother spoke to him, but I’m not sure it helped. You really should have called him.”
“I can’t face him, I just can’t.” She exhaled pure misery, crossed her arms on the table, and laid her head on them. She held back from telling her father about the conversation with Alan Shaw, mostly out of disgrace. When all was said and done, this was her fault, and it was breaking her heart in two. “I don’t think I can face anybody right now.”
While he was hoping Amanda would do the right thing, dig her heels in, he knew it was a lot to ask. Her fighting spirit was on hiatus, somewhere gathering strength. Rupert already knew more than he wanted to about his future son-in-law, and his main concern was the happiness and well-being of his only child. He waited only a moment.
“Senator Warren just remodeled his summer home in North Carolina and was hinting around about looking for a fall or winter rental. He hates that the place is empty. Maybe it would do you some good to take a break from all of this, go someplace quiet and get your head together.”
Amanda picked her head up. “What about the Cold Creek?”
“Don’t worry about the restaurant, pumpkin. When you hired Liam, you made a good call. I’ll do what I can to help things along.” He stood, walking to the door. “You go pack. I’m going to make a few calls. You can be there by nightfall.”
She stood and practically ran to her room. “Thanks, Dad, I love you.”
“I love you, too. But, Amanda.” She stopped short and turned to meet her father’s compassionate yet firm gaze. “Remember what I said. The longer you hide, the longer it takes.”
CHASE GOT OUT OF HIS car, shut the door, and took a deep breath. Squaring his shoulders, he strode purposefully right to the Cold Creek’s front door. The restaurant would not be open for several hours, but most of the staff would already be there, getting the place prepped. He had been calling Amanda every hour for days, unable to stop himself from dialing. As soon as he returned home, he started going by her darkened condo all hours of the day and night, with no sign of her. The presses hounding him had finally begun to die down, and he was beginning to feel like enough was enough. He was leaving for an eight-day road trip and determined to see her before he left. Someone in there knew where Amanda was, and he wasn’t leaving until he found out who.
What he found was Rupert Cole. He was sitting at the bar, going through the mail, when he looked up and saw Chase standing in the doorway. He waited for his approach before giving him a gruff nod. He knew it was only a matter of time before the boy came here looking for her.
“Chase,” Rupert said curtly.
They sized each other up. Rupert was smooth, polished, always prudent, never raised his voice. Chase wondered just what the man knew, what Amanda had told him, and how he felt about it.
“I need to find Amanda.”
Rupert’s expression remained impassive as he studied his would-be future son-in-law. “I have to give you credit. For someone who’s caused so much havoc for my daughter, you certainly aren’t afraid to step up to the plate.”
“I love her beyond reason. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about this,” Chase told him, shaking his head before looking uncomfortably away and down at his shoes, shuffling his feet. It was a gesture so genuinely humble and full of remorse, Rupert had to take a second to remember that who he was dealing with was not only a grown man, but an influential one.
“Let me just start out by saying, if I thought for one minute you hurt my daughter, there is no one on this planet who would be able to save you. But Amanda assures me that’s not the case, and I believe her. That having been said, I’d still like to know how the hell this mess happened.”
“Some scumbag from the stadium’s security department caught it on a hidden camera, looped it, and peddled it to some gossip rag. He’s been fired, the Kings are pressing charges, as am I, but I’m afraid the damage has been done.”
Rupert got up, went behind the bar, and poured himself a scotch, offering one to Chase, which he politely refused. “Ah yes, the damage. You know, Chase, when it became apparent that you and Amanda were becoming serious, the hardest thing for her to cope with was the constant attention. While I’m sure you have been used to it for quite a while, it was all new to her. Her privacy was something she didn’t want to give up. But she always maintained that you were worth it, and the more we got to know you, the more inclined we were to agree.” His eyes took on a wistful look, as if he were recalling a time long ago, and he went on. “You know, in all of her life, there was only one time I spanked Amanda. Funny, I can’t even remember what it was for. But I will never forget the look on her face when it was over, those big sad eyes so bewildered. I could tell that she wasn’t able to reconcile the love with the pain. I knew I would never be able to spank her again. But she was a good girl, and lucky for us both, she spared me ever having to agonize over that choice again.” He came back to the present and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Her mother, however, is an entirely different matter. There has been more than one occasion when I thought a good old-fashioned spanking would have benefited her immensely.” He gave Chase a little wink, and the tension eased between them.
“I have seen the footage,” Rupert concluded diplomatically. “And it didn’t look like she was having too much trouble with reconciliation.”
“You know where she is, Rupert. Please tell me.”
The man took on a look of true compassion, laid both his hands on the bar, and waged the battle of the decision.
“Look, Chase. I like you. You’re a good kid. Do I think Amanda is making too much of this? Yes, I do. Do I think the longer she stays away, the bigger she makes the problem? You bet. But only she can decide how and when she can make peace with this. She was always so concerned about doing the right thing, making a good impression. I love her with all my heart, and her happiness is my only concern. I can tell you that she’s been in touch and that she’s safe, but I’m sorry, son, I can’t tell you where she is.”
Chase’s shoulders slumped, dejected. He understood Rupert’s hidden message. He knew exactly where his daughter was. The last road to Amanda had effectively been blocked. He stood up and made his way out the door. He still had a game to play. The one constant, where he still felt in control and at the same time could take a break from the calamity his life had become. He needed to leave it all behind and get back on the field. Before he got to the door, he heard Rupert’s voice, in a tone that reminded him of his own father.
“Hang in there, Chase, she’s worth it, too.”
He went back to his car, pounded the steering wheel until the horn went off, and let out a broken sigh.
CHAPTER 14
AMANDA SAT ALONE on the nearly deserted beach. September in the Outer Banks of North Carolina brought with it a certain measure of seclusion, especially midweek. Families were sending children back to school but would return for the weekends to grab the last remnants of summer. Other seasonal houses were boarded up and battened down in the hopes of withstanding any potential storms. The remaining full-time residents randomly roamed the beaches. They all politely greeted Amanda in passing when they encountered her and returned to going about their business. At least she stopped thinking in terms of every interaction as an aspersion cast upon her. It was a relief. She had been wearing her guilt as a mask that she couldn’t take off.
Every person who crossed her path became her judge, jury, and executioner. Even the feeding gulls and egrets sounded like they were laughing at her. Every trip to the supermarket was an exercise in how to handle a panic attack. Amanda felt she had made great strides by refusing to give in to the voice in her head telling her to wear a wig, but she did don a hat and sunglasses. It took her at least five days to get over the feeling that she was constantly being watched or followed. But she never walked with her head down because that just wasn’t in her nature. She may have been beaten, but she wasn’t broken. Or was it the other way around?
Now, two weeks later, Amanda occupied her same spot in the sand, her knees up and arms wrapped around them. She watched the changing of the tide, wave after wave washing onto shore, cleansing the beach. If only the waves of her varying emotions could be so dependable. She tried to assume a pose conducive to meditation, as she had every day she claimed her spot, but it was still a waste of time. She started with the best intentions; was sick and tired of being sick and tired. It was time to think on the matter logically and rationally. It didn’t take long before she was daydreaming, reliving, and rehashing.
The first week had been the worst. Like a rubbernecker unable to keep from looking at the crash despite the severed head rolling across the road, when she got to the spacious, airy house, she immediately turned on the television. With a false sense of security created by the distance between her and New York, she surfed the channels, tearing her eyes away only when the actual tape was being shown. But then she found herself searching it out, not to watch a careless moment forever memorialized, but to see him. And see him before her reckless disregard for his reputation ruined it all for both of them. But there were way too many brief glimpses of him coming in or out of his apartment surrounded by security, unsmiling and dogged. She was grateful she didn’t have access to his games. Either he would appear cheerful and not tortured like she was, which would cut her to the core, even if he was acting. Or he would be disturbed and his numbers would show it, and then she would know she had managed to destroy the only other thing he’d ever loved.
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