by Kat T. Masen
I continue to watch them, inhaling the salty air and remembering the last time I had felt like that. The night back at home, the night I found out about Wesley. The night that my entire world flipped upside down and changed forever.
“When I tell you to pick up your fucking phone, do it.”
My body remains rooted, frozen by the voice that spoke only moments ago. I close my eyes, blaming the cocktails for my imagination running wild.
“Open your eyes and look at me.”
I open my eyes instantly, keeping silent as my chest begins to tighten and in reverse, my stomach weakens by the possibility that this is real. In a deadly slow pace, I turn around and see Logan standing right beside me. How is this even possible? He was in England yesterday.
My tongue is twisted, unable to speak coherently as he continues to stand beside me. His eyes glare at my chest, stunned to see me dressed in a short white dress with a plunging-low neckline. My breasts remained secured by a ton of Hollywood tape, careful not to parade the twins. My self-confidence is amiss, but I don’t let it show or allow it to steer us from the situation.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nice.” He says it like a stranger, callous and much like the old Logan. “I flew all the way here and not even a ‘nice to see you’?”
I don’t have any words for him, not after what Ash had just told me and his obsessive behavior of late.
My head moves swiftly. “Is there a reason you’re here? Don’t you have a new girlfriend back home that needs attention?” I cross my arms, folding them beneath my breasts then realize that a nip slip is imminent. Slowly, I move my arms back down so they’re by my side. “And how did you know I was here?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He keeps his voice firm, and his stare cold. “I don’t like other men touching you.”
“What other men?”
“The man on the dancefloor,” he grits.
“Oh please,” I retort, insulted that he thought I would have taken it further because that’s what he was insinuating. “It was nothing but harmless dancing.”
“Nothing,” he bellows with his lips tight, “is harmless when it comes to you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. The man you love is standing beside you as jealous as hell and all you can think about is how good he looks in the pair of jeans and white tee that he’s wearing. His face is unshaven but so handsome and rugged, only making it harder for me to concentrate.
“You make it sound like I’m trouble. And I take offense in that,” I tell him, getting on my horse and switching the blame. “God, Logan. You fucking make all these promises in London then I find out your almost-fiancée wants you back. The so-called love of your life,” I air quote in with resentment.
“Are you still sleeping with Rich?”
“What?” I say in shock. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you no? Jesus, why can’t you just believe me? I’ve never ever given you a reason to not trust me. Unlike you and Linda what’s-her-face.”
“Louisa.”
“Yeah,” I reply, hurt. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Reliable sources say you’re pregnant.”
Reliable sources are never reliable. Logan should have known that. I wasn’t sure why he continues to believe the lies floating around.
“Does it look like I’m pregnant to my ex-fiancé?”
He bows his head, chin down with his voice low yet full of rage. “Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Or answer any of my texts?”
I begin to walk away where the guests can’t see us, annoyed at having to defend myself once again to a man that knew the real me. “Because it didn’t warrant a response. We’ve been over this and yet you refuse to trust me!”
“You don’t leave me much options!” he shouts back, startling me. “I fucking have to live with watching the two of you. Do you even know what that’s like?!”
“Probably the same as being told that Louisa dropped by your apartment.” I laugh out of spite. “And knowing you, you would have lapped that up. Taken her to your room and shown her a good ol’ time.”
“I can’t do this.” He shakes his head while running his hands nervously through his hair. “I can’t even think straight anymore. You’re on the front of a magazine—Happily Engaged Emerson Chase. How the hell do you want me to deal with that?”
“I don’t know, okay? Everything is against us. We are very wrong for each other. We are like fire and gasoline. A deadly combination.”
“We should stop this, all of this.”
“We should,” I say quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat and keeping my head low so he didn’t see the pain that tore through me when he said those words.
Outside the property, there is a gap between the house and the neighbor’s yard. There appears to be no one home next door; the lights off and nothing but darkness. In between the houses, we stand in the dark with a full moon above us. Although he is standing an arm’s length away, his scent is smothering all my senses and allowing my body to drown in his presence.
The music is loud and plays around us. I make the decision to tell him we’re over, that I need to sort everything out before anything else. The next few weeks would be stressful enough and I didn’t need a complicated love triangle to be confusing the situation.
I begin to open my mouth when the cold hits my back and Logan has slammed me up against the concrete wall. I draw his chin to my lips, kissing him deeply and losing myself in his touch. He made me come alive; a simple kiss that ignited all of me despite the wrong that followed us. The heat of his hands wrap around my ass, lifting me up, as his heavy kisses ravage my neckline.
“Logan,” I pant, straightening my back, trying to gather some clarity. “We shouldn’t do it here.”
“I can’t wait,” he responds between kisses; the sound of his belt hitting the ground as he pulls me into him, sliding my panties towards the side.
“Arms against the wall.” He lifts them and places them flat, demanding they stay there. “Why do you keep torturing me?”
The desperation in his voice echoes in my ears, accelerating the beating of my heart until there is nothing to say but the honest truth. “Because you torture me with your obsessive need to control what I do.”
He bows his head, running his tongue down the middle of my chest. His jaw is prominent; a slight moan escaping between his perfect lips.
“I’m not going to ask you.” His tone changes, rough and demanding. “I’m going to be the only man in your life. No more bullshit. No more questions. It’s just us now. You and me and no one else.”
The weight of his words kickstarts my emotions, and with him buried inside me penetrating that persistent ache, the intensity of what we’re both feeling drives me into a blissful orgasm, my body screaming in delight as I ride it out through his deep thrusts.
The rise and fall of my chest consumes me, my eyesight blinded by the stars that shone bright during my explosive finish. He rests his body against mine, keeping himself inside as he kisses my breasts.
I push him off with care, adjusting my dress and panties while he pulls his jeans up and buckles his belt. When our breathing stabilizes, he scoops my face into his hands and kisses my mouth softly.
“I thought I would find you here.”
The sound of Wesley’s voice breaks this moment. It has finally come to this—no more lies, no more secrets. Instinctively, I position myself between Logan and Wesley. Even behind me, I could hear the growl escaping Logan’s throat.
“What are you doing here?” I ask nervously, watching Wesley move closer. He is a complete mess. Shirt half unbuttoned and hair a wild mess. In one hand, he holds a bottle of bourbon and brings it to his mouth, drinking straight from the bottle.
“Why am I here?” An evil laugh escapes his drunken lips. “Because I needed to see for myself. You see, your perfect new boyfriend isn’t so perfect.”
“Wesley, it’s over. You’ve seen it now.”
“Oh,” he m
ouths, stumbling forward. “I’ve seen it alright. I saw the way he fucked that tight little pussy of yours against the wall. You did that nice moan, the one when you’re just about to cum. I just wish I could have joined in, you know, double team you.”
I shake my head, shocked at his callous words. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah.” He lowers his head with a smirk, his body inches away which only intensifies Logan’s growl behind me. “C’mon Em, you want two cocks inside you? You’re a slut just like the rest of them.”
The rage consumes me, my arm ready to swing until Logan holds me back. I wriggle out of his grip—why the fuck did he just stand there and do nothing?!
“Control your woman, Carrington. Or I’ll have to tell her how you tried to pay me to walk away.”
What did he just say???
There’s a high-pitched scream for help that sounds in the distance. I push Wesley aside and run towards the sound. A large group on the beach surrounds a body on the ground. I run through the sand with difficulty, my feet sinking in making my pace slow. A man yells for someone to call 911.
The panic urges me to run faster until I’m amongst the crowd pushing everyone away. When it’s all clear, I see the two bodies lying on the sand, unconscious.
It’s Tayla and another girl.
I fall to my knees and scream louder for help, placing my mouth onto hers in a state of panic with no clue what I’m doing. I begin to sob, helpless as everyone watches on.
Logan and Wesley push everyone out of the way including me, and begin resuscitating the both of them. In Wesley’s drunken state, he manages to resuscitate the other girl until she’s coughed up water and opened her eyes, dazed and confused.
Beside her, Logan is on his knees, panicked. I pray through loud sobs for her to wake up, call her name and beg her to hang on. My legs begin to shake, desperate to give way yet I somehow muster up the strength to remain alert because losing my sister was not an option.
And then, as if the Lord above listened to my loud prayers, her eyes spring open and her body jerks forward as she purges all the water from her lungs.
The crowd lets out a huge gasp of relief; Logan falling back into a crumpled heap, tired and worn-out by his efforts to save her.
I should thank him for saving her.
But instead, I embrace my sister and ignore him beside me, wishing nothing had ever happened between us.
“Tick. Tick. Boom.”
~ Logan Carrington
I fall to the ground, desperately trying to revive Tayla.
My brain scrambles to remember CPR training; clouded by my fear of losing her because I’ve gone completely blank. One look at Wesley reviving the unknown girl jogs my memory. I open her airway and give her two rescue breaths, then compress her chest, ignoring the cries surrounding me.
Thirty fucking times. Do this thirty fucking times, don’t panic.
The other girl gains consciousness, distracting me for a moment, until my focus is back on Tayla. Her pale face and grey lips haunt me as I lay my own lips onto hers and give her another two rescue breaths. Warm air rushes against my lips; a sign she is breathing and within seconds, her eyes open wide with her body follows in shock.
The relief washes over me. The adrenalin running through me spiked by fear and the unknown. Emerson is leaning over Tayla, talking softly through tears, making sure she acknowledges her and isn’t suffering from any permanent damage.
The paramedics arrive and check both girls over. Tayla explains that the other girl was mucking around in the water and underestimated the current. When the group saw her panicking, Tayla ran in to help her but got dragged into a rip. Thankfully, two guys were late-night surfing and heard the screams just in time.
The party had stopped; all eyes on where we stood. It angered me that many had their cells out, eagerly taking photos of what happened. Emerson didn’t care, avoiding me and not saying a word despite Tayla thanking me over and over again before being carried into the ambulance.
At the hospital, me and Wesley wait outside the room sitting on the hard, plastic chairs. We keep our distance, not saying a word to each other. The doctors check Tayla as a precautionary measure and with that, one of us had to call Chris and Abbi to inform them what happened.
Emerson is still in a state of shock, by her sister’s side and still refusing to talk to me or Wesley. Even Wesley looked remorseful, standing up and pacing the corridor with bloodshot eyes, coming down from whatever substance he had taken.
When Chris answers the phone, I tell him and Abbi that Tayla is okay now but of course explain what happened. He asks a million questions in a state of panic, and most importantly—why I was in LA.
I promise him that I will answer everything later, but for now, would make sure that Tayla rested and got better. It didn’t ease his worries; both of them catching the next flight over to see their daughter.
The paparazzi caught wind of the situation, camped outside the hospital as security tried to detain them. When it’s time to leave, Emerson’s bodyguard escorts her and Tayla through the underground entrance and into a black tinted SUV. Wesley decides to jump in with them, much to my annoyance, and I follow the car, alone and still reeling from what happened.
Outside Emerson and Wesley’s apartment, the paparazzi are stationed with their cameras. When the cars pull up, the frenzy begins. The cameras out snapping away, journalists running across the street knocking on the glass window of the car asking personal questions. I thought I could get away with driving right behind them, but soon the attention diverts to my window.
“Is it true you and Emerson Chase are having an affair?”
“Will you leave the Royal Kings to move back to the States to be with her?”
“Is Emerson Chase pregnant with your baby or Wesley Rich’s?”
The window is wound up, shut with my focus on the garage door opening. When both cars are parked, Jimmy yells at all of them to back the hell off as it’s private property. They reluctantly do so, retreating back to their spots across the street and waiting for any activity that would give them the scoop they needed.
I follow them upstairs and into the apartment, suddenly realizing how familiar this place feels. Then, I remember, watching all three seasons of the show that was often filmed in this apartment. This was their home. Everything looked exactly as on the screen, although slightly bigger.
It didn’t feel right being here; a wake-up call of the life Emerson lived without me in it. This was her world. A world built on lies, deceit, and fame.
Emerson disappears with Tayla to the room, shutting the door behind them. Wesley is less accommodating, ignoring my presence and disappearing to another room.
Walking to the balcony, I open the door and step outside. The sun is about to rise, and with the exhaustion hitting me fiercely, I sit on the wicker chair and close my eyes.
I had been to hell and back since Emerson left me at the restaurant. No matter what I did or tried—I couldn’t erase her from my thoughts.
I isolated myself from Ash, spending countless hours watching her every move through various social media accounts. For days, I would call her every thirty minutes with nothing but an empty line.
The desperation consumed me to the point that I had contacted Wesley and offered him cash in exchange for him walking away. It was a massive risk; a text that could ruin my career but I no longer cared. I needed her and that was it.
He agreed on one condition: he would go on his trip to Cabo and if he came back and Emerson still wanted out, he would accept the money and leave her alone. I agreed because I had no choice; clutching at straws and anxious to have her all to myself.
The jerk posting on Instagram had me reeling. I was fucking stupid and didn’t think straight. I was scared she would run back to him, my insecurity eating at me despite my phone ringing constantly with ex-lovers trying to hook up. It meant nothing since the girl that consumed me wanted nothing to do with me.
Then in walked Louisa.
>
She wanted what Ash had warned me about—to get back together. I hated that I thought about it—for just a moment—it seemed easy and a ticket out of this drama.
But she wasn’t Emerson.
Everything about Louisa was wrong. I didn’t have to tell her that I was in love with someone else. My body language said it all; withdrawn and closed in. It was enough for her to walk away with a bruised ego.
My eyes open wide; the sun shining against my skin. There are voices inside the apartment. Chris and Abbi had arrived.
This is it. The cat is out of the bag and either this makes or breaks us.
Abbi is sitting on the sofa, twisting her hands and staring at the shaggy rug. She’s quiet and withdrawn, not even acknowledging Emerson’s presence.
Chris is the exact opposite. Pacing up and down, mumbling to himself (the same thing he did when watching our games) and stops mid-step to turn around and face all of us.
“I want the full story,” he demands, glowering with a stiff pose. “Tell me what the hell happened tonight.”
“We went out, Dad,” Emerson says quietly. “I was watching her and they were just sitting on the sand having fun. Another girl thought it would be fun to go for a swim and she got swept out. Tayla tried to save her.”
“And you didn’t think to warn your sister to not go in?!” he questions anxiously.
“I was, um, busy.”
“You were busy?”
Emerson nods, tilting her head as our eyes meet. It’s the first time she has looked at me all night, and in just that one gaze, I want to apologize for my irrational behavior that got us into this mess in the first place, but she quickly turns away, avoiding me once again.
“It doesn’t explain why you are here.” Chris points to me rudely. “You should be in England training for the goddamn game tomorrow. This makes no sense to me.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Abbi speaks up calmly, still avoiding eye contact with everyone. “We’ve been lied to, Chris.”