Kicking Reality

“Let’s go,” I whisper into her ear. “You’re not staying here.”

“But my friends?”

“Let’s go Emmy, I ain’t leaving you here with this lunatic,” Ash yells at her, the same time the man tries to push past Ash with a sense of desperation. He tries to swing a punch, but Ash’s reflexes have always been on point, blocking him and pushing him to the ground.

The bodyguards rush to where we stand, pinning him to the ground and yelling for backup. The paparazzi have caught wind of the situation, snapping heavily and disregarding the instructions from the pub owner to get the fuck out of the venue. Ash grabs her arm, forcing me to let go as we make our way out of the pub and onto the street. It’s no better outside, our sight blinded by the sea of flashes trying to catch every move. With a sense of urgency, we hop into the car instructing the driver to take off in full speed.

Ash sat in the back with Emerson, calming her down.

“Have you seen that guy?”

She shakes her head, dazed. “No. But I don’t come here and he said he’s from here. Back home, about a year ago, I had to file a restraining order against this man that tried to break in.”

“You never told me that,” Ash scolds her. “Did Mom and Dad know?”

“Yeah, they did. I didn’t want to stress you out,” she says softly.

We drive out of the city and onto a quieter road. My adrenalin is still pumping from the heated exchange, thinking what may have happened if we left her. I never realized how famous she was. I mean, I knew the show was popular and that she had millions of fans, I just didn’t expect it to be at this level of crazy. Every time we had been together, people left her alone. I was starting to see what she was trying to explain to me.

“Why don’t you have bodyguards all the time?” I question her, keeping my tone controlled.

“It depends on what we’re doing or where we’re going. We do a lot of the time. We can usually fend for ourselves.”

“You’re a woman,” I seethe. “How do you expect to fend yourself from a man that has been stalking you for god knows how long?”

“I don’t always need a man to protect me,” she begins then stalls. “I’m doing fine on my own.”

My eyes move to the rear-view mirror where I can see Ash’s expression of confusion. It’s not long before he asks the question that Emerson had been dreading since the moment she found out about the dickhead screwing those hookers.

“But you’re not on your own. You have Wesley, though I’ll tell you again Emmy—the guys a dick.”

“Ash,” she says, then goes on more confidently. “We’re not together. Something happened not long ago and I broke it off with him.”

“But on TV . . .”

“It’s all fake. We’re contracted to finish filming and we have another six weeks left. Don’t always believe what you see.”

That last comment was directed at me. For that is what I had done, assumed that everything I saw was the truth. And even when she admitted they weren’t together, it shouldn’t have mattered because we both agreed to see other people.

I didn’t want anyone touching her, looking at her, or stalking her.

Fuck. Stop these thoughts. She’s here, and safe. That’s all that matters.

“You’re staying here tonight until we sort out some round-the-clock bodyguard tomorrow. Trust me, the couch is comfy. I’ve been banished to sleeping on the couch several times,” Ash reassures her with a smile.

Alessandra brings out the extra bedding and a set of PJs for Emerson to change into. She says thank you, then disappears to the bathroom. Ash calls it a night, pulling Alessandra into their room and shutting the door behind them.

I sit on the sofa and bury my face into my hands. Tonight had been too much. The panic that I had never felt in my entire life and anger towards a stranger because he wanted something that was mine.

Wait, fuck . . . you didn’t just use the word mine.

I needed to sort out this mess with her if I had any hope of playing tomorrow. My mind was beyond fucked. I hadn’t even practiced the field moves in my head; something I always did before a big game.

The creak of the bathroom door followed by the click of the switch alerts me that she’s finished. Shifting my head sideways, her legs are beside me—a sight that did nothing to tame my hunger for her.

“We need to talk.”

“Then talk, Logan.”