Kicking Reality

“Don’t do this,” I warn her.

“You know what?” she shoots back with a bitter stance. “You did this. Not me. I was looking for a friend that night at the lake. You took advantage of the situation. You had your fun, you played your game, and you won. Game over, Carrington.”

“It wasn’t a game, Emerson.”

“It’s always been a game with you. That’s what you do. You play, you aim to win. In this game, you’ve won. I call defeat.”

Without any more words, she walks to her bedroom and slams the door shut behind her. My chest is aching; desperate to follow her and fix us. But I knew who I was dealing with. Emerson wasn’t one to easily forgive. She is headstrong and determined. Chasing after her would only hurt me more right now.

And she didn’t realize she had done just that.

I couldn’t stand being here a second longer. Without saying goodbye, I leave the apartment and head to the car downstairs. The paparazzi are animals; multiplying in those few hours that we had been here. I drive the car out of the garage as they attack me like a swarm of bees. With my foot on the pedal, I rev the engine and get the fuck out of here hoping to never see this place again.

The last plane to Heathrow is boarding in twenty minutes. I flew through customs, avoiding the questions despite their need to pat me down like a drug lord fleeing the country, and ran to the boarding gate with only minutes to spare.

Settling down in my chair, I finally pull out my cell.

Twenty-three missed calls—Ash

It would be like pulling a Band-Aid off, painful at first but worth it at the end. Before the pilot warns us to switch our cells into airplane mode, I hit dial, dreading this call.

“What the fuck happened to my sisters?!” he barrels through the phone.

“Ash,” I strain.

“NO!” he yells, causing me to retract the cell from my ear. “You thank your lucky stars Tayla is alive. But Emerson . . . I can’t fucking believe you. How dare you disrespect our friendship that way! And you lied to me. I’m your fucking best friend and you screw my sister over? You don’t think I know what you’re like? You manipulate women to suit what you want. But guess what, buddy? You messed with the wrong person.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a baneful laugh. “I’m fucking done. Don’t come back to the apartment. Consider yourself gone from my life.”

And that’s what it took. A moment of insanity to make her mine that turned into losing everything that was important to me. Instead of realizing how lucky we are to have each other af

ter Tayla’s brush with death, it broke us.

I lost the two people that willingly took me in as if I were their child.

I lost my best friend—my brother.

But most importantly, I lost the woman I loved. That’s what hurt the most. Despite all we had been through, she didn’t want anything to do with me.

She told me I had won when in fact—I lost everything. It wasn’t a competition, it was our lives at the stake. And without her in it, it was pointless to move on.

“When he feels like home,

that’s how you know he’s the one.”

~ Emerson Chase

“And . . . CUT!”

It was the hardest episode I had filmed. Not only did I have to tell Wesley on camera that things had to end between us, but it would be the last time we would be together in this apartment.

Saying goodbye is never easy, even when its’s what you so desperately need to happen to move on. It was hard to tell if Wesley was equally effected, but I gathered through his late nights and excessive drinking—he wasn’t coping well either.

The camera crew and Cliff pack up all their equipment, along with the makeup artists, wardrobe, and assistants. We started filming at six A.M and finished five hours later. Bittersweet in so many ways yet finally time to wrap up this difficult season.

“So, this is it?”