The Lawyer (The Dalton Brothers 1)

Kendall

Iwaited until the call connected and whispered, “Mom,” into the phone. I envisioned her seeing my name appear on the caller ID, taking a seat at the kitchen table, where she took all her phone calls. Her short light-pink-painted nails drawing circles over the worn tabletop. “Oh, Mom.”

“Honey …”

“Things are such a mess right now.”

I hadn’t planned on what I was going to say to my parents. I didn’t know how to even address the photographs. But I’d had several missed calls from them, and I knew I couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.

“Are you all right, Kendall? I need to know that first.”

“Yes …” I took a breath. “No.” I wiped my eyes, glancing around Dominick’s bedroom, pulling the comforter up to my chin. “I mean, I’m safe. I’m at Dominick’s house, and he’s at the studio right now, trying to get answers. But, Mom, I hurt.” My chest tightened to the point where it felt like it was going to crack. “I hurt in a way I can’t even describe. And I’m angry, and I feel violated. I can’t believe this happened to me—that the whole world is seeing those photos … I just want to disappear.”

“I’m booking a flight to LA. The minute we hang up. I’ll hopefully be there before tomorrow morning.”

I tucked my knees to my chest, dropping my face against them. “No.”

“No?”

“The paparazzi are already outside Dominick’s house, waiting to get a shot of me.” I stared at the closed blinds, unable to even keep them open because their lenses could see me behind the glass. “I can’t subject you and Dad to this media stalking. Please just stay where it’s safe and quiet and where your privacy won’t be jeopardized the minute you step off the plane.”

“Kendall, the thought of not being there with you is making me sick.”

I gripped the blanket, knowing I needed to explain, the thought causing my stomach to act up again but there was nothing left in it to throw up. “Those pictures, Mom”—I swallowed as my mouth watered—“they were private moments between Dominick and me that weren’t supposed to be captured on film. It doesn’t matter that I’m on a reality show; this isn’t reality. This is an invasion. They’ve painted me in a way where I look like a slut—first with Presley Jordan, which was so far from the truth, and now, this.” I tightened the ball I was in, rocking over the mattress. “I’m disgusted—over all of it.”

“Baby, I don’t think for a single second that this is your fault or that you could have somehow prevented it. The only thing you can do is find out who’s at fault, and then you can make sure the world knows who that person is.”

“Dominick won’t stop until that name is in his possession.”

The entire time I’d been speaking to my mom, my phone had been vibrating.

I quickly went into the settings and silenced all the notifications.

I couldn’t read another one.

I couldn’t see another headline.

I couldn’t respond to any more texts.

I needed it all to stop.

“Has your sister reached out?”

My parents knew things weren’t good between us. We’d individually told them the minute the tension started brewing, and once the Celebrity Alert had aired about our argument in the restroom, we’d each given them our version of what had happened.

They didn’t choose sides; they just encouraged us to speak to each other.

But it was no use. Daisy still blamed me for everything, and I didn’t believe I owed her an apology.

“No,” I replied. “And I don’t expect her to.”

She sighed. “Maybe you should come home. I can’t imagine the paparazzi will follow you all the way to Boston.”

There were paparazzi in Boston too. It didn’t matter where I went, they would find me in the States.

I used the back of my hand to wipe what had dripped from my eyes. “Home doesn’t feel like the right place for me now either.”

Nowhere did.

Except for this bed with the shades drawn and the room filled with total darkness.

“I’m here, Kendall. So is your father. Whatever you need, whatever we can do, you just say the word.”

There was a fire in my throat as I thought of the way those photos had hurt them too.

At the conversations they’d have to have with our extended family and friends.

Our neighbors.

My brain was on a course, and the scenery wasn’t pretty.

“I love you, Mom. Tell Dad the same. I’ll be in touch the second I know something.”

“We love you, baby. To the moon and back.”

As I hung up, the screen showed all my missed notifications. Even though their appearance no longer made a vibration, there were hundreds. Maybe thousands. And they were coming in from news outlets and social media apps, texts, even voice mails.