Kicking Reality
The boys are loud and making a scene. Reminiscing about the first major soccer game they had when Ash pissed his pants on the field. Alessandra seems to enjoy the conversation, laughing along with us.
In the corner of my eye, the light of my cell illuminates my purse. It’s sitting just at the top within arm’s reach. Thinking it is Wes, I enter my passcode and see Nina’s name appear with a text:
Call me NOW.
With my cell in hand, I tell them I need to make a call, moving my way through the deserted bar and outside where the noise has diminished. The air outside is much cooler, the darkness illuminated by the sign on Harry’s bar with one bulb flashing bright.
I dial her number quickly, waiting as the cell continues to ring.
“Emerson, we need to talk.”
“Okay,” I say. “We’re talking.”
“Something has happened. And before I tell you what it is, I just want to say I’m sorry and you deserve better.” Her voice softens, almost into pity.
I laugh nervously through the receiver. “Let me guess, they canceled the show?”
“No. I just received a call and email from this guy that claims he is part of that paparazzi mob in Europe that follows the Royal Family. It’s about Wesley.”
“What about him?” I ask, moving farther away from the bar.
“He’s been photographed at Rogues. And the photos were not good.”
“Rogues? Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” I raise my voice, frustrated and panicky. The alcohol isn’t helping me, amplifying my emotions and creating a monster ready to unleash.
“A brothel.”
“A brothel?” I repeat coldly. “So what exactly was he doing?”
“Emerson, I’m sorry.”
“Nina! What the fuck was he doing?!”
She pauses, and in the background I hear my phone ding. Moving the phone away from my ear, I open the text message and see the photo she sent to me. I almost drop the phone, hands shaking and heart pumping so loud I think it’s going to explode all over the dirty pavement.
His body is positioned behind some woman, cock sticking inside her with some white substance laced all over her ass. There’s another woman in the photo, running her tongue along the other woman’s ass with a sensual gaze lingering.
My posture stiffens; arms rigid and shoulders squared as I stare into the darkness. How dare he do this to me! I scream internally. My voices are silenced by my clenched teeth, forcing me to remain quiet while processing my goddamn fucking life and how everything will change.
“Em! Emerson!” Nina yells through the speaker.
“I’m here,” I say above a whisper, choking back the tears that are threatening to escape and streamlining the anger that makes me want to rip his fucking soul out and feed it to coyotes.
“This is bad. I just want you to know that I’m in negotiation to keep this under wraps. It’s going to cost us.”
“Whatever. I’ll talk to you later Nina. I need to go.” I have no energy or fight left within me, quick to terminate the call.
I click the end button and lean against the brick wall. I should have seen this coming. All signs pointed to this. I trusted him when my gut knew something was wrong. It never bothered me that women threw themselves at him online and when he was out in public, what bothered me was the way he would somehow be drawn to women at social functions in which we both attended. I could count the number of times I would catch him talking one-on-one with some woman that he claimed was nothing more than a friendly chat.
He was always on his phone and became snappy on occasions when I asked him what he was doing. The signs all pointed to him being an ass and I didn’t even know what hurt me more: his infidelity or the humiliation of the
world finding out.
And they would find out.
Page six news: Wesley Rich caught in a hooker drug scandal.
Poor Emerson. She deserves better.