Starry-Eyed Love (Spark House)

“You need to see this!” She holds her phone in front of my face, too close for me to be able to make out what’s on the screen.

I blink several times and wipe the drool from my cheek. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but our IG inbox is literally full of hate messages.”

“Hate messages? About what?”

“You and Jackson.”

“Me and Jackson? Why would there be hate messages about that?”

“I don’t know, but people are losing their minds.”

I take her phone and scroll through the messages. There are an unbelievable number of them. Even worse are the death threats and the hate messages on our IG feed centered around a photo of me and Jackson at this weekend’s event that Harley must have taken and decided to post.

It looks like a candid shot. We’re standing next to each other. His head is tipped down, mouth close to my ear, and I’m smiling at whatever he was saying. There’s nothing racy or untoward about the image, but we look very much like we’re in our own little bubble.

The comments are horrifying. I’m being called a boyfriend stealer and a homewrecker. The threats are the worst. Someone says they’re going to torch Spark House, someone else says they’re going to shave my head.

My stomach rolls and I break out into a cold sweat. “What is this about? Why are people so upset?” I ask my sister.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. Is Jackson involved with someone else?”

“Not that I know of.” I try not to overreact. But it’s difficult.

Jackson lives halfway across the country. I only see him once a week at the very most, and that’s if his schedule allows it. Although he mentioned wanting to spend a week in Colorado after the charity event in New York, working remotely so we could have more time together.

I could very easily be his side piece and not even know it.

I hate that this is where my head goes.

“Has Avery seen this yet?” I ask as Harley pulls up the chair beside mine and commandeers the keyboard, quickly pulling up our social media account on the big screen. It’s not isolated to our hotel IG account. It’s on every platform and on my personal account, which Harley manages as well.

Harley finds a hashtag and clicks on it. We’re brought to a whole bunch of images. All of them of Jackson, with Selene.

“Oh God.” My stomach rolls as I take in the screen full of images. “He said she was a family friend and business associate.”

“I mean, it’s possible, but there are a lot of pictures of them together.”

“There really are,” I agree.

And some of the images hint at intimacy, especially with the way Jackson’s arm is wrapped around her waist, and his lips are at her ear in several of the images, very similar to the one Harley took of him and me.

“I think I need to find out what’s going on.” Especially since Jackson is supposed to be in Colorado this evening and we have plans.

I screenshot several of the most heinous messages. I don’t send them to Jackson, though. Instead, I send him a message asking if he’s available to talk. He calls me right away.

“I can’t wait to see you this evening. I was thinking we should just order in, that way we can make the most of our night together.”

“That’s probably a good idea considering I’m likely to be stoned if I’m seen in public with you.” I don’t mean to be sarcastic, or to start the conversation with dark humor, but I’m a little shocked and frankly pretty darn concerned about what I’m seeing.

“I’m sorry, what?”

There’s no point in tiptoeing around the issue. “Are you and Selene romantically involved?”

“I thought we already discussed this.” His tone is gentle and concerned.

“We did. But I’m beginning to wonder exactly how honest you were with me about it considering the concerning number of hate messages I’ve received in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Hate messages? What’s going on, London?”

“I think you need to tell me. I’m sending you screenshots now. If you’re involved with someone else, you should have told me instead of stringing me along.”

“I’m not seeing anyone else. That’s not how I work, London. You’re the only woman in my life right now,” he assures me.

“No offense, but those words seem empty in the face of all of this contradictory evidence. Check your text messages. I’ve sent you a few of the most disconcerting screenshots.”

He sucks in a breath and utters a curse. “I’m so sorry, London. This is not at all what it looks like. I’m leaving for the airport now. I’ll be in Colorado in four hours. Can I come get you so we can talk this out? I promise, you’re the only person I’m involved with, and I’ll explain when I see you.”