Once they left, the tears started again, and I cried myself to sleep on the couch curled in a ball, hoping Ethan would be there when I woke in the morning.
He wasn’t.
I called out of work, too on edge to sit at a desk all day. I washed away the horrors of the night in the shower, still hearing Ethan’s fist connecting with Rick’s face on a loop in my head, the crunch of bones distinct. I debated heading upstairs to Lil’s but didn’t want to drag her into my nonsense, so I got dressed to face the day alone, heading out into the street for a coffee and fresh air.
While I walked, I heard the obvious sound of camera clicks, a man rocking a pencil mustache and capris in front of me. “Um, excuse me?” I asked after five snaps, positive he was taking pictures of me. “What are you doing?”
“You’re Keely Doyle,” he said with a shrug, snapping two more photos, the flash temporarily blinding me.
I shielded my eyes, suddenly thankful I bothered to put a bra on for the short walk. “And you are?”
“Desmond.” Click.
“Ok, well, why are you taking pictures of me, Desmond?” I crossed my arms over my chest as I stepped around him. “I don’t know you.”
Click. “You’re Ever’s girlfriend, right?” Click.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, taking a step back.
Click. “You went to the Lorelei event with Ever. You’re his girlfriend. At least that’s what the Bold says this morning.” Click. Click. Click. With every click of the camera, I sympathized with celebrities that smashed them.
“The Bold said what?” Had Rick published some bullcrap story about us as payback for Ethan hitting him?
“Rick Gray’s latest expose is on Ever. He traced him to Boston. Says it’s the guy in the pictures with you.” He pulled his cell from his pocket, tapping a few times before flipping the screen toward me, the Bold’s latest headline loud and clear: Ever Unmasked: Local Man Pinned as Elusive Painter. The page was littered with pictures of Ethan going about life: jogging on the waterfront, arriving at the Lorelei event, kissing me in Bowie’s.
My heart dropped, realizing Rick followed Ethan to me. He was only interested in talking to me to get information. That’s why he made a point to say he was a writer, not a reporter. He thought I knew something.
I blinked stupidly, unsure of what I knew. Ethan couldn’t be Ever. Ever was everything Ethan hated in the world. Rich. Flashy. Blunt.
He didn’t even like art.
The memory of the video call flashed before my eyes along with the camera, a shirtless Ethan with paint splattered across his chest. What had he said he was doing? Painting a bathroom?
“I think they need to lay off the grass,” I breathed automatically with an eye roll, slapping the thought out of my head. They were out of their minds. They had to be. Ethan was a tech nerd, not a painter.
“Are you denying the report?” Click.
“Emphatically.” I pushed past him, my long strides forcing the much-shorter paparazzo to quickstep.
A block into the walk, we were joined by another man with oily hair slicked back in a long, blond ponytail. He, too, snapped away, so I popped a middle finger next to my face, sure to ruin each shot. Not only were they taking photos of a useless subject, but they weren’t even going to be printable.
Another block introduced two more, pedestrians now gaping at me as if I were someone famous -not just an anonymous girl on the street in search of caffeine. The attention made me hyper-conscious of every move, memories of my childhood rushing back, the same sinking feeling I’d felt on the stage during my pageant days gnawing at my gut.
Once I reached the coffee shop, I slammed the door and set the lock, the barista shooting me a worried look. “Ma’am, you can’t…”
“Please,” I choked out, chest heaving. I turned to look back at the street, at least ten figures with cameras waiting outside the door. “I just need a caramel latte, and I’ll be on my way.”
She nodded, every customer now gaping at me. A few had cell phones out, some taking pictures, while others freely filmed me while I paced like a caged animal. “Would you stop? I’m no one!” I growled. “The Bold made a mistake. Expect a big, fat apology and correction tomorrow.”
One of the camera-toting vermin shook the handle of the door trying to get inside, the barista nervously fumbling with machinery as she went about making my drink. She was as scared as I was.
“I’m sorry,” I offered. And I was. She was just trying to work. She didn’t need to deal with my problems.
“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. Her hands were shaking as she worked. The poor thing was terrified.
I turned, seeing that at least another dozen bodies joined the waiting mob outside. Tears burned, panic setting in. There was no way I could get away from them. “Do you have another exit?”
She shook her head, but the red exit sign in the back caught my eye. I stayed quiet while she finished my drink, my phone buzzing.
Ethan: Get in the black Tahoe.
I glanced out at the street, the large, black SUV parked on the opposite side, windows completely tinted.
How do you know where I am?
My hands were shaking as I typed, the men outside leaning against the glass with their cameras pointed at me. The mob seemed to grow by the second.
Ethan: Listen to me. You’ll be safe.
I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and hurried to the counter, fingers rapping on the stone as I waited, desperately attempting to keep my cool. As soon as she handed me the drink I slid her a twenty. “Keep the change.”
I strolled toward the bathroom, all eyes still on me, before crashing through the exit, the alarm overhead wailing as I did. I spilled into the unfamiliar alley, but I
