“Rumor has it that you two patched things up on the set of Wicked Games. Is that true?”
“Victoria, the word was that Rogan dumped you. What made you take him back?”
“How about your relationship? Is it open? Our sources say that you two have expanded to include Rayelle Parker.”
As if on cue, the corps of reporters parts and Rayelle comes slinking through, making a beeline for me. With a kiss to Victoria (on the lips, I might add), she insinuates herself between Senator Sims and me, stretching up to kiss the side of my neck. It only takes me a few seconds of both women hanging themselves on me, running their hands up my bare stomach, to realize what the hell is going on.
Publicity for the show.
This is all a publicity stunt.
That’s when I look up and see a familiar dark head. It catches my attention, bobbing at the very back of the throng of paparazzi. It’s Katie. I see her shrinking away from all the commotion, backing down the hall with my brother trailing along in her wake. Her face is as pale as a ghost.
THIRTY-ONE
Katie
I’m nauseous, paralyzed. If I thought the remembered fears of my past were incapacitating, this feeling, this horror is enough to bury me where I stand.
It’s extremely upsetting to see Victoria and Rayelle rubbing themselves all over Rogan, to hear insinuations being dispensed left and right. It’s extremely upsetting that Rogan is doing nothing to remove himself from the situation or disabuse anyone of the conclusions being drawn. But none of that is as agonizing or confusing as the presence of Senator Sims and his son at Rogan’s side.
I’ve known Senator Sims for years. I’ve hated him for almost as long. He’s responsible for the police declaring the fire that disfigured me an “accident.” Seeing him turns my blood cold, yet it’s nothing compared to how the man to his left makes me feel.
Calvin Sims.
My ex.
The guy I thought I loved. The guy who had a dark side that I didn’t see until it was too late. The guy who broke hearts and bones and spirits like some people break bread. The guy who, in a fit of rage, set me on fire. The person who has inhabited more of my nightmares than the boogeyman.
And they’re both standing beside the man I let myself trust, the man I confided in. The man I fell in love with.
My head spins. My heart shrivels.
How? Why? How could this be?
Suddenly, I feel claustrophobic. It’s as though the train of my life has flown off the tracks and all its cars of past, present and future are colliding. Everything is piling up into one big mess, a heap of twisted truths and inconceivable realities threatening to crush me under their weight.
My lungs are failing. My head is spinning. My oxygen is running out. Slowly, I back away from the fervent crowd as it encroaches on Rogan, pummeling him with questions.
Across the tops of their heads, jewel-green eyes lock on mine. He stares at me for a few intense seconds, something unfathomable darkening emerald to jade. My stomach flips over and my chest constricts. I thought I knew this man, but I knew nothing. I only saw the façade. And the unfortunate truth is that there’s nothing beneath it, no more to him than this. Lies. Cameras. Action.
When I’m far enough away that I can no longer feel the body heat of the horde, I inhale sharply, ready to bolt back down the hall. Why did Kurt come to find me at the front doors when I’d left for air? And why the hell did he bring me here? Did he want me to see the real Rogan? Or did he just want to hurt me? Maybe that’s who he is, too. Just a cruel, cruel person. Like his brother.
An internal alarm blares when I hear a short pause, a hush almost, followed by a barrage of questions.
“Who’s that, Rogan?”
“Is that the girl from the stands?”
“Is she the one you saw before the fight? Who is she, Rogan?”
Panic. That’s exactly what I feel when I see every eye turn toward me. After that, it’s just chaos. Voices raised, people clamoring, everything closing in on me.
Before I can get away and before Rogan can get to me, Victoria somehow slips through the crowd and appears at my side. She loops one arm around my shoulders and hugs me to her.
I don’t move away from her. Having someone, anyone familiar close to me is somehow comforting, like a buffer.
I shrink against her side, wishing I could disappear entirely. I feel like a deer in headlights, frozen. Terrified.
Then, as though every facet of my worst nightmares are coming to life in a single evening, Victoria reaches up with the hand on my shoulder and gently sweeps my hair away from my neck, exposing my scars for the flash of cameras, for the fodder of the media.
I’m so shocked, so completely taken aback by the gesture, I simply stand there, mortified and stunned. I can’t even lift my arm to cover my shame.