An impressed looks colors her otherwise blanketed features. “Keep up that determination, and you’ll find yourself on every list there is to be on before you’re twenty-five.” Wetting my lips, I glance quickly at the pictures on her walls. She says, “You’ll be up there too one day.”
Emotion grips my chest, leaving my lips wavering in a grateful smile. Telling her how much I need to hear that is impossible. I manage to thank her before thinking about the possibilities this new relationship will bring.
Spread your wings, Little Bird.
I smile to myself and think about Beck and Ryker and what their love will do for me.
I am, Corbin.
Chapter Four
Kinley / Present
The cold tile is welcome against my clammy skin as I curl up on my side hugging the toilet bowl. Closing my eyes, I blow out a shaky breath and ignore the sharp pain in my shoulder from the hard floor. Lying in bed and sweating through my pajamas isn’t an option with the way my stomach churns.
I’m not sure how long I lay there. I think I doze off for a while because I wake up to my cell ringing from where it rests on my nightstand. Not knowing what time it is, I groan to myself as I stiffly sit up. Wincing at the lightheadedness that takes over, I gather my bearings and peel myself off the floor.
The rancid smell of my morning sickness fades as I walk into the bedroom. Swiping at my forehead, I sit on the edge of the mattress and glance at the familiar blue light flashing in the corner of my phone.
“Shit.” My eyes train on the new missed call from my brother. My family agreed to give me space when I asked for it after the second tabloid hit, but I know they want answers. I’ve texted them saying I’m fine, but that’s all I’ve had the energy to mention. The more news that comes out against me, the more restless they become.
Each time a new picture appears of me with Corbin, it becomes front page news. Despite believing it’ll fade from people’s interest, there’s always some new piece of evidence against me. It’s hard to deny what everyone is saying when you have detailed accounts from hotel staff where I stayed that piles onto the guilt I’m already buried under.
The staff was all too happy to give the paparazzi an inside scoop, especially for a good price. I should have known someone would talk. They don’t owe me anything. Maybe I’d even talk too if I were in their shoes.
When Gavin’s name lights up the screen again, fear locks my body. My voicemail is full of unanswered calls, which I’m sure he’s long since figured out. Heart pumping wildly in my chest, I stare until my phone goes black again. Part of me wants to answer and hear his voice, but another knows it won’t be a civil conversation. He’s told me countless times that he’s here for me—both he and his wife Kayla have visited when I’ve been at low points with writer’s block or stressing about deadlines. They’d send me well wishes from Mom and Dad, sometimes even bringing food Mom made because she knows I don’t eat when my schedule is packed.
I torture myself with isolation from them because there are no words that can form an explanation for all that has happened. I let the tears welling in my eyes roll down my cheeks and accept that I made this bed and have to lay in it. The lightest tap of a teardrop hits my arm, breaking me from the stupor I’m frozen in.
Walking away from the small torture device before it can flash again, I grab fresh clothes from my dresser and head toward the bathroom. Letting the shower run, I strip off my pajamas and walk over to the vanity. My complexion is frail, eyes too dark and skin too pale. I look as sick as I feel.
With anxiety. With stress. With reality.
Running a brush through my tangled hair, I remember strong fingers making the very same strokes. I let my eyes close, memorizing the sensation. My movements slow as silver eyes pierce my thoughts until I can’t bare to look at them any longer.
When I open my eyes, I can’t see my reflection through my blurry gaze. Jaw trembling, I drop my brush and walk toward the steamed glass with billowing water behind it. I step into the hot spray and pretend everything can wash off me.
The memories.
The choices.
The hurt.
But no matter how long I let the water cascade over my body, it doesn’t help. The heaviness of my hair sticking to my face matches the weight pounding in my chest. Struggling to breathe, I press my palm to the wall and stare as the water crashes against the floor.
When the sound of my phone goes off for the millionth time, I slam my fist against the side of the wall and find my way to the floor. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I curl up and drown in my indiscretions.
Belly hard against my thighs, I rest my forehead on my knees and slowly begin breaking down for the first time since the news.
“Make it stop,” I whisper.
My calico cat Penny jumps on the desk in front of me, nudging my hand until the magazine I stare at falls open onto my lap. The image on display has me blowing out a breath, seeing my light brown hair barely covering my face as Corbin and I leave the hotel. It looks like someone took it from a distance the night we’d gone to the drugstore for Motrin because neither of us noticed anyone pointing a camera at us.
Smaller images of him in his hoodie and sunglasses coat the side of the article. The interior décor of the hotel hallway leading to my room is in the background of each picture. It’s my guess that someone waited for him the last night he showed up.
Corbin Callum seen sneaking out of Kinley Thomas’s hotel room just days after the two were seen off set together.
I bite down on the remainder of my thumbnail until it cracks under the pressure. Wincing from the pain, I release my finger and study each printed image. How long did they wait to capture these? I’m sure whoever was assigned to get the inside scoop had a lot to tell.
Jamie says its defamation since there’s no actual evidence over what the press is saying. It doesn’t matter that Corbin’s touch is intimate, or that he’s at my hotel hiding himself because he knows he’s not supposed to be there. It’s all speculation, and speculation sells copies.
I wonder if Jamie’s in denial or doesn’t care, but I can’t get myself to think too deeply on it in fear of the answer.
The problem of the supposed speculation comes from the quotes gathered by people from the movie—quotes that make it hard to deny that something went on while I was in California based on the volume of accusations. Extras talked, and they said all reporters needed to hear to piece together a story.
One inside source claims they saw Ms. Thomas walking to Callum’s trailer and didn’t resurface until hours later. “A few of us saw the way they looked at each other on set. It wasn’t hard to figure out something was going on between them even before we saw them disappear together.”
Scrubbing a palm down my face, I skim over the rest of the article and shake my head. I don’t know how many people were on set when I decided to go to Corbin’s trailer. It wasn’t like I frequented it—I’d been twice, and the second time involved me slapping him across the face like he deserved. But clearly whoever kept tabs on me didn’t care about that because they’d formed their own assumptions.
Jamie told me not to say anything to the people online who started attacking me once the news broke. Everything with my name on it had been trolled by fans of Corbin and Lena. Names were called. Memes were created. My business email was taken over by somebody else because the threats were too intense to deal with on my own and my physical mail had to be screened because of the amounts of hate I received.