“Here’s one for my wallet.”
“Shit,” I whisper now, though there’s no one here to hear it. “Shit.”
Because somehow that picture, complete with my bare tits pointing straight at the camera, is now out in the world.
* * *
I don’t want to exist anymore. Not die, just stop existing. Ugliness is a taint that seeps through my skin, as heavy and itchy as a hair blanket. It claws at my chest, digging deeper, tugging on the center of my sternum.
Curling in on myself doesn’t help. It doesn’t matter how tight a ball I squeeze my body into, it still feels violated, on display.
Another picture released: the one I sent to Ethan of me wearing nothing but a bra. I’d posed like a pinup girl, teased him about not giving me my undies back. I’d felt safe giving that pic to Ethan, felt sexy and wanted. Not so much now.
So much ugliness. Endless tweets, Facebook messages, Instagram messages— telling me I’m a whore, asking if I’d like to fuck, picking apart my body, leering at it. I tried not to look, but it was nearly impossible to hide from, not when a tidal wave of disgusting hate and judgment washed over me in one swoop.
I’ve turned off my phone and crawled into a corner in the bedroom. I know I should talk to Dex at least. But I can’t. I can’t move.
Vaguely, I hear the front door of open. Everything in me tenses.
Dex is in Arizona. Even if he managed to get the first plane out, I doubt he’d be here by now. Dex I can handle. I think. I don’t know for certain because the picture was definitely from his phone. How did it get out? I’m afraid if I ask him, I’ll rage. I know he didn’t do it. But still. How?
Swift footsteps give a dull echo as someone strides across the living room downstairs. Don’t let it be Dad. Not him. Just the thought of my parents seeing those pictures makes me want to throw up. And I know Dad will see. It’s as inevitable as the sun setting. Dad shouldn’t have the code to Dex’s house, but who knows with that man. For all I know, he might kick the door in.
“Fi? Fi, honey?” Ivy’s voice.
I turn away, facing the wall. Maybe she won’t notice me.
But then the bedroom door opens, and her tall, slim form is silhouetted in the ambient light. That’s all it takes for sobs to break free.
“Oh, Fi.” Ivy is instantly by my side.
Her strong arms pull me close as I cry, clinging to her like a raft.
“Honey.” She pets me, murmuring nonsense words the way our mom did when we were little.
I don’t know how long I cry. I’m sick with it, my stomach aching and writhing.
I feel someone else come into the room, and then a big hand strokes the back of my head. It’s Gray. “Fi-Fi, we’ll get you through this.”
He talks so low, it’s barely audible. But the anger under his words is fierce. I appreciate it, but he’s wrong. No one can help me through this. The world has labeled me a grasping whore who fucked Ethan Dexter for a prize and took pictures of it. God, they’ve made what we are so ugly and foul.
Ivy backs away, and Gray bends down to pick me up. For some reason, this makes me cry more. I love Gray for his care. But I want Ethan here to carry me.
Gray sets me down on my bed, and Ivy pulls the covers high before climbing in with me. Their soft murmurs go over my head as I burrow down, but Gray soon leaves the room.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I whisper.
“I know. We’ll find out what happened. Then I’m going to kick some serious ass.” There’s a hard note of accusation in her voice I don’t like.
“Ethan didn’t do this.”
Her body tenses. “I know. But it’s out there now, and we have to think of damage control.”
That squirming feeling goes through my insides again. “The damage is done, Ivy.”
She gives me a light kiss on my shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’re here for you.”
The idea gives me little comfort. For the first time in my life, I feel truly helpless.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dex
Has a flight ever been so fucking slow? By the time I land, I’m nearly out of my mind. Usually I’m careful of my size, wary of accidentally bumping into someone and sending them flying. Today, I use it in my favor, shouldering my way past slow-moving people.
My insides are rolling so hard I have to swallow several times to avoid being sick. It didn’t matter that I contacted my phone provider and reported my phone stolen. The damage was already done. Because I’m the stupid, lazy ass who didn’t use password protection. I’m the one who let some spiteful, desperate girl slip out of my room with my phone, and she sold the pictures on there to the tabloids.
And it isn’t just pictures she sold, but text messages between Fi and me. Personal thoughts are now fodder for the world. But those pictures. Fi, my girl, the person I care about most, displayed as if she’s nothing more than a thing.
It makes me so insane I can’t see straight. It doesn’t matter that I have lawyers on my side, threatening to sue, ordering take downs. The pictures are out, and the Internet is forever.
The world has seen Fiona exposed. I fucking hate that. I cannot stand the idea of guys looking at her that way. Not without her permission, without her consent.
A snarling noise comes from deep inside of me. And it’s all I can do not to start screaming or fucking crying. Because it’s my fault. All my fault.
The taxi drive is even worse. The motherfucker recognizes me.
“Hey, man! You’re Ethan Dexter!”
Like I don’t know my own fucking name. I ball my fists and push them hard into my thighs. Hard enough to stress the muscles there. Go. Just Go. Get me to Fi.
“You really a virgin, man?” Clueless fuck who’s about to get pummeled chuckles. “Well, not anymore, eh? That’s some sweet piece—”
“Say another word and you’ll lose your tongue,” I snap.
The cabbie blanches, his eyes bugging out. Hell. He might throw me out of the cab, and I’ll be stuck on the side of the fucking highway while Fi suffers. I force myself to breathe.
“That’s my lady you’re talking about, all right?”
The cabbie nods, his gaze darting between me and the road in front of him. “Yeah, man. That’s cool. Uh…no disrespect meant.”
I grind my teeth, trying to calm. “If you could just get me home as quickly as possible.”
“Sure, man. Sure. No problem.”
With that, my talkative cabbie speeds up.
* * *
I expected Ivy and Gray to be at my house; I gave Gray the passcode. They’d been closer to Fi. Gray was playing a game in Atlanta, and Ivy had been visiting her Dad with the baby. What I did not expect, though I probably should have, was Fi and Ivy’s dad, Sean Mackenzie—my co-agent with Ivy—to be here.
Shit.
He does not look pleased.
Sean, or Big Mac, as a lot of us call him, used to play point in the NBA. Six-foot-seven if an inch, he’s long-limbed and gaunt like some sort of modern day Abe Lincoln. He also has a fierce glare that says he’ll gladly tear me a new one. At this moment, I might not give a shit, but he’s Fi’s dad. If I have it my way, he’ll be in my life for as long as we’re alive, which means I’d rather be on his good side.
He doesn’t wait for me to set my bag down before launching an attack. “What the fuck did you do, Dexter?” He takes a step forward as if he might throw a punch.
Gray steps in too. “Easy there, Sean.”
Sean glares and swings his gaze back to me. “I asked you a question.”
“I fucked up.” And it guts me.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
My gaze slides past him to Ivy, who is pale and unusually quiet. “Fi? She here? Is she…” Shit. I can’t get the words out. Regret is an agony crushing my chest.
She gives me a nod and gestures toward the stairs. “She’s sleeping.”
My bag hits the ground and I move.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re
going?” Sean snaps.
“Where I’m needed most.” I don’t look back. “You can bawl me out later.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fi
The bedroom is dim and cool, the covers heavy and warm. I love this bed. It’s big, the mattress firm yet plush on top, the bedding soft and brilliant white. Ethan’s bed. Our bed. But it smells of him, spice and warm.
I hug a pillow close and sigh. But the snick of the door opening has me tense. Light angles across the bed then fades as the door gently shuts. I hug the pillow closer, trying to keep it together as Ethan walks in. I don’t have to see him to know. He’s in my blood now. I’m as aware of him as my own breathing.
The bed creaks and he sinks into it, pulling the pillow free and gathering me into his arms. I flow into his embrace, a sob breaking free despite my best effort.
“Ethan.” I wrap myself around him, clinging tight.
“Cherry, baby.” His hold is so hard it aches. I love it. He holds me like he’s trying to make me part of his body—strong, capable, a sentinel against all the shit the world has thrown at us. His hands stroke my hair, my back, everywhere he can touch.
“Darlin’,” he whispers. “Cherry…I…” A ragged breath tears out of him and he shakes. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I cling to him, fisting his hair. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he snaps, low and angry. He takes a deep breath that ruffles my hair. “It was my fault. I let you down.”
He sounds so broken that I turn my head and kiss the sweaty crook of his neck, feeling his throat move as he swallows.
“What happened?” I ask.
Ethan swallows again, another tremor running through him. His lips press against my head as he takes deep, hard breaths. And I’m afraid. What has he done?
When he begins to tell me what happened, I’m no longer afraid. I’m enraged. It runs through me like wildfire, heating my blood and setting my heart racing.
He finishes on a garbled sigh, his head sinking as if he can no longer hold it up.
I lean back to face him, touching his cheek so he lifts his head. His bleak expression hurts to see. “You want to hear the fucked up thing?” I ask.
He frowns. “What?”
“My brain stalled out at the naked woman in your bed.”
A sad smile drifts across his face. “That was the least important part of the whole story, Cherry.”
“I know. But I have this mad urge to hunt her down and punch her in the tit.”
Ethan laughs as if he can’t help it. “Her tit? That’s…oddly specific.”
I shrug. “I’m not thinking very rationally at the moment.” My eyes begin to water again. “I guess I have tits on the brain.”
As if the word tit flips a switch, I start to cry, an outright bawl that has my chest heaving. Ethan curses and pulls me tight against his body once more. “Fi…angel, baby…” He murmurs endearments as he strokes my back, runs his fingers through my hair.
Gently he rocks me as we lie in bed and I cry.
“You’re killing me, Fi,” he whispers brokenly.
“I know.” My breath hitches. “I just can’t seem to stop.”
I want to pull it together, get on with life, and forget all of the shit. But it doesn’t work that way. I have an endless supply of tears and rage.
His embrace goes tighter, near the point of pain, but I welcome it, want him to hold me this way forever. He nuzzles my temple. “Then cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Strange thing is, the moment he gives me permission to let loose, I calm. After a while, my body stops shaking and feels heavy with fatigue.
Ethan never stops caressing me. My nose is pressed into the center of his chest. I breathe in his scent and clutch his shirt.
When he speaks again, his voice rough and cracked as if he too has been crying. “Gray texted me a joke the other day. Want to hear it?”
“Knowing Gray’s terrible jokes, probably not. But okay.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “What do you call a cow with no legs?”
I caress his waist where muscles ripple. “What?”
“Ground beef.”
We’re both silent for a moment, then I burst out laughing. “God, that’s just wrong.”
“It’s terrible.” Ethan turns to his side and touches my cheek. “But it made you laugh. That’s all I care about.” Pain and regret darken his eyes. “I want to fix this, Fi. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.”
For a guy like Ethan, being helpless must burn. I can feel it in the way his muscles keep bunching and releasing, as if his entire body wants to act, lash out.
My gaze drifts past him, focusing on a distant point, and my voice comes out hollow. “Thing is, Ethan, you can’t.”
I know it doesn’t sit well with him. He’s scowling like he wants to punch something. I empathize. But for the first time, I really don’t care. I’ve lost the ability, it seems.
* * *
Dex
As soon as I tell Fi her dad is here, she sits up like a shot, her eyes wide, and her hair sticking up at odd angles. She looks heartbreakingly beautiful and completely freaked out.
“Mother fuck.” Hauling her little ass out of bed, she pads to the bathroom and starts washing her face. “Just fuck it all. I do not want to face Dad right now.”
I get up and follow as she starts to put makeup on with a deft hand. I have no idea how she doesn’t poke herself in the eye with that mascara wand thing. Regardless of the situation, watching Fi make herself up is fascinating. It’s such a private thing, and I get to witness it.
“Well, he’s here, and I don’t think he plans on going anywhere,” I say as she dabs some sort of ivory cream under her eyes. “Why are you putting on makeup, anyway? You look perfect.”
She huffs. “I’m a freaking mess. I’m not facing my dad looking like I’ve been crying.”
A heavy weight sits on my heart. “But you have. There’s no shame in that.” Fuck, I want to cry too. And that’s the truth. It took all I had not to sob right along with her. I feel so fucking helpless right now, I want to punch a hole in the wall.
I cross my arms over my chest and clench my fists so I don’t do just that.
Fi flits past me, going to the dresser to pull out a clean shirt. “Well, I am ashamed.” Her face twists. “He probably saw pictures of me naked, Ethan.”
I duck my head and follow her out.
As expected, Sean is waiting in the living room. He bolts up as soon as we enter, his attention solely on his daughter. “Fiona, honey…” He takes two steps, as if he wants to hug her, but Fi’s body language is stiff, and she backs up, bumping into me.
I let her rest against my chest, but I don’t put a hand on her either. It’s clear that physical comfort is the last thing she wants right now.
“Hey, Dad.” Her pained gaze goes to Ivy and Gray, who are also standing—baby Leo secured in his sling against Gray’s chest. “Hey.”
Ivy glances around. “I’m going to make some coffee. Gray’s going to help.”
“I made soup for later,” Gray tells us, then clears his throat and abruptly turns to follow Ivy into the kitchen. More like runs out of the room. I can’t blame him.
Fi looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole, and Sean has turned his attention to me. I’m pretty sure I’d be dead on the floor if he had his way.
“I want to know what the fuck happened, Dexter,” he demands. “Why did some bimbo have your phone?”
From the kitchen I hear Gray say, “Bimbo?” and then grunt. I’m pretty sure Ivy elbowed him. Resisting the urge to run my hand over my beard, I tell Sean what happened.
Even though she’s already heard the story, Fi’s body grows stiffer and stiffer as I speak. I know I’m causing her more embarrassment, and I mentally curse the little gold-digger who stole my phone and sold our privacy.
Sean glances as Fi again. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’v
e already sent out a cease and desist order.”
“Which is utterly useless,” she says in a dead voice. “The damage is done.”
“Damn right it is,” Sean snaps, glaring at me. “Of all the fucking moronic, idiotic, stupid, fucking, brainless—”
“Dad, stop,” Fi cuts in with a hard tone. “Yelling at Ethan won’t change anything.”
“It’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I trusted you to protect her.”
“I know,” I manage past the lump in my throat. “You aren’t saying anything I’m not saying to myself.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Fi says. She sounds remote, her gaze lackluster. “It was that opportunistic bimbo’s doing. Let it go.”
Sean runs a hand through his hair. “Look, why don’t you pack a bag? Come back to New York while this blows over.”
At that, my hands grasp Fi’s shoulders. “Like hell.”
“You don’t get a say anymore, Dexter. Not after you fucked up her life.”
The truth of his words is an ugly blow but not enough to keep me quiet. “I appreciate that you are upset, Sean, but there’s no way I’m letting you take Fi out of here. I’m not letting her face this alone.”
He growls in disgust. “Because you’ve done such a fine job of caring for her so far?”
Fi shrugs out of my grip, stepping away from me. She might as well have ripped my hands off. She doesn’t even look my way as she moves closer to her dad. Away from me. I want to snatch her back, haul her out of this room and back to our bed.
“Dad,” she says with a soft sigh. “I need you to go home.”
He blinks at her like she’s not speaking his language.
Ivy and Gray slowly walk out of the kitchen as if they can’t keep hidden for this. Sean doesn’t notice. “Fiona—”
“I’m sorry,” she cuts in. “I know you want to help. But you being here, saying these things to Ethan. It just makes everything more real. More…humiliating.” Her small hand shakes as she runs it through her hair in a gesture just like her dad’s. “I can’t handle real now, okay? I want to be left alone.”
The Game Plan (Game On #3) Page 24
