She wanted to focus on loving George with all her heart and just appreciate life. That’s how she should be reacting to this miraculous recovery from her injuries. Her life was spared; gratitude should come easily, but instead it evaded her. All she felt was bitterness, rage and tension.
Cooper ran into the room and jumped on the bed, rocking the entire California king. He dropped a tennis ball on Stella’s face.
“Ow!” Stella yelled and grabbed her nose. “Asshole,” she said with a laugh.
Then Cooper’s ears went back and the loud thunder of his bark made Stella jump. Leaping off the bed, Cooper bounded down the hall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get any traction on the hardwood floor and he looked like a cartoon character trying to get to the door. Then she heard why Cooper was barking; someone was knocking incessantly on the front door.
Stella thought about ignoring it, figuring it was another reporter, but the knocking failed to cease. Rolling off the bed, she picked George’s dirty t-shirt off the floor and pulled it over her head. Smiling, she closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. He always smelled of the wood from the bar, beer, and mint. She walked slowly down the stairs and padded over to the front door.
Looking through the peep hole, she smiled and yelled, “hold your fucking horses!”
Millie stopped mid-knock and smiled. Several camera flashes went off when Stella opened the door, but she stayed far enough behind the door that no one got a shot of her. Millie walked right past her and into the den. She sat down on the couch and then got back up.
“We need to talk.” Millie paced the length of the couch. “You’re ignoring me and I know you’re upset because I didn’t come to Montana when you were in the hospital, but I tried. I didn’t have any money and I couldn’t get off work, I hadn’t been there for that long. I’m sorry. I should’ve come.”
“Mil, I don’t give a shit that you didn’t come to Montana. I was unconscious most of the time. It wouldn’t have mattered.” They walked through the foyer into the den.
“Then what?” Millie’s hands flew out to her sides and Stella looked down.
“I don’t want to be around Patrick,” Stella said honestly.
“Why? What’s going on with you guys? He won’t talk to me about it either…”
Stella yanked at George’s shirt, pulling it farther down over her thighs. “Millie, it’s really simple. Patrick lied to me and I can’t get over it. Period.”
“No period. What’d he lie about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Stella walked into the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”
“No. I want my two best friends, who used to be best friends, to get over whatever is going on so we can hang out again.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Stella poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee left from George’s morning pot.
“Why?”
“I...” Stella stalled, staring in the black coffee before taking a sip.
“Stella, FUCK YOU!” Millie shouted, exasperated.
Stella flinched.
“You and Patrick and your fucking secrets! I’m tired of it!” Millie barged out the front door.
He felt like he hadn’t seen Stella since the beach. He was so busy the last couple of days with work he didn’t think they even had a real conversation. She was asleep when he got home last night and he left early this morning to get some things done at Finnegan’s. George was entering data into the computer when his cell phone rang. He recognized his mother’s ringtone. “Hi, Mom.”
George’s mom had done something to her TV and she couldn’t get it working again. He nodded to one of the new bartenders and told him he’d be back.
He drove the five minutes to his mother’s house. She opened the door as he walked up the few stairs to the front porch.
“Hey, Will. Thank you so much for coming. I’m so sorry for bothering you. You know I can’t figure out how to work this new TV you bought me.” She let him in, kissed his cheek, and shut the door. “I made some chicken salad. You want some?”
George smiled at his mother, walked over to the TV, and reprogrammed the remote. He was slightly nervous about the real reason his mother had him rush over. Best to get the conversation over with quickly. “Sure, I can stay for a few minutes.” He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table.
“What do you want to drink, Will?”
“I’ll get it. Do you want something?” He got up and pulled down two glasses.
“Sure. Just water’s fine.”
George filled both glasses with ice and water while his mother prepared chicken salad sandwiches for both of them.
“Will?”
“Yeah, Mom?” he replied, taking their waters to the table.
“I know you think that Stella is the one, but I’m just not sure.”
His head snapped in his mother’s direction, more upset at her condescending tone than her words. “What do you mean?” This was out of nowhere. “Mom?” He knew his mother hadn’t been vocal about their relationship, but it never occurred to him that she didn’t like Stella.
“I don’t know, honey. I just…I just don’t think she’s dependable.” She put his plate down in front of him. “I think you can do better.”
“Mom. I love her.” Of course he sought his mom’s approval; everyone seeks their parents’ approval. “You haven’t even met her yet.”
“I’ve seen enough, believe me. Honey, I just want to make sure you end up with someone who will be around and will give you everything you need. Just like me and your dad. We were everything to each other and were married for 28 years. I want that for you.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
“Mom. I love her, when I’m around her I feel…I don’t know…alive, like a live wire is coursing through me, if that makes sense. It’s like she has everything I need. I don’t need dependable, I need that…fire.”
His mom shook her head. “Fire burns out, Will. I don’t like her. I don’t think she’s good enough for you.”
“Mom, please. You don’t know her,” he pleaded. His mom’s opinion meant everything to him. If she wouldn’t give Stella a chance, he’d be lost.
“I just have your best interest at heart, you know that.” She took another bite of sandwich. “Plus, I want some grandbabies soon.”
George smiled sadly. “I know, Mom.” He’d mistakenly told Kara about doctors telling Stella she wouldn’t be able to have children. Stella hadn’t seemed phased by the news at all. It was like they were reciting her blood pressure. Stella’s mother had broken down and run from the room. Fucking Kara; I can’t tell her anything.
He ate the rest of his sandwich in three bites, kissed his mom’s cheek, and left. Neither one of them said another word.
Even though she hadn’t been cleared for working out, she started taking a yoga class every night. The class was dark and without judgment. Moving through all the poses every night for an entire hour was therapeutic. It quieted the voices in her mind. It quieted the hate that consumed her. The only sound she heard was the soothing voice of the instructor, who would come by and help with poses. Stella was just another nameless, faceless student; she melted in with the crowd of young professionals trying to rid their bodies of the stress of DC. She wasn’t the “FBI Beauty,” or the broken girlfriend, or the daughter, or the asshole friend. For a little while, she could escape the hashtag that was her life. It seemed like everything she did was fodder for the public; twitter was the best example. When she went to Finnegan’s, a tweet that went out and random people showed up at the bar looking for her—like she was a circus sideshow.
At first, she wore big T-shirts to the classes, hoping to hide her tattoo and scars from everyone. After several weeks in the class, she took her shirt off and wore her sports tank top, revealing her tattoo and the scars that covered her, which confirmed who she was. Blissfully, no one said a thing. She kept waiting for pictures to appear online or on TV, but none did.
It was the only pla
ce she felt safe.
Stella pulled at her sports bra; it was a little loose because she’d lost weight over the last couple of months. Not eating anything for a month, then only hospital food for the next month had taken off over fifteen pounds, and she’d lost mostly muscle since she hadn’t been able to lift weights. After Jamie’s visit, she decided she needed to get strong to be ready for him the next time. She knew there was going to be a next time. A gun was also necessary, but that was a plan for a different day. Her physical therapist and doctor had given the “all clear” to begin lifting light weights and running. She knew running would help her as much emotionally as it would physically.
The day she was cleared by her doctor, she went straight home to get ready for her first post-shooting run with Cooper. Cooper was the most excited she’d ever seen him. It had been awhile since she’d put on her running shoes. Stepping out of George’s front door, she ran right into three photographers waiting for her outside on the opposite side of the street in the public park. Shielding her face with her hand, she turned up her music and ran past them. Her lungs and her legs hurt for the entire run up Cameron Street. After a mile, she ran out of breath and cursed herself and her injuries. She stopped running, leaned at the waist, and put both hands on her knees to catch her breath, then turned and jogged back to George’s house. When she rounded the corner, all three photographers were still there, waiting for her return, and started snapping pictures. Running as fast as she could, she burst through the door and locked herself in the house. She could see the headlines now. “FBI Beauty Barely Runs a Mile! Fights to Keep Up with Dog!” Damn it.
“I guess no more outdoor runs for us, Coop.” Stella leaned down and patted his head. It looked like she would be running on the treadmill at the gym from now on.
George shot the last basket, sweat dripping off his shirtless torso. “Bam!” he said as it landed. He played basketball on a semi-regular basis with four other guys. Emanuel was his best friend since preschool; they lived on the same block in Old Town and had been friends most of their lives. Their families were so close they even went on vacations together. Sam had been a customer at Finnegan’s for years and they’d become friends. Hugh was an attorney friend of Sam’s, and Derrick was their ringer. George met Derrick at the bar; he was a former college basketball star. The guys all high-fived each other on the court and then walked over to the benches on the side of the enormous courts at Washington Sports Club.
“Will, you were on fire.” Derrick laughed as he leaned down to pick up his bag. “I felt like I didn’t even have to come today.” He pulled out his phone and ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta run. See y’all next time.”
“Wait up, Derrick, I’m headed out, too,” Hugh called and followed Derrick out.
“So, Will,” Sam smirked, his blue eyes twinkling. “How’s married life?” His copper hair was wet with sweat and he wiped his entire head with a towel.
“Whatever, man.” George pulled his t-shirt back on and took a gulp of water. Sam knew Stella from the bar and her job with the U.S. Marshals. He’d even taken her on a date before he realized she was George’s girl. George had always called her El and Sam hadn’t put two and two together.
“I’m serious. We haven’t seen you in months because of Stella. How’s it going?”
Emanuel laughed. “Bit off more than you can chew, huh?” Emanuel was fit and tall. He’d gone to Virginia Military Institute after he graduated from high school, then straight into the Marines. After his second tour in Iraq, he was transferred to a position at the Pentagon. He lived, ate and breathed the Marine Corps. Emanuel had a short fuse and he didn’t take any shit.
“Well, it’s hard. We’re dealing with all this media bullshit.”
“Oh, shit. I saw the most recent coverage of Stella in the smallest bikini I’ve seen in a while. I’m a little jealous, dude.” Sam chuckled until he saw the look in George’s eyes.
“Shut up, Sam.” George shoved Sam’s shoulder.
“I’m just saying. Stella is hot as shit. Did you see those pictures of her in that bikini? Good God.” Sam kept on.
“For real, I’m going to punch you,” George warned.
Emanuel interrupted. “Seriously, how are you doing? This is a lot to deal with.”
George sat down on the bench and took a big drink of water. “I don’t know. You know things between me and Stella are good, but everything else is shit. She can’t even go outside without being spotted and photographed. I mean, we have fucking photographers who camp out across the street in the park. She can’t even take her own dog outside. I think it’s kinda driving her crazy, to be honest.”
“Well, how about you, though? Like I said, we haven’t seen your ass.” Sam was texting as they talked.
“What do you think? Finnegan’s is packed, which is good, but it’s all because they know she used to drink there. I mean, her shit is out there; everyone knows everything.”
“But, that’s good, right?” Emanuel asked. “The last time it didn’t work because you didn’t really know each other, you just fucked. Now you know everything about her.” He slapped George on the back. “Which do you like better?”
“She’s amazing,” George said. “I’m just worried. She’s acting a little too adjusted to be normal for her. She plasters these fake smiles on, hoping that everyone thinks she’s okay, but she’s not.”
“What is it they say? ‘Fake it ‘til you make it,’ right?” Sam asked.
“I know. I’m giving her all the room she needs, but I just hope that’s it. I just hope that we’ll be okay.”
“Well you went from zero to 100, you know? You went from just fucking to living together. I’d imagine it’s a lot to take in. It’s got to be quite a transition for you, too,” Emanuel acknowledged.
“Whatever, I don’t want to talk about this shit. I don’t care about your feelings; I just want to make sure you’re getting laid on a regular basis.” Sam laughed and stood up. “See you later at the bar, Will.” He waved as he headed out of the gym.
Other guys were already playing on the court and Emanuel stood, waiting for George. They’d ridden together.
“Come on,” Emanuel said, holding a hand out.
“Look, things are fine. There’s just something that’s off. There’s a tension in her that I can’t figure out. I know she’s been through a lot and I’m trying to just enjoy her, but sometimes she’s there and sometimes she’s not.”
“Well, don’t you think that’s normal?”
“I have no fucking idea, Man. No idea.” George had been calling his friend ‘Man’ since they were four years old and played superheroes everyday in George’s backyard. He pulled his Nationals cap down over his eyes as they walked to Emanuel’s truck. “She’s got these nightmares that have her screaming like someone is stabbing her. It’s every night.”
“She seeing a therapist or something?” Emanuel asked as he pulled into traffic.
“No.” George looked out the window at the cars passing them on the right. “Dude, my grandma’s slow ‘cause she’s old.” George laughed and tried to change the subject.
“Fuck you; I’m going the speed limit.” Emanuel retorted and let the subject drop. “Oh, shit did you see that YouTube video I sent you last night?”
“No, I was working.”
“Well, you’ll love it. It’s a bunch of dumbasses setting off fireworks.”
“Sounds great,” George deadpanned.
As they rounded the corner to George’s house, Emanuel slammed on the brakes. There were at least ten photographers blocking the street and some were in George’s driveway. Something snapped in George. Why couldn’t they just be left alone?
“See this shit?! It’s constant.” George pulled out his cell phone and called the police to report the photographers. Then, without another word, he got out of the car and ran to where the photographers were and started swinging. “Get the fuck off my property!” He hit one of the photographers that was blocking the d
riveway and pain erupted in his hand. Fuck, that hurt. It had been a really long time since he’d been in a fight. Flashes started going off and George snapped back to reality. Emanuel was in the mix with him and trying to get people out of the yard, but also trying to calm him down. He’d left his truck in the middle of the road to help George. Suddenly the garage door opened and George could see El eyeing him from the house. She stepped out cautiously. Shit, this is just going to make things worse.
“George...Emanuel?”
“You got this, Man?” George called as he took off toward the garage, toward her.
“Sure, Will. I got it.” He was trying to hold everyone back and block pictures at the same time.
George closed the garage door and pushed open the door to the house. He mentally kicked himself for letting his temper get away from him.
“George?” Stella ran her finger tips over his rapidly swelling knuckles. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “I’m tired of it! They were blocking the road and on my property. They can’t fucking do that!” He sucked in a breath as Stella gently kissed his knuckles. “I kinda just went nuts on them.”
“Your hand. You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need some ice, I guess.” George couldn’t believe he’d done that. “That was stupid,” he admitted.
She led him upstairs and got some ice, making him sit at the bar. She gently placed the towel-covered ice pack on his knuckles. “Well, I’m just glad I’m not the only one who does stupid shit.”
Staring at the mirror, she started bicep curls; she couldn’t believe she had to start at five pounds an arm, but it was her physical therapist’s orders. She was testing her body, seeing what it could take. Andy, one of the trainers, came up to her and touched her on the back. “It’s good to see you, Stella. You’re looking good.”
“You’re not a good liar,” she joked, “but, thanks, Andy.” She found it best just to accept people’s comments and move forward. Stella put her earbuds in her ears and turned up LMFAO so loud she couldn’t hear herself think.
Tension Page 8
