Colton wouldn’t do that to me. He loves me. He loves us. We’re each other’s world.
And yet despite knowing this, something about the phone call unnerves me. Staggers me. Resonates in my ears when it shouldn’t.
How did they have my number? What video is she talking about?
I’m too close to the house to call and even if I wanted to, I don’t think my fingers are steady enough to push the right buttons.
Calm down, Rylee. It’s all I can tell myself because this isn’t the first rumor that has been spread about Colton and whatever hot woman he’s been in the same vicinity as. But it’s the first time I’ve been sought out to give a response before I knew anything about the scandal.
When the gates on the driveway shut behind me, I sigh, equal parts relief and anxiety, and scramble out of the car as fast as my pregnant body can. When Sammy opens the front door before I even put my key in the lock, I know way more than a purported rumor from TMZ is going on.
Even worse, he just nods at me without saying a word and steps outside closing the door behind him so Colton and I are alone. Not a good sign at all.
“Colton?” I call his name as I drop my purse on the table before following the sound of his voice in the office. So many things run through my head as I cross the short distance and none of them are welcome. I’m ready to barrel into the room and demand answers regarding the rumored cheating that the rational part of my brain knows must be wrong.
“They’re fucking crazy if they think I’m going to believe them,” Colton asserts, fist pounding against the desk. My feet falter and my demands die on my lips when I see him: back to me, broad shoulders framed against the window, head hung down, body visibly tense. The scene beyond him of the ocean is serene but in just the instant I’ve been in the room, I know Colton is anything but.
The sight of him physically upset like this isn’t normal. It throws me for a second and makes me fear the phone call I received might just be real. The uncertainty I felt in the car comes back with a vengeance, vibrating through my body in a flash of heat and wave of dizziness. The words I was determined to say when I saw Colton are lost to worry as I try to wrap my head around the sudden assault to my perfectly imperfect world.
“I don’t care what you think you’re seeing, CJ, it’s not fucking possible. Zip. Zero. Zilch.” Anger vibrates off him and slams around the room’s walls as he listens to his lawyer on the other end of the line. Leaning against the doorjamb, I attempt to steady myself, my emotions caught in turmoil as I try to read into the conversation without knowing any additional information. “I don’t need a fucking road map . . . What you don’t get though is that I’ve never even put myself in the situation where someone could even imply such bullshit!”
He hangs his head and blows out a breath as CJ talks and as much as I want him to get off the phone and tell me what in the hell is going on, I also want him to carry on his conversation without him knowing I’m home. I need to hear the non-sugarcoated version I’m sure he’ll give me. Hearing Colton without a filter will allow me to believe the extensive explanations I’m going to need to hear the minute he gets off the phone.
“You’re not fucking listening to me,” he grits out exasperated. “They can Photoshop it however they want. It’s NOT true! Guys like me only get one chance at this shit. I got my chance. I got my Rylee. Why in the hell would I fuck that up?” His words are barked out with spite to prove whatever point he’s making and yet they weave around my heart and squeeze tight because the way he says it—like it’s the simplest truth in the world—only helps fortify so many things: my belief in how my husband feels about me, that the rumor is pure bullshit on a slow gossip news day, I’m going to have to thicken my skin to weather whatever storm is bearing down on us.
“Fuckin’ A! Do you . . .?” Colton’s words trail off as he turns around and sees me leaning against the doorjamb, one hand on my belly, the other covering my mouth. Our eyes lock, uncertainty passing between us as my name falls from his mouth in a hushed whisper. “Ry . . .” And even if I didn’t know whatever was going on was bad, the etched lines on his face and taut carriage confirmed it. “I want to see the entire thing. Not just the ten-second snippet you have. If they want their money, CJ, they’ll show me their bargaining chip now, won’t they?” He walks toward me, gaze never wavering despite the worry it holds.
When he reaches me, he pulls me into him without saying another word and wraps his arms around my shoulders, burying his head in the curve of my neck despite the phone still at his ear.
And this show of emotion freaks me out. My heart thunders. My stomach churns. My eyes close as I absorb his familiarity and try to hold on to it as best as I can. Because if he’s worried, then I know I’m going to be freaked.
“I’m at my computer. I’ll be waiting for the email.” I hear the clatter of his iPhone as he tosses it on the table beside us moments before he gathers me tighter into him. My hands are on his back, my lips against his neck, his all-familiar scent in my nose, and yet it suddenly feels like so very much is different.
We stand like this for several moments despite the anxiety rioting through my soul as I let him breathe me in because I fear what he’s going to say when he lets go. Is he going to apologize? Confess to something I don’t want to hear that will shatter our ideal little world?
“Just tell me,” I finally breathe out, my chest aching with worry and fear. His body tenses as he grabs my shoulders and leans back to look at me, the reporter’s words repeating in my mind.
“Ry . . .” My name falls from his mouth again and as much as I want to beg him to say something besides it, I’m also almost afraid to. I welcome the silence but hope for some noise. “Someone is claiming to have a video.”
“So it’s true,” I state, trying to keep my voice void of emotion as tears immediately sting the backs of my eyes. And when I’m afraid they’re going to leak over, I close my eyes and shake my head, as if I can rid my mind of the bad dream I feel is sucking us in its clutches.
“What’s true?” he demands.
“The phone call.” It’s all I say, purposely trying to draw a reaction from him so he has to explain what’s going on.
“Phone call? What in the fucking hell are you talking about, Ry?” He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair as he leans a hip against the desk behind him.
“I think you need to be the one to start explaining, Colton, because I’m a little freaked out. Something’s going on here and I should have found out from you . . . not from TMZ calling to ask me if I’d like to make a statement about the rumored video proving my husband cheated on me!” I yell, hands flailing, voice escalating. The disbelief I want to feel doesn’t feel so certain anymore when his jaw falls lax and hands grip the edges of the desk.
He blinks his eyes a few times, hurt I don’t understand flashing in them, as he digests what I’ve said before shaking his head. “Fucking Christ, Ry. You actually believed I’d cheat on you?” The shock on his face staggers me—unfettered disbelief I’d even consider his infidelity to be true—and knocks me from my momentary lapse. I can see the man in front of me, feel his love for me, and know I’m crazy for even considering it.
“I didn’t know what to think,” I whisper, my confession hanging in the air between us. And then his words to CJ hit my ears again, and I know I was wrong to even let the idea find any kind of purchase in my conscience. I shift so I can sit down, my body as tired as my head all of the sudden.
“Someone is trying to blackmail us.”
“What?” I’d laugh at the ludicrous claim if I weren’t sitting here right now, sick to my stomach. “Who?”