I’ve never been more conflicted.
THIRTY
Rogan
Victory. It surges through my blood. I can taste it on my tongue, sweet and tangy. I can smell it in the air, mingling with sweat. There is no feeling in the world like winning. It makes me feel alive when, for a lot of years growing up, I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
But I did.
Against the odds. And here I am, on top of the world.
My first conscious thought as I do a slow turn of triumph in the center of the ring is of Katie. I squint past the bright lights, scanning the sea of faces for hers, but I can’t find her. My gaze drops to the first row, to where my brother is parked in his wheelchair. I frown my question at him, nodding to the upper rows. He shrugs. He doesn’t know where she went, even though he was supposed to keep an eye on her.
I feel a thin thread of unease unraveling in my gut. I don’t know why she would leave her seat like that. My agent was supposed to bring her to me in the locker room in another ten or fifteen minutes. Now I don’t know where she is. Maybe the bathroom . . .
I pull my attention back to getting through the next hour. After all the regular post-fight shit, I can disappear back into a world where it’s just Katie and me. For as long as we’ve got left.
As usual, my trainer joins me in the ring. I’m surprised when my agent, my publicist, my benefactor and Victoria Musser show up as well. Surprised and pissed off. No one told me Victoria would be here. And why the hell is she? She has no place at my side.
I hide my irritation, putting on a polite smile for the cameras. I hate everyone touching me and posing with me, though. All they want is a photo op. Pieces of shit.
As flashes go off in every direction, I think to myself that it’s probably not that big of a mystery why they’re all here. It’s great press for my agent; my publicist; and Senator Sims, my benefactor; and his son. And, of course, it’s a great photo op for Victoria. Not to mention a convenient plug for the show on which I’ll be starring at the beginning of the season. I guess it’s even logical. For media whores, that is.
If anything, their presence only makes me more anxious to get away, to find Katie. She’s like an island in a sea of sharks and suckerfish. It seems she might be the only person on the planet who wants nothing from me except . . . me. My time, my attention, my love, my touch. And I’m more than happy to give her all those. For as long as she’ll have me.
The circus continues, following me all the way to the locker room where they hover at the door, pounding me with questions. Senator Sims, who has now been joined by his wormy son, is proudly answering questions to my left when a beaming Victoria wiggles her way in at my right.
I have to make myself hold steady and not lean away when she latches on to my side. The media, always observant, doesn’t miss the way she drapes herself over me. I grit my teeth when it takes the questions in a different direction.
“Victoria, does this mean you and Rogan are back together?”
“Rogan, you were at the top of your game tonight. Did that have anything to do with Victoria’s presence?”
“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.