Epilogue #3
“It’s an honor to serve our country in this different way, and I, for one, am looking forward to being able to shower every day and eat hot food,” Trigger said.
Everyone laughed and agreed.
Doc joined in, but secretly had the thought that he would much prefer to be slogging through the sand of the Middle East, hunting down a terrorist. That world, he understood; the one with celebrities and pampered athletes who thought their shit didn’t stink wasn’t exactly his cup of tea.
He knew they weren’t all like that, probably even most weren’t like that, but he’d seen enough who were to make him jaded about the entire assignment.
But like with every mission, he’d perform to the best of his ability. It was what he’d signed up for when he joined the Army.
Pushing thoughts of dating out of his head, Doc looked down at the papers in front of him.
He needed to be ready for anything, and while his teammates would never say it, he knew he was the most expendable man on the team.
And he was all right with that. He’d give his life so that his friends could live, any day of the week, especially now that they had families of their own.
Ember Maxwell sat in her bedroom in her parents’ house in Beverly Hills, California.
She was supposed to be meditating, visualizing herself winning the Modern Pentathlon event in the Olympics, which started next week.
But instead, she was sitting on the comfortable cushion in the window seat, staring out the window.
She was twenty-five years old and had never lived on her own.
Hadn’t gone to college. Hadn’t done anything but what her parents told her to do since she’d been a young child.
They’d single-handedly made her into both a social media sensation—her Instagram account had over ten million followers—and an elite athlete.
She’d started with swimming when she was seven; when she’d proven good, but not great, they’d enrolled her in track. Then horseback riding. She hadn’t excelled in any of them, had only been half decent.
Then they’d watched the summer Olympics one year…and had gotten an idea.
The Modern Pentathlon wasn’t a hugely popular sport, which meant there were fewer competitors. If they could train her to swim, run, ride, shoot, and fence even halfway decent, then she’d have a shot at being an Olympian.
It had been their goal all along, not Ember’s. They’d both been good athletes in high school, but not good enough to earn scholarships to college or be anywhere close to a professional. But apparently they saw potential in their child, which evolved into an obsession with making her a star.
Like a good little girl, she’d done what she’d been told. She’d worked out from morning till night, learned how to fence, how to shoot, swam endless laps in the pool. They’d bought her a horse, making her run to and from riding lessons.
But that hadn’t been enough for the Maxwells.
No, they wanted their daughter to be famous.
And being a pentathlete wouldn’t do that.
So they’d spent hundreds of thousands of dollars buying her followers.
Paying influencers to feature her. They’d even managed to get a producer friend of theirs to do a reality show of her life one spring.
That had only lasted one season, but it had been enough to cause her Instagram numbers to skyrocket, making Ember famous.
But the thing was…she didn’t want any of it.
She hated the way she was photographed everywhere she went.
She couldn’t even go to the grocery store without someone recognizing her and wanting an autograph or a picture.
And God forbid she was seen buying or eating any kind of food.
She still remembered the one time she was photographed eating a candy bar. Her mom had lectured her for hours.
So yeah, Ember might be on her way to the Olympics, and she might be famous, but neither had been her goal. And now that she’d made the Olympics, her parents—mostly her mom—were already planning for the next one in four years.
It was depressing as hell…and Ember wanted out. Wanted nothing to do with California and fame and the Olympics and Instagram, and even though she was in the best shape of her life, had muscles on top of muscles, she just wanted to live a normal existence.
Sighing, she pulled over the box of the latest letters she’d received. Her parents employed people to read her fan mail and to send out pictures with her autograph, but sometimes Ember liked to read her own letters. Wanted to connect with someone, anyone, even if it was through the mail.
Most of the letters she received were nice, but there were always those people who thought she was a bitch, and had no problem telling her so.
It surprised Ember how many people still wrote actual letters.
She knew she got hundreds of messages and emails a day on her social media accounts, but those were all managed by someone else.
Reading the letters made her feel more human, somehow.
The first one was obviously written by a child. The handwriting was big and messy, but the sentiment behind it was touching.
Your my favorite. Your pretty. I want to be like you when I grow up.
Ember read through a few more. Then she pulled out another envelope…and actually recognized the handwriting. The guy had been writing her for years.
Hi, Ember. Good job in the Trials. You blew everyone away.
I know you’re gonna kick everyone’s butt at the Olympics.
I can’t wait to see you on top of the medal stand.
You’ll bring home that gold medal for sure!
I admire you so much. It’s not easy to excel in five different sports at one time.
Most of the other Olympians are only good at one.
I think that makes you amazing. Good luck! ~Your #1 fan, Pat
Ember knew better than to write a personal note back to anyone who sent her fan mail.
She was aware of what had happened to Rebecca Schaeffer in the eighties.
The very popular young actress had made the mistake of writing back to her future killer, telling him his note had been the nicest one she’d received.
That had made him obsess over her, think they had a personal relationship.
He’d found her address and had gone to her apartment.
When she’d opened the door, he’d shot her dead.
But she couldn’t help but smile at Pat’s letter. He was always so sweet and kind. She appreciated his notes and encouragement.
Still thinking about Pat’s letter, Ember opened the next one and started reading. She was jarred out of her musings by the words typed on the page.
You’re a bitch. Think you’re so pretty and too good for everyone.
I hate you. I hate everything about your lifestyle.
Do you even think about all those suffering around you?
That the money you throw around as if it’s candy could actually feed a needy family for a week?
I bet your damn manicure costs more than a month’s rent for some people.
I hope you come in last in the Olympics.
You don’t deserve to be there, Mommy and Daddy probably bought your way in.
Maybe someone will shoot you in the head so the US doesn’t have to be embarrassed to have you represent them. Crash and burn, bitch!
Ember shivered and shoved the letter back into the envelope.
She pushed the box away and sat back, staring out the window again.
Tears came to her eyes. She couldn’t understand that kind of hate for someone you didn’t know.
And no matter what people saw on the internet or their TVs, they didn’t know her.
She wanted to be normal. Wanted a family and kids. She didn’t ask to be Ember Maxwell, internet star and elite athlete.
She knew she should be grateful. She’d had a privileged upbringing and had everything money could buy. But the one thing money couldn’t buy her was happiness. That old saying was true. And what she was doing now wasn’t making her happy.
Somehow, she had to find the courage to stand up to her parents. But first, she had to get through the Olympics. Her parents were expecting her to bring home a gold medal, but if that happened, it would be even harder to escape her gilded cage.
She wouldn’t purposely perform badly. She was too competitive for that. She’d just have to see what the next few weeks had in store for her, and act accordingly.
Forgetting about the letters, Ember got up and headed for bed. She had to be up early tomorrow for more training. At least in her dreams, she could be who she wanted to be. Normal. Ordinary. Happy.
Doc and Ember have very different backgrounds. Can a Special Forces soldier and a world famous Olympian make things work between them? Keep reading Shielding Ember to find out! :)
And of course Sierra is still waiting to be found. But her time is coming…as is her book, Shielding Sierra.