Chapter 38
Keira
The last two days have been so hectic, I’m surprised I didn’t forget to breathe.
It’s coming at me from all directions. It’s all good, though.
The reaction from the press and the public after Flint’s photoshoot caught us off guard.
That pales in comparison to the frenzy that followed the red-carpet gala.
Orders for SCORE Yours are coming in monster waves.
Mind-blowing doesn’t even start to describe it.
As a result, I’m the new ‘It’ girl.
Considering my non-model height, I’m taken aback by the number of fashion related sponsorship opportunities pouring in from big brands. I suppose when I’m sitting down, I could pass for an Amazonian. If those companies are willing to pay me handsomely, I’ll gladly sign on the dotted line.
This deluge of goodness is a lot to take in.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around seeing my face everywhere.
Noah is beside himself and can’t get over my shooting star.
Michaela is as thrilled. She’s upset she’s on the other side of the country and not in LA, soaking in all the excitement by my side.
Arianne and Phoebe have made it their mission to text me anytime my name pops up in the media.
At this rate, it’ll soon be their full-time job.
After another frantic day as SCORE Yours’ face, I’m back at Rhys’s place.
Since it’s late afternoon, and I don’t expect him back until much later because he’s having drinks with a friend, I gear up, hop on one of his bikes, and hit the road.
There’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of riding a motorcycle to wash the day away.
Cue ‘Born To Be Wild’, ‘Bad To The Bone’, followed by ‘Wanted Dead Or Alive’.
On the heel of our first ride to Malibu—that included our freaky ride back to Manhattan Beach—I decided to take a refresher motorcycle course.
Then, I took a more advanced defensive riding training taught by a former motorcycle stunt rider.
The second I can afford it, I’ll buy myself a new bike––something expensive––in the meantime, my boyfriend has offered me carte blanche on his collection.
Gridlock traffic and LA are synonymous, but there’s a small window where the roads aren’t obstructed by a million vehicles.
I venture up Sunset Strip, past the iconic Beverly Hills Hotel, and up to Pacific Coast Highway.
After a thrilling ride and stopping on the way for homemade ice cream, I retreat to Manhattan Beach.
Since I’m running low on gas, I stop in Santa Monica because I don’t want to chance it.
As I fill the tank, I hum a Top 40 catchy song in my head. Once done, I put the gas nozzle back in place. I pull out my wallet and grab Rhys’s credit card and swipe it through the payment machine.
I collect the receipt.
“This must be my lucky day. If it isn’t Keira Weatherly.”
I turn my head.
A bald man I recognize approaches me.
Oh, no. Not him.
“Jedd Maitland from the Hollywood Herald. What a coincidence.” He flashes an insincere smile and sticks out his hand.
I ignore it and proceed to stuff the receipt into my wallet.
“No guard dogs today?” he says, scouring the gas station.
I curse under my breath.
“It seems you’re the girl of the hour.”
I keep pretending he’s not standing next to me.
“Rumor has it, renowned designers and brands are throwing themselves at you.”
I wish he’d stop talking, but no, like a little Chihuahua, he yaps along.
“Lots of sponsorship deals to choose from. That’s a windfall of bucks coming your way. Nice work if you can get it.”
I glare at him and fight the urge to inflict pain by striking him with my helmet.
One.
Two.
Three.
I count in my head, forcing myself to calm down.
“Not that you need money, because you’re dating a billionaire. Must be cushy,” he says, smirking. “Does your boyfriend have a brother? Joke. I’m not gay… but for a billionaire I might be…”
Idiot. “Leave me alone, Jedd.”
“Come on, Keira. Don’t you want to get your side of the story out there?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“By keeping quiet, you’re admitting to being guilty.”
Asshole.
My eyes dart to his.
The words are burning my tongue, but as long as I’m under contract, anything I say has an impact on Rhys’s company. I bite my tongue.
“Get your facts straight instead of pestering me.”
“Are you going to share some of the money you’ll earn from your new found fame with Chelle’s mom? It’s the right thing to do considering your role in her daughter’s––”
“Why are you so intent on assassinating my character by weaving a web of lies?”
“I’m digging for the truth,” he says.
“You have a warped understanding of the word, truth. You’re pushing so hard, I have to wonder what’s your payoff? Did Margaret Camden promise to thank you by sleeping with you for dragging my name through the mud and elevating her daughter to sainthood?”
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Guilt weighs heavy on your conscience?” he says. “Is that why you want me to shut up?”
Asshole.
He rolls his eyes like a teenage girl.
“No, I want you to shut up because your voice irritates the hell out of me.”
Since nothing seems to faze him, he opens his mouth and vomits more words. “It’s a struggle for Margaret now that she can no longer count on Chelle’s big fat transfers.” He shakes his head with a disapproving tsk on his lips. “So, so sad. It’s tough in LA for a single mom.”
Patronizing prick.
“And you’d know how?” I can’t resist.
“Margaret has confided in me,” he says. “Rumor has it a UK publisher approached her for tell-all book.”
That should line her bank account.
Given how my friendship with Chelle dissolved, I’m not surprised her mom has no allegiance to me.
Mrs. Camden has a lot in common with my mom—they constantly pick the wrong men.
Chelle had little recollection of her dad. He walked out when she was four years old and returned to his native Australia, never to be heard from again.
Like most of the men Margaret has been with, her last boyfriend wasn’t a prize.
That didn’t stop her from claiming she was madly in love two months into their extended bootycall.
The bastard hightailed it back across the border to his native Vancouver when he found out she was pregnant with triplets.
That was two years ago and another motivation for Chelle to make it big.
“Get away from me.” My anger blooms anew. “You’re harassing me with your stupid questions.”
“We’re simply having a conversation––”
“I can’t stand another minute of this bullshit.”
I snatch the helmet from the handle, secure it on my head, lower my visor, slip my gloves on, jump on the bike, rev up the engine, and get the hell out of there. I gun down the road, hoping to put as much distance between Jedd and me as I can.
I stop at a red light at an intersection. I’m in the middle lane. Jedd fucking Maitland pulls up to my right.
He waves.
Great.
With a smirk twisting his lips, he launches into question mode, leaning against the door, shouting loud enough for people living in Kentucky to hear him. The creep is grating on my last nerve. I want to scream Leave me alone, but instead, I turn my head to the left, intent on ignoring him.
He shouts louder.
Jesus.
Fuck off.
I rev the engine, ready to bolt when the light changes to green. When it does, I’m gone. On the highway, I’ll hit the gas and speed away. Within the city limits, I have to be more careful, which is why, at the next red light, we meet again. And again, he pesters me.
Dammit.
My attention is on the traffic lights, praying for them to change.
Come on. Come on.
I peek to my right, Jedd has both hands on the steering wheel, ready to keep up with me.
We leave the intersection at the same time when the light turns green, but we don’t go far.
A deafening crash and the screeching sound of tires have me jumping out of my skin. My head whips to the side. Horror suffuses me as a vehicle––that must’ve run the red light––slams into the back passenger side of Jedd’s car, causing it to swerve in my direction.
Holy fuck.
In an attempt to change lanes to save myself, a vehicle rear-ends me, causing me to lose control of the bike.
Shit, shit, shit.
Everything happens ridiculously fast, at the same time it’s like everything is in slow motion.
Right before the bike––seven-hundred-plus pounds of metal––hits the asphalt with me still straddling it, I leap off it, using my advanced training as my guide.
There’s no time to worry about oncoming traffic.
I can only pray. I hit the ground hard, and my body rolls a few times until I land on my back.
I’m still alive.
I try to move, but everything hurts.
I try again.
Same result.
Dear God.
Panic sets in.
As I lie there motionless, I’m aware of the frantic commotion surrounding me. People are shouting and horns are blaring.
“Call 911.” A man near me tells someone. The man kneels by my side, his leg brushing my arm. “I have CPR training, but you landed pretty hard. I don’t want to shake you in case of a spinal injury. Can you hear me?”
My mind must be playing tricks on me, because the voice sounds familiar.
“Can you hear me?” He yells his question this time.
I shift my eyes so I can catch a glance of the man hovering over me through the smoky dark tint of my visor. I burst into tears when I recognize him.
“Shane.” My throat is scratchy and my voice comes out too faint for him to hear me.
“Squeeze your hand into a fist if you can hear me,” he says.
I do as I’m told.
“Good.” The relief in his voice is unmistakable. “Help is on the way.”
I move my fingers, calling him to me.
He leans closer.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says.
“Shane,” I say as loud as I can.
His head jerks back. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s Keira.”
“Keira?”
“Yes.”
“Rhys’s Keira?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “I’m not leaving your side, Keira.”
I can’t hold back the tears. “Everything hurts, Shane.”
“Fuck,” he says. “Collin, get over here.”
His brother is here?
“I called 911,” Collin says. “I’m sure a bunch of people did.”
“It’s Keira,” Shane says.
“Rhys’s Keira?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit. Why aren’t you removing her helmet?”
“I don’t know what condition she’s in,” Shane says. “She could have a spinal injury. Removing her helmet could be dangerous.”
This is the second time Shane’s mentioned a spinal injury. The thought sends chills down my back.
“Got it,” Collin says. “Can I touch her hand?”
“Be careful,” Shane says.
“Shane and I are here for you, Keira,” he says, wrapping his large hand around mine.
“Collin, my leg. It’s wet and cold. And it hurts like hell.”
The searing pain makes me see stars. It’s so sharp and intense, I pray for numbness.
“You’re bleeding and you probably landed on it,” Shane says.
My heart sinks.
“Collin, go find out if amongst those drivers there’s a doctor or a nurse,” Shane says. “Usually, they step up to the plate, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”
“On it,” Colin says.
“Hang in there, sweetheart.” Shane’s hand squeezes mine. “There are quite a few hospitals around. The response time should be quick.”
“Okay.”
The movie of my life flashes in front of my eyes. I try to rein in the cyclone of thoughts and the weight pressing against my bleeding heart, but it only deepens my sorrow.
My mind races into a dangerous territory—finality.
I open my mouth to ask Shane for a favor, but hesitate.
For once, everything in my life is perfect. I’m happy and content. Blissful, even. God even granted me the man. My man… the one my heart can no longer live without. And now it seems being in the wrong place at the wrong time might steal everything away from me.
This might be my last chance.
The thought shatters me.
A deluge of emotion lodges in my throat. In what might be my last-ditch effort, I pluck up the courage to speak.
“Shane.”
He hovers right over me again. “Yes?”
“If I don’t make it, tell Rhys I love him.” My voice is trembling, and a river of tears tracks down my cheeks.
“No, sweetheart, you’re going to tell him yourself because you are going to make it,” he says.
“Please, Shane. In case I don’t. Promise me.”
He stares at me for a long beat.
“Please.”
He nods. “I promise to tell him.”
“Thank you. Tell him I love him with all my heart. Tell him I’ve loved him forever and I’ll keep loving him in the afterlife.”
Blaring sirens tell me help is near… right before everything goes black.