29. Monroe
29
MONROE
M y pulse is thundering like a herd of wild horses. Sweat is beginning to gather on my palms. I’m not prone to panic attacks, but here I am, about to start hyperventilating.
Cash grabs the phone from me, inspecting the photo closer. It was posted on a tabloid page three minutes ago. It’s probably been posted on a dozen more by now. This is the first time a spicy photo of me has ever been leaked.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” I lean forward, placing my hands on my knees and shutting my eyes.
The photo depicts me clearly getting it on with Cash. My face is thrown back, eyes closed. His face is pressed up against my chest, my nipple only concealed because it’s sucked between his teeth.
“This was taken from the driveway. Who sent it to her?” Cash is pacing.
“It’s on a random internet site. Are you okay? Honey, talk to me.” Katherine’s voice sounds far away .
I keep my head down, trying to talk myself out of a panic attack.
“What does this mean?” Cash says, pacing away from me so I can’t hear Katherine.
Who would do this? Someone in his family?
Surely not …
“Whatever she needs,” he grits out.
After several deep inhales and exhales, I reach up and grab the phone from him, tapping the speaker button.
“… for the boyfriend narrative. You and she fell in love while on tour. It’s been the rumor for over a month. It’s the only way out. We’ll say she was already over with Zade when this started. The photo is unfortunate, but after a few days, we can use it to our advantage.”
“Nothing has started. This is just … I was already over with Zade.”
I glance up at him. His face is unreadable.
We’re at an impasse, neither of us willing to compromise the life we’ve built or our egos to communicate with each other that this could work and that, somehow, we could make it happen.
He’s an ex-military Texas rancher who hates people.
I’m an A-list celebrity with millions of fans, a dangerous stalker, and a house in Los Angeles.
He has a family who adores him.
I have no one, unless my staff counts.
He wants a simple life, riding bulls and hunting for his food.
I want to reach the top, to be the best I can be. I want to prove to myself that I’m more than the girl who was raised in a run-down neighborhood with a mom who would rather send me off to Hollywood with a stranger than be a parent.
I shrivel up as small as I can on the sofa. Numbness begins to spread over my limbs. It’s me against this world, against this new scandal in the media. What we did with our bodies doesn’t mean he’s on my side or committed to me. He hasn’t said as much—that’s for damn sure.
“We don’t really have a choice, now do we, love? I know he wasn’t a fan of the narrative before, but now that there’s evidence, we can’t exactly deny?—”
“Then, don’t deny it,” I spit out.
Cash’s jaw clenches. I look away from him. If he doesn’t want people to know there’s been something going on with us, he shouldn’t have brought me here.
“Do what you need to do. I’ll find out who took the picture.” He turns around and leaves, shutting the front door behind him.
My stomach plummets. We’re both getting screwed here, and he’s just going to walk out like that?
Katherine exhales, “Sweetheart, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but do you have someone to talk to? Ember, Fidel, your therapist?”
A lonely tear materializes from my eye. I feel it roll down my cheek, leaving a cool stream of moisture in its wake. I could call Ember, but for some reason, I don’t feel like I can even voice everything I’m feeling to her. I can’t explain it. I haven’t gone to therapy since the tour started because I don’t have the emotional energy to spare right now. It’s easier to shove everything down and ignore it.
“Kat, I’m fine. Let’s talk about what this means for me.”
She sighs. The sound of rustling paper fills the background. “Well, it’s not complicated. We’re not going to deny anything. After a few days, you will post a photo that indicates you and he are actually dating, a real-life couple. If you could get someone out there to get one of you and him on a horse or a bull, that would be helpful, something thematic.”
I scoff. “You want me to ride a bull? They’re wild animals!”
“Okay, a horse then! I don’t know, just something that nods to him being an authentic cowboy and all that. We’ll keep breadcrumbing them for the next few weeks until the tour picks back up and he shows up, still as your bodyguard. I’d suggest then that you bring him up onstage, perform a song for him?—”
I shake my head. “No, absolutely not. I’ll do the pictures, but he’s just going to be my bodyguard, no infiltrating him into the show.”
Katherine sighs again. “All right, dear, whatever you say. Get that photo to me soon—and make it good. This is going to boost your streams like crazy. I bet we’ll have Ariat boots and Wrangler on the phone with offers in a week!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “All right, Kat, I’ll get you the photos.”
“If you need a photographer for it, I could arrange?—”
“No, I got it. I’m on vacation, remember?”
“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind!”
“Thanks. I will. Bye.” I hang up before she has a chance to respond.
I lean back against the sofa, exhaling. Chills run over my skin. I grab the blanket from the side of the couch and pull it over me before curling up into a little ball. Tears begin rushing down my cheeks, and I start to sob. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
My father abandoned me. My mother pawned me off when I was a teen to run off with her flavor of the week. I have friends, but they’re celebrities and models who I’ve never felt very close to because there’s so much at stake for all of us. I can’t risk sharing the wrong secret with someone who might suddenly decide to exploit me for their own personal gain. It’s happened to me time and again in this industry. I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t open up to people unless I want to hear about it online the next day. So, I have trust issues, and I close myself off from people.
I just want to feel like someone in my life gives a fuck about me, enough of a fuck to ask me if I’m okay before storming out of the house right after something traumatic happened to me.
I cry harder, soaking the pillow under me. What did I do to deserve to feel this way? It feels like I’m not safe anywhere. My stalker got into my hotel bathroom. Someone even found me out on this massive private ranch and photographed me in a vulnerable moment to share it online.
The realization that the stalker is going to see it hits me like a tidal wave. I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering into my hands.
After several minutes, I sit up. I dry my eyes with the edge of my T-shirt and walk into the kitchen.
I spy the two bottles of rosé wine Dolly kindly left for me. I have no idea how she knew it was my favorite.
“I doubt her brother cared enough to tell her,” I grumble .
I pull out a drawer in search of the bottle opener. The clock on the stove reads 11:07 in the morning, but fuck it. I deserve a drink on this royally shitty day.
It didn’t start off that bad.
It started off pretty damn good actually, but the nosedive it took was steep.
I twist the opener into the cork, yanking it out with a grunt. My grief has also taken a swift dive into pure rage.
I grab a wineglass from the cabinet and fill it all the way to the brim. The first gulp burns down my throat. I don’t care. I down the whole thing without taking a breath.
“I didn’t make it this far to get taken down by some creep with a camera phone.”
As I’m pouring myself a refill, the light bulb in my head illuminates. “Fucking Kacie. It had to be her.”
I walk over to the kitchen window, taking another sip of my wine. My eyes travel over the cars in the driveway that I can see from here. I don’t know what she drives, but I’m assuming it can’t be a big truck like the Redford brothers all have.
I pull out my phone, tapping through my Contacts until I get to Duke’s name. Duke put his number in my phone when he briefly joined the tour, in case I wasn’t able to reach Cash.
I tap the Call button. A twist of anxiety shoots through my chest, but I dismiss it instantly. Cash shouldn’t have left me when I was a mess right after we hooked up.
My abandonment issues should be a topic at my next therapy session.
The phone rings in my ear twice before he picks up.
“Hello? ”
“Duke, it’s Monroe.”
“Hey, pretty lady. What’re you up to? Is Cash coming to help me? Asshole was supposed to be here by now.”
“I don’t know where he is. Is there any way you could come over to the bunkhouse? I need your assistance with something.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Now?”
“Yes. Also, could you take a picture of the cars in the driveway first, please?”
“The cars?”
“Yeah, any cars that don’t belong to your family.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Thanks! Oh, and please hurry!” I hang up the phone before he has a chance to ask any more questions.
I look down, realizing I’m still wearing just a T-shirt.
“Okay, don’t panic. You have time to change.”