Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Kate
“I’m just…” my dad exhales, and my heart breaks at the look of hurt in his eyes.
I video called him as soon as everyone left Josh and me alone, crying all over again when he showed me how many people were outside.
So many, that I can’t even see the grass on the front lawn.
Josh excused himself shortly after to give me time alone, and I both appreciated the gesture, and wished like hell he’d stay.
“I understand why you didn’t want to say anything publicly, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know how serious he was about me. I thought this was a temporary thing and I…I don’t know. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”
“Oh, Kate,” he says, his voice cracking as he says my name. “Anthony really messed you up, didn’t he? I could never be disappointed in you.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad. If I would have known this was going to happen…” I trail off, unable to speak around the guilt I feel.
“Hey, don’t be sorry for me,” he says. “I’m going to go all Clint Eastwood on these assholes and yell at them to get off my lawn. It’ll be fun.”
I laugh despite how guilty I feel, because I can already picture it in my head, and can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for whoever is about to encounter that side of my dad.
“Just maybe…leave the shotgun behind?”
“No promises,” he says, winking at me, and I shake my head. “Now,” he claps his hands together in front of the screen. “Tell me everything.”
And I do.
I tell him about Cleveland. About St. Lucia. About the little notes Josh has been leaving me and how he’s been helping me rediscover who I am.
I tell him that it started as a job, and how quickly it became anything but.
I tell him how Josh sees things in me that I never thought were worth noticing.
The way he listens, and how that made me realize how many people never have.
How many people only loved the version of me that performed, that pleased, that stayed small.
I tell him about the way Josh challenges me to be brave and honest. How he makes me laugh even when I want to cry. How he’s patient on the days I feel like I’m unraveling and how he reminds me—gently and consistently—that I don’t have to have it all figured out to be worthy of love.
I tell him I’ve learned that love isn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells. It’s supposed to feel like coming home.
And Josh feels like home.
By the time I’m done talking, my dad’s face is blurry from the tears in my own eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just nods.
“So, you’re in love.”
“Yes,” I say, not bothering to hide the smile that the realization gives me. “Very much.”
“Does that mean I’m shipping your boxes to L.A.?”
I laugh, ignoring the part of me that wishes I had a different answer.
“No. I’ll be home tomorrow as planned.”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, twisting the strap of my purse nervously through my fingers. Forcing a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders.
It’s just lunch.
It’s just lunch with Josh.
Except it’ll be the first time we’re seen together in public since the news about us broke.
Since the internet turned me into a headline and the comments section turned me into a punchline.
I haven’t checked them since this morning—Josh banned me from the internet after I spent three hours in silence and barely touched breakfast, but I still feel their words like papercuts on my skin.
Plain.
Ugly.
Boring.
Unworthy
I press my hand over my chest like that’ll stop my heart from tripping over itself, then smooth my hands down the front of my dress—a soft, navy blue one I’ve worn once before on a night where Josh couldn’t keep his hands off me.
Can you blame him? Look at you. You’re stunning.
I freeze, cocking my head in confusion because I’m pretty sure that voice wasn’t…him. Wasn’t that voice I’ve heard for the last four years. The one that was always there to remind me how imperfect and unlovable I was.
This voice didn't sneer or carry that sharp edge of disappointment. It sounds warm. Almost amused. Like it’s smiling.
I’ve spent so long assuming Anthony’s voice would always be there renting space in my head and whispering its judgments, but this—this is new. This voice simply admits the truth like it’s obvious. Like there was never any doubt.
I told you, sweetheart, the only voice I want in that pretty little head of yours is mine.
My throat tightens as I wait for Anthony’s voice to push back and reclaim its place—but it doesn’t come. When I reach for it, I’m met with silence.
“Is that my favorite dress?” I hear Josh ask. I turn to see his eyes trailing slowly down my body.
I clear the emotion from my throat and say, “I wanted to give you a going away present,” hoping to lighten the mood, but the joke falls flat. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. “If you’re not ready, I understand.”
I step closer to him, resting my forehead against his as his arms wrap around my waist.
“I want you, Josh,” I say. “I want you and everything that comes with it.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath, like my words unknotted something tangled deep inside him, and his fingers tighten slightly at my waist.
“Last chance to run,” he says with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite hide the nervous energy radiating behind his eyes.
I place my hands over his and lace our fingers together. “Only if you're running with me.”
When the elevator doors open in the lobby, my eyes go wide at the circus on the other side of the glass front doors.
“Stay close,” Josh says, squeezing my hand tighter with each step we take.
He steps out first, shielding me with his body, and we’re barely outside when it happens.
Flashbulbs go off like lightning strikes and camera shutters snap so fast they sound like gunfire. I grip Josh’s hand tighter and try to breathe through the nerves crawling up my throat.
People shout his name, some even shout mine, but I keep my head down and stay glued to his side as he releases my hand and tucks his arm tightly around me.
I sneak a glance at him and notice the tension in his jaw and the way his shoulders are almost touching his ears.
For the first time since I met him, he looks uncomfortable to be in public.
“JOSH, IS SHE YOUR GIRLFRIEND?”
“IS SHE REALLY YOUR ASSISTANT?”
“SMILE, SWEETHEART! SHOW THE WORLD WHAT THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE DOWNGRADED TO!”
I feel the words land in my chest like they’ve knocked all the air out of me. My stomach turns and my eyes burn as a few people laugh.
Josh stops and releases me, pivoting toward the crowd, eyes scanning until he finds her—a woman about our age, sunglasses pushed up in her perfectly styled hair, phone in one hand and a smirk on her lips like she’s proud of herself.
“Really?” he says, staring her down and stepping closer. “That’s what you chose to say to another woman?”
The woman blinks as if she’s surprised he’s addressing her. “It was a joke,” she says with a shrug. “Relax.”
Josh doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t look away. His voice stays steady and loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You think it’s funny to tear another woman down in public?” He gestures toward me without breaking eye contact. “You don’t have to know her to respect her or treat her like a human being. You’re a woman. You know how hard the world already makes it for you to be seen, to be safe, to be enough.”
A few phones lower. A camera clicks once, then stops.
“You could have said nothing,” Josh continues. “You could have chosen kindness, or even silence, but instead, you chose disrespect.” The woman swallows so loud it almost makes me laugh. “Do better.”
He reaches for my hand before turning and leading me to the waiting car where he opens the door for me without a word, and I climb inside. He climbs in after me, closing the door behind him like a shield.
“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, his fingers tracing gently over my cheek.
I nod, even though I’m not quite sure.
His thumb brushes my jawline before he grips my chin between his thumb and index finger. “You don’t have to be brave for me, sweetheart.”
“I know.” I pause. “But I want to be.”
He smiles, but it’s tight. Like he already hates this for me.
“Thank you,” I say, desperate to make sure he knows I don’t have regrets. That it’s going to take more than one group of paparazzi to scare me off. “No one’s ever…done that for me. Not like that.”
I watch as his expression softens.
“Done what?”
“Used their voice,” I say. “For me. Not to speak over me, or fix me, or control the narrative. Just…to stand beside me.”
His brow furrows. “That’s the bare minimum.”
“No,” I shake my head, “it’s not. Not in this world. You didn’t just defend me, Josh. You made me feel like I deserve to be seen.”
I watch the way his jaw flexes, feel how his grip on my chin tightens slightly.
“I just hate the way people talk to you like you’re lucky to be with me,” he mutters. “Like they can’t imagine I’m the one who’s lucky. Because I am the lucky one, Kate. I know I am.”
My chest aches, unsure what I’ve done in this life to deserve this kind of love.
“You didn’t have to say anything,” I tell him.
He scoffs. “If I ever become the guy who lets someone tear down the woman I love just to protect a brand, I hope you slap me across the face.”
I laugh. “Deal,” I say, leaning in, pressing my forehead to his, our breath mingling in the space between us.
“I love you,” I whisper, because I don’t know how else to say everything I’m feeling.
“Love you more, sweetheart.”