Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
W e continue in silence for a few minutes until she pulls up in front of my rental. “We’re here.” Her door handle clicks.
“Great.” I open my car door and stand, taking long, yet careful, strides toward my front door. Seems like the paps haven’t figured out where I’m staying since they’re not camped out on the sidewalk. I enter the code and let her enter before me.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a minute.”
My body takes me down the hallway to my bedroom, where the door closes with a snick and I lean against it. My phone rings to the beat of Eminem’s “Cleanin’ Out My Closet.” It’s Mom. Hell no.
I toss my cell onto the bed and cross the room to get my physical therapy workout clothes. After all, that’s the only reason why Jenna’s in my house, to take me to her clinic. I strip and take a shower, remembering everything that’s happened over the past twenty-four hours. My physical therapy. Dinner with Jenna and her mother to celebrate her birthday. Being chased by the press. At least King and Angie helped save the morning.
Those kisses .
Soapy water runs down my body and onto the shower floor. My head lowers, watching it circle the drain. Metaphor for my life.
I wrap a towel around my waist and toss one over my head, drying my hair. My stubble needs a trim, but I’m not taking the time to do it now. I walk into the bedroom and pick up a pair of underwear. Dressed in another pair of grey sweats, I suck in troubled air stirred up by the paparazzi. I pause for a minute to remind myself that despite the current difficulties, I am Bennett Hardy, lead singer of Untamed Coaster. I can take whatever the universe dishes out today and make it my bitch. Jenna’s help doesn’t hurt.
Returning to the living room, Jenna’s on her phone. She holds up a finger, indicating I should wait so I go to the fridge and take out some orange juice. It’s impossible not to eavesdrop. “I know, Ma, I’ll be careful. It’s not me they’re after.”
Guilt pings through my armor. I’ve been so selfish, shoring up my story about why I’m in town. I glance over at her and notice her wiping her eyes. No matter what, she doesn’t deserve this. When she catches my interest in her, she turns her back and lowers her voice. She even walks over to the sliding glass doors and slips outside.
I’ve been an ass. I tried to distract the press away from her, yet they still shouted questions at me about the “Black Widow.” She didn’t kill Darren. Truth be told, she tried to save him. How can I lure them away from her? I send a text to UC’s PR team, asking for more ideas. Ones that will help her situation over mine.
The woman taking up more real estate in my mind than the properties we toured reenters the rental. With an overly perky tone, she asks, “Are you ready to go to the clinic?”
“Sure.” I drain my cup.
On the ride there, the question flows out of my mouth before I can censor it. “How’s your mother doing? I’m sure she’s worried sick about how you’re being portrayed in the media.”
Her shoulders rise then fall. “She remembers how it was for me when I was together with Darren. She knows the deal. ”
“You didn’t sign up for this when you agreed to take me on as a patient. The press shouldn’t treat you this way.”
“I’m sure you explaining things to them this morning will make them back off.”
If only her optimism coincided with my experience. “I hope you’re right. Hate to say it, but they don’t go away fast. Especially when they’re in a news slump.”
Her chin lifts. “Then we’ll simply ignore them.”
She turns toward her clinic, where news vans are lined up on the sidewalk. Immediately, I drop the seat so it’s prone and turn my head to avoid being identified. “Drive to the back of the building. They won’t be able to take photos back there.”
As she passes them, she provides a running commentary about all of the telephoto lenses point at her car. “So much for them going away,” I remark.
Jenna parks and I right the seat. She yanks on her ponytail. “Reporters aren’t back here and we need to get into the building. Are you ready? We’ll take it slow.”
Her face shows nothing but determination. I scan the rooftops, confirming we’re free of photographers. The buildings behind us are all private property, so the vultures can’t lawfully trespass there, either. Good for us. “Will your other patients have a difficult time getting into the clinic? Think we should go elsewhere?”
“I refuse to be run off my own property by a bunch of reporters. Let’s go.” Without waiting, she opens her car door.
Once inside, she presses the call button for the elevator. If I were worthy of her, I’d drag her into my arms and comfort her. But she deserves someone who values friendships and has a caring family. Neither of which are me.
Her chest rises and falls several times as her breathing comes in staccato, quiet pants. The media must have freaked out this brave woman. We enter the cab where she presses the button for our floor.
The doors close.
The air twists.
The pit of my stomach churns.
I brought this pain to her doorstep. I want to do whatever I can to ease it. “Jenna.”
She doesn’t say anything, merely flings her body against mine. My arms close around her trembling body and I realize how much this is taking out of her. My nose lands in her hair, inhaling her perfume, filled with floral notes of rose and jasmine, finishing with a bright citrus and vanilla. Whatever it is, I like it.
I like her.
Too. Damn. Much.
“I reached out to UC’s PR team about this mess. I should hear back from them with a new strategy after my exercises.”
Her words are muffled as they’re said against my chest. “Appreciate it, Bennett.”
The elevator pings and I kiss the top of her head. “Are you ready?”
She steps back and my body weeps, uncaring how undeserving I am of this intriguing woman.
“I think so.” She squares her shoulders and walks out of the car.
When we enter her office, the Asshole lies in wait. “Miss Westfield. Oh my God. What is going on outside the office? Are you alright? Why are they here? Why are they calling you the Black Widow?” He pulls her into a hug.
Seriously, dude? Standing right here.
She resists his embrace, which is all the sign I need to rush forward. “I’m the draw for them. Because I’m a rock star, the press loses their minds when I do something as mundane as stepping foot into the real world.” And you, Asshole, with your geeky glasses and scrawny body certainly do not cause any type of pandemonium. Or even mini ripples.
Jenna breaks away from him. Placing her hand on my arm, she says, “Yes, they’re here because you are, Bennett. I’m something old they like to resuscitate when they don’t have anything else to discuss. ”
She’s not wrong. Except for the fact they wouldn’t be bothering her if I wasn’t here.
My guilt can’t take hold because the Asshole steps between us. “This just sucks. For you and all the patients. Do you think you should be here?” He touches Jenna’s shoulder and my heart rate spikes. Oblivious, he continues, “Maybe if you lay low for a few days, they’ll move on?”
This is the first suggestion Mr. Touchy-Feely’s made that makes sense. Since the paps haven’t figured out where I’m renting, perhaps Jenna could stay in my rental with me and do private PT? Although, security is zero there.
With steel in her spine, she replies, “I can handle them.” Jenna turns to me, eliminating his contact. Smooth. “Why don’t you get started in the other room, Bennett?”
I war with myself. Should I stay or leave? I don’t want the Asshole to have any more one-on-one time with my girl.
My girl?
With a curt nod, I enter the exercise room. I need to keep her safe at work. She shouldn’t be alone in her house, either. It’s not protected.
Determined to figure this out—and to block Austin the Asshole’s moving in on Jenna—I hit the first exercises. As I’m finishing up the first round, a ping from my cell announces a new email. I make quick work of the remaining reps and grab my phone. Sure enough, the PR team sent me an email. I skim the contents, for once gratified with their hard work.
Jenna breezes into the room carrying a heavier kettlebell. “This is for your lateral exercises,” she explains.
Not even her adding weight to this difficult exercise ruins my upbeat mood from the email. However, one rep in and I’m singing a new tune.
“If I didn’t think you could do it, I wouldn’t have added the extra weight.”
“Tell that to my leg,” I breathe through gritted teeth .
“You’re doing great. You really are in good shape.”
Her compliment goes a long way toward helping me complete these exercises. When I finish, I drop the kettlebell to the floor with a loud thud.
No sooner does it land, but she points to a barbell. “We’ll try using this next time. Until then, how about we do something new with bands?”
She leads me through another set of grueling exercises which tax my groin muscle, but not beyond my limit.
When we break for the session and I lie down on the table to get another round of ice, I ask, “Where’s Austin?” Kudos for not referring to him as the Asshole.
“I sent him over to the other clinic. The receptionist was diverting patients over there anyway, since the media isn’t over there.”
“I feel terrible for how I’ve disrupted your life. But I might have a solution for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
As she massages my thigh, I share the email. “Hayden Vaughn on UC’s PR team suggested I take you to a safe house, as it were, while they get restraining orders against the media to keep them away from you. I’m fair game, being a public figure, but you’re a private citizen.”
She stops, pressing her fingers on my upper thigh. My cock twitches.
“A safe house?”
“Nothing FBI-like. I’m thinking a couple days rental of the gated house King and Angie showed us today with the long private driveway, Secluded Rest. Your house is too open, and my rental too easily accessible. Once the wolves figure out where I’m staying, I won’t be able to keep them away.”
“I like my house.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to move away. I’m thinking you stay away from it for a couple of nights, until the restraining order is in place. By then, I’ll almost be on tour anyway.” I swallow over the boulder in my throat. I don’t want to leave her.
Like Lissa abandoned me for my ex-best friend Curtiss. Like my father did when he died. Like Mom wrongly insists I did with my sister.
“Do you think a restraining order will work?”
I blink. “I’d usually say no, but in your case, I’m more optimistic. You’re not a public figure nor are you dating one.” A pang of longing washes over me. “They’ll have little option but to let you be.”
“I hope you’re right. Otherwise, my best hope is for some other celebrity to draw them away from me.”
The only other celebrities in the Hamptons at this time of year that I can think of are King and Angie. “Should we ask the Huntes to help us out? They can raise their profile by faking a fight or something.”
Her nose scrunches up. “No way. I’m not going to drag someone else into this mess on purpose.”
The mess I set in motion by pulling my groin muscle and hiding it from the public. But if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have reconnected with Jenna. Who, now, I can’t imagine not speaking with on the daily. She challenges me to see things differently and try new things, something I didn’t realize I need in my life. I want to get to know her more. Much more.
“Yeah. I agree.” I toss the ice pack to the side and sit up. “I’ll fill King in on our plan and make it happen.”
“Who knows?” Jenna says. “You might decide to keep the mansion and even expand your circle of friends so they can visit.”
Not going to happen.
She tidies up the exercise room.
Even though she might be a good reason to amend my long-held beliefs.