14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
— MIRRORBALL BY TAYLOR SWIFT
I hate fashion shows.
Why do you need strobe lights that have nothing to do with the clothes you're showing off? And when did clothes get so eccentric?
This isn't what I had in mind when Bree told me about the show. I figured it was going to be this huge thing, but I forgot how much I hated loud and crowded spaces. This was never my scene, and by the way Bree keeps fidgeting in her seat, it’s not hers either. She keeps smoothing the fabric of her light blue mini dress, even though she steamed it four times before coming out tonight. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs, her white heels almost hitting Alex’s leg every time she does.
She always preferred the safety and tranquility of her room over being in public. There’s been a bunch of photographers in her face since Alex is with her, and I can tell how uncomfortable she is.
Despite that, she still looks radiant as always. I swear, Bree and her aura attracts every person in the room. It’s hard to look away from her sometimes, and tonight is no different.
She reminds me of a disco ball in the middle of a dance floor because when she smiles, it reflects in everyone's faces—including mine. Even though I know most of her smiles are fake in public, I like being able to pull out her real ones when I can .
I force my gaze away from her when I see Alex move his hand onto her thigh, slowly trailing up while Bree tries to stop him. I could go over there, but since they’re sitting in the front row, I decide not to ruin the entire show and go to his security instead. I head for where Jason is—his head bodyguard—and stand next to him. He’s got a decent angle on Alex, and I don't bother lowering my voice.
“If he touches her without her permission again, I’ll cut his hand off.”
He doesn't turn his head to face me as he speaks. “Is that right, Vince?”
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s in the goddamn contract, and his blatant disregard for it is making Bree uncomfortable. Tell your boy he needs to take that clause seriously, or I’ll make good on my promise.” I don't wait for his reply before I head back to my spot.
Bree must’ve known where I was standing because I see her head moving back and forth, trying to find me, but when her eyes lock on mine, she takes a deep breath. She places her hand on her chest, all her fingers splayed out, and I know that means there’s about five minutes left of the show.
Thank fuck . I don't understand the appeal of shows like this, and the sooner I can get her out of this building, the better.
After a huge applause, all the models walking back out and showcasing whatever the fuck they’re wearing, I head over to Bree.
“Angel is on the move. We should be out in five,” I say over comms and hope someone is getting the car ready. As we head out, and I don't feel Bree behind me like I normally do, Emerson speaks since he’s the one who follows behind them.
“Boss, we’ve hit a snag.”
I turn around to notice another girl talking to Alex. From what I can tell by this exchange, Bree looks insanely uncomfortable, and Alex almost looks…human. I’ve never seen his guard down before, but it looks to be now.
This has got to be the ex-girlfriend I’ve seen all the magazines talk about. If it’s not, then this guy sucks more than I thought.
Wanting to get out of here safely, I head towards them.
“We’ve got to get going, Bree,” I say as I lean down so she can hear me. I look to where Alex’s team is, and they nod, understanding that this area is jammed and not safe at all. Before they have the chance to swoop in, camera flashes go off like lightning.
When I turn around, all the cameras are pointed in our direction, and I know this exchange with his ex, Bree standing by his side, is going to make the internet by tonight.
I decide that enough is enough before I lean down to Bree’s ear. “We’ve really got to go.”
She nods at me, and before she starts to walk forward, she turns to Alex. “One kiss on the cheek, and that’s it.”
“Well, then let’s make it worth it.” He grabs her chin and brings her face to his lips.
I know everybody else missed it, but I didn't miss the flinch before he did that.
After a thousand camera flashes, Bree says goodbye and locks eyes with me. “Shall we?”
I nod at her, clearing the path as we head for the exit.
“The car’s in position,” Kenner says from my ear.
“I’m driving me and Bree. The rest of you follow us.”
“Got it, boss. I’ll close Bree’s door while you settle in the driver's seat,” Emerson says.
“Sounds like a plan, boys,” I say as I push the door open and head for the Tahoe.
A few seconds after I get into the car, Bree slides into the backseat and Emerson closes the door, tapping that we’re good to go before I finally get us out of here.
I normally don’t drive to these things, but tonight was different, and I needed a little bit of that control back. Plus, if we’re followed, I trust my own driving skills over anyone else on my team. It’s not that they’re bad per se, but I can lose a tail far quicker.
I swipe my view to where Bree sits in the backseat, and by the way her leg is bouncing, her eyes all foggy, I can tell she’s disappearing from everything tonight. Not if I can help it.
“Did you have a favorite look from tonight?” Bree loves clothes. Her closet is practically filled with a bunch of designers I can’t pronounce.
She doesn't answer.
“I think my personal favorite was that light pink one. The dress, or whatever you call it.”
“The jumpsuit?” Her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, a smirk creeping up her face.
“Yeah, if that’s what it's called.”
“That was my favorite one too.”
I knew it would be based on the color. “I guess I just don't understand the appeal of something that looks like a dress but has pants attached to it.”
That earns me a small laugh. Bingo. “It’s not something you understand, Vince. It’s fashion.”
“Ah. Understood.”
The drive is silent for a few minutes more until Bree softly speaks again. “I don't think I’ll ever get used to all this attention on me.”
“If tonight was too much, I can cancel whatever Connie has on your schedule tomorrow.”
“No, it’s fine, I just—” She takes a big deep breath. “It’s nothing.”
“If there’s something on your mind, angel, I don't mind listening. Someone once told me I reminded them of a really shitty therapist.”
Bree smiles at that, noting my reference to something she said to me after we first met. “You’re not a shitty therapist, and can you blame me for saying that? I don't think you said a word for the first two weeks after we met.”
“Incorrect.”
“Oh, am I?” She smiles, her shine coming back as I goad her.
“We talked at our first meeting, and after that, I didn't want to—” I stop; I don't want to make her uncomfortable.
“You didn't want to what?”
“Your voice. I wanted it to heal, and I thought any unnecessary strain would make it heal slower.”
“Oh.”
Yeah. Oh is right. It’s been my job to protect her ever since I met her, so I did, but admitting that to her right now is making me feel strange, and I have no idea why.
“It’s just weird sometimes, all the flashes of the camera on me. Every time a picture gets taken of me, there’s a light on me, and people are noticing me through that. But when they’re gone, and I’m by myself in my room, I feel…lonely.” She folds her hands in her lap before continuing. “I feel like my struggles were broadcasted across the internet four years ago, and now, it’s happening again. It feels like this weird and strange cycle. Every time I’m broken, it’s somehow used as another story, another headline, anything people can use to get clicks. My pain is broadcasted for the world to see, and I don't think I’ll ever get used to that.”
I don't even know what to say to her. I wonder if writing runs in the family, because the way Bree just described that was hauntingly beautiful.
“I’m sorry for dumping that on you. I shouldn't have—”
“Bree, don't apologize. You know I’m always here when you need someone to listen.”
“Thank you.”
The rest of the ride home is filled with silence, Friday, I’m In Love by The Cure playing in the background.
— MATILDA BY HARRY STYLES
After tossing and turning in my bed for what has felt like hours, I finally swing my legs to the side and get up.
Sometimes, I don't even know why I bother trying to sleep. I should know by now that my brain never shuts off, and sleep will probably never come again—at least with Ralph still running wild.
I slide my fuzzy pink slippers on and softly walk down to the kitchen, hoping I don’t wake Vince up. I thought I heard him walking around as I crept down the stairs, and I remember he told me once that he’s a pretty light sleeper, so I try my best not to make too much noise as I pull the strawberries from the fridge.
My favorite late-night snack has, and always will be, chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s just something so perfect about chocolate at night, and the strawberries trick my brain into thinking it’s a healthy snack. It's a win-win.
I grab the chocolate and place it in a bowl, throwing it in the microwave so they can melt while I wash the strawberries. As I’m placing the strawberries in the sink, the kitchen light flicks on, and I flinch a little.
I already know it’s him before he says anything .
As I turn, I have to will my jaw to stay attached to my mouth, because leaning against the entrance to my kitchen is a shirtless, sweatpants-wearing Vince, his tattooed arm sleeve on full display, as well as his abs.
I might start drooling. Vince Evans is like a real-life bodyguard romance character come to life, and he’s never been more off-limits.
He’s my bodyguard , and I’m suddenly thinking about all the ways I want to climb him like a tree. I haven't had thoughts like this in a while—four years, to be exact. I’m in the world's longest dry spell because the thought of another person touching me in that way again makes me want to curl into a ball on my floor.
But right now, the thought of him touching me doesn't repulse me.
It excites me.
But I have to remind myself he has a job to do, and the last thing I want is to distract him from it.
If he notices me staring, he doesn't say anything. “Can’t sleep?”
“Nope. I didn't wake you, did I?”
He just shakes his head. “Chocolate-covered strawberries?”
“I should've known you would guess that.” I laugh as I turn back to the sink, placing the strawberries under the spray. A few seconds of silence later, and the microwave beeps. “Can you grab that for me?”
He doesn't answer, but I hear him stride along the kitchen floor before the microwave opens. I twist my head to catch a glimpse of him, only to find that he’s swirling the chocolate in the bowl with a spoon before he places it back in the microwave.
“Thanks.”
“It reminds me of before—catching you in the kitchen when you couldn’t sleep.”
I feign a smile. Before . Vince once barged into my parents’ house because a light turned on, only to find me in my pajamas making my favorite late-night snack. He was worried Ralph had somehow gotten in the house, but any time after that when I wanted a snack, I would always text him before so he wouldn't get worried.
But he kept showing up, sitting with me while I made them. At first, we didn't talk much, but towards the end, we got closer and closer. One-word conversations slowly morphed into full sentences, and eventually, we talked like two old friends catching up.
My life wasn't any better back when we first met, but part of me felt a little lighter than I do now. It felt easier dealing with everything back then, and now, it feels insurmountable. “Yeah, same.”
I grab the strawberries from the container and place them on the cutting board that appeared on my counter. I look over at Vince, and he’s grabbing a knife.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m helping.” He grabs a strawberry and cuts off the stem. “Unless you want to do it?”
“Well, no, I—” I sigh. “I don't want you to feel like you have to hang out with me.”
He takes a deep breath, and I find myself staring at his arm veins for a beat too long. “Do you think I don't want to be around you?”
“Well, no. You’re practically required to be around me at all times. But nowhere in our contract does it talk about us being friends.”
“Bree, I’m required to protect you, but me being down here and wanting to spend time with you right now is because I’m choosing to. Is that okay?”
I’m choosing to. He’ll never know how much those three words mean to me. “That’s perfectly okay.”
“Okay. So let me cut your strawberries for you while you grab the chocolate and the skewers.”
I nod just as the microwave beeps, and as I take the bowl out, my mouth starts to water. “Do any of your men want some? I feel like I should do something to thank them for their hard work. ”
That earns me a small smile before he shakes his head. “After the assignment is over, you can make them whatever you want, but it’s best not to distract them while they’re on duty.”
“Okay. I just feel bad that they have to watch my house all night. How do they stay awake?”
“They’ve trained for this exact job and, believe it or not, people like working for me and Nico.” He continues cutting, and as I hop onto my kitchen island and let my legs dangle off the side, I realize how normal this feels.
Vince is cutting strawberries, and the two of us are talking about work. This might be one of the best nights of my life. “I’m glad you have Nico. It’s good to know you weren't alone all these years.”
“Bree, like I’ve told you before, I’m not lonely.”
“Oh, come on, big guy. Believe me, I know what loneliness feels like, and I bet jumping from job to job and place to place feels the same. Have you ever thought about settling down?”
His eyebrows scrunch together as he scoops the strawberries up and places them into another bowl. As he does, I hop down from my counter and follow him to my kitchen table. I sit in my usual spot, and he sits next to me rather than across the table like he always used to. “That’s not your usual spot.”
“Do you want me to move?”
I shake my head. I like the closeness. It makes me feel protected. Safe.
Four years ago, after Vince and I got to know each other a bit better, Liv used to invite him over for dinner on the days my parents were gone—which was most of them. Sometimes, I would cook, sometimes Liv would, and Vince would help us out. He was a wonderful guest, and when we all sat down for dinner, he claimed the spot across from me. He sat there every time, and it sort of became a thing .
When we’ve had dinner together lately, he has sat in the same spot. But now, it’s late at night, and he’s sitting so close to me that I feel the urge to place my hand on his thigh.
Instead of doing that, I grab a skewer, stab a strawberry with it, and dunk it into the melted chocolate. When I pop it into my mouth, it’s perfect . I swear, chocolate-covered strawberries can solve all my problems.
Well, most of them.
“I’m sorry about today,” he whispers as he eats.
“What about today?”
“The fashion show and running into that girl or whatever.”
Ah, yes. Lily. Running into your fake boyfriend's ex and one true love in front of a bunch of cameras is not the most comfortable moment. I know Alex and I are fake, but to the rest of the world, we’re not, and I can only imagine how Lily felt when she saw us together.
I could tell she’s still in love with him. I could see it in her eyes, written all over her face, and for a second, I swear I saw the same look on Alex.
“It’s fine. I’m sure the entire internet will have something to say on those pictures, but there's nothing I can really do.” I sigh before I eat another strawberry, trying to swallow the anxiety brewing in my gut.
“You talk about all this stuff as if it’s not a big deal.”
“I’m so desensitized to it at this point…” I trail off as all my thoughts swim. “Sometimes, my life doesn't really feel like mine. It doesn't really feel real, and I never know how to explain it to people, so I don't.”
“I get that, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”
I meet the hazel eyes I know so well, and my body shivers at his stare. It feels like he can really see me right now, and that scares me. I’ve been so used to pushing people away, but right now, I don't want to do that to Vince. He has seen every broken piece of me, and he’s still here. So, for the first time in a while, I let someone in. “It all feels so normal to me—the invasions of privacy, the camera flashes, the fans. It has become part of my everyday life, and that’s because I chose to upload videos for the entire internet to see. It feels odd to complain about where I’ve ended up when I made the decision in the first place.”
“Just because you made that choice doesn't give everyone else the right to invade your privacy. You’re still a human being, and I think the world forgets that sometimes.”
“I guess it never really scared me—all the attention—until Ralph came into the picture. Connie shielded me from the mail I used to get, but then my parents didn't take the threats seriously, and it ended exactly how we were afraid it would.” It took me a long time to realize that my parents never showed me and my sister love, and I used to think I needed a reason to stop talking to them. I never thought I could stop because it was what was best for me. I never thought that was even an option—cutting them off with no explanation.
That’s the problem I’ve always had—I need explanations for things. I need a reason for why something happened the way it did.
My parents don’t love me? Well, maybe their parents did something similar to them, so they don't know how to be parents.
I have a stalker threatening my life? Well, maybe I did something wrong to make him fall for me.
I don't believe I’m destined for love? Well, that’s my own fault because I’d never drag anyone into the mess that is my life.
I only have one true friend who loves me for me? Well, Teagen West is all I’ll ever need, so fuck anyone else who just uses me to get ahead.
“Even if it didn't scare you, don’t discount your feelings and pretend like the life you live isn't a big deal. Going through this is huge, and you don’t always have to handle it perfectly. You’re allowed to break apart and allow your friends and family to put you back together.”
“The only family I have is Liv.”
“I know you don't believe that, Bree.” His voice is low, like the first time I met him. He always does that—lowers his voice when he tries to appear less intimidating, but I’ve told him countless times that I’m not afraid of him. I think it’s just a habit by now.
“I guess I’ve found my own version of a family after all these years of feeling used.” I smile, thinking about how big our circle has grown. It used to be just the two of us, and now it has expanded to include the entire West family and Tristan’s friends.
They show us the love we’ve been chasing our entire lives. In the race to grasp our parents who were always just out of reach, they carried us to a separate finish line.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with how broken I’ve been these past few weeks. I know I should let Liv be here for these moments, but I can't stand the thought of her seeing me like this. And I don't want to give Ralph anyone else to target.”
“You’re not broken, Bree. I understand why you’re pushing people away, but you should know you don't have to push people away to protect them. Sometimes, letting them in is safer.” His eyes sadden, and I wonder what he’s thinking. It felt like he was pulling from personal experiences, but I decide not to press, just in case.
“Vince, you’ve seen me break down a dozen times since you’ve been back. You know parts of my story that the rest of the world doesn't. You can’t say I’m not broken when you’ve seen me fall to pieces.”
His hand reaches for my chin, and he pulls my gaze back to his. “Is this okay? Because I’d prefer that you look at me when I tell you this.”
I nod, his hand still holding my face. I note that I didn't flinch at the gesture like I did when Alex did it earlier. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’re resilient. You are far from broken, Bree. So, yeah, while the entire internet thinks your life is perfect and knows your stalker’s out, they don't know how you feel. I don't know how you feel most days either. Only you do, and you’re allowed to feel however you want because you’re the one going through it, not anybody else. ”
For some reason, right now, in the kitchen sitting across from Vince, my bones exhausted from the weight of the past few weeks, I tell him one of my biggest fears, one that only Dr. Anna and my video diary know about. “But one day, the world will know. Everyone will know what happened to me, and I don't think I’m ready for people to see me as a victim of something that could’ve ended up much worse. They’ll think I’m overreacting, and I’ll get ridiculed again, dragged through the mud even further.”
“Bree, you’re a fucking survivor, not a victim. You survived something horrible, and I think a lot of people can relate to your situation.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so, Bree. Ninety-seven percent of women know too.” He releases my chin before he skewers a strawberry, dips it in chocolate, and holds it up to my mouth. I close my lips around the skewer, and a weird look crosses his face before it quickly goes away.
My heart squeezes; I’m a part of that statistic now. “I just hate that everyone online thinks they know me, that they’re allowed to have an opinion on my life without actually knowing what goes on behind closed doors.”
“Well, I know I can't take down the entire internet, but maybe Nico can try.”
“You’d do that just for me?” I smile.
He smiles back at me, something I don't see very often but cherish when I do. “I’d try my damn best, Bree.”
For the rest of the morning, Vince and I sit at my kitchen table and talk about normal things as the sun filters through my kitchen and the world wakes up.