Chapter 36 #2
Groaning, I reach for my phone. I know I should check it. The last thing I want is to leave Lola high and dry in a city where she doesn’t really know anyone. But god, I hate to break this perfect little bubble we’re currently floating in.
Sure enough, when I check my phone, I see a string of texts from Lola. “Let me see what she needs.”
As I read through her texts, starting with the first one she sent earlier this morning, my stomach hollows out. But this time, it’s not from pleasure.
“Indie? What’s wrong?”
7:46
Lola
Heads up—there are photos of you and Bash and his parents circulating online. None of them have named you, so it’s probably not a big deal, but I thought you should know.
8:13
More photos up. These are from after the loss the other night. Someone took some photos of us walking out to the car. He has his arm around you.
8:21
The photo of you two at the restaurant is getting attention. People are trying to figure out who you are. They know those are his parents, and it’s feeding curiosity.
8:34
Shit, babe. They know who you are.
8:37
OMG. I think it’s going viral. Indie, call me.
8:40
Are you with Bash? You both need to see this. But not the comments. You are not allowed to look at the comments, Indigo, do you hear me?
8:41
I love you. Please call me when you get this. I don’t think they’ve figured out where we’re staying, but be careful.
“Rosebud? You’re worrying me. Your face got really pale.” Sebastian’s words are muted and wrong. Like I’m listening to him through water. “Baby?”
When he gently pries the phone from my fingers, I don’t fight him.
I’m too busy running through worst-case scenarios.
My name gets plastered across the internet, linked with my parents’ disturbing sex tape.
Old photos get re-shared of the most awkward periods of my life.
Sebastian gets dragged into speculation about my past relationships.
The paparazzi show up here and haunt my steps until I’m once again trapped inside with the blinds drawn.
Lola gets pulled into my mess and it screws up whatever is starting with her and Megan James.
Bash decides I’m more trouble than I’m worth and calls all of this off.
“Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought I saw a couple of guys taking photos at dinner last night.
I should have asked them to delete them, but I didn’t want to make a scene.
Fuck. I’m sorry.” Bash pulls me back into his arms and squeezes me tight.
He presses kisses to my forehead, my eyelids, my nose, and my cheeks. “This is my fault.”
“It’s not,” I tell him, somehow speaking around the lump in my throat. “I knew this was a possibility. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“This is going to detract from your accomplishments. They’ll talk about my parents’ sex tape in the same sentence as your playoff wins. They’re going to wonder what you’re doing with me.”
A low growl vibrates through Bash’s throat and straight through my hollow chest. “Rosebud, I swear to fucking god, if I ever hear you say something like that again, I’m going to spank your perfect ass.”
I choke on a shocked bark of laughter. “What?”
“I know people have said some mean shit about you, and that left its mark, but those people are stupid fucking assholes, and nothing they said is true. They don’t know you, and they don’t deserve to.” He presses his mouth to mine in a brutal, dominant kiss.
“I don’t give a shit if people wonder what I’m doing with you. Frankly, they should be wondering what you’re doing with me. You’re so smart and beautiful. You could be with anyone, but you chose a guy who stops flying rubber for a living.”
Burying my face in his chest, I chuckle at the way he’s described his career.
“You create worlds, and I just guard a net.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”
He reaches down and slaps my ass playfully. “No, baby, that’s you worrying that me or anyone else in our lives is going to do anything but support and defend you.”
Except, is it ridiculous to worry about that?
Outside of Lola—and Bash when we were younger—no one has really supported or defended me.
Sure, my parents supported me, but they mostly let their publicists and PR people handle dealing with my defense, and that was done more to protect their careers and interests than my heart.
I’m used to people letting me down. I expect it.
My limbs tingle, and my chest tightens. Fight-or-flight is kicking in, and my instinct is always the same.
“Hey. Look at me.” Strong, calloused fingers grip my chin. “Please.”
Swallowing roughly, I do. Deep brown eyes meet mine, and they’re brimming with emotion.
“We’re going to deal with this together.
You’re not alone. Not anymore. So don’t you dare pull away from me, Indigo Bloom.
Don’t you dare run again. Because I will chase you.
Even if it means I miss playoff games and get fined out the ass for it. ”
I would never let that happen. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“Okay, good. Now, I’m going to take a look at what people are saying. You are not. You go take a nice hot shower. I’ll give Lola a call, and then I’ll reach out to my agent if we think it’s necessary. She has PR people we can talk to. We’re not alone in this, okay?”
Love for this man overpowers the fear writhing in my chest. It’s still there, right beneath the surface, but it’s not all-consuming. Because when Sebastian promises he won’t leave me alone, I know he means it. After all, he’s not the one who ran all those years ago. That was me.
I won’t run this time. But I can’t deny that there’s a small, terrified part of me that worries he may.
He means it when he says we’re in this together, but he’s never lived through the kind of scrutiny and judgment that’s likely headed his way simply for being in a relationship with me.
Of course, he’ll fight it. Of course, he’ll have my back.
But I know all too well how exhausting that kind of attention can be. And in the end, I won’t blame him if he decides it’s too much. That I’m not worth the negative press when he should be enjoying puff pieces and accolades for his postseason performances.
“You’re not alone, baby.”
“I know.”
I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.