“Get the fuck off my property!” I shout, my voicebooming across the driveway. My chest rises and falls, fists clenched so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. “You hear me? OFF!” I wave my arm toward the road, spitting with fury. “You don’t belong here!”
The mob flinches, but the cameras keep firing, flashes strobing against my scowl. Questions still spill over one another, and I can feel Carter’s eyes on me through the windshield—steady, calm, all while I’m seconds from breaking.
Reed’s already in motion, shoving a guy back by the shoulder so hard his camera nearly slips. “I said move,” he growls.
Another pap tries to sidestep him, camera clicking, but Carter’s had enough. He slams his door shut and stalks forward. “Back the fuck up,” he snarls. His eyes are wild under the flashes, the vein in his neck straining as he jabs a finger toward the road. “Off his property. Now.”
The swarm hesitates, grumbling and shuffling as some attempt to stand their ground. One person trips on the loose gravel, cursing as his lens hits his chest.
Slowly, they peel away, cameras falling as they slip toward their cars. Doors slam shut, engines roar, and red taillights glow against the gravel driveway. The final few lingerers shoot me dirty looks, grumbling about my behavior making headlines again, but I don’t give a flying fuck.
I’m left standing in the wreckage of my driveway, my chest heaving and sweat stinging my brow as adrenaline stays in my veins.
This industry is destroying me from the inside—bleeding me dry with every flash, headline, and lie loud enough to drown out the truth. And God help me, I’m almost fucking ready to walk away from it all.
Reed hands me my Bronco keys. “Here, so you don’t have to worry about picking it up.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, clutching them tight.
We all pause silently.
Carter first pulls me in with a one-armed hug and gives a firm smack on the back.
“Call if you need anything,” he says, eyes still scanning the tree line.
Reed hugs me next, quickly.
They both slap me on the back and head over to Carter’s truck. The engine roars, then drives away from my driveway, fading into the distant sound of tires crunching on pebbles.
I take the porch steps two at a time, feeling my heart race with every step I take.
With a quick shove, I close the door softly, the lock clicking shut behind me. The lights inside are dimmed, giving the entryway a warm, golden glow. It’s quiet, except for the gentle thump of small paws.
“Cupcake,” I mutter, dropping my keys on the table.
She trots toward me, tail wagging, panting, and whining for attention.
“Hey, baby girl,” I whisper, scooping her up and pressing a kiss to her tiny head. “Thanks for watching the house.”
I set her back down, walking silently in the hallway, looking for Amelia, until I see her.
She’s curled up on the couch in her notorious, torn, oversized band tee with her knees pulled to her chest, eyes swollen, cheeks wet from uncontrollable tears, as her shoulders shake.
I’ve never seen her cry, not even once.
But now, she looks so vulnerable; it fucking guts me. Ihave this deep need to hold her in my arms, protect her, provide for her, and care for her.
I drop to my knees beside her. “Amelia,” I whisper, reaching for her face.
She flinches and pushes me away with a weak shove. “Don’t, just don’t.”
“No,” I say, firmer this time, cupping her jaw gently. “Don’t shut me out, baby. Let me in, please.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
“Not a chance, you’re my baby.”
She rolls her eyes as she finally stills, but she doesn’t fight me anymore. Her green eyes flutter open, glassy and even more stunning than before.
