Logan catches me before I can slip out, his fingers gentle but firm around my arm. “Why, Maisie? Why would you do that?”
I wipe furiously at my cheeks, but the tears keep coming. “It was the right thing to do,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re free now to do as you please.”
He stares at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve, hurt and confusion warring in his expression.
The reporters recover first, swarming around us like hungry piranhas, shouting questions and thrusting cameras in our faces. The flashes are blinding, disorienting, capturing my mortification from every conceivable angle.
I slip my arm from his grasp, my heart breaking all over again. “Please, don’t follow me.”
Chapter 28
What just happened?
For Maisie to reveal our agreement to the world—I just don’t understand it. Tomorrow morning, her confession will be front page news, and she will no doubt face unabated ridicule. Why would she throw herself under the bus like that when I’m the architect of this whole disaster? It’s not her fault. Never her fault. I can’t let her pay for my shortcomings. I won’t.
I shove through the crowd, desperate to catch up to her. I need to know why she did it. Reporters press in from all sides, snapping pictures and halting my progress. Every second I waste means she gets further away.
“Logan! Why did you go along with it?”
“Is it all true?”
“Can you comment on the blackmail?”
The questions hit like fastballs, one after another, but I keep moving. I have to reach her.
Memories flash through my mind—the dance we shared at the dress store, her eyes reflecting the sunset at the hot spring, the taste of strawberries on her lips when I kissed her at the Spring Festival. None of that was fake. Not for me.
I’ve almost broken through the mass of bodies when Victoria throws herself in my path, one hand planted firmly against my chest.
“Let her go,” she says, looking at me like I’m crazy for trying to go after Maisie. “This is exactly what we needed.”
I don’t have time for this. I shove her hand away. “Move.”
Victoria stands her ground. “Look around you, Logan.” She gestures at the circling photographers before she loops her arms around my neck, all for show. “The press, the record label, your fans—they’ll eat this up. Small-town teacher thought she could tame a bad boy artist? They’ll love you even more, and they’ll crucify her online.”
Over my dead body. No one will lay a hand on her if I have anything to say about it. “I’ll protect her,” I say in Victoria’s ear. “I’ll tell them it’s all my doing.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll just tell everyone you’re being nice. Who do you think they’ll believe, you, her”—she looks up at me with a sly smile—“or me.”
Brutal irony punches me in the gut. Fame used to be everything—my oxygen, my purpose, my validation. Now? It’s worthless if Maisie isn’t standing beside me, rolling her eyes at my smart-ass remarks. My life has always been chaotic. Everywhere I go, people want a piece of me, but Maisie never asked for anything. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, my light in the darkness, my anchor to sanity in this crazy world.
The label’s rep glares at me from across the room, practically ordering me to smile, and Victoria hooks on to my arm like ashackle I can’t escape, posing for the cameras. I’m a prisoner here, unable to protect the one that matters most.
By the time the photoshoot ends, and I run outside, Maisie’s long gone.
I go to my apartment, turn on the TV, and start packing for my trip back to Maplewood Springs. My thoughts revolve around Maisie, her face when she grabbed that microphone, the tremble in her voice as told the truth. Twelve unanswered texts glow accusingly on my phone screen. When I call, I get her voicemail.
I toss another shirt into my suitcase, missing it entirely. The television drones in the background until the news comes on.
“In a stunning turn of events, up-and-coming artist Logan Humphries finds himself at the center of a controversy involving a fan-turned-faux-girlfriend . . .”
I get sick to my stomach as I jerk my head around to look at CNN. The news anchor stands outside Avalon Hollywood where everything fell apart just hours ago. A photo from the Spring Festival fills the screen, my arm around her shoulders, both of us laughing.
With fumbling fingers, I grab the remote and change the channel to Entertainment Tonight.
“Was it all a publicity stunt or a misguided act of love? Opinions are divided after tonight’s heartfelt confession . . .”
It’s as I feared. The hosts debate our relationship with the same gravity usually reserved for international incidents.
