She holds up the phone and snaps a selfie of us as other people try to push past the security, holding out pictures of me to sign.
“Logan!” one of them shouts. “Are you friends with Charlie Maccan in real life?”
“Charlie? Of course,” I say, wondering if anyone can even hear my answer under the screaming. “I get along with all of theYard Lineactors.”
Panic rises in my blood.
Did I say that right?
Was it a bad idea to lump Charlie in with the rest of the actors, and now I’ll be misquoted somehow? Or was it bad to saythe rest, as if the other actors in the show don’t even have names?
Could it be misconstrued?
Everythingcan be misconstrued.
Fuck, fuck.
“Tell us about Season 2!” another woman shouts. “Who is Damien going to fuck next?”
“Ouch,” I hiss as someone steps on the top of my anklewith a stiletto heel, and a camera flash goes off right as I’m wincing. “Sorry?—”
“Logan, please!” another girl says as she grips at my arm, trying to yank me backward as I walk toward the hotel.
“Hands off of him,now,” the security guard yells. “Move aside.”
He holds out his arm like a bar and I tuck my head down.
Someone starts playing a song that features on the first episode theYard Line, blasting it at full volume on a tinny speaker right by my ear.
My chest is tight, and with each step I take further toward the hotel, I know I’m disappointing more and more fans. I’m denying them an opportunity they’ll only get one time, a chance at taking a quick picture with me, or even just making eye contact.
The guilt pulses inside me like a living thing.
I’m not built for this.
How can I make everyone happy if I can’t even look them all in the eye?
How can I ensure that they like me when I’m not even sure if this mob is safe for meorthem?
“I’m sorry,” I say, but my words are swallowed by the crowd. “I’m sorry. Sorry, everyone?—”
I push forward as the security guard forms a meat shield for me. Finally, mercifully, the door opens, and we’re inside the Bellwood.
My ears are ringing.
My blood feels too hot, and my eyes are burned with the residual light of so many camera flashes.
“We’re going to take care of this, Mr. Stone,” the security guard says. “The staff has already scheduled triple the outdoor security, and we’ll be installing more barricades.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, waving my hand through the air. “You did an amazing job. I’m just…”
I don’t have the ability to finish the sentence.
My nerves are completely fried, and already I see a few people across the hotel lobby who are trying to take videos of me, though at least they’re trying to do it in a subtle way.
“Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Stone?”
“I just want to be alone,” I tell him. “I’m sorry you had to handle that.”
