Hold Me (Love The Way #2) - W. Winters Page 0,22

I took her phone. So she had no one. I took her phone,” he repeats as if the phone is what did her in. “She couldn’t call anyone … but she couldn’t have it. It was driving her mad.”

None of this makes any sense. “Why the hell would you take her phone?”

He’s looking into the fireplace again, and I almost wish I’d turned the damn thing on so he wouldn’t look so desolate while he stares into nothing. Kamden takes a trip back into his memories and resurfaces with a shake of his head. “They kept posting it. The video. It was all over her social. They kept tagging her, over and over again. Every time she saw one pop up, she lost it.”

“Posting the video?”

“Ella kept watching it over and over. Someone would tag her and the whole cycle would start again. She couldn’t stop herself. She’d play the video and cry. Gut-wrenching sobs. All day. After a few hours she’d manage to collect herself, but it would only be for a few minutes. An hour at most. And then she went back to the video. Back and back and back. When it was at its worst she would beg people to stop posting, but they wouldn’t. Asking them to take it down only made more people share the link. It was vicious. She had nowhere to go. Maybe you don’t get it, but sharing everything with them … she couldn’t back away and they wouldn’t let her.”

I’m missing a crucial piece of information, and for the first time I feel a real, genuine regret that I haven’t read her file. I haven’t done everything in my power to learn about Ella. I’m against it in general because I think people need the chance to tell their own stories, but this is a part of it that she’s yet to confide in me.

I didn’t know about the suicide attempt at her old place. I didn’t know she jumped out of a fucking window. And Kamden thinks she did that because of some people posting about her. No—posting a video. I’ve seen some videos, but—

“What were they posting?”

Kamden meets my eyes with deep disappointment. Somehow, the tables have turned since he walked into this room. “You want to make me the villain in all this because you’re pissed off at me, but I’m not the villain. You might be, though.”

“What got to her—” I stop and take a deep breath. I won’t let my anger get the best of me. I won’t even talk myself up into thinking I haven’t made any mistakes. “What did they post that made her that upset?” It has to do with James. It’s the only thing I can imagine. The realization is suffocating.

Kamden looks down at his hands in his lap, then back up to me. “You should ask her.” He shakes his head then adds, “No. You should already know.”

Ella

I haven’t looked forward to Damon and his chats. It’s something I’ve tolerated because I was told I had to do it. Therapy isn’t something I’ve ever wanted. Until this morning.

Waking up to find another gift from Kam, glazed pastries from a quaint French bakery downtown, and a note from Zander, letting me know he had to have arrangements made but would see me tonight … left me feeling more alone than I’d have liked. Barefoot in the kitchen, that sinking feeling resonated until Damon walked into the room.

“Is there anything you want to talk about this morning?” Damon’s professional as always, but I don’t miss his subtle change in expression when he glances down at my nightgown. It’s the same one from yesterday. I was eager to get downstairs, to find Zander and didn’t think much else of, well, of anything else.

“Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to pick those topics?”

“I could … just thought I’d offer,” he says and shrugs. Eyeing him I wonder how this man always looks so professional. Even in only a simple white tee and faded blue jeans, he radiates an aura of strength. Freshly shaven, his dark skin taut over his muscular arms. It’s easy to decide that it’s just him. It’s the air around him. Everything about him reads: authority.

And then there’s me. In a wrinkled nightshirt, with finger-combed hair.

Clearing my throat, I hesitantly take a seat at the counter. “I haven’t brushed my teeth, let alone begun to think about what we should talk about.” Lies. The softly spoken words sound like lies even to