Hold Me (Love The Way #2) - W. Winters Page 0,63
in the background.
The comments filter in with tags to gossip columns and celebrity outlets, dozens by the minute. There’s a flip in my chest and anxiousness I hadn’t anticipated.
“Come on,” Kelly says, shifting her weight to the other hip. “This has to make you smile.”
“It does, it does.” I force my tone to be more upbeat. “Just … just wish I could post it too.” I don’t know why I lie. Maybe it isn’t a lie. Ever since the other night, there’s been a churning in the pit of my stomach. Like I sent something into motion.
“You’re the one who pays Kam. If you want to post, post.”
“I agree with Trish. Tell your man over there to get you a phone and just come back. You are back. So … if anyone says shit online, block, block, block, block, block.”
“I get why he doesn’t want me to … Just the thought of being hammered with questions and seeing that video or pics of us …”
“Kam can filter that out. He has his team.”
“I know … I don’t know why he is so damn adamant.”
“I think it’s time you put your foot down.” Kelly’s seriousness takes me aback. “Or I can put my foot down for you.”
Trish has far more compassion, but she doesn’t hide the fact that she has her qualms when it comes to my PR. “Everyone failed you; you paid them, and they failed.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” My comment sobers the mood too much, too quickly. “I do want to keep up with everyone again. It’s just, I feel like I should be careful … maybe. I don’t know. It’s … it all feels different.”
“Look, I didn’t want to say anything but the way they handled James’s passing was shit. That fixer bitch was dumped from Conntelex.”
The temperature of my blood plummets at the mention of that company. They’re the most sought-after company for “fixing” situations, images, for planting rumors even. I know Kam still has them on retainer.
“Cynthia, right? Like literally the day you woke up from … your fall,” Trish says, lowering her voice. I didn’t fall, I jumped, but I keep that correction to myself. They know what happened. She just doesn’t want to say it. “That next morning, she was fired.”
“It wasn’t her fault that I—”
Kelly’s small hand lands on mine. “She handled it poorly. Every step of the way. She was supposed to fix it, and her choice was to ignore it in the hopes it would blow over.”
Trish huffs, shaking her head as she taps her phone against the table.
I fumble with how to express anything at all from what happened that night. “I wasn’t in the best mindset—”
“You shouldn’t have been. You paid people to protect you. And they failed you.”
Kelly adds in a whisper, “Even Kam.” When my eyes reach Kelly, riddled with shock that she’d talk about Trish’s brother like that, she’s quick to add, “It wasn’t his job and I don’t blame him. He was relying on the fixer. What the hell was her name?”
“Cynthia. I’m sure it was Cynthia,” Trish states slowly, and then adds, “Even Kam will tell you he made a mistake and he wishes he could take it back.”
“Given how easily you two are talking about this—”
“Yeah. We’ve talked about it behind your back, but only because we love you and we’re mad on your behalf. It’s not in the tabloids; cross my heart.”
“Kam did his job there,” Kelly chimes in.
“You should have your fucking phone is all we’re saying.” Trish’s statement is final. “And I’ve told Kam exactly how I feel about it.”
“It wasn’t just your phone. It was access to support you had all of your life. They snatched it away. What the fuck did they think would happen?” Kelly’s eyes brim with unshed tears and it doesn’t go unnoticed that everyone is speaking in whispers now.
“We need chocolate.”
“Could we?” Trish says while waving down the waitress, motioning to our drinks.
They’re quiet, and in that moment, I remember that night, like it happened just yesterday.
“If she can’t stop going off, what else is there to do?”
She wants me to keep asking them for space. Just ask for space, as if they would listen.
Kam’s spoken up for me, but he’s nervous. He hasn’t been this nervous since… well since everything with my father. “You don’t know her. She doesn’t want space.”
It’s like I’m a child again, scolded, scared, and watching them fight through a cracked door. I can’t even bring myself to