God!
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps muttering to himself as he paces, working something out in his head. I’d much rather he shares than remain silent. After a few minutes, he waltzes back to the computer and frames his body above mine as he reaches over the back of the chair. “Watch it again.”
“Did you call the police? Did you—”
“That’s futile,” he snaps at me. “It’s not our property. Wasn’t stolen from us or our house so it’s not ours to claim.”
“But it’s us!” I reiterate my voice breaking and eyes widening.
“Play it again,” he demands, in a voice I’ve only ever heard when he’s at work. It’s the do-not-fuck-with-me tone that tells whoever he’s dealing with to do as he says without question.
I hesitate, confused as to why he wants to watch it again, prompting him to move his hand over mine on the mouse and click the play button. Our images spring to life once more and again I’m transfixed. It’s like a car accident: I know I need to look away and yet I’m mesmerized. As much as I’m appalled, there is something about watching the two of us together, stepping outside of the moment, and seeing how fluidly we move in sync. Undeniable proof we were meant to be together.
“CJ believes it,” he murmurs, more talking to himself than to me. I try to follow his train of thought, but replaying it has caused deafening panic to strike again. Every single breath—each thought—takes an enormous amount of effort . How we are going to fix this ? “So will everyone else.”
Exactly, I want to scream at him. Everyone will believe it’s us. How could they not?
Colton turns my chair around so I’m facing him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and I’m already shaking my head no because that gleam in his eye means he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. And God yes, I trust him, but this isn’t a normal, “can you trust me?” type of question. “CJ watched this. He believed what they said.”
“Huh?” I’m not following him.
“Don’t you get it, Ry? They have no clue the woman is you . Your face . . . it’s not identifiable in one single frame.”
“But every other part of me is,” I shriek, as the sudden knowledge of where he’s going with this forms in my head. He can’t be serious. My stomach knots, forcing me to focus on breathing for a moment as my eyes look deep into his and question what I see there.
“Watch it again.”
“I don’t want to watch it again,” I shout, shrugging his hands off my shoulders and not liking what he’s suggesting one bit. “And I refuse to entertain whatever idea is in your head.” Panic returns with a vengeance.
“Hear me out, Ry,” he says, getting down to eye level with me as I avert my eyes to where my hands are resting on my belly. “Please look at me.” I take a moment before I raise my eyes and I’m glad that when I do, he seems as conflicted as I feel. “Do you really think that if we pay off whoever this person is they won’t keep an extra tape for insurance? That they won’t get their money and accidentally let the tape end up on the Internet?”
“Colton . . .”
“No, Ry. You just told me TMZ called you. They’ve already contacted media and planted a seed. Do you actually think they’d do that if they’d planned on taking the money and then disappearing with the video for good? Something is off here, and I can’t figure out what the fuck it is.”
His comments weigh down the atmosphere around us and it takes everything I have to blink, to breathe, to think, because this just can’t be happening. He’s right. The fact they’ve already contacted a tabloid tells me it’s something more . . . and hell if I know what the more is or why the video is surfacing right now.
“I’ve been wracking my brain, have some ideas, but that’s beside the point, right now. The point is they want money, want to make us panic . . . want to tear us apart right when we’re about to be
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps muttering to himself as he paces, working something out in his head. I’d much rather he shares than remain silent. After a few minutes, he waltzes back to the computer and frames his body above mine as he reaches over the back of the chair. “Watch it again.”
“Did you call the police? Did you—”
“That’s futile,” he snaps at me. “It’s not our property. Wasn’t stolen from us or our house so it’s not ours to claim.”
“But it’s us!” I reiterate my voice breaking and eyes widening.
“Play it again,” he demands, in a voice I’ve only ever heard when he’s at work. It’s the do-not-fuck-with-me tone that tells whoever he’s dealing with to do as he says without question.
I hesitate, confused as to why he wants to watch it again, prompting him to move his hand over mine on the mouse and click the play button. Our images spring to life once more and again I’m transfixed. It’s like a car accident: I know I need to look away and yet I’m mesmerized. As much as I’m appalled, there is something about watching the two of us together, stepping outside of the moment, and seeing how fluidly we move in sync. Undeniable proof we were meant to be together.
“CJ believes it,” he murmurs, more talking to himself than to me. I try to follow his train of thought, but replaying it has caused deafening panic to strike again. Every single breath—each thought—takes an enormous amount of effort . How we are going to fix this ? “So will everyone else.”
Exactly, I want to scream at him. Everyone will believe it’s us. How could they not?
Colton turns my chair around so I’m facing him. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and I’m already shaking my head no because that gleam in his eye means he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. And God yes, I trust him, but this isn’t a normal, “can you trust me?” type of question. “CJ watched this. He believed what they said.”
“Huh?” I’m not following him.
“Don’t you get it, Ry? They have no clue the woman is you . Your face . . . it’s not identifiable in one single frame.”
“But every other part of me is,” I shriek, as the sudden knowledge of where he’s going with this forms in my head. He can’t be serious. My stomach knots, forcing me to focus on breathing for a moment as my eyes look deep into his and question what I see there.
“Watch it again.”
“I don’t want to watch it again,” I shout, shrugging his hands off my shoulders and not liking what he’s suggesting one bit. “And I refuse to entertain whatever idea is in your head.” Panic returns with a vengeance.
“Hear me out, Ry,” he says, getting down to eye level with me as I avert my eyes to where my hands are resting on my belly. “Please look at me.” I take a moment before I raise my eyes and I’m glad that when I do, he seems as conflicted as I feel. “Do you really think that if we pay off whoever this person is they won’t keep an extra tape for insurance? That they won’t get their money and accidentally let the tape end up on the Internet?”
“Colton . . .”
“No, Ry. You just told me TMZ called you. They’ve already contacted media and planted a seed. Do you actually think they’d do that if they’d planned on taking the money and then disappearing with the video for good? Something is off here, and I can’t figure out what the fuck it is.”
His comments weigh down the atmosphere around us and it takes everything I have to blink, to breathe, to think, because this just can’t be happening. He’s right. The fact they’ve already contacted a tabloid tells me it’s something more . . . and hell if I know what the more is or why the video is surfacing right now.
“I’ve been wracking my brain, have some ideas, but that’s beside the point, right now. The point is they want money, want to make us panic . . . want to tear us apart right when we’re about to be
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