My head spins. My heart shrivels.
How? Why? How could this be?
Suddenly, I feel claustrophobic. It’s as though the train of my life has flown off the tracks and all its cars of past, present and future are colliding. Everything is piling up into one big mess, a heap of twisted truths and inconceivable realities threatening to crush me under their weight.
My lungs are failing. My head is spinning. My oxygen is running out. Slowly, I back away from the fervent crowd as it encroaches on Rogan, pummeling him with questions.
Across the tops of their heads, jewel-green eyes lock on mine. He stares at me for a few intense seconds, something unfathomable darkening emerald to jade. My stomach flips over and my chest constricts. I thought I knew this man, but I knew nothing. I only saw the fa?ade. And the unfortunate truth is that there’s nothing beneath it, no more to him than this. Lies. Cameras. Action.
When I’m far enough away that I can no longer feel the body heat of the horde, I inhale sharply, ready to bolt back down the hall. Why did Kurt come to find me at the front doors when I’d left for air? And why the hell did he bring me here? Did he want me to see the real Rogan? Or did he just want to hurt me? Maybe that’s who he is, too. Just a cruel, cruel person. Like his brother.
An internal alarm blares when I hear a short pause, a hush almost, followed by a barrage of questions.
“Who’s that, Rogan?”
“Is that the girl from the stands?”
“Is she the one you saw before the fight? Who is she, Rogan?”
Panic. That’s exactly what I feel when I see every eye turn toward me. After that, it’s just chaos. Voices raised, people clamoring, everything closing in on me.
Before I can get away and before Rogan can get to me, Victoria somehow slips through the crowd and appears at my side. She loops one arm around my shoulders and hugs me to her.
I don’t move away from her. Having someone, anyone familiar close to me is somehow comforting, like a buffer.
I shrink against her side, wishing I could disappear entirely. I feel like a deer in headlights, frozen. Terrified.
Then, as though every facet of my worst nightmares are coming to life in a single evening, Victoria reaches up with the hand on my shoulder and gently sweeps my hair away from my neck, exposing my scars for the flash of cameras, for the fodder of the media.
I’m so shocked, so completely taken aback by the gesture, I simply stand there, mortified and stunned. I can’t even lift my arm to cover my shame.
“Guess who told me all about your little secret,” Victoria hisses next to my ear, her smile never faltering as she looks into my eyes and then presses her cheek to mine to pose for the multitude of pictures being taken.
Guess who told me all about your little secret.
Agony rips through my insides. Rogan. He told her. He told her about my scars. The ultimate betrayal. How could he do that to me? Why? Why would he do that to me?
It’s like I don’t even know him. Like I never did. It was all just an act to get the girl who no one else could get. And I let him. I let him in, let him close. But I was misled, deceived. On every possible level. By the first person I’ve trusted in years. By the first person I’ve loved in forever.
Flash, flash, flash. Cameras being shoved in my face, microphones being held out to me, curious onlookers dissecting my every word and move.
“Are you affiliated with the charity?”
“Are you a representative at the benefit?”
“How do you know Rogan?”