Page 50 of Wild Fixation
It’s such a simple counter, but it blasts past all my defenses. I’ve been holding back for Seth, but I have never cared if people knew about us. I’ve never been ashamed. I’ve never needed it to be a secret. And now apparently it’s not. So what the hell am I still hiding from him for? What good is it doing either of us? We have nothing left to lose with the press on our asses and him losing his job. If our feelings are the “problem” here, we aren’t going to fix anything by hiding from them.
“If you want him, go get him,” Shawn says, but his voice is strangely wistful, like he’s hyping himself up in a mirror.
It doesn’t matter. It works. I straighten, pushing away from the wall with fresh determination. By the time we get back to the practice room, I’m not merely ready to deal with Seth; I’m ready to conquer the entire world. The press, the fans, management. None of them can stop me any longer.
I grab the mic, and when I unleash my voice into it, I feel like the whole world hears the song that spills out of me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Seth
MASON GROANS AS HE closes the blinds.
“Are they ever going to leave?”
I grimace. I thought they would have been gone already. When Mason and I went to bed last night, we both assumed we’d wake up to a peaceful, normal home, but the paparazzi haven’t budged. I swear some of them must have slept on the damn lawn.
“I’m really sorry,” I say.
Mason shrugs. “It’s not like you want this either. We just have to wait it out.”
That sounds simple enough, but this circus could disrupt our lives for days. Mason can’t get to work. Neither of us could hope to leave the house for something like groceries. Hell, we can’t even order in. How would the delivery person reach us? We are barricaded in our own home like those reporters are an invading army laying siege to some unlucky town.
My prince can’t save us this time.
Jacob has his own invading horde to worry about. Even if he didn’t, there’s no way he’d come see the guy who caused this whole mess. I pray Emmett is at least getting him some proper security.
Mason and I make a valiant attempt at having a normal morning, but it’s hard to calmly think about what I want in my coffee when shouting penetrates the walls. We take our mugs to the couch, but when we turn on the television, we go right for the safety of a streaming service. Nothing live. We learned that lesson yesterday.
I don’t realize it’s strangely easy to hear the historian describing ancient pyramid construction until the sound of paparazzi returns with a roar.
“Jesus, what was that?” Mason says.
“I have no idea.”
I leave my empty coffee mug and rise slowly, like at any moment the invaders outside my walls will bust through. The clamor takes on a new quality, a shrieking edge of wild excitement that prickles at the back of my mind. I pace toward the window like I expect a battering ram and peel aside the blinds with one finger.
It’s even worse than I thought.
A car sits at the curb, not the fanciest car in the world, but certainly one way nicer than anything Mason or I would ever buy. The paparazzi have all but abandoned my home in order to flock around it. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, I could escape if I wanted to, but escape is the farthest thing from my mind when I see the man standing on the hood of the car.
Jacob ignores the reporters below him as he screams for me.
I move without thinking, instinct taking over as I throw open the front door. Mason shouts something, but the paparazzi aren’t as quick to notice me. Focused on Jacob, it takes them an extra beat to realize I’m barreling toward them, and that’s all the time I need. I lower my shoulder and shove through them, knocking them aside to get closer to the car. Jacob reaches for me like something out of a movie, and I grab him by the waist and haul him off the roof of his car. I don’t let go when he reaches the ground. There isn’t time. The reporters are realizing what’s happening, realizing they’ve got both of us in their grasp. If we don’t move, they’ll surround us, trapping us here. So I keep an arm around Jacob’s slender waist, all but carrying him toward my house. I hold up my other arm like I’m a knight carrying a shield, sheltering us from the glaring projectiles of the camera flashes. I don’t know if it actually helps, but it’s all I’ve got.
Mason is waiting for us at the door. He holds it open, and the second I sweep Jacob inside, slams it shut behind us, securing every lock before hastily backing away.
For a moment, all of us stand frozen in the entryway, breathing hard, trying to make sense of what happened, listening to the shouts on the other side of the door. My arm is still around Jacob’s waist, but the way he clings to me makes it impossible to let go.
Mason recovers first.
“Holy shit,” he says.
He blinks several times at Jacob, who, even disheveled, is still a verifiable rockstar. He may be wearing simple jeans and a T-shirt, but Jacob has never needed makeup and glamour to light up a room. Everything about him demands your attention the second you’re within his orbit.
“You’re…” Mason says. “Oh my God. You’re…”
Jacob finally stands up on his own, slipping out of my grasp. I try not to think about how empty my arm feels without him nestled within it. He smooths his rumpled shirt, then extends his hand.
