Page 10 of Wild Fixation
Then I begin to notice the murmur behind me, the backward glances, the lingering looks. There’s a guy sitting a little too casually on a hill up ahead. As I near, he pulls out a nice camera. He could be photographing the water, but the closer I get, the more I fear that isn’t the case.
I try to push on. I’m being paranoid. We’ve doneonetour. No one could possibly care that much about Baptism Emperor. This is ridiculous.
Yet the longer I run, the less I can deny the attention my passage attracts. The other joggers aren’t greeting me anymore. They’re swerving around me. I realize why when I glance over my shoulder.
I am not alone.
I look away quickly, but not quickly enough to deny what I saw. There are people following me. Several people. I didn’t get a good count, but it was at least a handful. They’re jogging to keep up with me, and every single one of them wields a camera.
I focus my eyes ahead, but I’m running out of space. I’ll reach the park soon. I could jog past it, but eventually I’m going to have to turn around and head toward home. There’s not many other ways out of here, and I’m not a strong enough runner to sprint away.
They have me cornered.
Panic flutters through my chest. I didn’t consider this when I went out for my run. It sounds absurd even as the reality of it dogs my heels and shouts a question at me. Why the hell do these people find me so damn interesting? A few months ago, I was a grocery store clerk no one cared about. I can’t wrap my head around being chased through the park and hounded at my practice space.
I reach the park where I intended to turn around. If I make the turn here, it’s a four-mile run or more. If I keep going, I’ll be getting even farther from home, and I can’t afford that. With a deep breath, I turn—
And face a mob of shouting reporters.
I stop. I’m breathing hard, and it isn’t from the run. The reporters cluster around me, and all I can do is back away in horror, but I’m out of space. Pedestrians are staring, taking out their phones to record the interaction.
Then I spot a streak of black barreling toward me. Hope surges in my chest as Seth rushes my direction like a hero out of a story.
Once again, my knight in shining armor charges to my rescue.
Chapter Six
Seth
THE DAY AFTER MY meeting with Emmett, I sit in my apartment going through applications once again. I should pick a few and move on, but every time I attempt to, I find some flaw that makes me hesitate. I’ve sorted and resorted the applications over and over, but no organizational system has ever offered me the answers I need.
No one seems good enough. It’s as simple as that. Every time I think I have a few candidates I could interview, I linger over their flaws, too scared of them failing before they’ve even had a chance.
It’s ridiculous, I know, but I have five guys’ safety in my hands, and I refuse to fuck it up.
My phone buzzes while I’m going over the applications for the millionth time. I welcome the distraction, at least until I see the message waiting for me.
Our boy is getting himself in trouble again.
It’s from Keannen. My heart drops, and I text back in a rush.
What do you mean?
Jacob went for a little jog without telling any of us,Keannen writes.The vultures spotted him the second he left his place.
A photo accompanies this last text, an image of a hilariously poorly disguised Jacob leaving his apartment. At least, it would be hilarious if the implications weren’t slamming into my brain. He put on a hat and sunglasses, as though that’s enough to hide him from anyone. Does this man not understand what people see when they look at him? He’s the type of person others are drawn to, the type of person no one can look away from. They’re going to notice him in a damn hat.
Where?I text, even as I leap to my feet.
The applications lay forgotten on the kitchen table in my shared house as I snatch my keys. I’m out the door and storming toward my car when Keannen responds.
Olympic Sculpture Park, according to social media. He’s probably made it pretty far down the trail by now.
Fantastic. There aren’t a lot of places I can park super close to that trail, which means I’ll be hauling him out of there bodily if I manage to find him.
I don’t respond, just start driving, speeding out of my north Seattle neighborhood. It’s still a Seattle zip code, but I can’t afford to live downtown like my rockstar clients, which means this drive is going to take some time. I can speed as much as I like, but the best path from here to the trail is through neighborhoods and busy side streets. Even the four-lane roads in this part of town have a lot of stoplights. There’s simply no quick way to do this.
My knuckles drain to white as I speed as much as I dare, plunging toward Jacob. If he was heading from his apartment toward the trail, he should be at the northernmost point of it, or somewhere in that vicinity. That’s good news for my attempt to get him out of there, if my guess is correct — and if the press didn’t get to him before he could make any real distance.
