Page 9 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

But no matter how long I let the water cascade over my body, it doesn’t help. The heaviness of my hair sticking to my face matches the weight pounding in my chest. Struggling to breathe, I press my palm to the wall and stare as the water crashes against the floor.

When the sound of my phone goes off for the millionth time, I slam my fist against the side of the wall and find my way to the floor. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I curl up and drown in my indiscretions.

Belly hard against my thighs, I rest my forehead on my knees and slowly begin breaking down for the first time since the news.

“Make it stop,” I whisper.

My calico cat Penny jumps on the desk in front of me, nudging my hand until the magazine I stare at falls open onto my lap. The image on display has me blowing out a breath, seeing my light brown hair barely covering my face as Corbin and I leave the hotel. It looks like someone took it from a distance the night we’d gone to the drugstore for Motrin because neither of us noticed anyone pointing a camera at us.

Smaller images of him in his hoodie and sunglasses coat the side of the article. The interior décor of the hotel hallway leading to my room is in the background of each picture. It’s my guess that someone waited for him the last night he showed up.

Corbin Callum seen sneaking out of Kinley Thomas’s hotel room just days after the two were seen off set together.

I bite down on the remainder of my thumbnail until it cracks under the pressure. Wincing from the pain, I release my finger and study each printed image. How long did they wait to capture these? I’m sure whoever was assigned to get the inside scoop had a lot to tell.

Jamie says its defamation since there’s no actual evidence over what the press is saying. It doesn’t matter that Corbin’s touch is intimate, or that he’s at my hotel hiding himself because he knows he’s not supposed to be there. It’s all speculation, and speculation sells copies.

I wonder if Jamie’s in denial or doesn’t care, but I can’t get myself to think too deeply on it in fear of the answer.

The problem of the supposed speculation comes from the quotes gathered by people from the movie—quotes that make it hard to deny that something went on while I was in California based on the volume of accusations. Extras talked, and they said all reporters needed to hear to piece together a story.

One inside source claims they saw Ms. Thomas walking to Callum’s trailer and didn’t resurface until hours later. “A few of us saw the way they looked at each other on set. It wasn’t hard to figure out something was going on between them even before we saw them disappear together.”

Scrubbing a palm down my face, I skim over the rest of the article and shake my head. I don’t know how many people were on set when I decided to go to Corbin’s trailer. It wasn’t like I frequented it—I’d been twice, and the second time involved me slapping him across the face like he deserved. But clearly whoever kept tabs on me didn’t care about that because they’d formed their own assumptions.

Jamie told me not to say anything to the people online who started attacking me once the news broke. Everything with my name on it had been trolled by fans of Corbin and Lena. Names were called. Memes were created. My business email was taken over by somebody else because the threats were too intense to deal with on my own and my physical mail had to be screened because of the amounts of hate I received.

The whole thing is a mess that I haven’t seen Corbin try to stop. Someone had to take over all my social media pages to get it under control because of the amount of people posting on my threads and reporting my content. Other then the occasional email I get forwarded that’s business related or something sweet my loyal readers send me amidst the drama, I don’t see anything worthwhile anymore.

Before I could say no again to issuing a press release, Corbin’s people issued a statement saying that the rumors of us are ridiculous—that Corbin and Lena are happily married and don’t need the public trying to tear them apart over unrealistic rumors. Unrealistic. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a punch to the gut.

Maybe if I were anybody else, I’d believe that statement. I would doubt the likelihood of someone as famous as Corbin getting involved with someone less than his status like me. I’ve ranted about people trying to make a big deal out of everything before. If this were any other couple, I would have even rooted for them to make it despite the rumors.

But for obvious reasons, I can’t. I just wonder what Corbin’s expression was when he approved the release. Did he cringe? Nod? Even try to fight against issuing that for the world to see? I’m not sure I want to know the truth.

As soon as his statement was made, Jamie acted quickly to make ours. I couldn’t even try telling her the truth about the tricky situation before she made the decision for me. I no longer have a voice. Telling her that I’m pregnant after informing the world that Corbin and I are nothing more than a story in a tabloid would just label me a liar.

Shaking my head from the rabbit hole I’m jumping toward I focus my gaze on the stack of posters still sitting in the cardboard box they were delivered in over a week ago. I’d waited a few days before even opening it despite Jamie seeming to be excited over the concept design. I knew I’d have little say in what is approved for the posters and book cover anyway. More than that, I knew I’d have no control over my feelings once I saw Corbin’s face.

And when I opened the box and stared at the beautiful couple embracing each other in a mixture of orange and yellow hues, I didn’t know what to do. I cried. I yelled. I slammed the box down on the kitchen counter and walked away from Corbin Callum’s pretty face.

Not because it isn’t perfect, but because it is. Olivia’s confliction. Corbin’s determination. The way they fit together is exactly how I pictured them. And it hurts because I can’t picture myself saddled next to Corbin the way she is—the way Lena is in the pictures that surface of them amongst the images of us.

And I know the reason why is because the media have made me out to be the lesser choice. Why would Corbin go for somebody like me when he has an international supermodel as a wife? She’s beautiful in all the ways that count. I see what outlets say about me and could wallpaper an entire room with their descriptions.

Plain.

Dull.

Poor.

Unworthy.

Wholly unimpressive.

It feels like high school round two where the mean girls burn me with their opinions that I cared about too much. But it’s worse than that because I’m on blast for the world to see. And knowing that those girls who told me I’d be nothing are probably reading every comment makes each and every word become branded on my skin for life.

Startled when my phone buzzes, I force my gaze away from the posters and stare at my brother’s incoming text message.

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