Page 94 of The Naughty List

When I see Wyatt’s name on the screen, I feel like I might throw up.

“Answer it,” Casey encourages.

“No,” I manage to say, though my voice is shaky and unsure.

“Ember…”

“I just need some time,” I whisper.

“No, you need to talk to Wyatt. Why would he call you if the article was his end game? Why would he be so sweet, so dedicated, so vulnerable about his feelings for you if he just wanted to use you? Come on, I know you’ve been hurt, but Wyatt isn’t Devin. He’s the real deal, I just know it.”

Some part of me knows she’s right. But the other, scared, insecure side of me has been triggered and it’s overriding everything else in my mind.

“Just give me some space,” I say, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and claustrophobic.

Casey opens her mouth to say something but then decides against it. Instead, she sighs and squeezes my knee in a comforting gesture. "Don't shut me out, Em. I'm here for you always, you know that. Please consider calling Wyatt back?"

I nod, though she knows it’s an empty gesture. Casey collects her purse and walks towards the door. I think she says something, but I can’t focus on anything right now. When I hear the door close, I curl up into a ball on my couch and let the tears take over.

CHAPTEREIGHT

WYATT

I've called Ember twenty-seven times over the last two hours and sent just as many texts. An hour after she left, Taylor called and asked if I had seen the article about Ember and me that was posted on some stupid gossip site. It somehow got shared a bunch of times and came up as trending on social media.

I nearly crushed my phone in my hand when I saw the article, but I remembered it was my only means of communication with Ember. I’m frantic in my attempts to get a hold of her. This is absolute bullshit, completely abhorrent and disgraceful no matter what, but I was brought to the brink of tears knowing about the terrible thing that happened to her during her freshman year.

Surely, she can’t believe that I think any of those things about her? Or that I give a fuck what anyone else thinks about us as a couple? I’ve tried so hard these last few weeks to prove to her how gorgeous she is, how absolutely perfect I find her. I know she felt it, at least in the moment.

Taking a deep breath, I try to remember that she’s been hurt deeply, traumatized and humiliated in the past, and any doubts she’s wrestling with stem from that asshole who still needs to be murdered, and not from me.

Even so, it pains me knowing she doesn’t trust me yet. Trust us. I’m no less determined to prove myself to her though. In fact, it makes me even more desperate to tie her to me in every single way.

A plan forms in my head, but first I need to make sure every trace of that article has been scrubbed from the internet and the motherfucker who wrote it is fired and never finds a job in journalism again, gossip site, or not.

I make a call to a friend who does freelance hacker work for different companies as well as the FBI. He tells me there’s no way to completely remove the article, but he can have it taken down as well as disable the links.

While waiting on his call to confirm the job is done, I get the rest of my plan in order. I hope it’s enough to at least have her hear me out. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life building her up and making sure she’s so thoroughly loved that she never has a chance to doubt us again.

My phone rings and I snatch it up, hoping beyond hope that it’s Ember. It’s not, which makes my heart impossibly heavier. It’s my hacker friend, and while I wish it were the love of my life, it’s still a necessary and important call.

“Mike, tell me you got it done,” I bark. I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t help it.

“I did…” he says, trailing off like he’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like.

“Well, spit it out, whatever you’re going to say.”

"I can take down the article and delete as much of the trail as possible. But first, you should check the comments on the original post, as well as what people are saying when they share it."

“Why the fuck would I do that?” I practically snarl at him. I’m so damn impatient and frustrated at this whole thing.

“Because there’s overwhelming support for you two. Yeah, there are some trolls who are shallow pieces of shit, but there’s a huge pushback on the article and the author. People are shaming the woman who wrote it and flooding the comments with how beautiful Ember’s dress is, how you two make a cute couple, and lots of stuff about body positivity.”

Those tears that threatened me earlier have come back in full force as I click over to the article on my laptop. So many people have rallied around Ember and given such kind words of encouragement that I can’t help but choke up a little. Mike’s right. She needs to see this, and the world needs to see that we won’t be broken apart so easily. Maybe it will help her heal once and for all.

“Leave it up,” I tell Mike. “Thanks,” I add.

"No problem, man. Just doing what I can. Let me be the first to offer congratulations. I better get an invite to the wedding," he teases.

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