Campbell Abbey loved me.
Again.
It felt surreal to even think that we could be here. After everything, we’d made it back to this point. And somehow, it was both easier and harder than before.
Easier because we were older and knew the extent of our feelings. We knew precisely what it would be like to be without the other. How difficult it was. But more difficult for so very many reasons. Not the least of all, his celebrity status and the fact that…while it was amazing to be here, I’d eventually have to return to Lubbock.
My life and friends were there.
Campbell’s life was here.
But I believed we could find a compromise. I just didn’t know yet what it was.
Even though I was in LA with him now, he was at the studio at all hours of the day. It wouldn’t always be like this, of course, but then he’d be on tour and promoting and award season. It would be difficult but not impossible.
At least, I wanted to try before dismissing it entirely.
We had a second chance. I refused to squander it.
But while he was in the studio, rehearsing and structuring the songs that would one day become an album, I still had to run my own business. I’d dropped all the content with Nate on English’s suggestion. It pained me to give up a week’s worth of videos that we’d scripted, recorded, and paid for. But that was for the best, long-term, considering what I would be walking into at the gala this weekend.
Luckily, Honey had backup content ready to go and I had plenty of footage of the band. Though I also felt like I shouldn’t show too much of it since English was now consulting with an entertainment lawyer about the docuseries. Which meant more work for me here in Hollywood.
I’d taken to carrying my tripod around with me early in the morning and shooting a bunch of Blaire Blush discussions at various famous LA locales. Yesterday, I’d even taken a cab over to Santa Monica Pier and recorded on the actual Ferris wheel.
Today, I was on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. My phone dinged for the five hundredth time today just as I’d set up my tripod.
I clicked to my text messages and found another one from Honey.
Wish I were there to film this one. I’ve always wanted to go to Grauman’s!
I shot back a quick note.
Next time!
Is Campbell there with you?
Nope! Just me. He’s too busy.
Too bad! Well, don’t have too much fun without me.
I sent her back a dancing emoji, which was my cue to her that I was getting back to work, and pressed record. I stepped back and performed the dance I’d learned the night before. I was halfway through when a man stopped in front of me.
“Uh, excuse me,” I said, gesturing to the tripod.
“Are you Blaire Barker?” He had a camera in his hand and pointed it in my direction.
I gawked at him. How the hell did he know that?
“Uh, yeah?” I stepped forward, shutting off my camera and slinging my bag over my shoulder. It never felt like a good thing when a random stranger knew my name.
“You run Blaire Blush?” He was still talking to me through his camera.
“I don’t want to have this conversation.”
I turned and walked away. My hands were shaking slightly as I made a hasty retreat, passing over Bruce Willis’s Hollywood star. The man kept up with me, and suddenly, another man with a camera was jogging across the street toward us.
What the fuck?
“Blaire,” the man said.
“Leave me alone.”
“Is it true that you’re in a relationship with Campbell Abbey?”
I gaped at them, which was probably answer enough. I needed to get my facial expressions under control. Now, they had that shocked look on camera forever.
I continued walking away from them. But as I turned the corner, I nearly slammed into a group of tourists.
“Sorry,” I gasped.
“It’s her!” one of them said, clutching my arm.
“I knew we’d find her nearby. She went live in front of the theater,” another said.
I tried to tug away from the person, but she was still holding on to me. “Let me go!”
“You’re the person that Campbell decided to date?” a third said in disgust.
“She doesn’t look like much.”
I had no idea how any of them knew I was dating Campbell or who the hell they were, but my fight-or-flight was kicking in. I was ready to get the hell out of here.
That was the moment I realized that they were all wearing the same jean jacket. And on the chest was a Campbell Soup symbol. These were Campbell Soup girls. They’d tracked me down. Let me repeat, what the fuck?
“Let me go,” I said, jerking away from the girls. I finally pulled away hard enough that she released me. But this mob of girls looked much more menacing than the set of Campbell Soup girls I’d met in Lubbock.
I turned for another escape, but the paparazzi had caught up to me and were shoving cameras in my face. Flashes went off. The world tilted as my claustrophobia hit fresh and new and disorienting. The internet had speculated that Campbell and I were dating, but I had been more careful about what I was posting. Many people had moved on to thinking that I was just filming the entire band for their new album, which was also true.
But these people knew. They had been stalking me and come out to my last known location to harass me. I didn’t know their objective, but it couldn’t be good.
“This can’t be the girl,” the first woman said.
“Blaire.” One of the cameras was stuffed into my face, and the flash went off.
I blinked, momentarily blinded by the light.
“Is it true that you’re the ‘I See the Real You’ girl?”
My vision dipped, and my stomach went with it. “What?” I whispered, horrified.
That was one of the questions that I’d gone over with English for the gala on Saturday. We figured we might as well admit that I was the girl everyone had already guessed at. She’d thought it would make a good angle for people to be sympathetic to our love story. Or something.
But now that the question was out in the open, being asked by multiple paparazzi with cameras in my face, I went blank. I forgot everything she’d told me. All I could think about was the sad little girl left behind by Campbell. The person I’d shattered into after he set off for LA, like he’d always planned, leaving me alone and pregnant. I’d forgiven him for what he’d done to me. For making me the “I See the Real You” girl after all of that. The constant, ever-present reminder of what I’d lost. But I still had qualms about the world finding out.
It was one thing to be his new flame from home. It was another thing entirely for my entire life to be out there for the world to digest as they saw fit.
And now, I could barely breathe. I had no right answer. No way to get this past my teeth.
This was not our carefully controlled situation. This was chaos incarnate. This was being mobbed again. A group of angry Campbell Soup girls and a flood of paps, trying to get the latest gossip, trying to break me. The small-town girl from the middle of nowhere, Texas, who couldn’t hack it in LA.
No amount of minor celebrity status could have prepared me for this. Not even the mob feeling on the Fourth of July. That had been nothing compared to this.
Everything felt like it was closing in on me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I was panicking. All that preparation was out the window with this unexpected setback. My phone was buzzing noisily. I was sure that the news must have broken already. That Campbell or English or Honey or any of my friends were checking in on me. And I was just standing here, paralyzed, as questions were fired at me.
No one was going to help me. No one was going to let me out of this. And it wasn’t like Lubbock, where I knew the city like the back of my hand. I was on Hollywood Boulevard and had no idea how the fuck to get away from here.
My eyes scanned the area directly around us. I was only five feet tall on a good day, and it was hard to see over the crowd of people. One of the Campbell Soup girls grabbed at me again. That was the moment that I’d had enough.
“I said, let me go,” I shrieked at her.
Then, I lowered my shoulder and rammed through the crowd. I needed out, and I needed out any way that I could get out of there. I didn’t have to stay and be polite. If they wanted to paint me as unstable because I didn’t want to be mobbed in public, then I just couldn’t care anymore. I couldn’t care when this was unacceptable. I didn’t deserve this.
We’d had a plan.
A plan.
And it was all falling apart.
My chest hurt, and I managed to hold back my tears by sheer force of will. I was glad that I’d dressed in an athletic kit and tennis shoes because I moved a lot faster than anyone else. I’d always been small and fast. It was to my advantage today.
As soon as I cleared the crowd, which had grown with people stopping to find out what was going on and what celebrity they could see, I took off at a dead sprint. All those hours of soccer practice had sure helped me in this regard. It wasn’t until I found a convenience store and stumbled into the restroom, bolting the lock behind me, that I finally was able to catalog how I felt.
Which was terrible.
My body was trembling. The claustrophobic feeling had ebbed, now replaced with shock. Tears finally cascaded freely down my cheeks. I’d lost my tripod somewhere in the melee. Luckily, I’d held on to my phone, which was still vibrating. But I didn’t answer.
I just sank onto the toilet seat and let tears rack my body. The danger was gone, but the fear and misery remained. I needed a minute before the rest of the world could be let back in. Before I was going to be okay again.