Chapter 22

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to think. All I could do was stare, wide eyed and daunted, at the pages laid out before me.

While all the headlines were similar, every paper seemed to have their own source for photos. There were snapshots of us from the red carpet, which were to be expected, however, the photos of us from the past couple of months had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I gulped, my eyes scanning the various pictures. One was of us walking down the street hand in hand, another of us talking as I worked the counter at the café, and one picture had been submitted by someone at the basketball game when we'd had our first kiss.

One paper, however, had managed to capture the two of us at the resort in Seattle over the weekend. The blown up spread showed us joking around in the trails, including a rather embarrassing picture of Ryan pushing me up against the trunk of a tree, his hands on my ass as we clung to each other in a private moment of passion.

It was mortifying to say the least.

I knew that there was a possibility of me being a topic of interest following the premiere of Knights of Fury, but I never thought it would escalate to this extent.

I wasn't important. I wasn't newsworthy. I was normal, and now my life was plastered across the pages of a paper for everyone to see.

My mind was whirling a mile a minute and I felt like hyperventilating when my heart began to contract at a faster pace.

When Colette's hand touched my shoulder gently, I realized that I had zoned out of my surroundings, having been solely focused on the tabloids. I came back to, only to realize that the line of customers had tripled in just a few minutes. The newcomers at the back were whispering amongst one another, casting their gazes through the swarm of people in front of them, who all seemed to be recording the scene with their phones.

I was the center of attention, and I didn't know what to do.

"I think you should head home until this all dies down," Colette said quietly, casting me a sympathetic gaze as I turned to face her. Apprehension masked my face, as I didn't want to leave her to deal with the crowd alone, but she saw right through it. "I can take care of this, and my parents are on their way to help out. Now go."

Watching as the crowd slowly began to scrutinize me, I gulped, nodding my head before retreating to the back room. Sinking back against the wall, I waited to make sure that no one had followed me, and was able to finally release the breath that I'd been holding. The hazy storm in my mind was beginning to clear, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Those stories had cut their way through the tougher skin that I'd believed to build, and I hadn't even been able to read the articles, simply browse the headlines.

Before I could stop myself, I found myself pulling my phone from my pocket and dialing a familiar number.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Zoe?"

"Ryan," I said shakily, "Can you pick me up?"

"Pick you up? Where are you?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and curiosity. "I thought you had to work this afternoon."

"I'm at work. I just, I didn't think that it'd be this bad, and there are so many people," I rambled, not able to form a full sentence. I clenched my eyes shut. "Have you seen any of the papers today?"

I heard him cuss under his breath, and I figured that he'd worked out what was going on. "My manager mentioned a few stories, but I didn't think it was that big of a deal since the premiere was on Friday," he admitted. Even through the phone line, I could make out his stress and frustration. "How many people are there?"

"A lot," I replied meekly.

"Okay, okay," he repeated, as though he was pacing, trying to formulate a plan. "Here's what to do," he said, having had a few moments to collect his thoughts, "Just stay at the café. I'll be there to pick you up as soon as I can, and hopefully we'll be able to get away without too many people noticing."

I could tell his words were serious, and I nodded, only to stop seconds later when I realized he couldn't see me. "Okay, I'll be waiting."

"I love you Zoe," he whispered, causing a smile to appear amongst the chaos. "This will all blow over soon."

The line clicked dead, and within the same instant, Colette startled me, pushing open the doors to the back as she breezed into the room.

"I'm really sorry about all this Zoe," she apologized. "I honestly thought that you'd have seen the articles already, or else I would've called you myself to tell you not to come in."

"It's okay," I said, forcing a small smile on my face as I accepted a hug, "Really."

"It's not," Colette disagreed, shaking her head, "But my parents are out there right now trying to get rid of everyone who's only here to see you. Hopefully everything will calm down soon."

Colette's parents were miracle workers, because just a few minutes later, the buzz of excitement that had been humming from the front of the café lowered significantly. By the time my phone beeped with a text from Ryan, notifying me that he'd pulled up at the front, I was able to walk through the café with my hood up and my head down. Once I reached Ryan's car, pulling open the passenger's door, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Ryan cast a worried gaze my way. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes trailing my face to try and pinpoint any kind of physical harm.

"I'm fine," I said, beckoning him to start the car. When his foot hit the gas, shifting the car into motion, I rested my head back against the seat. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Concern flitted across his features while his gaze shifted frequently between the road ahead and me. "Are you sure?"

I'd never thought that I'd be in a situation like this, and if I was being completely honest, it was frightening to know that, on my own, I might not be strong enough to deal with the repercussions. Whether it was because I knew he had experience with the press, or simply because of my feelings for him, when Ryan was around, I felt the pressure lessen and I was able to make sense of everything.

"Yes." His hand sought out my own, intertwining our fingers with a gentle squeeze, and I realized that he was veering us away from my house, as well as his own. "Where are we going?"

"When I left my house there was a swarm of reporters parked on my street," he said. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, turning the knuckles on his hand white, while his tone was clipped and full of anger. "It took me a while to loose them."

I squeezed his hand in an effort to comfort him. "You didn't have to..."

My protests fell on deaf ears as he continued without much more than a pause. "And I don't want them finding out where you live, if they don't already know," he added, sending a shiver of uncertainty down my spine. "So I thought we'd head to my parents for a while and wait for some of the commotion to die down." His gaze finally swiveled from the road as he took a deep breath, his eyes swimming with apprehension. "Is that okay with you?"

While I would have preferred to curl up in my bed, the familiarity and company keeping me levelheaded, I was aware of the risks, and nodded.

The drive took a bit longer than expected, and Ryan spent every few seconds glancing in his rearview mirror to make sure that there was nobody tailing us. He was anxious and on edge, but he had every reason to be.

By the time we pulled up at his parent's house, the tension had only eased marginally. I had called Emily when we'd hit the congested afternoon traffic, and it was clear how uncomfortable and guilty Ryan felt while listening to me explain the situation to her.

It felt wrong to me, walking unannounced into a home that wasn't my own, but crossing the porch, Ryan reached in front of me and pushed the front door open. His hand rested on the small of my back, ushering me inside, while he raised his voice to let his family know we were here.

I'd barely had time to hang my jacket on the coat rack and kick off my boots before Sophie had rounded the corner into the entryway, pulling me into her arms. It was surprising, but not unwelcome, as she closed the gap between us. I hesitated at first before I hugging her back, falling into the comfort that she offered me.

She was treating me like a daughter, something that I'd not felt like in ages.

After a moment or two, she pulled away. "Oh honey, what happened?" she asked, keeping me at arms length while her eyes flitted between Ryan and I. "Ryan said that you guys were in the paper and that there was a riot at your work. Are you okay?"

I managed a small smile as I nodded. "Still in one piece, and I'm dealing."

"That's good then," she replied, her optimism beginning to shine through, "And know that you're always welcome here if anything ever gets too hectic. Just call and come on over whenever you need."

"Thanks."

Looking back at Ryan, who had stayed silent through our whole exchange, I could see that his worry lines were starting to disappear, and a ghost of a smile was playing on his lips. The light in his eyes dimmed however, when his phone beeped with an incoming call, a tight expression masking his face as he accepted the call.

"Let's leave him alone for a few minutes," Sophie suggested, seeing him run a stressed hand through his hair.

Ryan forced a smile, hearing his mother's suggestion, and nodded, mouthing for me to follow her.

Stepping into the living room, Ryan's dad was nowhere to be seen, but Dean was sitting with his feet up on the couch, relaxing as a basketball game aired on the television.

"Hey," he said in greeting as he noticed me, turning down the volume of the game, "What are you doing here?"

I smiled apprehensively and returned his greeting, taking a seat on one of the spare chairs. "I went into work an hour ago, only to learn that there were several papers printed today with Ryan and I on the cover of them."

"At least next to you, my brother might actually look decent," Dean replied with a smirk, winking in my direction.

I was tempted to laugh, but with an unsettling feeling still brewing in the pit of my stomach, all I could manage was an eye roll. "Always the charmer," I said sarcastically. Ducking my head, I could feel a flush of heat work it's way up my neck when I remembered some of the pictures that had been printed. "And not all the pictures were from the premiere," I admitted.

His eyes were quick to notice the blush I was trying to keep at bay, and a smirk stretched across his lips. "Then what were they of?" he asked, teasing undertones surfacing as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

My blush intensified, a surge of embarrassment flowing through me. Before I could sputter out a reply, Sophie rounded the back of the sofa and hit him over the head flippantly. "Oh hush boy," she scolded. The unexpectedness of the contact caused his eyes to widen in surprise, and he brought his hand up to rub the spot that had been hit. Dean grumbled under his breath in a huff, causing a small smile to tug at my lips when his mother rolled her eyes. "Don't mind this little brat," she said, jutting her thumb in Dean's direction, her voice now directed towards me. "And don't worry about the papers; the tabloids always find a way to blow things out of proportion and make you want to go into hiding."

Her words didn't make me feel any more at ease.

"In fact," she continued, "I remember when Ryan first got into the industry. He was about twenty when an article about him surfaced. I think he'd gone out with a couple of friends, and somehow, they had all ended up wrestling in a public park." Her smile was encouraging, if not a bit comical. "I'm not sure exactly what went on, but a few days later a picture of him lying on top of one of his friends in the park was plastered across thousands of tabloids, insinuating that he was hiding his sexuality. Now I knew that Ryan wasn't gay, as he'd had brief girlfriends before, but he was so embarrassed after that."

Dean let out a loud laugh, joining his mother on the walk down memory lane. "That was hilarious," he guffawed. "He locked himself up in his room for a week and didn't want to talk to anyone."

A giggle escaped my lips, finding the tale highly amusing. "And I bet you really enjoyed teasing him about that."

Dean grinned. "You know it."

"My point, darling, is that most of the time there's nothing you can do to stop reporters from fabricating stories for money and their own entertainment," Sophie said. "You just have to roll with the punches, and try to keep yourself from falling down."

Letting the weight of her words sink in, my gaze dropped to my hands, fidgeting around with the bottom of my sweater. "So you don't care what gets written about your son?" I asked faintly.

"Of course I care," she explained softly, "I just choose not to believe it unless I know that it's true."

The smile that tugged at my lips was crooked. I'd never paid attention to magazine spreads before meeting Ryan, figuring they were all drawn up to cause a rift between celebrities and their fans. And I'd been right on most accounts. Sitting there as the conversation dropped, I was glad that there were people in my life that I could rely on to know me better than what the papers made me out to be.

"Now I know you're not telling my girlfriend stories about me when I was younger," Ryan commented casually, raising an eyebrow as he stepped into the room, pocketing his cell phone.

"No," Sophie grinned, "Why would I ever do such a thing?"

He chuckled in response, shaking his head. There was a split second when a wry smile was visible on his lips before it disappeared, replaced with a tight expression that made him look like he'd aged five years in just five seconds.

"Can I talk to Zoe for a moment," he said. The words were void of emotion and caught me off guard. "Alone."

I was buzzing with curiosity, trying to work out the reason his mood had changed so suddenly. When I did however, it felt like a punch to the gut.

The phonecall.

"Sure," his mom shrugged, standing up from the edge of the couch she'd been leaning against, "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Are you two staying for dinner?"

With a glance in my direction, I shrugged, and he nodded before his mom turned and left. Dean, however, laid back against the sofa, turning the volume of the television back up, and Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Dean asked, his lips quirking up into an amused smile, "You have your own room upstairs. No one will bother you there."

Ryan shut his eyes briefly and shook his head, dimming his frustration before locking his gaze with my own. I faltered when he nodded his head up the stairs, a gesture aiding me to follow him, but stood up slowly, trailing behind him until he closed the door behind us.

I had never seen his childhood room before, and while the floor and walls were spotless, and a queen size bed lay in the middle of the room, there were still a few personal touches that littered the space. Three sweaters with the name of his high school embroidered across the front hung in the open closet, along with other miscellaneous items, and a few remaining science awards were scattered sparsely with old-style model planes on the shelves.

"So," I began cautiously, fiddling with a single photo frame on the bedside table. Ryan was young in the picture, perhaps twelve or thirteen, and was proudly holding up a first place ribbon for his science project in the background. "Does this conversation have anything to do with the phone call you just took?"

I glanced back at Ryan, who was still hovering near the door. His eyes were blank and looking straight through me before he shook himself free of his daze. "Sorry, what did you say?"

I bit my lip nervously, placing the frame back down as I rested on the edge of the bed. "I asked if you wanted to talk because of the phone call."

A fleeting rush of anger burned in his green eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. He dragged a hand through his hair stressfully, taking slow steps towards me until he lowered himself down next to me. One hand lifted up, sliding gently across my cheek with a gesture I wanted to sink into.

But I knew that I couldn't. I needed to know what was going on, the weight of the unknown too heavy to bear on my shoulders.

"Zoe," he swallowed, at a loss for words with a look that made my heart clench with pain.

My back straightened as I met his gaze straight on. "Tell me."

His eyes widened at my forwardness, sighing when he knew he could no longer prolong the inevitable. "Have you," he cleared this throat, "Have read the articles that were printed today?"

"No, why?" I prompted, my eyebrows furring together in confusion.

He sighed and I tried not to panic when he weaved one hand through mine for support. "Some of the articles that were printed only talked about us at the premiere. They skimmed over the movie and then focused on the two of us, speculating how long we've been together and how serious we are."

"Okay," I gulped, knowing that there had to be more for him to look so troubled, "And what about the others?"

Ryan's eyes clenched. "They went digging into your past, wanting to know more about you," he revealed remorsefully. "They know you got pregnant at a young age and kept the child, that your parents are Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, two of the best lawyers in the south, and that you're studying at UCLA for journalism."

He continued when I urged him to, wanting to know exactly what people were saying about me and what was now out in the world as common knowledge. With the best intentions, he tried to gloss over the negatives, only mentioning briefly that articles were surfacing about me trying to get money out of him to help with child care, or that I was only dating him to further my career, but I knew he was sugarcoating it. Not many cared that Ryan Adams had finally found love with an unexpected, bright-eyed girl.

They just wanted a story, and one that would make their readers to want to know more.

Reporters were ruthless. I'd had two or three professors over the course of my degree that believed that anything should be done to uncover a story, no matter how morally or ethically wrong it may be. It was frightening, knowing that somehow, these reporters had been able to dig up such extensive knowledge about my life.

I shook my head vehemently. "No," I said, refusing to believe what he was saying, "How could this happen? How are people able to find all of this out so quickly?"

"The press works in mysterious ways," he said dejectedly. "Sometimes they're able to find everything online with just a few clicks, and other times people sell them insider information." He paused for a moment. "And I would ask if you thought your parents had something to do with this, but..."

"They didn't even know about you until yesterday," I said weakly, finishing his thought.

He nodded reluctantly. "These stories starting forming Friday night, Saturday at the latest in time to get printed," he explained, "And after what your parents had to say to you, I'm not exactly sure they'd want these articles printed in the first place."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure they'll have something to say when they get wind of them," I grumbled, leaning my head on Ryan's shoulder. His hold on me tightened as his arm came up to hook around my shoulder. I could feel the pressure of everything building inside of me, and sooner or later, without warning, I knew it would explode. "I don't know what to do."

"Right now, just relax, and tomorrow figure out what you want to do," Ryan replied, running his fingers through the ends of my hair. "It'll die down eventually, and the best thing you can do is to just keep a level head and continue on with your life."

I couldn't think of a reply, and found myself comforted by the silence that surrounded us. Over the course of the minutes that followed we managed to shift positions on the bed, and were now lying next to each other. My arms were slotted around his back, my head tucked into the crook of his neck, and his hands were securing me against him, one hand in my hair and one on the base of my back.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, you know that right?" he asked softly, pulling back slightly to scan the expression on my face. His fingers on my back were slowly beginning to move in a soothing pattern, sending small shocks of electricity through my nerves. "Even if that means suing every reporter who publishes false and unwanted stories about you."

A faint smile grew on my lips. "I know," I replied, my voice just above a whisper.

Tilting my head upwards, I felt his breath hitch right before I slanted my lips over top of his. It was a soft, slow kiss. It wasn't rushed, but fleeting, lasting only long enough for me to reacquaint myself with the feeling of being safe, protected, and wanted. When I pulled away, his warm breath fanned my skin, and I prayed that the two of us would make it through this mess relatively unscathed.

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It was well past midnight when Ryan dropped me home, having lost track of time once dinner had finished. His whole family and I had sat in the living room, just talking, trying to forget about what loathsome beasts the press could be.

With the federal holiday falling on Monday, my classes resumed the following day, forcing me to jump right back into my normal routine after a weekend full of love, surprises, and chaos.

I was nervous when I arrived on campus that morning, thinking that everyone would immediately have eyes for me. Luckily, I was able to blend into the crowd for a majority of the day, not drawing attention to myself.

It was only when I sat down in my afternoon classes that I began to notice my classmates turning their gazes towards me. My hopes of a quiet day were diminishing, but then again, in lectures that housed less than twenty students, I was bound to be noticed. Focusing on my professors turned into a struggle, and by the time my last class was let out, I threw my books quickly into my bag and rushed out of the building.

I felt as though my whereabouts had spread like wildfire. Every way I looked I saw groups of people looking at me with wide eyes and tight lips, making me feel small and inferior. It was like I was under the observation of a microscope and I couldn't escape. None of them approached me, simply judging me from afar, and I wasn't sure if I preferred it that way or not.

In that moment I would've given anything to be able to shrink back into the shadows.

To make matters worse, when I spotted Ryan's car parked just outside the student parking lot, the whispers and hushed conversations grew louder. He was standing on the curb waiting for me, in plain sight of everyone, with not even a pair of sunglasses to disguise his appearance.

"Hey," he greeted, offering me a smile as I approached him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him nervously, not being able to stop my eyes from flitting back to the curious crowd that was beginning to move towards us.

A brief glimpse of happiness flickered across his face, before it was replaced with worry. "I thought, well, maybe you'd want to a ride today," he offered, though his words were strangled with uncertainty. "With everything that happened yesterday, I didn't know if you wanted to be alone or not, and you weren't answering my texts, so..."

I hadn't even realized that he had texted me. In light of the articles that continued to appear, I had turned off my cell earlier that morning, cutting off the temptation to scroll through the links and read the comments.

"So what? You didn't think I was capable of dealing with this on my own? That I wasn't strong enough?"

His eyes widened, flashing with hurt as he rushed to correct himself. "No," he shook his head. "You're one of the strongest people I know, I just thought that maybe you'd like the support today."

"I'm just trying to get out of here," I mumbled, speaking loud enough for him to hear as I cast my gaze towards the ground.

"Then let's go," Ryan said in a rush, moving to open the passenger's door of his car, but I shook my head.

"Alone."

"What are you saying?" he asked, realization dawning on him as I took a step backwards. He moved forward before I could say a word, frantically pulling me into his arm as if it was the last time he'd ever hold me like this. "Please don't say what I think you're about to," he murmured with fear. "Please tell me you're not about to leave when I can finally tell you I love you."

"No, I just, I don't know," I sighed, unable to find the right words to explain how I was feeling as I pulled myself from his hold. "I'll call you tonight okay."

This time, when he reached out to grasp my arm as I went to walk away, I was expecting it. I maneuvered around him quickly, moving out of his reach in just a few steps. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. I wasn't sure whether I was apologizing to him or to myself, because as I caused him pain, I was also tearing my own heartstrings apart.

By the time I was far enough away that I couldn't see the devastation plastered across his features, I looked back to see him getting swarmed by fans. All of them were requesting pictures or autographs, and although the guilt was eating away at my insides, I mustered all the strength I could to turn away and keep walking. I knew that I needed the space to get my thoughts settled, and I wanted to prove to myself I could handle the stress on my own.

When I reached the daycare, I breathed a sigh of relief walking through the doors. There were a few others parents picking up their own children, but when nobody looked at me strangely, I figured they hadn't seen the articles, and I was thankful.

Walking home with Abbie, I was given a distraction as she told me all about her day. She'd eaten her entire lunch, which she was extremely proud of, and explained how her and another girl had joined a group of boys at playtime to build a castle out of wooden bricks. Her day had been so simple, so carefree, and the exact opposite of mine.

"Momma, is Ryan at our house?" Abbie asked as we turned onto our street.

I flinched at her question, knowing that because of me, he was probably still stuck in the middle of a hoard of fans. "No baby, why?"

She lifted her hand and pointed down our street. "There are cameras over there."

Freezing, my shoulders were rigid as I lifted my gaze in panic. Parked just two doors down from our house, there were two large vans, as well as ten reporters with microphones and cameras set up, waiting to start rolling.

Someone must have noticed us, as the shouting began just seconds later, flashing lights and reporters flooding my vision, blocking out everything else. They were calling my name, trying to get a response, but as I felt small nails gripping into my palm, I remembered that I wasn't the only one under fire this time. Abbie did not need to be a part of this chaos, and I didn't want her anywhere near these people.

Grasping at her hand tightly, I tried and failed to push my way through the crowd. I'd get past one person just to be greeted by another, and it felt as though the reporters were multiplying the more I struggled to escape.

"Just move!" I yelled in frustration, elbowing my way between two cameramen.

I didn't care if I appeared crazy on the cameras; I needed to get Abbie safely into the house before dealing with them.

Amongst the chaos, I quickened my pace, realizing that we were in front of our neighbours house now, and there weren't many more feet separating us from our front door.

The surge of energy that coursed through me was short lived. I went to step forward, pulling Abbie along with me, when I felt her hand slip from my own. Turning around in horror, my eyes scanned the surroundings for my daughter.

The reporters were closing in on me, not giving me any room to breathe, and in that moment, I felt as though the world was crumbling quickly beneath my feet.

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I know you're all going to hate me for ending it there, but this has been planned since the first chapter. Things will be continued in the next chapter, but until then, remember to:

1.) Cast your vote and leave a comment below, and

2.) Go on over to check out my new story Staying Afloat and let me know what you think of it so far, as it will be what I'm working on updating next