Page 106 of Fake It For Glory

MERIDA

In the silence of my house, I sat alone with my thoughts, my phone turned off and the world outside blissfully disconnected. I needed this solitude, this respite from the storm that had engulfed my life. My contact information was still up on the Full Disclosure site. Reporters from all around the world had been calling, texting, and emailing to get a comment from me.

If this was fame, I wanted nothing to do with it. Merida Moore, the writer who had once sought fame and recognition, was now a recluse in her own sanctuary. The weight of my confession in that second article pressed heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn’t help but second-guess my actions. It might have been too much. I knew how private Jensen was and I doubted he would really appreciate me baring my soul for all the world to see. But it was the only way I could make him understand. I hoped my apology and the truth were enough to fix the damage I caused.

I wondered how the world would react to my admission, to my willingness to admit that I had hurt the man I had fallen in love with. Would they see me as a fraud, a manipulator who had crafted a narrative for personal gain? It didn’t matter. I had to do what was right, no matter the consequences. I would hang my head in shame. I could work as a ghostwriter and never leave my house again.

I had been blinded by ambition and the desire for success. My relationship with Jensen Loxley had changed me. It forced me to confront my own flaws and reassess my priorities. I knew for certain I didn’t need the fame I craved for most of my professional career. I had fallen in love with a man who deserved better than being the subject of a silly article.

Would my career as a journalist survive this revelation? Would I be able to rebuild my reputation, or was it forever tarnished by my past actions? I couldn’t even be certain I wanted my career. Mom told me to find something else that I loved.

Even if I ruined my career, I had done the right thing. I had chosen honesty and integrity over ambition and fame. It was a small step toward redemption. I hoped Jensen would have a little better opinion of me. I didn’t expect him to thank me for the second article, but I didn’t want him to hate me.

Wrapped in a cocoon of self-pity, I sat on the sofa, a heavy blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders. The weight of my recent actions bore down on me, and I couldn’t help but wallow in the depths of my own remorse.

Amidst the suffocating silence, an unexpected knock on my door pierced through my thoughts. Irritation welled up within me. I just wanted to be alone with my guilt, to hide from the world and lick my wounds in private. I shouted for them to go away, hoping that would be enough to deter the uninvited guest. I assumed it was a nosey journalist. I wasn’t about to let them get a picture of me in my current state.

But they were persistent. The knocking came again, louder this time, more insistent, as if the person on the other side of the door refused to be ignored. I threw the blanket off my shoulders and, with a mixture of frustration and curiosity, stomped toward the door.

“What?” I snapped, my voice edged with irritation, as I swung the door open without bothering to check who stood on the other side. I was ready to unleash my anger, to lash out at anyone who dared to intrude on my self-imposed isolation.

But as the door swung open, my words died on my lips, replaced by a startled gasp. There, on the threshold, stood Jensen, his usually composed expression marred by a complex mixture of emotions—hurt, anger, confusion, and something else I couldn’t quite place.

His presence caught me off guard, and for a moment, I stood frozen, unable to comprehend why he was here. Had he come to yell at me in person, to confront me about my actions and the damage I caused?

I could see the turmoil in his eyes, the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders just as heavily as it did on mine. I felt so bad. My heart broke for him. I had seen the articles in various gossip rags. They were picking on him.

Jensen cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that hung between us. “Merida,” he began, his voice wavering slightly.

“Jensen.”

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Come in,” I said and took a hesitant step back, allowing him to enter my sanctuary. As the door closed behind him, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the beginning of a painful reckoning. I steeled myself, preparing for the anger I knew was coming my way. I was ready to accept whatever tirade he had prepared for me. I deserved it after all the pain I had caused him.

It was hard to look at him. He looked incredible in his new suit. His hair was neatly styled, and he was clean shaven. I longed for his touch. I missed him like crazy and was still trying to come to terms with the fact I would never have him again.

“Yell at me,” I said. “Scream at me. I can take it.”

“I read your article,” he said. “The second article. Well, someone read it to me on live TV, which was interesting.”

I nodded, waiting for the wrath to come. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. I want you to rage at me. It will only make me feel better.”

“I’m not here to rage at you.”

His expression softened as he took my trembling hands in his own. My heart pounded fiercely, and I braced myself for the scolding I thought I deserved. His hands felt warm and offered comfort even when I didn’t deserve it.

“I love you, too,” he confessed, and my world seemed to stop in its tracks. I couldn’t believe my ears. Did he just say what I thought he did?

My eyes welled up with tears, emotions swirling within me like a tempest. I had braced myself for his anger and condemnation, but this unexpected twist had me utterly floored. The weight of my guilt began to lift.

“What?” I asked on a breath.

In the dimly lit room, Jensen’s words hung heavy in the air. His confession of love, delivered with such sincerity and vulnerability, felt like a balm to my wounded soul.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” I blurted out the words. They fell out of my mouth with no hesitation.