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The doctor, summoned to our hotel by a worried Emerson, explains how stress is a huge element, and my first, yet short, panic attack was induced by everything going on in my life that overwhelms me and snowballs into one intense moment.
She speaks in great depth about well-being, the measures I need to take to reduce, if not eliminate, this from happening again. She calls them triggers—something, a warning sign, that will prompt me to find a coping mechanism before I reach that point again.
I understand, but so much of what she says seems so far-fetched and unreasonable. So I have some personal problems. I’m not a kid. I can face these problems and move on. I don’t need help from professionals, nor do I need to schedule an appointment with some overly expensive doctor, who will listen to me talk for an hour and charge me a fortune.
Doctor Peterson prescribes some medication and recommends I spend the day resting. That piece of advice I welcome with open arms.
Emerson listens attentively, asking questions on my behalf while I continue to lay here like a vegetable. I’m exhausted. My limbs feel like jelly, my eyelids are barely able to remain open and acknowledge that Doctor Peterson is leaving.
The whole ordeal has been one giant blur. I can’t even remember how I got here. What I do remember is listening to my voicemails, hearing Mama’s voice, and feeling overwhelmed by fear as she mentioned my Grandpapa.
Then, there’s the issue of the media finding out about Wesley’s and my relationship. The paparazzi are relentless, and if my memory serves me correctly, a few were stationed outside this hotel. I don’t recall their faces, nor their questions, but their invasive behavior annoys our security guards. Thankfully, Emerson is a pro at avoiding them, dragging me with her and covering our faces with immensely large sunglasses she has in her purse.
Sitting on the edge of my bed dressed in her sweats, a sad smile shadows Emerson’s normally positive aura. Letting out a deep sigh, she places her hand on top of mine and rubs it gently. “I’m here if you need to talk. I won’t judge, and I’m sorry I judged you earlier. It took me by surprise. I’m sorry.”
She loses herself for a moment, deep in thought. Much like myself, she has dark circles under her eyes from the grueling trip and our big night out. Though, she’s still beautiful—natural and flawless—in her own right.
“When I first signed up to Generation Next, the reality show, I had no clue what it was like to be in the spotlight. My brother, Ash, and Logan had just been scouted. They were famous for their abilities, lived and breathed soccer. Me… I was on television and didn’t expect the level of fame that came with it. I also didn’t expect the intrusion.”
I listen, resting my head against the pillow and pulling the blanket up closer to my chin, keeping my body warm.
“I guess it’s why Wesley and I were right for each other, at the time. He was going through the same thing, and we both felt trapped. If our lives would play out on television, wouldn’t it be easier to be with someone who was experiencing the same thing?”
“Tell me…” I ask, softly, “… about you and Wesley. I want to know it through your words, not the tabloids.”
She shuffles her legs onto the bed, crossing them beneath each other. “He was gorgeous. Every time I was around him, we had this flirtatious thing we would do, and I loved it. I wasn’t stupid, women wanted him, and I guess, if I’m being honest, I wanted to be the one who had him, not them.”
I smile, without the bitter attachment, because I understand exactly what she means. This possessive hold over an unattainable man is a force to be reckoned with. I have never felt anything so powerful.
“He’s charming.” She grins, adding a small laugh. “When he’s in a good place, he is so creative and driven. Do you know that part of our dry-fit technology concept is because of him?”
“I thought he had nothing to do with it?”
“He came up with the basic concept, then we passed it on to a technical team to move forward with the rest. I just wish he didn’t mix with the wrong crowd. As I said, when he’s on, he’s on. But when he’s in that dark place… it’s hard to pull him out.”
“And his mother, what do you think of her?”
Emerson’s laugh is short but full of contempt. “She’s determined, that’s for sure. Unfortunately, I don’t trust her. She’s so hung up on wealth that she doesn’t realize she has a son who needs attention.”
Gina struck me as exactly that—gold and fame digger.
“But I don’t think Wesley wants her attention.”
“I think you’re right, to a certain extent. You can’t erase the past, and she’s done her damage. But I guess, being an optimist, it doesn’t have to be that way in the future. She needs to find her way, and Wesley needs to find his without her constantly bringing him down.”
I bite my lip, holding back my fears but at the same time, desperate to unleash what my heart so eagerly wants to communicate. And if anyone will understand what it’s like to walk a mile in my shoes, it will be Emerson Chase.
“It hurts me to see him that way. I can never imagine living a life without a supportive mother. I just… I just don’t know how to help him. I know he wants more from me, but I can’t give it, Emerson. All I have to give is to my mama. She needs me, not him.”
The sobs remain trapped in my chest, my tears unwillingly fall silently against the white pillow as I remember the voicemail from Mama. I can’t bear to see this happening. The woman I love and look up to is deteriorating at this slow and agonizing rate.
“I miss my mama every day, and it hurts.” I wipe my tears against my sleeve. “God, I know I look stupid. I’m too old to feel this way.”
Emerson pats my leg, comforting and listening to me. “No, you’re not. I miss my mom, too. We talk almost every day on the phone. When I leave her, I cry, too. It’s hard being away from your family, but on the bright side, one day, you’ll have a family of your own, and your kids will feel the same way.”
Slow and steady, I open my heart and tell Emerson what I have never admitted to anyone else. Not Mama, not Phoebe, an
d maybe, not even myself. “I don’t want kids. I’m terrified that I’ll have the same disease as Mama. And you know, I just can’t do it to another human being. It’s not fair to have to worry all the time whether or not they’ll remember you tomorrow.”
