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It didn’t matter if it was real. It didn’t matter how I felt. Perception was all that mattered.
“Excuse me,” I forced out. “I need some space.”
Then, heedless of the people swarming in around me, I pushed my way out of the crowd. Only when I was away from the mob and past the last row of vendors did I take off at a sprint. My fight-or-flight kicked in, and all I did was run. Run as fast and as far as I could from the point of fear.
And I could run. I’d played soccer most of my life. Even though I was small, I was fast. Which was how, a few minutes later, I had no clue where I was, and the sun was setting.
I tried calling Piper, and she didn’t answer.
“Fuck,” I said, kicking a nearby rock.
Next, I rang Jennifer and then Annie and even Sutton Wright, who was probably too busy with her kids to pick up her phone but it was worth a shot. I should have tried Honey. She was always waiting for my call. But I wanted to be reassured, and while I loved my assistant, she was not reassuring.
“Fuck, fuck.” I stared at my phone and then dipped my head back. “Fuck,” I said one more time.
Then, I dialed Campbell’s number.
It rang twice before he answered. “Hello?”
“Hey,” I said, my voice shaky.
“Are you okay?”
“I was kind of…mobbed at the festival by people who were Campbell Soup girls, and I ran away.”
“What?” Campbell sounded suddenly furious. “You met Campbell Soup girls, and they attacked you?”
“Not exactly. Crowded me in and asked a lot of questions. One girl grabbed me. They were asking if we were dating.”
He paused, as if putting the pieces together. “And you’re claustrophobic.”
I swallowed back the tears threatening to escape. “Yeah. It was…not ideal.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere in the park. Why?”
“I’m coming to get you.”
13
Blaire
Fifteen minutes later, Campbell’s Range Rover pulled up in front of me. My friends still hadn’t called me back. Though I’d relented and texted Honey to let her know that I was leaving. She’d sent back a series of frantic texts that escalated so much that after I told her I was okay, I muted my phone.
He parked and hopped out of the car. He was in black sweats and an old Panic! at the Disco T-shirt. His hair was mussed, and he hadn’t even changed into something more rockstar. He must have come here straight from home.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked.
His face was a mask of such unending concern that I burst into tears. I didn’t even realize that I’d been holding it all in until that moment.
“Blaire, Blaire, Blaire,” he said, reaching for me.
I fell into his arms without a thought. I needed the hug. I wasn’t sure that anyone in that crowd had meant me harm, but living through it had been scary. Even if I wasn’t claustrophobic, I wouldn’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of people grilling me. And now that the adrenaline had worn off, tears followed.
“You’re okay. You’re safe now.”
“Thanks for picking me up,” I said, pulling back from him to swipe at my eyes.
“Of course. Let’s get you out of here.”
He opened the passenger door, and I climbed inside. Then, he ran around to the driver’s side and peeled out of the parking lot, going the opposite direction of the rest of the traffic.
“I didn’t mean to cry.”
He gripped the steering wheel with such ferocity that I thought he might rip it off the car and throw it like the Hulk. His jaw was clenched, but when his gaze landed on me, he released the tension. “You were scared. You should feel okay about crying if you need to.”
“I know. It just feels stupid.”
“Trust me, it’s not. This is my fault.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“I should have considered how this video would impact your life. But I was selfish and decided if you asked, then I’d do it. I should have stopped this.”
“Is that why you looked pissed? Because you didn’t want to do the video?”
“No, of course not,” he said, turning north. “This isn’t the first time that something like this has happened. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, I can go out in public and interact with fans, and nothing happens. It’s wonderful. Just living a sort of normal life. People recognize me, maybe ask for a picture, but otherwise leave me alone. But that one time,” he growled. He clenched the steering wheel again. “That one time is when it fucks up the other ninety-nine times.”
“So, this has happened before?”
He nodded. “I was mobbed in a park in Atlanta once. It started out as a normal interaction, but then the people wouldn’t leave me alone. My shirt was torn. Someone stole one of my shoes. I had bruises on my arms from girls literally trying to climb me.” He shuddered. “It only takes one time for me to need security and for me to think long and hard about where I want to be.”
