Chapter Twenty-Six

Tatum

Trust me, I love my roommates, but Sunday mornings have become one of my favorites. It's when I do an "everything" shower and veg out on the couch while the guys are at practice and watching film.

With my hair clipped up and a layer of clay mask on my face, I'm propped up on the coffee table with my feet up and my nails drying. I'm flipping through Netflix when my phone vibrates next to me. I'm expecting a message from Everly—she was supposed to come over to binge-watch the latest season of a dating show.

But instead of Everly, my screen lights up with Unknown Caller. I press decline and toss my phone onto the couch. Almost immediately, it starts ringing again with the same Unknown Caller. This time, I let it ring, watching the screen as it goes to voicemail. As soon as it stops, it rings again.

"What the hell?" I grumble, sitting up to glance out the window.

The guys all rode together to practice in Colter's truck this morning since he was the last one home the night before.

I'm uneasy about being by myself. Even if I call Reed—which I wouldn't—he probably wouldn't answer anyway.

The unknown caller rings five times without leaving a voicemail before a text message pops up. It's from a number I don't recognize and looks like one of those automated verification codes.

I swipe to open it and see a message from InstaPhoto, asking for my passcode to access my account.

"Okay, now I know you're fucking with me," I grit my teeth.

I lock the door and jog up the stairs to my room, where my laptop is open on my desk. I pull up my email to see a text code attempting to access my InstaPhoto account.

I scramble to change my email password and do the same for InstaPhoto. The account hasn't been checked in months, and the dozens of notifications and unread messages are overwhelming. I start sifting through them—most are from classmates and old friends checking in, making sure I'm okay.

I haven't looked at it in months, and judging by the hundreds of notifications and two dozen unread messages, it shows. I click on the unread messages and scroll through the messages from various people, some from classmates and old friends, asking where I've been and where I went. People worried about me and wanting to make sure I'm okay.

Two messages stand out: one from Wells Perry three weeks ago, around the same time he called me from an unknown number, and another from a profile with no picture named W. Anthony.

Wells Anthony Perry.

I click on the message, and my heart starts pounding.

423-729-5555: You can't keep avoiding me, Tate.

423-729-5555: When were you going to tell me you moved to Braysen?

My throat tightens as the realization hits.

He knows I'm in Braysen.

I click on the contact info and block the number, then drop my phone on my desk as the doorbell rings.

"Oh my God, this can't be happening."

Two loud knocks follow. I freeze, recalling my self-defense training. I always thought I'd be one to fight, growing up around boys who never knew their own strength. I felt confident I could handle myself, but now, fear paralyzes me.

"Tate, are you home?" Everly's voice filters through the window. Relief floods over me.

"Oh shit," I mumble, racing down the stairs and fumbling with the deadbolt before pulling the door open.

Her eyes are wide with concern and confusion. "Did you forget I was coming over?"

I glance behind her, checking for anyone else, and shake my head. Grabbing her forearm, I pull her inside and slam the door.

"Jesus, Tate, what's wrong? You look like a crazed person. Are you okay?"

"It's Wells. I was getting calls from an unknown number. When I didn't answer, I got a text saying someone was trying to hack into my InstaPhoto."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

I press my hands against my face, realizing I'm still wearing the clay mask.

"Oh shit, I need to take this off. C'mere," I mumble, leading her up to the bathroom.

"So what happened?"

"Well, I logged into my email and InstaPhoto and changed my passwords. I know it was him, even if I can't prove it. The timing is just too coincidental."

She nods, leaning against the doorframe as I bend down to wash the clay off my face. I blindly reach for the towel and use it to dab my face dry, checking to make sure I got it all before I finish drying myself entirely.

"I logged into my account, and there were a ton of notifications and messages. I haven't checked it since before I moved here."

"I don't blame you. Social media has become a toxic wasteland. I've cut back too, after seeing how people treat Hayes online. I just can't handle the negativity."

We head back down the hall to my room. I want to check if there are any other messages from Wells.

"There are two messages that stood out," I say, pointing at the screen. "This one is from Wells. I recognize his profile picture from when we were dating. But this one…" I point at W. Anthony. "I think this might be him too."

"Maybe he thought you were ignoring him, so he tried reaching out from another account?"

"I wouldn't put it past him, honestly."

"Didn't you say he cheated on you with another girl, and after you guys split, he started dating her?"

I nod. "Yeah, I saw them together around town. They were together at the Wolves vs. Avalanche game too."

"If he cheated on you and wanted to be with her, why the hell is he harassing you?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make any sense."

"Is there something you know? Like a secret or something, something he's worried you may tell."

"No. That's what I don't get. He was furious when I broke up with him. There were rumors about him and her, and I got proof he was cheating. I think he expected me not to leave him. He'd always turned things around on me, making me out to be the bad guy."

"Ugh, what an asshole." Everly sighs, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"When he realized I was serious this time and wasn't going to take him back, it's like a switch flipped. Behind closed doors, he was calling and texting me. Harassing me and threatening to make my life hell."

"Like how?"

"He said he had pictures and videos that could ruin my life. I didn't believe him at first, but then he showed one at a party. He brought Camila with him, and when he saw me, he made a show of being all over her to try and make me jealous. When that didn't work, he played a clip of us together in front of everyone."

"When you say together, do you mean…?"

I press my face into my hands and nod. "Yeah, it was pretty intimate. I was already dealing with people talking behind my back. He spread rumors that I ended things with him because I was seeing someone else—one of my brother's teammates who's actually got a girlfriend. Everyone called me a home-wrecker, even though I had nothing to do with it. The situation got worse after the video because I became the slut and the home-wrecker."

"I swear, I fucking hate people sometimes. Why is it that girls get labeled as home-wreckers and sluts, but guys never face the same scrutiny? Why isn't he the home-wrecking slut for cheating on you?"

She has a point because it's true.

"Wells always got away with stuff. His dad is the governor of Rixton, and it's like everyone turns a blind eye or his bad behavior gets swept under the rug."

"I'm so glad you got out of there when you did. Reed would never let shit like that happen to you. Does he know about the video?"

I nod. "I told him about it."

My phone vibrates on my desk, and I swing my computer chair around to reach for it when it vibrates again.

423-729-0000: photo attached

423-729-0000: If you think I'm playing around with you, Tate, I have more. I'm sure you'd hate for this to get out now that you're with your little boyfriend.

423-729-0000: video attached

423-729-0000: You tell him I said I had you first. That makes you mine.

Bile rises in my throat as I click on the photo of me with Wells. My head was down, so I didn't realize he'd taken a picture of that moment. The photo is a screenshot from a social media site where it was posted publicly for anyone to see.

"What is it?" Everly asks. "You've gone completely pale, Tate. You look like you've seen a ghost."

I quickly close the photo and pull up the video next. It's silent and blurry, but I can make out enough to recognize the back of my head before the camera shifts to show Wells from behind. The sound of our skin smacking together and our low moans is almost too much. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Oh my God," I cry out, slapping my hand over my mouth.

The front door opening echoes in the distance.

"Shit, I think the guys are home. Hang on. I'll get Reed."

I nod, dropping my phone and burying my face in my hands. The pounding of my heart drowns out most of the sounds around me, but I can make out Reed's footsteps growing closer.

"What did it say?" Reed growls.

"I don't know. She didn't tell me," Everly stammers. "She got the messages just before you got home. She needs you."

Reed bursts into the room, slamming the door against the wall. "Dammit, I'm sorry," he mutters, rushing over and dropping to the floor in front of me.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" He pushes my hair away from my face. "Will you look at me and tell me what happened?"

"I-I-I don't even…" I shake my head, fumbling with my phone to unlock it and thrust it toward him.

Reed scrolls through the messages, his expression darkening. A low, guttural growl rumbles from deep within him.

"Everly, go get Beckham. Tell him to get up here right now."

"Oh shit, all right."

Reed drops my phone on the floor and pulls me into his arms. I collapse against his chest, burying my face into the crook of his neck. His familiar scent washes over me, and it's the only thing that brings me comfort right now. It's the only thing anchoring me to the present.

Reminding me I'm here with him, and that I'm safe.

I'll never let anyone hurt you.