41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Tripp

What the fuck was that ? I stumble a step forward, mostly because I was surprised. And then it clicks: one of these idiots hit me. Since they were drunk, and probably not very coordinated to begin with, they barely made contact.

I look up to see Willow with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

In a short second, things get worse. The security guards lose focus for a minute and take a few steps towards me.

And that's all it takes.

The crowd of press surrounding Willow rushes forward, trying to get pictures of my security detail, pinning the man who threw the punch on the sidewalk. When security took those few steps, they gave the press too much space, and they dash forward. They push her to the concrete. She catches herself with her hands.

"Lo!" I yell as I push through every person who stands in my way. I don't give a fuck who is taking what picture, I'm shoving people out of my way, and Seth is right behind me.

I reach Willow as she's pushing herself up, looking at her hands. I lean down to her level.

"Are you okay?!" I take her hands gently to see the damage. They look to be scraped, nothing more than that.

"No! I'm not okay. None of this is okay." Her eyes fill with tears as she is still on the ground .

I reach under her elbows and help her stand. Seth and I get her to the Suburban. Once she's inside, I slide next to her, and shut the door. Seth gets in the front seat, locks the doors, and looks back at us.

"Willow. Let me see your hands." She shows him. "Are you hurt? Do you want to get checked out? We can have someone come to the apartment."

Willow lightly touches her upper arms, flexes her elbows, and touches her knees.

"I'm not hurt."

"I'll take you back to the apartment. Tripp's team will take care of these guys."

"No," Willow says, her voice small. "I want to go home. To my place." She doesn't look at me.

"The press might recognize the car if we don't switch it," Seth explains.

"I don't care. I just want to go home," she says, defeated, slumping back in the seat.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I ask.

She takes a deep breath, still examining her hands.

"No. I want to be by myself. Today was too much." Tears fall down her cheeks.

"Okay, Okay. I get it."

Seth starts driving. It doesn't matter where we're going but staying here isn't an option.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" Her voice is firm but also pleading. "Engaging with those guys was not a good idea. We could've just gotten in the car and been on our way to your apartment."

"I just thought—" I try to explain.

"I don't think you thought much at all." She looks at me before staring at the floor of the car. "I know this might be new to you, this level of being known and seen. It isn't new for me."

I'm speechless. There are no words in my brain.

"You say you do things on a whim, but you can't do that with me. Not like that." Her voice is cold and shaky. "I already told you how much I hate things like what just happened. Actually, tonight is one of my greatest fears come to life." Each tear that rolls punches me in the stomach.

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing I can think of to say. She's right. I look over to see silent tears fall down her cheeks.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to think before you do things. You can act however you want when it's just you. Go ahead and get in fist fights with random strangers on the street. Please don't be reckless with me." She's looking out the window now. Like she can't even stomach looking at me.

I don't respond because I don't know what to say. We ride in silence. When Seth gets me close enough to my apartment and I'm convinced no one is close enough to be a threat, I say, "Seth. This is close enough."

He finds a good stopping point and I open the door, getting out of the car. I look at Willow one final time.

"Will you text me when you get home?" I ask her.

She nods yes. I lean in and give her a featherlight kiss on her cheek. She doesn't turn away, which I think is a good sign.

"Seth, I'll have my team get me back to my place. That way you can get Willow home," I say, as I reach for the door.

"Sounds good, Mr. Owens."

I get out of the car. I try to look at Willow before I close the door, but she won't look at me.

There's a pit in my stomach as they drive off.

I'm back at my apartment for only thirty minutes before there's a knock at my door.

"Tripp. Let me in," my mom says from the other side of the door.

I open the door and she hugs me the second she's inside.

"Tell me everything."

So, I do. I tell her about Dexter. About everything with the press. How Willow wanted to go home, and I wasn't invited.

"Is that everything?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, I think so."

And then she pushes me in the chest before launching into a rant.

"Tripp James. You should be ashamed of yourself. You thought giving some drunk idiots what they wanted was better than staying with her? What were you thinking?"

"I don't know! I thought if I gave them some attention it would end the interaction. My brain was all fucking jumbled from Dexter showing up." I put my head in my hands and try to think.

"You think she was safer without you? She'll never be safer than with you. You also wouldn't have gotten punched."

"I barely got punched," I point out.

My mom puts her hands in her lap and leans back into the couch. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't get smart with me," she says in her perfect mom voice, one I've heard countless times before.

"You'll never be able to get rid of the press. They will always be around with their annoying and terrible timing. What you can do is stand by Willow and make her a priority. "

The words hurt because she's right. What was I trying to prove? The flash of Willow on the ground comes back and I feel fucking horrible. It was a fluke thing, but I could've done something. I could've caught her.

"You can also listen to what she says. She's giving you the playbook and you're going rogue." I know she uses football terminology because she's trying to soften the blow. It still hurts.

"I'm scared I fucked this up, Mom."

"One, language. Two, she needs time. Give her tonight, like she asked. You need to think about this and be ready to explain yourself tomorrow."

"And then there's this whole Dexter thing. He said they talked, and she never brought it up."

It stings that she didn't bring it up even though I said it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't, but then all of this happened, and I'm in my apartment stuck with my thoughts.

There's no way it was nothing. It was enough for him to show up like he did tonight. Before my thoughts run away without me, my mom interrupts.

"Who knows. You'll have to ask Willow. Also, he sounds like a giant tool."

I let out a small laugh because hearing my mom call someone a tool is not like her at all but she's not wrong.

"Where did you hear that term?" I can't help but give her a little smile.

"I listen to podcasts." She shrugs her shoulders. "You seem better with Willow—less anxious."

She's right. Willow has made a difference. And tonight, I did nothing but make her life more difficult.

"I think there's time to fix this. Not tonight, but tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. It's not about being perfect every day but working through things when you fall short."

Falling short. That's me.