Page 96 of Work It Out
“You know what he was like!” Jan shot back. “He treated us like family. Then it was little things, stuff that seemed normal at first. We were kids. He was our doctor. We should’ve been able to trust him. When I balked, he said if I wanted any shot at making the team, I had to do what I was told.”
“That was never his call.”
“Wasn’t it?” Jan replied. “I saw what they did to you. We all did. The USGA covered it up. You’d never have made the team, no matter how well you scored in the qualifiers. I was younger than you. I was scared, and my parents told me you just wanted to blackmail your way onto the team. I didn’t know what else to think. He’d never done anything like that to me, not yet, and no one else would admit anything. The Olympics had been everything to me since I was three. You didn’t even want to be there.”
That ugly beast clawed at her ribs. It was too much. She’d mostly held it together the past couple days, but this rehashing threatened to push her over the edge. Her father had screwed her over bigger than ever. Her business, her future, her entire life was at stake. Jake was gone. With her pig. And now this. This woman, who had made her life such hell, wanted what? To have a drink and talk about what an asshole Orman was? Cash in on a second cup of scandal tea?
“I can’t do this right now.” She turned back to the door.
“Rayah, please.”
When she looked back, Kayle Webber was on her feet, eyes glassy. “You don’t owe any of us anything, but I owe you an apology. I told my parents what he was like decades ago. They told the USGA. They swore they’d look into it, but we knew they hadn’t. I should’ve pushed, should’ve been as brave as you.” She choked on a sob. “I look at my daughters, and I hate myself for not protecting the women who came after me. If my girls were hurt like that because someone like me was too weak to…” She shook her head. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness—I don’t deserve it—but I need you to know, I’m done hiding. I’m done being weak. I’ll do everything I can to make sure that monster pays for what he did. More importantly, I’ll make sure he never has the opportunity to do it again.”
As one the other women stood, too. “We all will,” someone added. Rayah wasn’t sure who. Her vision was too wavy for that kind of focus. She blinked furiously, tears coursing down her cheeks. With a nod, she left. She made it as far as the rental car she’d picked up yesterday before she fell apart completely.
Brave. Kayle Webber, the gymnastics legend who’d graced the walls of her childhood bedroom, had called her brave. But had she been? Had she pushed like she should? She’d made sure the accusations hit the news, but nothing had truly come of it. One girl’s voice simply hadn’t been enough. He still got his hands on Janet and who knew how many others while Rayah used her hush money to build a new life, one where no one could hurt her again, because she’d never let them close enough. She’d laugh with them and take care of them, but she’d never put her heart in their hands.
She hadn’t been brave. She’d been hiding for years.
Until Jake.
He’d drawn the old Rayah back into the light. He’d put her first always. He’d taken care of her little family, even when they were being insane. He’d made her feel beautiful and sexy in a way she’d never thought possible.
The new phone was buried at the bottom of her purse. Without allowing herself time to think, she switched it on and waited. Booting up took too long. She was suddenly desperate to hear his voice, to tell him how sorry she was for being a coward. But when the screen finally flashed full of icons, voicemail and text notifications poured in an endless rush. Two in particular caught her attention. The first was from Jake. Short, only four small words:I’m so sorry, cupcake.
It could’ve meant a million things. He could’ve been apologizing for not being there when she woke to such horrible news or for not being beside her now. It could’ve been an apology for leaving his towel on the bathroom floor or for pignapping her pet. But the second text that grabbed her suggested Jake was apologizing for something else entirely.
Samuel:Blaine took a couple vacation days, after all. We voted.
Attached was the link to another tabloid article. This one featured a crystal-clear image of Jake, his newly muscled arms around a familiar willowy blonde. The smile on his face said plenty, but she read the caption anyhow.
Together Again?
In an official statement sent to us by Newman’s agent, Shawn Tregar, the suddenly fit heartthrob sets rumors to rest. “After years apart, they’re ready to give their love another shot…”She skimmed along, catching on.“He is not now, nor has he ever been, romantically involved with his former trainer, Rayah Summers.”
She stopped reading. That was more than enough, wasn’t it?
As if in answer, another photo filled the screen and any lingering hope she might’ve harbored imploded along with her heart. It was another shot of the happy couple, but this one was different, more telling. Jake cradled Yvonne’s head gently in his hands as he kissed her, kissed her like she was the piece of himself he’d been missing. He kissed her like there was no other woman in the world.
For him, she supposed, there wasn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Three
November 15
Hollywood Tattler
Wedding bells are ringing for actress Yvonne Vastin.
Days had passed, and Rayah wasn’t answering his calls or texts. Jake couldn’t blame her. She was in the middle of yet another shitstorm, and where was he? On the cover of some gossip rag, kissing another woman. One of his exes. The one he’d almost married.
He wouldn’t talk to him, either. His whole body still ached to hear her voice, though.
The first text had come from Samuel, nothing but a link to the article full of bullshit and damning photos. The second came from Blaine with the more ominous,Hide,you little shit. Hide well. The deluge that followed from the good people of Bigbone were different versions of the same—including a text from Granny promising to wring his neck for being a dumbass and a series of emojis from Grace he didn’t want to decode if the eggplant and chef’s knife meant what he thought they did. A few emails came from the production company. A half dozen more texts from his agent, patting himself on the back and talking about how rich they’d be. Blah, blah, blah. Not to mention the million or so requests for comment from different media outlets.
Jake’s first order of business—after begging Rayah’s voicemail to let him explain—was to disabuse his agent of his most problematic notions. All of them circled back to the same core conflict. No matter what kind of success or failure Jake’s future held, Shawn Tregar wouldn’t see a penny, as he was no longer Jake’s agent.
Shawn hadn’t taken it well. There’d been much cursing and talk of lawsuits. Jake had simply hung up on him, a tactical error that led to the most recent flaming pile of dog crap standing between him and Rayah. Not twenty-four hours had passed from the phone call firing Shawn to the first threatening email. Of course, it wasn’t Shawn who’d sent the nasty notes, but Jake had no doubt he was involved. There were only so many people who could’ve taken those pictures.
