The #5Star Affair (Love Hashtagged Book 1) (13 page)

Jaycie opened the fridge, stared blankly for a few seconds, and then closed it again. She hadn’t even registered what was in there. She leaned back against it, unable to focus on anything. Her brain was a mishmash of jumbled thoughts and emotions. Every time she thought about Ethan, a smile tugged at her lips. There was no regret there. She tried not to dwell on how stubborn she’d acted at times. At least he was still by her side.

The whole #5StarFUQ thing was a different story, though. Just thinking the words made her gut churn. She wasn’t hungry after all. She padded back into the living room. New jobs still evaded her, the online chatter wasn’t dying down, and even though she knew she had to take a stand somehow, no solutions were forthcoming.

Someone knocked, and she drifted toward the door without thought. Her brain stalled, all other thought evaporating when she yanked it open and saw Kent on the other side.

She forced a smile into place. How quickly could she get rid of him? Why hadn’t she checked the peephole first? She was far more distracted than she’d realized to ignore her own safety that way.

“Hey, beautiful. I’m glad you’re home.” He toed the door the rest of the way open. Panic jolted through her, and she shoved back. He was stronger, and leveraged himself the rest of the way into the apartment, sending her stumbling back.

“I’m actually just on my way out.” She tried to reach around him to grab her keys, and he shifted with her, blocking her path.

“Don’t be like that.” His soothing tone held a sharp edge. “Is your white knight around?”

Ethan. Right. She could pretend he was home. “He’s in
our
bedroom.” She didn’t have a problem with the tiny white lie. Maybe it would convey just how off the market she was. Ethan had only stepped out for a little bit, anyway. Please let him get back soon.

Kent backhanded her. The sickening slap echoed through the room. He kicked the door shut. “Don’t lie to me, you stupid cunt. I watched him leave.”

Fear clawed through Jaycie’s veins. How long had Kent been outside watching?

He fisted a hand in her hair, jerked her head back, and pushed her until her body collided with a wall. “Now that I have your attention, we’re going to talk.”

“How about you leave now, send me a letter, and maybe I’ll reply.” She winced at the waver in her voice. At least she managed to successfully hold back the sob bubbling inside.

He pulled harder. “No. I want to know why the fuck you lied to us for so many years. We’re going to talk, you’re going to apologize, and then you’re going to come with me. I’ll take good care of you.”

Holy fuck, he was more batshit than she’d realized. Her insides curdled. She needed to get away from him. She kneed him in the nuts, as hard as she could. He grunted, lost his grip, and stumbled back.

Jaycie bolted around him, but stopped abruptly when he wrapped an arm around her waist. He wrenched her back, flung her into the dividing wall between the kitchen and living room, and drove his fist into her gut at high speed. All the air pushed from her body, and she dropped to her knees. He kicked her shoulder, twisting her to the side. Her back slammed into the floor, head bouncing against the carpet. He straddled her, and her fear pushed all reasonable thought aside. She struggled and twisted beneath him, but couldn’t find enough leverage to break free.

Tears spilled from her eyes, and she screamed, until he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. “I’ll fucking kill you for that.” His threat ached in every inch of her body.

Why couldn’t she remember how to get out of this? She’d seen self-defense videos online. None of them came to mind. Her voice strangled and died, and the edges of her vision blurred as he squeezed tighter. Where were the neighbors? Or anyone?

*

Ethan dropped the bag of sodas he was carrying, and broke into a dead run before he registered the scream he’d just heard was Jaycie’s. He bolted up the stairs, and shoved the apartment door open, fury growing as her yells faded and choked off. Red clouded his vision, when he saw her pinned to the floor, and some guy he’d never seen before on top of her. Ethan yanked the other man back by the shirt, and plowed his shoulder into the assailant’s gut. He drove him back, and punched any soft surface he could find.

The attacker struggled underneath him, landed a solid hit on his jaw, and Ethan’s vision danced with stars. Ethan growled, and dug an elbow into his windpipe. Every few seconds, one of them landed a punch, but Ethan wasn’t keeping track. Bruised knuckles and face didn’t matter. He was going to throttle this guy.

“Stop.” Jaycie’s rough voice cut through the scuffle. “Get out, or I shoot.”

Ethan looked up long enough to see she had a gun trained on the two of them. He stepped back.

“Bullshit,” the guy barked.

Jaycie’s grip was steady, as she leveled the barrel at him. Red welts glared on her neck, and her words rasped from her throat. “You know what they show in movies and games isn’t accurate, right?” Her words were as even and steady as her aim. “This fucker has hollow-point forty-fives. I don’t have to hit anything vital, just bone, and it’ll shatter. Your leg. Your arm.” She leveled the weapon at his crotch. “Anything.”

Her attacker raised his hands, and edged toward the door. A scowl twisted his features, more than the rapidly swelling eye. “Fucking psycho bitch.” Seconds later, he slammed the door on his way out.

The moment he was gone, Jaycie sank to the floor with a sob. Ethan threw the deadbolt shut, put on the security chain, and dropped to the ground next to her. The gun wasn’t real. He’d recognized it the second he saw it. She’d taken it off his shelf of models.

She was shaking as he drew her into his arms. “I know you were winning, but I wanted him out of here.” Her assured tone was gone.

He traced his fingers over the already-forming bruises on her neck, not making contact. “I’m fine with that. You need ice on this.”

“We need to call the police.”

“I’ll do that, and get you ice. You need to sit down. Somewhere that’s not the floor.”

He helped her climb to her feet. Another shudder ran through her, and she gasped. She threw herself against him, entire body shaking each time she sobbed. The jagged edge to her cries made the sound claw at his chest. He trailed his fingers through her hair and held her, not sure what else to say.

When the crying slowed and stopped, he helped her to the couch, and grabbed two ice packs, one for her and one for him. A quick conversation with dispatch, and he was assured the police would be right there.

Ethan struggled to temper rage with compassion. He didn’t know what to do, and the impotence devoured him. Holding Jaycie, making sure she was all right, didn’t seem adequate. Was he even allowed to do that? She wasn’t pulling away, but maybe she didn’t dare fight him off, or she was in shock.

By the time the police arrived—the same guy who took her statement a week ago and told her he couldn’t do anything—Ethan couldn’t convince himself to do more than pace.

The interview went differently this time, as the officer dragged countless answers from both of them. Was Jaycie sure there was no sexual assault? Did she need to be tested for anything? Were they both sure there were no real guns in the house?

At least, within a few moments of arriving, the officer called dispatch and sent someone to Kent’s address to arrest him. But over an hour later, Ethan felt twice as beaten up as he had before the guy arrived.

“I’m sorry.” Anderson looked sincere, almost pained, as he stood to leave. “I wish we could have done something before this.”

“Not as much as we do.” Ethan pointed him toward the door.

Jaycie just shook her head, and pulled back into the cushions, hugging herself.

What was he supposed to do? Comfort her? Let her ride this out alone? Get to Kent’s house before the police? The growing list of non-options devoured Ethan’s thoughts. What now?

Friday night, after the assault, Ethan was been nothing but sweet and doting. Sitting with Jaycie in the emergency room while a doctor checked her throat, keeping her distracted from the horror of the afternoon, never leaving her side while she worked with forensics and gave her statements to the police, and wrapping her in his arms while she drifted to sleep that night.

Saturday was been more of the same, with him taking her mind off things whenever reality surged in too fast. By Sunday, she all but ordered him to do things besides watch over her. When she checked her phone, she discovered photos of her injuries from the police report had been leaked, and suddenly she wished she’d let him hover a little longer and distract her. She’d tortured herself further by reading the tweets.
“Whore got what she deserved,”
and
“Wish I’d been the one to choke the stupid cunt. I would have done it right.”

Each new message twisted her insides into tighter knots, and clouded her thoughts until all she could do was stare at the vicious words. What had she done, to make so many people hate her? Did they have a point? She couldn’t let herself think like that, but that didn’t stop the out-of-control doubt from mowing her down.

When Ethan figured out what she was doing, he confiscated her phone, and assured her tons of people were on her side too. That the support was unbelievable.

As she shooed him out the door Monday morning, it was with the strongest ambivalence she’d ever experienced. She needed to breathe, but was terrified of being alone in the apartment, even if Kent was in jail. Especially since he might be out on bail by that afternoon. She flipped the deadbolt into place as soon as Ethan was gone, and slid the security chain on. He could knock when he got home.

She should get to work, now that she had some time to herself. Right. She tried to force her brain to think review thoughts. It ground just short of fully realizing anything. Something thumped against the wall, and her heart leaped into her throat, hammering against the bruised tissue, and nagging in her skull. It was just the neighbors. They had to be moving furniture or something heavy.

She forced her feet to carry her into her room, and made herself comfortable in her chair. Something creaked somewhere in the building. Was that a footstep, or just the structure settling? She strained her ears, but all that echoed back was the hollow ringing of trying too hard to listen. Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder at her bedroom door. Why had she set up her computer facing the far wall?

She couldn’t work like this. She grabbed the laptop, made her way back to the living room, and plopped onto the couch. There. Perfect view of the entrance and more than half the open space. Every few seconds, her attention drifted back to the clock on her laptop. Her throat ached when she swallowed. It had all happened so fast. Kent bursting in. His hands on her throat. Her vision blurring.

Tears stung her eyes, and she dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks, focusing on the friction. This wasn’t going to solve anything. She was safe now, since the police had picked up Kent. More secure than she’d been in…she didn’t even know how long.

She closed her eyes, breathed deeply through her nose, and focused on finding her center. She’d used a fake gun to threaten the guy who’d tried to kill her, and she’d won. Maybe she could do anything.

The reassurance sounded phony, bouncing around in her head, but she needed it. She grasped the thought and ran with it, and inspiration struck. The write-up she’d done of
God of Stars
still sat on her hard drive, uncontracted.
Console Power
wouldn’t work with her, but if Ethan was right, and people out there were taking her side in this #5StarFUQ mess, was there a market for her work still?

She kept a spreadsheet of all the paying publications who published reviews. It had been a while since she’d updated it—work had been good—but now seemed like as good a time as any. The name at the top of the list glared back at her, taunting her forced resolve. Mocking her.
Game Sneak Weekly
was the one gaming magazine bigger than
Console Power
. She hadn’t sent them anything for a couple of years, because the tiny promise of prestige wasn’t enough incentive to put up with the repeated rejection.

Rejection. The word danced in her thoughts, testing the edges of her resolve. She couldn’t do this. Another person telling her she was wrong?

No, it would be fine. At least if these guys turned her down, she’d know it was—mostly—because they didn’t like her writing, and not because of some stupid set of misplaced publicity and rumors.

She double and triple checked her query, attached the review, and clicked ‘Send.’ One down, five billion to go. Hours of distraction. Thousands of seconds to keep her mind occupied, before Ethan got home and resumed his hovering. A hollow ache echoed in her chest. She really did miss his concern. She sniffled back her doubt about the inevitable rejection, and moved onto the next name on the list.

Time passed quickly. She didn’t realize she’d been at it almost four hours, until her stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast.

She grabbed a cold soda from the fridge and a stack of crackers, and dropped back in front of her computer. A new message waited in her email. At least someone had rejected her quickly. And it was
Game Sneak
. She clicked in without further hesitation, afraid she’d chicken out, if she gave herself a chance.

She opened her eyes wide and tried to right her scrambled thoughts, as she read the note. That couldn’t be right. She scanned it again.

Ms. Wharry,

Thank you for trusting us with your work, we know it’s not an easy decision to put yourself and your writing out there. I loved your review, and I’d like to contract it for our next online issue. If you’re interested, we’d also like to get your write-up on the game of your choice from our list, for our next print issue.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Brenda McPherson

Giddiness flitted through Jaycie, shoving aside the morning’s stress. She shouldn’t appear too eager, but her restraint evaporated. The minutes it took her to type an acceptance letter and send it back were the longest five she’d lived through in ages. And she received a contract and another message within moments of that, asking if she was free to talk.

Actually,
she typed,
my voice isn’t quite up to par right now. But I’m here via email.

She hated having to send the response, but they’d understand, right? There was no way they hadn’t heard what was going on in the industry. Self-doubt crept in. What if Brenda hadn’t? Was it possible that, once they found out what kind of drama was associated with Jaycie’s alter ego, they’d withdraw the offer?

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to find out. Brenda’s reply hit her inbox quickly.

Of course. My Tweetstream is blowing up with the news of your weekend. I’m so sorry. I hope you feel better soon. I just wanted to make sure we’re both on the same page, here. A full disclosure kind of thing.

Jaycie’s chest wrenched. They did know who she was. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. She swallowed several gulps of air to keep from panicking, and forced herself to keep reading.

Your writing is brilliant. Keep that in mind, as you read what I have to say. We want your words, and we’re not going to edit or censor you. I’m buying your work as is, with the standard grammar edits.

However, I want to make it clear I know who J-Dub is, and part of the reason I want you, is because of the name. We’re going to be the magazine who
didn’t
push you away, and your byline will draw in readers we haven’t been able to attract before.

Jaycie paused, rolling the words around in her head. They were going to use her for marketing. Was she okay with that? Then again, publications like
Console Power
had been doing that with her name for a while now, and she’d never taken issue with it before.

Besides, she needed the job, and the flattery was already soothing her fractured ego. She kept reading.

We’ll work with you of course. Put this all in writing, to make sure you’re comfortable with how we use your image.

Let me know if you’ll consider my offer, and I’ll have legal draw up another contract.

Brenda

PS—this whole thing with the police and your pictures getting out is horrific. And illegal. If you need any help on that front, we really do want to back you 100%. Even legally, if you need.

Jaycie had no idea what she’d do with legal help. Even Damon had said she couldn’t silence an entire internet. But it was nice to be reminded not everyone was on the negative side of this blowout.

She sent back a quick ‘thank you,’ saying yes she was interested in everything Brenda had said, and she’d have them a review for print in a few days.

Even after she hit ‘Send,’ she kept coming back to the legal help comment. Could she actually do something with an offer like that? It seemed like it, but the details were just out of her grasp.

*

Ethan grabbed a soda from the break room vending machine, and tossed his coworker a smile, when he saw he wasn’t alone. “Hey, Stacy.”

She rolled her eyes, and turned away. Whatever she was putting in the fridge looked like the most fascinating thing in the world compared to his greeting. She had to be having a bad morning.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

She sighed, and shut the fridge, still not looking at him. Maybe she hadn’t heard him? More likely, she wasn’t in the mood to talk. Okay, he could deal with that.

He was about to tell her he’d see her around, when she answered. “What do you think?”

He wasn’t always great on picking up the more subtle hints of what he’d done to piss someone off, but he was pretty sure his brief interactions with Stacy were safe. Especially since he’d been made so hyper aware of his own behavior. “You’ll have to help me out. Did I do something wrong?”

She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “I’m going to go with
hell yes
. You couldn’t let it drop.”

He was almost certain at this point he was holding a different conversation than she was. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m guessing you’re not.”

He wanted to be polite, but didn’t like being on the receiving end of vagary. “You’re going to have to help me out then, because I get the impression you know more about how I feel about whatever this is about than I do.”

She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? Okay, sure, a rumor starts that questions your integrity, and I get it. You need to clear your name. Most of us know you wouldn’t actually screw someone for a review.”

Oh, this. But why was she pissed at him? Rich had started the rumors. The entire internet had taken them and run, creating that stupid hashtag.

“But you had to go out there and play the big, kind, chivalrous protector.” Anger filled her voice. “Someone has to stick up for us poor little girls. You had to join the ranks of guys speaking out on our behalf, because—I don’t know—you think no one hears us otherwise?”

Wow. He was getting reamed for siding with her? “That’s not why I do it.”

“I don’t care what you think your reasons are. Every time one of you mighty I’m-a-feminist-not-a-sexist assholes speaks up, we feel the backlash. Because you can’t drop this issue, men who never cared before are treating us all like we’re the enemy. Guys in this industry who were my close friends are steering clear of me, because they’re afraid we’re going to… I don’t even know. I can’t tell you what they’re thinking, just that the tension is high, and the threats from the assholes are higher. You’ve shone a spotlight on what they like to pretend doesn’t exist, and that makes them uncomfortable. Now uncomfortable is becoming hostile.”

That wasn’t fair. “So I’m not allowed to take your side, because…I’m a guy?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m happy you’re not one of
them
. That’s nice. Except, until a few weeks ago, you were. Maybe you forgot what life was like before someone flicked a switch on your perception, but the jokes have always been there. The reminder that we’re not supposed to be a part of this industry. Sometimes we get to forget, and then someone makes a comment about how we won’t be here for long, once we have a baby, or asks if we like being single because it means we can have a career.”

“I’ve never done that.” Had he? He’d never even thought about it before, but he didn’t see any of his colleagues that way. Right?

“No, you haven’t. Not to me anyway. But that didn’t stop you from laughing at the jokes about female drivers and nagging wives and… Do you want me to go on?”

“You laugh at those too.”

“What else am I going to do?” Frustration bled into her anger. “Ask you to stop? Be the stick in the mud, who can’t take a joke? Bite back, so the comments get made behind my back instead? Make myself the woman who’s hard to work with? Laughing off the occasional jab is a lot easier than dealing with the fallout of not. Which, by the way, is exactly what this has become, thanks to people like you. One big stinking pit of fallout.”