I hung up the phone just as a camera flash blinded my eyes. I blinked, trying to ease the dark spots in my vision, and then glanced up to find a man standing directly in front of my table. Usually the paparazzi kept their distance so as to appear respectful, but this guy apparently didn't abide by those 813/890

rules. His beard was long and unkempt and his eyes were wild. I could see sweat dripping down his forehead as he leaned closer.

I almost opened my mouth to say something to him, but I was already standing, so I decided to just leave it and head for my car. I spun on my flats and turned toward the exit, but the guy beat me to it. He walked alongside me, continuously flashing his camera so that I had to hold up my hand to block his shots.

"Please back up. You're too close... this is ridiculous."

"Just doing my job," he shrugged, and kept walking in front of me, his flashes momentarily blinding me one after another.

I hated the fact that my car was parked a few streets away still. I crossed my arms and 814/890

kept my head down, but that didn't deter him. As soon as we were away from the coffee shop, he started asking me question after question.

"Are you dating Liam Wilder?—Have you slept with him?”

“I’m not answering any of your questions,” I answered, trying to sidestep around him, but he was relentless.

“Did you like that he was your coach when you first met him?—Did he take your virginity?"

"You need to leave me alone!" I shouted, and picked up my pace. His questions were cruel and gross. They made my skin crawl and I wrapped my arms around myself even tighter. The man kept running after me and that's when I noticed how wild his 815/890

movements were. This guy was clearly on drugs or well past drunk. No normal person would act like this.

"Hey! Just give me a fucking picture, princess," he said, reaching forward and grabbing my arm between his sweaty fingers.

I instantly flinched back, trying to get out of his grasp, but I had too much momentum.

When he released me, I flew back and slammed my elbow and head against the concrete. Pain pierced the back of my head as I cried out. Stars danced around my vision for a brief second as I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the pain to lessen.

Holy shit.

He grabbed me.

I shot up and tried to catch my bearings.

I shouldn’t have gotten up right away with a 816/890

head injury, but my flight or fight instincts took over and I knew I couldn't just lay there.

The man was already coming toward me again, so I reached in for my cell phone and tried to ignore the glimpses of blood I saw on my arms.

"I'll call 911 if you don't leave me alone,"

I screamed with a shaky voice as his dark eyes met mine.

"Hey! Leave her alone! Let her be!" A sweet voice yelled behind him. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. A group of women had just come out of a shop nearby and had probably seen the entire exchange. One of them was already on her cell phone.

“I’m calling the police,” she told him.

The man instantly shoved his camera into his bag and took off running past me.

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"Sweetie, are you okay?" one of the women asked, turning toward me with a piteous expression. I tried to answer, but instead I just nodded as tears streamed down my face.

The woman connected to the police and I gave them details about the man's appearance as they crowded around me and patted my back. They calmed me down enough so that I could speak coherent sentences to the officer. After they had everything they needed, I thanked the women for their help and protested when they tried to walk me to my car. It was still broad daylight in West LA, no one other than a drugged out paparazzi would pay me any mind.

The second I was inside my car though, I called Liam and the tears overtook me again.

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"Kins, good news I got out of practice a little early. I already showered and was about to head home."

I sniffled into the phone, trying to calm down enough to talk to him.

"Kinsley? Baby? What's wrong?" His voice grew more scared and demanding the longer my tears prevented me from answering.

"Kinsley—Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Liam," I began, taking a big breath. "I was walking to my car and there was a guy trying to take my picture. He grabbed me and I fell back and hit my head—"

"What? Where are you?"

"—It's not bad." I reached back and felt my scalp, not realizing I was bleeding down 819/890

my neck. "Oh, I guess maybe it is bad. I don't know."

"Kinsley— where are you?" he asked again with a sharp tone.

"West LA, near Sunset."

"Are you safe?"

"I'm in my car with the doors locked."

"Don't move. I'll come get you. Do I need to call 911?"

"No! No. I'm fine. I already talked to the police. I just... it freaked me out."

"Okay. You're okay. Stay on the phone with me. I'm only five minutes away."

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, letting the sound of his breathing calm my erratic heart rate.

Chapter Thirty

"I just pulled up. Hang on, babe," Liam said.

I opened my eyes and peered in my rear view mirror to see him hop out of his car to get to me. I opened my door just as he came around to my driver’s side. I'd mostly conquered my tears when I was on the phone with him, but now that he was here in person, wrapping his arms around me, I felt all the emotion rush back in. He pressed his hand to my neck, brought me into his chest, and held me for a moment, hushing me and rubbing my back with his other hand.

"You're okay. You're okay," he kept repeating until my crying slowed and I was mostly sniffling.

"You're still bleeding, we need to go get this looked at," Liam said, pulling his hand 821/890

away to see the blood on it. I would have been grossed out if I wasn't concerned that I might need stitches.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, eyeing me up and down. At first the adrenaline pumping through my veins had kept me from noticing any of the pain, but now I realized I had a few scrapes and bruises. My elbow was still bleeding and my palm that I'd used to catch myself was scraped up as well.

"Just some little cuts," I answered, "but my head hurts."

Liam clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Let's go," he said, reaching around me to grab my purse and then half-lifted me out of my seat. He carried most of my weight as we walked toward his car. My feet worked just fine, but I knew he was just as scared as I'd 822/890

been a few minutes ago. Maybe it made him feel better to help me.

We stopped at an Emergency Clinic on the way to his house and they gave me six stitches on the back of my scalp. They explained that head injuries bleed much more than other injuries, but we still needed to watch out for any symptoms of a concussion.

While I was getting cleaned up, Liam called Coach Davis and explained that'd I'd be sitting out from practice tomorrow and would let her know how I was doing. Honestly, once the scrapes and everything were cleaned up and I was back in Liam's car heading home, I felt much better. Exhausted, but better.

We were quiet most of the way to his house. Liam had his hand on my knee and 823/890

he'd glance over or squeeze his fingers to make sure I was staying awake. I think I just felt tired from all of the tears. I was usually better about pain. After all, soccer was an intense sport, but a lot of the emotion and tears stemmed from the man's verbal abuse rather than the injuries.