Scoring Wilder(100)

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.

"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 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 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 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 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.

"I keep hearing the man's voice," I admitted when we were a few minutes away from Liam's house.

"Was he asking you for a picture?" Liam asked, eyeing me cautiously.

"He was demanding a photo— but he was also asking really personal questions about us. He asked if you took my virginity and if I liked that you were my coach... you know..."

Liam's hand gripped the steering wheel even tighter and I knew my confession didn’t sit well with him. I had to tell him though, the paparazzi's words were slimy; I didn't want to keep them to myself and let them rot.

"That won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it. Do you hear me, Kinsley? I'll never let him near you," Liam bit out harshly.

I nodded and glanced out the passenger side window. Liam couldn't be with me all the time, but I believed that he would keep me safe when he could, and that's all that mattered.

When we go to his house, he helped me out of the car and then led me straight to his bathroom. I leaned back against the sink and he slowly helped me out of my dress, bra, and panties. His touch was gentle and soothing against my skin, and I sighed into him, letting him hold my weight. He drew a warm bubble bath and then gently set me inside.