Page 51 of Intoxicating Pursuit

Wildfire

T he next day, I woke to blinding streaks of mid-morning sun stabbing a path of pain through my brain—a sure sign of overindulgence.

After slogging to the kitchen to start coffee, I came back upstairs to wash my face, drink water, and down some headache meds, trying to resume functionality.

Overdoing it gave me no regrets though. Spending time with Tina was a gift from the heavens.

I counted my lucky stars that all the secrecy was over, and I’d finally been able to connect with her and spend a night celebrating her birthday properly.

I did, however, need to send Gabe a note to thank him for everything. In the hectic gush of emotions and activity yesterday, I had forgotten. I snatched my phone off the charger, composing a nice message in my mind.

Those words never made it into the universe.

When the screen came to life, notifications popped up, showing I had missed dozens of messages.

I took the phone off sleep mode and opened the texts, expecting some sort of group chat gone wild or maybe Meghan on a late-night rant.

But instead, it seemed my extended family, my long-lost friends, and many of my former and current employees suddenly decided to reach out.

OMG, when did you meet Gabriel Walker?!

Sammy, you have to introduce me! He is my absolute favorite !

Just saw your news! So exciting!

Something was very wrong.

Clicking the first social media icon I saw on my phone revealed hundreds of notifications.

The first one took me to a post made by Forbidden Brews.

There was a picture of Gabe and me, cheek to cheek, looking very cozy with the sunlit canyon behind us.

The caption nearly stopped my heart: Did you know Gabriel Walker is having our very own Sammy McCallum design the patio at his restaurant, #La Fermata?

Come see the beautiful spaces that captured his imagination!

It listed all the Forbidden Brews locations and tagged me, the Walker Smith Revival page, La Fermata, and several fan groups.

It had seventy thousand up votes and thousands of comments.

A wave of panic struck me.

I deleted the post and frantically scrubbed through the other social platforms, taking down similar posts made by Forbidden Brews. How could this have happened? What if it had been reshared? I searched the hashtags, and it was everywhere. Shit, shit, shit!

I prayed against hope that Gabe hadn’t seen it yet. It was still reasonably early on the Pacific Coast.

But the cold, sinking fear in my stomach meant I knew much better.

I searched related tags, erasing everything I was allowed to delete.

I changed passwords on all of our accounts, then sat back and stared at the mess.

The words and images were spreading faster than I could tame them, and I knew it.

The posts had been reshared, and I couldn’t get them back.

The internet was endless. And permanent.

Any kind of progress had value though, so I sorted through the text messages on my phone and erased the ones from people I didn’t normally talk to or who weren’t close. When I was done, only a handful remained that merited a response. Only two begged for a quick reply.

Tina’s message was simply confused:

Sammy, saw your post. Is everything out in the open all of a sudden? So confused. Had so much fun with you. XOXO

I shot her a message back, explaining that things were not supposed to be public and that I was trying desperately to obliterate the posts from existence.

Gabe’s text was worse. Much worse.

Surprised and disappointed don’t begin to cover it.

The only thing I ever asked you for was privacy.

I kept telling myself I was being paranoid.

That I should trust your intentions and ignore the facts that keep pointing back to you and your company and the possibility this is all just a money grab.

So, I don’t know what to say. But if this is the direction you’re going. . . I’m out.

I put my head in my hands and fought back tears of frustration. The threads of trust in our relationship were still so new and fragile—and now apparently broken. Would he listen if I could explain? What could I possibly say, anyway, if I didn’t even understand what was happening?

I checked the logins for Forbidden Brews but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

There were precious few people with permission to post to our homepages, and none of them would have had a picture like that.

I needed to think, but the fog of sleep and the remnants of last night’s festivities still had me in their grip.

I grabbed a bathrobe and headed for the hallway.

Another big glass of water followed by a long steam session in the shower finally unclogged my brain, and that’s when it occurred to me.

There was really only one explanation.

I dried off, got dressed, and knocked on Meghan’s door before pushing it open. She was sitting up in bed, the laptop at her feet, innocence and confusion painted all over her face. “You took them down, Mom?”

I felt speechless a lot these days, and this was no exception. “Meghan, you had no right to do that. I thought I laid the ground rules very clearly before we left for Oregon.”

“Mom, it’s just one little picture. We learned about this in Marketing class.

Did you know celebrity endorsement is one of the simplest ways to boost a brand?

I know you’ve been sad about the business, and this will help.

Those expenses you keep worrying about won’t matter if your revenue goes up, right? I wish you’d let me help you more.”

I cradled my head in my hands, beside myself.

Meghan smiled hopefully. “Mom, don’t be upset. Did you see your numbers? Your followers went from like four thousand to more than ten thousand overnight. Don’t you see what this can do? You really should have left the posts online. You deserve to be happy.”

I had to collect my thoughts. She was a good kid—smart, eager to help, loving—and our relationship was just starting to improve. I really needed to be careful, but the anger and loss I felt threatened to overwhelm my cool.

I trod forward with care. “I’m grateful you want to help, and there’s no doubt those posts raised the profile of the brand.” My voice threatened to break. “But you did this without my consent, and more importantly, without Gabe’s. It’s a huge violation.”

“Mom, this is how the world works nowadays. Trust me. Gabe will be cool with it. It was a great post, and it will boost traffic at his restaurant, too! Plus, the Walker Smith Revival posts pictures of him all the time with his fans. Really, he won't care.”

“I think he cares quite a lot.”

“Well, just apologize then. What’s the big deal?”

I rubbed my forehead. “Meghan, there’s a good chance that after this.

. . he wouldn’t even answer my call.” I walked back to the doorway—upset, unsure, and without a parental roadmap.

I looked her in the eyes. “I need to think about this, but in the meantime, let me be clear. You are never to log onto my computer again without consent, and you are grounded. I don’t know for how long. ”

“Are you serious? You’re actually punishing me for this?

” Her face turned pink, and she looked like she was working herself up to a good cry.

“How can you be so awful? Why don’t you trust me to do anything?

” She slammed her laptop shut. “I can hardly go anywhere except under lock and key. I mean literally armed guards. All those kids I met out West, they go to school in California, Florida, Massachusetts, nowhere near their families. It’s not even a consideration.

But I can’t do anything unless my mommy approves.

Maybe being grounded won’t be that different from being free as long as I’m stuck living with you. ”

She stomped to the door, her face red and trembling. When I didn’t immediately take the hint, she gripped the door handle. “Can I at least be alone ?”

Her tears were going to spill the instant I left. I backed into the hallway, and she closed the door inches from my face.

My heart slammed in my chest, but I was in no state of mind to push the situation further, and I certainly couldn’t help her learn better emotional regulation by blowing my own top.

Back in my room, I took a few deep breaths and tried to ring Gabe. My call went straight to voicemail. I skipped that and texted instead:

The post was Meghan’s. I’m so sorry. I’ve changed the password on all the social accounts, and I’m trying to get everything taken down as best I can. Meghan is punished. I don’t know what else to do.

Also, I confronted Marco and Ian. They swear their innocence, say they followed me to NC to look out for my safety, worried I’d have an anxiety attack.

They claim they had nothing to do with the photos.

I don’t know what to believe, but I should have the results from Marco’s drug test in a few days.

I don’t expect a good outcome. It’s a mess.

There was no response. No dancing dots to let me know he was typing back. No indication the message had been seen or even delivered. For all I could tell, he might have blocked my number.

Hot shafts of light from the dormer windows meant the air outside would be scorching, but I needed to center my mind. Slipping on the lightest shorts and tank I could find, I laced up my running shoes, and headed out the door.

***

I had always loved the historic charm of Chestnut Hill—the handcrafted homes built of sparkling schist and the giant shade trees that took root generations ago. It was easy to get lost in the familiar landscape with its blend of family life, parks, and small businesses.

My legs and lungs resisted the run for the first mile, but eventually their complaints quieted. My body settled in, and my breathing fell into a steady rhythm as my feet pounded the sidewalks of my hometown.