Hendall: MADE IN THE A.M.

Part II: Wolves

The clock on the wall says seven thirty. That means Jordan is nearly an hour late. Any previous concerns of what my situation with Harry might look like to him is immediately replaced by an unsettling fear that he might not show up at all.
I clench my hand into a fist and take another sip from the fresh glass of wine Harry had bought me. I avoid eye contact with him, and as yet we have only had brief small talk. The tension in the air is tangible; a certain kind of uneasiness that has crawled its way into my throat and stomach and every fibre of me. I'm afraid that if I stare into those green eyes, they'll stare back at me. I'm afraid my eyes will give away the turmoil of emotion lying beneath the surface.
"How's your family?" Harry asks.
More small talk.
"Good," I reply, fidgeting with a gold bracelet on my wrist. "Great, actually. Filming for the new season just wrapped up, so we're camera-free for a little while." I pause, remembering the crowds of photographers no doubt camping outside the restaurant doors in wait. "Mostly."
Harry smiles and lets out a small laugh in agreement. Of course. He gets it. He always got it. I was a supermodel and reality TV star, and he was a rock star from the world's biggest boyband. He never questioned anything I did, because he knew what it was like to be in the spotlight; to have someone take photos of you, publish articles about you. To have your private life constantly on display for the world to scrutinise.
That was always my biggest fear. What we had was beautiful, but I was afraid the world would destroy it.
With Jordan, things are easier. Sure, he's a successful basketball player, but together we get a lot more privacy from the media than Harry and I ever did. I like Jordan. He's funny, athletic, and never fails to make me laugh. I enjoy his company.
As the thought of Jordan enters my head, I pull out my phone to check if I received any messages from him. I know Harry is watching me intently, but I try to ignore him.
No new messages.
I let out a sigh and place my phone on top of the table, in case I do get any messages.
Harry is silent, and I'm glad he is, because the mere thought of being stood up on a date in front of your ex is humiliating enough.
I don't know how many minutes pass. It could be half an hour, for all I know. My patience has run thin and all I can think is how angry I am at Jordan. Twice in a row, now, he's let me down. My mind is tired and I need to breathe in fresh air, away from this mess I've found myself in.
I reach across to the back of my chair and grab my jacket. Harry, without asking any questions, gets to his feet and offers a hand to me. I take it, if only to be polite, and he helps me to my feet.
"Let me walk you out," he says in my ear. The feel of his breath on my bare skin sends an icy shiver down my spine.
I shake my head in protest, but he tightens his grasp on my hand. I finally look at him.
"It's the least I can do."
In the face of those eyes, those strong, beautiful eyes, how can I refuse?
Hand in hand, we approach the doors of the restaurant, and suddenly I remember the paparazzi; the swarm of photographers that will be waiting outside. The photographers that will flash their blinding lights and capture this scene - Harry and I - leaving the restaurant together. My heart jumps to my throat and I start to panic.
People are going to jump to conclusions. What are the media going to say about it?! Harry and I, we're just...
Before my thoughts can lead any further, Harry grasps my hand tightly, as if to say everything will be alright. And for some stupid idiotic reason, I believe him.
The doors swing open and a backlash of lights and flashes is unleashed. They are the wolves, and they have descended upon us.