I’m stuck. I’m stuck in this fucking life that I loved—and now I don’t want it.
“You’re up.” Jacob opened my dressing room door.
“Okay.” I nodded and sighed as I stood.
I walked to the makeup chair so that they could get me ready for the scene. My rugged look was natural, so I normally went on set without makeup, but they had to attach a fake blood packet to the inside of my shirt so that I could pop it when Dean fired his shot. The plan was to make it the cliffhanger for the Monday episode when it aired in a couple of weeks. They usually saved the big stuff like that for Friday so that people tuned in after the weekend was over, but all bets were off for sweeps week. They had already set up the possibility on Friday when Dean’s character found out I fucked Bianca and the closing shot was one of him buying a gun.
“Let’s do this.” I walked onto the set.
“You son of a bitch!” Dean turned towards me and raised his gun—then smiled. “Does that sound convincing?”
“It’s about as good as you’re going to get on daytime television.” I nodded. “Just remember to aim the gun at my chest before you fire so that it doesn’t look like you should be hitting me in the kneecap when the smoke comes out of the barrel.”
“Got it.” Dean smiled. “Alright, get ready to die—or at least convince the audience you’re never going to open your eyes again.”
Trust me, I wish that was the case…
12
Lauren
Earlier that day
“You must have had one hell of a weekend.” Madeleine caught up with me between classes and pulled me to the side of the hallway. “I can’t wait until tonight—you’ve gotta tell me all about it.”
“He was—different than I expected.” I looked down at the floor and a slight smile formed on the corner of my lips.
“He must have been different in a very good way if you decided to spend last night with him too.” She moved her eyebrows up and down as she spoke.
“Yeah.” My smile turned into a grin I couldn’t hide. “And I’m going to see him again tonight too…
“What? Are you serious?” She blinked in surprise.
“I might even have a date with him next weekend too…” I twist on my toes—it’s instinct—one that I didn’t even know I had—and the twist even came with a weird flutter in my stomach.
“Then I guess you won’t be able to tell me about anything tonight.” A devious smile spread across her face. “But—tomorrow night? I want to hear everything. I mean it—everything!”
I had never really had an opportunity to consider whether or not I was the type of girl to kiss-and-tell. It would be hard to hide anything from Madeleine. She knew so much about me as it was and knew I was a virgin when I went to Walker’s house with the sole purpose of not leaving as one. I thought about Walker as I headed to my next class. He truly was amazing. I wanted to spend more time with him. The date we had underneath the moon and stars at the vineyard was like something out of a movie. Hell, it was better than most movies I had seen. He didn’t just have sex with me—it felt like making love. Sweet, passionate love that burned until the sun was peeking over the edge of the horizon. We barely slept—but I didn’t notice it. I was a bit more sluggish than usual, but my second cup of coffee helped.
Shit. Mr. Anderson has already started his lecture. Damn it. Talking with Madeleine made me late for class.
In high school, the teacher would have called attention to the fact I was trying to creep into class after the bell rang. Mr. Anderson shot me a glare, but never missed a beat as he talked about the finer points of Media, News and Consumers. That was the name of his class, so it was no surprise that it was theme of almost every lecture he gave. We were a long way from ever having a job that required us to utilize any of the things he was teaching us. Chances were, most of us would never have a job that paid well enough to turn it into a career. There weren’t that many success stories from the California State alumni in my field of study. I should have probably looked into that before I eagerly made it my career choice.
“Okay, I think that’s about enough for today.” Mr. Anderson turned his watch over and looked at it. “Lauren, would you stay behind so we can discuss something?”
Oh god, I’m going to get a private lecture about tardiness—this may not be that different from high school after all.
The other students in the class packed their things once they were dismissed. Some of them gave me knowing glances—they saw me sneaking in after the lecture started—they knew that was probably the reason Mr. Anderson wanted to see me after class. I watched as they filed through the door, wishing I was in the back of the line. I never liked getting in trouble at school, and I hadn’t seen a bit of it since I started college. Most of my professors just ignored everything we did as long as we weren’t causing a disturbance. One of the girls in my Creative Writing elective played on her phone every single day and nothing was said—she was well on her way to beating Candy Crush by the end of the semester.
“I’m sorry I was late.” I looked up at Mr. Anderson with a meek stare on my face.
“If you’re late you’re late.” He shrugged. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” I blinked in surprise.
“Have you ever heard of NewsNow?” He tilted his head slightly.
“No, I don’t think so.” I raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t figure you had, but I thought I’d ask first. NewsNow is a website that is based in the UK. They have an office here in California for their American affiliate. It’s not very popular, but that’s not important. What is important is that they sometimes send stories to California State and allow us to choose a student to write the article—if it’s good, they even put it on their website.” He walked around his desk and tapped his keyboard. “How would you like to write one?”
“Me?” I couldn’t hide the confusion in my voice, and it seemed that he picked up on it as well.
“Are you the best student we have? No. But—your last assignment was very well written. I can tell you’ve had some practice and the Dean likes for me to offer these articles to Freshman if possible. We have a similar arrangement with a few other news websites—bigger ones—and those stories usually go to the graduating seniors.” He leaned forward and typed something into his computer. “If you’re interested, I’ll forward you the email.”
“Wow, I mean—yes.” I nodded quickly. “I’m definitely interested. Wait, what’s the article about?”
“Football.” He chuckled. “I know—that’s probably not your favorite subject to write about but it’ll be good practice. If you end up becoming a reporter one day, you probably won’t get to write about things you love very often.”
“I wrote a few articles about football for my high school newspaper.” I tilted my head slightly. “I’m sure I can pull it off with enough research. When is it due?”
“They need it by Friday, so I need it by Thursday so I can proofread everything.” He tapped a couple of keys. “I just emailed it to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson.” I gathered my things and started to stand. “I really appreciate it!”
“No problem. I know you’ll do a good job—this stuff looks great on your resume.” He smiled as I walked towards the door.
I didn’t mind if the article was about Football. After writing stories for my high school newspaper every week, I kind of missed being able to sit down and research something so I could put words on a page that people read. That was what drew me to journalism—before I realized that it wasn’t going to be able to put food on my table and a roof over my head. It certainly wasn’t going to do that in Los Angeles unless I had a few roommates. I was afraid to think of another alternative—that if things worked out with Walker, it might not be that much of a concern. That wasn’t why I enjoyed spending time with him, even if I was wearing jeans he bought me that were more expensive than the rest of the ones in my closet combined.
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A lot can change in four years. The fire could burn out—it’s not like he has the best track record when it comes to women. I might be nursing a broken heart when I finally graduate from college—or he may never take enough of it for me to feel it shatter.
I didn’t have any other surprises as I sat through the rest of my classes. Once I made it outside when my day was over, I realized I did have a slight problem—Walker drove to me to school, and I didn’t have a way to get back to my apartment. If I had thought about it earlier in the day, I could have asked Madeleine for a ride, but her day ended an hour before mine. I had a car. It was a piece of junk, but it normally got me to school. It was even parked in the garage at our apartment building when I rushed inside to gather my books. If I wasn’t functioning on nothing but coffee and passionate adrenaline, I would have probably realized that. My best option was public transportation. That meant I had to wait for a bus to arrive—and sit through several stops before I got to one that was close enough to my apartment to make walking the rest of the way feasible.
I guess I should text him so that he knows I’ll be late. I don’t even know what time he finishes filming—I might be sitting on his doorstep if I get there too early.
Lauren: Hey, so—you left me at school without a car, so I’ve gotta take the bus back to my apartment. It’ll take me a couple of hours to make it to your house.
Walker: No problem.
The message was short, but it wasn’t sweet. It was rather impersonal. He didn’t apologize for leaving me stranded—he didn’t even offer to pick me up. I wasn’t expecting him to offer that, but it would have been nice of him to suggest an alternative. I tried not to read too much into it. He was probably still busy with filming the next episode of Dangerous Thorns—or maybe it was just an emotional day since Jamison Thorn was being killed off. I decided to call my mother while I waited on the bus. I normally called her every weekend, but I had been—distracted. We caught up on the stuff that mattered and like always, she started catching me up on the latest events on her favorite soap opera. I wanted to tell her about Walker—but I wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. I didn’t really know how she would react if she found out her nineteen year old daughter was dating a forty-five year old man—especially one that she knew from television—and one that she sort of had a mild crush on too.
I should definitely keep all of this to myself for now.
I would have to tell my mother about him eventually, especially if things worked out. I could already see the horrified expression on her face—it would probably be the same one she had when she caught me playing doctor with the boy next door in nothing but my panties. I was a skinny kid back then, but she acted like I had just been caught having sex for the first time. The same woman who flipped out over that didn’t seem to think it was weird to let me sit and watch soap operas with very adult themes and controversial sex scenes that pushed every limit they could on daytime television. Maybe she thought I could separate television from reality—she was right, but that didn’t stop me from developing a crush on the man who would eventually be the first one to actually take my panties off.
Now I call him Daddy and he punishes me when I’m bad—but he might be the one who gets punished tonight if he doesn’t have a good reason for blowing off my text.
* * *
I made it to my apartment, but I got a blister on my left foot in the process. The new sneakers Walker bought me were nice, but they weren’t broken in yet and the left one rubbed against my heel. The walk from the bus stop to my apartment was a lot further than I realized, especially when I realized that my feet were killing me. I limped to the elevator and took my shoes off once I made it to my floor. I walked the rest of the way in my socks and could already see blood on the back of my sock. I tended to the wound and put on my regular shoes as soon as I got home After that, I quickly packed an overnight bag so I would have something to wear the next day. Madeleine wasn’t home, which was unusual, but she knew I wasn’t going to be spending the night in my own bed.
I’m really going to need another cup of coffee if this night is anything like the others we’ve spent together…
I felt like I was running late, even though I didn’t tell Walker what time I would be there. He hadn’t sent me another text message or anything, so I assumed he didn’t care that I might not get to his place before the sun went down. I brewed a cup of coffee in the Keurig before I finally left my apartment. My regular sneakers felt better on my feet, but the blister was noticeable. I tried not to think about it as I walked, but there were a few grimaces before I got to my car. I drove to Walker’s house, but when I got to the front gate, I realized that he wasn’t home. There was no response from the speaker, and I could see that the lights were off except for a few on the outside of the house. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one running late. I dug around in my purse and found my cell phone. The only option I had was to text him and see if I could figure out when he would be home. I doubted I could get into his house, even if he gave me the code for the front gate.
Lauren: Hey, I just made it to your house but you’re not home.
I stared at my phone after I sent the message. I saw the icon pop up that said it was delivered. I couldn’t remember if that meant he had read it, or it was just successfully sent. I didn’t see any dots on the screen to indicate he was typing a reply. I sat in my car and stared at the house while wondering how long I should wait before I just drove back to my apartment. A couple of cars passed—one of them slowed down. They probably weren’t used to seeing a raggedy piece of junk like the one I was driving in such an affluent neighborhood.
If they called the cops, I would probably have difficulty explaining why I was sitting outside Walker Delaney’s house. If he wasn’t answering my text messages, then he probably wouldn’t answer them if they called. I decided to test that theory myself by dialing his number—it went to voicemail. Even his voice on a prerecorded message was sexy as sin—but that wasn’t what mattered at the moment. I decided that it was time to give up, so I leaned forward to crank up my car. As soon as I turned the engine over, I heard my phone buzz and saw Walker’s name on the screen.
Walker: I’m almost there. We need to talk.
Surely, he knows how ominous that sounds…
The frustration I had been feeling up to that point gave way to panic. I tried to calm my nerves. Walker’s previous reply was short. There was a chance that he just didn’t embrace the shift to text messages as a form of communication. Maybe he typed ‘we need to talk’ with a huge smile on his face because he wanted to discuss something special. It would have been easier if I could have convinced myself of that, but without tone in the text message, all I could do was worry. I reminded myself that everything had been fine that morning—and it was likely an emotional day for him since Jamison Thorn was being killed off. Those thoughts didn’t quell my concern—but I had always been the type to worry when things didn’t seem right. I was still lost in my panic-driven thoughts when Walker’s car pulled up to the gate. He didn’t even get out of his car. He hit the remote to open his gate and motioned for me to follow him.
I didn’t see a smile—maybe his beard concealed it.
Walker pulled up to the front of his house and stepped out of his car. That wasn’t where he parked his car—it was normally parked in the garage. Parking it outside was a sign that he didn’t intend to stay long. He stepped out of his car and walked up the steps to his house. Instead of opening the front door, he just sat down on the top step. The bad signs were starting to pile up, and I had a sick feeling in my stomach when I finally did get my car parked beside his. I opened my door and when I got close to the front steps of his house, I could tell that his beard wasn’t concealing a smile—there wasn’t one. He didn’t look happy.
“Come on up here and sit down.” He patted the step beside him, and I started walking up the ones that separated us.
“Okay…” I tried to read the expression on his face
, but the rest of his body language was saying a lot—something wasn’t right. “Walker, what’s wrong? What do we need to talk about?”
“Us—obviously.” He exhaled sharply.
Obviously? What am I missing here?
“You’re scaring me.” I sat down on the step beside him—he didn’t reach out for my hand or even turn his head in my direction.
“I don’t know how to do it without upsetting you, so here goes—this isn’t going to work out between us.” He stared straight ahead, but I saw his eye flinch as he spoke.
“What the hell?” I blinked in surprise. “What happened? Things were great this morning—did I do something wrong?”
“No, I’ve just been down this road before and I know how it ends. I might as well just stop while I’m ahead before I end up breaking your heart.” He sighed. “It’s inevitable. I was a fool to think it could be any different with you.”
“Are you even going to tell me why?” I could tell I was on the verge of tears—for a man I had only known a few days.
“They’ve decided not to kill Jamison Thorn. They want to keep me around after all.” He shrugged. “This isn’t easy for me, but I’d rather end things now than to watch the light go out in your eyes when you see what kind of man I really am.”
“Why does it matter if they kill Jamison Thorn or not?” I remembered what he told me—how it ruined previous relationships—but I wasn’t ready to give up so easily. “That doesn’t mean you have to make the same mistakes.”
“Unfortunately, it does.” He looked down at the steps. “This might as well be a sequel to every other relationship I’ve had now—and I’m done watching the same scenes play out again-and-again.”
“You told me not to compare myself to those other girls! Now you’re doing the exact same thing?” The tears were definitely coming, but they had been put in abeyance by the anger flooding my veins.
Distinguished Daddy: Once Upon A Daddy Page 11