“Can the sarcasm, Finn,” Zane says. “I’m not happy about it either. It’s not like I was expecting it to happen.”
“What do you care?” I ask as I clean my foundation brush. “It’s not like this hurts you.”
“It hurts me because it hurts you.” Zane takes my arm, but I jerk it free. Pain billows up in his eyes because I haven’t acted like this for weeks. “Really? You won’t let me touch you now? We’re back to that?”
“Yes, we’re back to that. You start seeing someone else and lie to me about it, you don’t get to touch any of this.” I motion to my whole body, not that he’s had the privilege. I’m happier than ever that I’ve been moving slow. I can’t imagine the humiliation of knowing that I’d… I groan and turn away from him. It’s bad enough as it is.
“Seeing someone? I’m only seeing you. We’ve been over this. I thought you were going to trust me.”
I grab my purse from the shelf and rifle through it until I find the slick pages.
“I’ve told you that I love you. I’ve shared more about who I am with you than I’ve told anyone, ever. I don’t know what you—”
Rolled tight in my hand I cut off the rest of his words by smacking his arm with the tabloid holding his secrets. It feels good so I smack him again, and again. For once I’m the one backing someone into a corner.
“Finn!” he yells as he takes my wrists to stop me. “Tell me what’s going on!”
Anger will only get a girl so far. I collapse, limp and hanging from his grip until my knees hit the floor and he releases me. “You’re with her. You’re with Tabitha. You’ve been lying to me!”
Through my tears, I watch him unravel the magazine from my hand. I collapse forward, face in my hands. The pages are flipping. I can’t breathe. I can’t survive this again.
“Finn, this isn’t real.” The magazine falls by my head. Zane drops to his knees and pulls me into his arms. I can’t fight it. I’m not strong enough anymore. “You’ve got to believe me. This is what the paparazzi does, they make up stories from the pictures they can steal.”
Anger flashes in my veins as I shove him away from me. “Then explain the picture, Zane. Explain why you look like a couple and you’re not wearing Paxton’s scars.”
I hate that I can smell Tabitha still. Her perfume has a way of lingering like she’s listening in on our plans. Zane’s hand runs over his hair as he calculates his next move.
“Here, you’re mad enough already. I guess it’s time to see if I’ve hit my limit.” From his back pocket he pulls a new tabloid, fresh off the press, so to speak. But it’s not Zane and Tabitha on the cover, it’s Zane and me.
My shaking hand barely covers my mouth as I draw in an uneasy breath. Bright yellow words are scrawled over the play place background, Trouble in Paradise, gold digging soccer mom out to get her piece? I fumble with the pages as Zane leans back against the wall, knees up to his chest as he rests his head between them. To my horror, Oliver’s face is the highlight of the article. Zane coming off the slide, smiles wide, as if we all belong together.
Is there trouble brewing for ‘Zanitha’ already? We caught Zane Alexander stepping out on his leading lady with this mystery mommy meat. Could she be after the Alexander fortune? Jokes on you, sweetheart, he’s broke! Hey Zane, you’re still hot. You don’t have to dumpster dive for the white trash.
“I didn’t know we were being followed,” Zane says, his voice soft. “I never would have put you or Oliver in this position. I’m so sorry for all of this.”
“But the pictures,” I start to argue, but I can’t look away from the intrusion on my life.
His sigh echoes in his hands from where he’s covered his face. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Jay knows about us.”
My head snaps up, a new dread building in my heart. “He knows? For how long?”
“Since the cast party. Tabitha caught us and neither one of us knew it. Jay knows how I feel about you, and he’s holding it over my head. You’ll lose your job unless I pretend to be with Tabitha. That’s why they have those pictures. I thought it was just for show around town. I had no idea he was going to make a circus out of this. I swear.”
“So, let him fire me,” I say. I have zero desire to be a part of blackmail.
“He can get you on breach of contract. That stack of papers you signed, it’s in there. No relations with any of the staff. Either I play nice, or he’s going to sue you and take everything you have.”
He’s right, and I signed it without a thought because I never expected any of this.
“What does this mean for us, Zane?”
“It’s only until the premier. He wants this star-crossed lover vibe because it’ll boost sales. Be patient with me until then, please.”
“That’s months away. What am I supposed to do?”
“I know this isn’t fair.” His hand captures mine and laces our fingers. “You’re the one I want. You have to believe me. I have to go back to L.A. anyway. The judge wants me inside the county borders the second I’m done filming. Technically, I’m still on probation. If I don’t cooperate, he’ll put me on house arrest for a year.”
“When do you leave?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow for a few days. Jay has a press junket. Then I’ll come back and shoot the final scenes next week, and then I’ll be gone for a couple months.”
“Months?”
“We can talk. I’ll call you.” Zane’s face twists with emotion before he can smother it. “I hate this too. I thought I was getting my life back, out from under everyone’s thumb, but here I am again, and I’m dragging you in with me.”
Carefully, Zane catches the back of my neck and draws me into his arms against the wall. Pressure builds as his lips press against my hair. I wrap both arms around him, like Oliver hanging onto the bed post when he doesn’t want a bath.
“I love you, Finley,” he whispers into my hair. “No matter what they throw at us, always remember how much I love you.”
✽ ✽ ✽
My doorbell rings eight times in a row. Weak light streams in through my curtains. Oliver’s cry lights up the air. That sound mixed with the doorbell fries all rational thought in my brain. I throw on a sweater over my oversized shirt and jerk on a pair of pants. Like Chinese water torture, the bell won’t stop.
“It’s okay, Oli. It’s just the doorbell. Don’t be scared,” I call as I jog past his room. A hum grows outside my front door. Through the fogged panes on either side, I see dark shapes shuffling like cattle waiting at a gate.
“Stay in your room,” I yell over my shoulder to my son. Knowing it won’t be good, I unlatch the four deadbolts and pull open the door. A sea of cameras and microphones are thrust at me as each of the press climbs over the last to be the first to get to me.
“Finley, tell us how you feel about Tabitha Schilling.”
“Have you always been a homewrecker?”
“Where’s your son’s father?”
“Does your husband know you’re sneaking around with Zane Alexander?”
I slam the door shut and bolt it as Oliver stumbles around the corner, eyes blood shot and cheeks pink with tears. I scoop him into my arms and hurry to the back door. The sea of reporters follow me, window to window. I can imagine the bed of flowers crushed under their careless feet. I lock the back door and run for the slider just as a photographer’s flash captures me with Oliver on my hip. I flip the lock and yank the shade until my living room goes dark.
My son’s wails grind against my mind. I leave him on the couch and press his Gongo monkey into his arms. How I ache for Zane to be here. Dashing to the front of the house, I yank each of the blinds shut until we’re in darkness.
“Mama!” Oliver screams because people pound on the glass like a zombie invasion. I hurry back to Oliver and capture his face in my hands, covering his ears with my palms, but the sound won’t stop. Huge tears fall from his eyes, and all the fear I’ve tried to shield him from rises in his expression. I press my palm
s to my temples, but the questions keep coming through the doors, through the windows, swirling around me, relentlessly demanding my attention.
“Are you going to split them up?”
“Who had him first? You or Tabitha?”
“Is Zane Alexander the father of your baby?”
I collapse to my knees and set my head in Oliver’s lap. His hot palm smashes against my cheek as he rolls into my arms. Our tears join together in shared misery.
Why would Zane put me through this? How can he love us if he’s willing to let us endure this kind of torture?
“Zane, where are you?” I whisper against my son’s downy blonde hair. But there’s no answer because just as I knew all along, he’s left me alone to my own happily never after.
✽ ✽ ✽
Mona called the cops the second the reporters showed up at her door. I feel like an idiot because the thought never crossed my mind. Though she’ll be the first to admit that turning the hose on them worked faster. Thankfully, she sent the cops to my house as well, and she followed them through the front door. She’s great in a crisis. Yelling at the paparazzi, threatening the most creative forms of revenge she can think of. I’m sure it’ll look great in print. What do I care? Apparently, I’m the gold-digging baby mama to Zane Alexander.
Mona takes us in her arms as soon as the cops leave. I can’t understand her words, but the tone tells me it’s going to be okay. She’s always made it okay.
Before long, her soup is on the stove, her fairy tale book is on her lap, and I would be as well, but Oliver stole my spot. When no one else can, Mona makes it better. She’s always rescued me, starting with that day she took me home from that orphanage. She’s my one constant in this world of endless change and disappointment.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Finn,” Mona calls from the front room. “Finny, come see this.”
I set the pot that I’m scrubbing back in the dishwater and dry my hands as I half walk half jog to the living room. I can’t help but smile as I see Zane’s face light up the screen. I miss him so much. He’s the only other one who could have rescued me like Mona did. I can imagine him, my gallant knight, scaring the press away with his powers of stardom. No way would they have trampled my begonias if Zane had been here.
The camera switches to a wide angle, and my heart crushes like a tin can. I sink to my knees, hands cupped over my mouth to keep my pain from waking Oliver. Zane’s arm is around Tabitha. She’s stealing kisses between questions.
“That’s how love is though,” Tabitha says as she stares up at Zane, “it surprises you. Comes out of nowhere.”
The reporter laughs, clearly enamored by the display. “Is that true, Zane? Is that how it happened?”
Staring directly into the camera, Zane says, “Any girl that would watch all of Gremkey Gongo to impress me is the kind of girl you want to fall in love with.”
I reach out to take Mona’s hand, but I misgauge the distance and smack her leg. “That was for me. He was saying that for me. This isn’t real. He’s trying to tell me this isn’t real.”
She’s nodding, but I feel her reservation. I’m hanging off every word, acting like a sleuth looking for the hidden message in his words. If only he’d given me a decoder ring, or special x-ray glasses to see the truth.
“Now what can you tell us about this mystery mom you’ve been seen with? Any rumors you’d like to dispel, Zane?”
Tabitha gives him a squeeze, as if she’s sanctioning his words. Zane doesn’t flinch, he has his answer rehearsed. “Finley Sullivan is our head makeup artist. She’s a country local to the town we’re shooting in. We’ve spent a lot of time together because of the intensity of the scars and tattoos I have to wear for the film.” It’s the first time I see him waver. With an audible gulp, he continues. “I feel bad for her. She’s an abuse survivor. She has issues with trust. We’re friends, I guess.”
Tabitha takes over where he’s left off. “We’ve been laughing about what the papers are saying, Zane’s love child and all that. Finny is so sweet and just, ya know, down on her luck. We’ve been talking about raising some money for her, haven’t we babe?”
Zane’s smile falters, but he’s done talking. Tabitha, on the other hand, loves the sound of her voice. “She’s super talented though, but honestly, Finny, it’s time to stop spreading these rumors, girl. Find your fame without using my man!” She ends with that choreographed laughter, and the reporter joins in. I hit the power button on the remote before I have to endure any more of it.
“You said he’s in a tight spot, Sweetheart.” Mona’s hand rests against my back. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any of it.”
“Yeah,” I say, but it’s not sincere. Even in a tight spot, even with a gun to his head, how can he say that he loves me and still be willing to say those things on camera?
✽ ✽ ✽
Three days later the doorbell rings. Once, twice, then four times in a row. I glance through the front blinds, but there’s no sea of reporters, only Zane.
“What do you want?” I yell through the door. I’ve ignored every text. Declined every one of his calls.
“I want to talk to you. I need to explain myself.”
“Oh, are you sure a country bumpkin like me is smart enough to understand you, Mr. Hollywood?”
“So, you saw the interview?”
“Oh, just the last half where you talked about how desperate I am for attention.”
“I never said that,” the door shifts because his full weight leans against it. “Tabitha said that.”
“You’re right. You just showed off your pity for the abused single mom!”
“Finn,” the word is weighted and the soft parts of me wonder when he slept last, “I’m sorry I said all that. I was trying to send you messages when I could. Jay wrote everything down. I didn’t have a choice.” Zane’s hand fogs up the windowpane in the door. “Let me in. I need to see you. I feel like I’m dying without you.”
“I shouldn’t let you in, not ever,” I say. But my hand goes against his on the pane and the warmth bleeds through. I unlatch the door and pull it open.
Zane visibly slouches as he sees me. As if it was all he had in him to stay upright but seeing me has stolen that last bit of willpower from him. The wrinkles that chisel into his forehead and brows are deeper than anything my brushes could manufacture. Light glistens in his eyes where the emotion pools. The beard is coming back, grown to that point of looking a little homeless.
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He falls forward, his face buried into my shoulder as he wraps his arms around me and succumbs to the emotion. “I’m so sorry, Finley. Please, please forgive me.” His grip tightens on my top, his facial hair pricks against my neck, but his warm breath soothes the sharpness. “I love you, Finn. Don’t forget that I love you.”
I wrap my arms around him, my own tears falling on his skin. He’ll be gone longer this next time. More interviews, more time with Tabitha. I press a kiss to his cheek because I’d be an idiot not to see how this is ripping him to pieces. He clings to me like Oliver after a night terror, as if he’s afraid that other world, the one where the nightmare lives, is the real world.
He pulls back far enough to look me in the eye, but still keeps our foreheads together. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yes,” I say because with him here in my home, it’s true. “You know I love you, right?”
His lips part in surprise and a laugh strangled by a sob pops from his throat. “No, didn’t know that.”
“Well I do,” I tell him. “That’s why this is killing me too.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, strings of spit caught between his lips as he falls back into the crook of my neck. “Let’s run away. Somewhere no one will ever find us. You and me, and Oliver.”
“And Mona?”
“Of course,” he says. “We’ll get new names and pretend we’ve never heard of Hollywood.”
“I’ll have to do your makeup every day
,” I say as I run my fingers through his hair. “You’re too easy to recognize.”
“Give me a face tattoo. We’ll change it weekly.”
“We’ll need a monkey if you expect Oliver to agree with this plan.”
“We’ll live in Madagascar,” Zane says as he kisses my cheek. “I’ll get him ten monkeys.”
“Isn’t it dangerous there?” The mood is lightening and I’m soaking in everything that makes us, us.
“That’s the problem with monkey countries, they’re usually warzones.”
“Probably because monkeys are evil,” I say.
It earns me his real smile. “Monkeys are evil. Thank you for saying that.” He looks over his shoulder for the first time. “Where’s Oliver?”
“School,” I say. “Mona’s bringing him home in about twenty minutes.”
Zane’s eyes brighten with mischief. “You’re saying we’re alone?”
“For twenty minutes,” I say like it means something.
Zane’s arm scoops under my knees. I squeal and kick my legs like a damsel in distress.
“My dear Finley,” he says with his head against mine, “I think you greatly underestimate both how badly I missed you, and just how much trouble I can get into in twenty minutes.”
The pillows launch from the couch as he drops me to the cushions. Zane kneels and pulls my shoes from my feet before he walks his hands up my sides to press his lips to mine.
I melt.
Like butter.
Like ice.
Like chocolate.
Like anything else that has the power to ooze and take on a new shape, because that’s what I do. My arms around him, my leg linking his to pull him closer. His lips find my jaw, and his hand catches my back as I arch into him.
“Say it again,” he whispers against my skin.
“I love you,” I tell him, and it’s true. Truer that it’s ever been because only for love would I endure this misery he’s putting me through.
Zane tightens the space between us to nothing. He pulls back, chest heaving from a heartrate that matches mine. “I need you in my life,” he whispers. “I’m messed up without you. I can’t think. I can’t eat. When you didn’t call back, I was dying. I can’t lose you.”
Shards of My Heart (The Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 16