Shards of My Heart (The Forgotten Ones Book 2)

by Nellie K Neves

  “Zane!” I yell, but the crowd swallows my volume. I turn out the back of the witness stand but strong arms catch me and hold me steady. I fight to be free, but the cop pushes me back.

  “Stay here. I can’t keep you safe out there.”

  “Order!” The judge yells again from his seat. “Order or I’ll empty this whole court.”

  I go up on my tip toes to try to catch a glimpse of him.

  But he’s gone.

  Again.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “They’re going to charge him with attempted murder back in Ridgedale,” I tell Mona. “Plus, the DA says there are others coming out of the woodwork. The judge decided to accept the video into evidence after Todd’s little outburst, so he’s not getting out for a long time.”

  Mona shoves her spoon deep into the chocolate ice cream. “When you make a plan, you really make a plan, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t get beat up this time,” I say like it’s a triumph. To me it is. I balance the spoon on the end of my nose before I let it fall. “Zane was there.”

  Her head pops up. “Did you talk to him? Did you get a chance to explain everything?”

  “I got to shout his name across the courtroom like a crazy person, does that count?” I squish the lid back on my ice cream. “He’s still mad. And I deserve it.”

  “He doesn’t know the progress you’ve made. It isn’t fair that he’s making you pay for it this time.”

  “Sure it is,” I say. “I hurt him. That’s how justice works.”

  “And where is the mercy?”

  I shrug. “Mercy is for fairytales. It doesn’t make sense in the real world.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “I don’t know about this,” I tell Mona. “I haven’t left Oliver with a babysitter in a really long time.”

  “If you’re not counting me, then that’s pretty much his whole life, Sweetheart. But Cora is responsible, and Oliver adores her.”

  “She’s fifteen. What if there’s an emergency?”

  “Then she’ll go across the hall to her mother.” Mona pulls back the glass door and all but shoves me into the museum. “Come on, you need some culture in your life. You’ve never been anywhere or done anything except sit on your ranch and watch the sunset. You’re supposed to be experiencing the world. It’s not like you can do that driving to and from the studio every day.”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her, I give in. She’s been going on about this sculpture exhibit for two weeks. But of course, we have to wind through what feels like acres of paintings and photography before we get there.

  Mona stands at each piece, two fingers splayed across her cheek, thumb under her chin, studying every aspect like she hasn’t lived in the middle of nowhere for most of her life.

  “Moving, isn’t it?” she asks as she stares at a collection of triangles falling into a black circle. “You can really feel the struggle here, can’t you?”

  I give in and roll my eyes, but only once I’m turned away from her. The lady has no clue what she’s talking about, but she’s gathering a crowd of people who want to hear her thoughts on the abstract piece. I’ll leave her to her fans.

  I wander through the museum, moving from gallery to gallery. A few black and white photographs catch my attention, but mostly because the open fields remind me of home. A part of me will always miss it, but then the freedom is what drew me to those open fields in the first place. In reality, I’ve never been as free as I am right now in this moment.

  I scan a few faces as they pass. It’s a habit I’ve developed being here in this city. Is it so far-fetched to wonder if Zane might come? He’s sophisticated. He could like art. But the statistics aren’t in my favor. They never are. With over four million people in Los Angeles, Zane’s not even a needle in a haystack. He’s a needle in a hundred-acre hay field.

  I pause at a photograph long enough to hear Mona discussing the contrast between modern expressionists and the old masters. Give the woman a reliable high-speed Internet connection on her computer and suddenly she’s an art critic.

  The wildflowers in the photograph feel so real I want to reach out and touch them. Even without color, I know it’s mustard. My eyes color them yellow, some pale, and some vibrant, all stuffed into a vase built from fractured glass.

  “It gets easier,” a voice behind me says, “missing home, I mean.”

  “Jay?” I spin around. Sure enough, Little Jamie McGuire is a mere seven feet away from me, though without the eye makeup and the slicked back hair, it’s hard to recognize him.

  “Hi Finley,” he motions behind him, “I saw Mona over there giving discourses and figured you’d be nearby.” His hands go up in defense. “I swear I’m not stalking you. It’s a coincidence.”

  “In a city this size, that’s hard to believe.”

  Jay frowns and shrugs. “But possible. Actually, I love this exhibit because it reminds me of home. Looks like you got stung by the same bug.”

  I turn my attention back to the open field and the mustard flowers. “Being here now, it feels like another life.”

  “Like a fairytale?”

  His question turns my mind back to my past, my birth, my adoption, the people I’ve met, and it’s not far off.

  “I guess so,” I say, but it’s not as if I’m talking to him anymore.

  “Well like I said,” Jay moves to the empty spot beside me, “it gets easier.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Jay draws in a painful breath and releases it twice as slowly. “I need to apologize to you.”

  There’s a laundry list of things he could apologize for written up in my brain, but it’s not polite to list them off one by one. Instead, I say, “What for?” because it’s the gracious way of saying, “Yes, you do.”

  “I messed things up with you and Zane. I had ulterior motives with the movie succeeding and my own selfish desires.”

  “What selfish desires?”

  Jay moves from the photograph toward the next installation. “I thought we’d be good together. Two kids out of Ridgedale, off to take on Hollywood. A real rags to riches power couple.”

  I pull a face and move beyond him. “But that wouldn’t have been genuine. You don’t know anything about me. You’ve never taken the time to care.”

  “You’re right.” Jay pauses for a second to frown at a sad clown’s portrait. “That’s why it was selfish. I saw your talent, and I knew I’d want to be hitched to your wagon. I figured you’d need me too. When I came to this city, I had to cash in every favor I had to get my first break.” He stops and catches my arm, eyes thinned with thought. “But not you, Finley. You came here on your own merit, and that’s truly inspirational.”

  “I’m still not going out with you,” I tell him with a smile.

  His hand drops from my arm before he cocks his head and grins. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  I check over my shoulder. Mona is still back there, but her fan club has grown. I should cash in a favor or two myself and get Mona cast as an extra in something. She’s lapping up the attention like a cat to milk.

  “Do you think you can forgive me?” Jay asks as we start down a long corridor. “Maybe we can work on being friends?”

  “You were an idiot,” I tell him, but that’s where the guilt will end. “But I was too. You’re forgiven.”

  Jay takes three quick steps to get ahead of me before he says, “Be my date to the Oscars then.”

  I stop short and glare. “We literally just went over this.”

  “Not a date, date,” he says. “But I think it would be a smart move for the two of us, what with your Zane scandal, and everyone asking me what comes next. I think banding together would be smart. Two kids from Ridgedale—”

  “I don’t think that would be smart,” I say as I move toward the light of the final exhibit.

  “I didn’t think you had it in you, forging out on your own. It was wrong of me to try to take advantage. But, if you’
re willing, I’d like to keep you company for the awards. There are crowds to navigate, and interviews, after parties, I remember feeling completely alone at my first one.”

  Still dragging my feet, unconvinced, and inching my way toward the final doorway, Jay makes one last appeal.

  “You don’t know about red carpets, or stylists, or any of the drama that goes along with these events,” Jay says as I’m nearly to the doorway. “I could help you, and you’ll soften my image.”

  I groan because he’s right. I don’t know the ins and outs of awards banquets, and I’ll likely do something embarrassing.

  “Fine,” I say, “but it’s on my terms.”

  “Spell them out for me.”

  “I will,” I say, “legally. And you’ll sign them.”

  I’ve caught him off guard but being married to a lawyer for too many years brings out the litigious side of me.

  “Whatever brings you peace,” he says.

  “And no eyeliner,” I say as he falls into step with me. “It makes you look like a rodent.”

  “You’re going to love this next artist’s exhibit,” Jay says, ignoring my advice as usual. “He’s the next big thing.”

  “He’s the reason we’re here.” The sliver of light from the doorway is growing in warmth and magnitude.

  “He’s changed the face of sculpture, challenged the way we think about the medium in general.” Jay stands in the doorway and motions for my entrance to the room. “People say it will change your life.”

  I doubt it. Even the most breathtaking pieces are that, beautiful, nothing more. Art can’t change a life, maybe change the way we view art, but to change a life it would have to—

  My thoughts are cut short as I step into the final room. The sculptures glitter and wink back at me. And he’s right. This art has changed my life. It’s the answer I’ve been looking for. It’s everything.

  “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

  “Life altering,” I say as I spot the gift shop door at the back of the room.

  Watch out world, a plan is forming.

  Chapter 22

  It’s strange enough that I’m going to the Academy Awards, but now I’m going with Jay McGuire.

  It’s not a date.

  I made him say it twice on the phone.

  I made him sign a legal document before I got in the car.

  It’s not a date.

  A power move is what he’d called it, and I made sure the legal document spelled out in three different ways that there would be no moves, of power or otherwise.

  I was hesitant, but he’s right that I don’t know my way around this world. That was the only reason I accepted. But he’s reaching into the limo to take my hand and pull me out to the red carpet, and this is all too real. I might stay inside the limo instead.

  “Your people await,” Jay says with a smile.

  I kick the base of my dress out first, red has a way of making me feel powerful, and that’s what I told my designer. She’s new. I didn’t want someone established. I wanted someone eager to make their own world. I wanted to be her hero. Meeting her, I wasn’t disappointed. The spunky young woman wore a pink wig, drew notes on her jeans, and sparkled without the aid of glitter. More than that, I felt her hunger, her desire to build her dreams into something larger than what the world expected of her. I have no doubt that she’ll do exactly that.

  “Finley! Finley!” a woman with a microphone yells from behind the rope. “Who are you wearing?”

  Jay stops graciously, even though he told me not to pay any attention to the press until we walk the length of the carpet.

  What? Am I supposed to ignore everyone?

  Not my style.

  “Aria Borealis,” I say into the microphone. “She’s new on the scene, like me.”

  “And bound to make a name for herself just like you,” the woman answers.

  Jay’s hand catches my back, not enough to nudge me, but a reminder that we need to keep moving. I wave to the few people who recognize me. Strange that I don’t know who they are, but they’re screaming my name like we’re old friends. A teenage girl jams a notebook out in front of me with a pen, eyes wide with her unspoken question.

  I scribble my signature in the front of the book with a big heart and hand it to Jay. “You should too,” I tell him.

  He balks at the suggestion, but I prod him with my elbow, and he gives in. I almost expect him to write, “Little Jamie McGuire”, but I guess he goes by Jay and that’s what he signs in a big sweeping movement. I hand the notebook back to the girl with a smile.

  “I’m gonna do what you do one day!” she yells over the noise. “How did you get so good?”

  I can’t tell her the real reason, obviously, but I can get close to it. I motion for her book and above my signature I write, “Practice every day, and be your own hero.”

  She takes the book back and reads the words I wrote. When she looks back her eyes are brimming with grateful tears.

  “You’re holding up the line, Miss Sullivan,” Jay says in my ear. “We’re gonna get in trouble.”

  “Sorry,” I say as I catch up to him, “I’ve never had a fan before.”

  “Well brace yourself, this is the real labyrinth.” He nods ahead to where the elite are posing for pictures, answering questions and moving at a glacial pace through the sea of press and cameras. I break my own rules and take Jay’s hand for some sense of comfort.

  “You’ve got this,” he says.

  I smile the best I can while fourteen people shout my name and ask about my clothes. One woman is surprised I did my own makeup.

  Really?

  Who else would do it?

  More importantly, I did Jay’s and for once he doesn’t look like a stoned pirate.

  Pictures with Jay.

  Pictures without Jay.

  Pictures with smiles.

  Pictures of my boredom as I wait.

  Flashes and shouting, all more than any one nervous system can handle. There’s got to be at least ten unsavory pictures of me frowning or yawning. But it doesn’t matter, because even with a nomination I’m still a nobody.

  “Finley,” the final interview is with Entertainment Weekly and a woman named Jessica whoops-I-wasn’t-listening-for-her-last-name, “how surprised were you that you were nominated tonight? This was your first movie, wasn’t it?”

  “I literally fell on the floor,” I say remembering the day that Mona told me. “This was my first movie, though I’ve done local productions if you count the high school rendition of Fiddler. It’s a huge honor, and though I don’t expect to win, I’m happy to be here.”

  “Seems like we should be counting on Ridgedale to keep churning out talent by the likes of you two,” Jessica says to Jay. “What’s in the water?”

  “No one knows,” I say to myself. “It’s not like anyone’s tested it.”

  But the mic picks up what was once hidden and there’s a tense pause before she starts laughing.

  “So, are we seeing a couple here tonight?” Jessica asks us with far too wide a smile. Before I can answer, Jay steps in.

  “Just friends. We figured we’d show up and give some of that hometown pride together. I’ve been where Finley is right now, and I didn’t want her being attacked by the likes of all of you.”

  There’s more forced laughter. I search the crowd because let’s be honest, there’s only one person I’m interested in seeing tonight.

  “One last question,” Jessica says, “Finley, all that drama with Zane Alexander, what was really happening there?”

  Jay shoots me a look, but I don’t have time to see what it means. I’m not a great liar. Honesty is the best choice in my arsenal.

  “Zane and I were friends, very close friends. I made the wrong assumptions about his character, and I drove us apart. It’s a huge regret of mine. I hope eventually he’ll forgive me.”

  “And,” Jay says inserting his face in front of the microphone before I can say anything more, “we both wish
Zane and Tabitha all the best in the world.”

  Yeah. Something like that.

  But I don’t say it because for the first time nothing is hidden anymore.

  No wonder Zane never felt safe.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  I didn’t win, and I’m glad I spent the day before practicing my gracious loser smile. I never expected to win, but I’m forever grateful for what the nomination did for my career. I’m surrounded by the cast that made up, Happily Never After, people I shared my life and talents with for months. Tabitha is within smacking distance, not that I’ve been fantasizing about it or anything, but Zane is missing. I overhear her telling Jay that he’s with the cast from the new movie he’s been working on. I still don’t know if their relationship charade is continuing or not, but I can see the disappointment in her eyes that he’s not with us.

  Join the club.

  But he’s here because I see his face when they announce the nominees for Best Actor. He’s larger than life, clean shaven, smiling like an idiot when they call his name as the winner. He kisses the cheek of the woman he’s with, sophisticated, raven-haired and pouty lips. She whispers something and he smiles.

  The room falls to a hush as he takes the microphone in one hand and his Oscar in the other. “You know, I didn’t think this would be possible again. Not after everything I’ve done, but life is full of opportunity, if we’re willing to take a chance. I want to thank everyone who worked on Happily Never After, the crew, the talent, the sheer fortitude of what we were able to accomplish, it humbles me.” His smile fades for a second as he loses his train of thought. “It’s a time of my life I wish I could visit, just to have those feelings again. Pure magic, that’s what it was.”

  Music plays as a cue for him to leave the stage. I wipe at my eyes and try to maintain my composure, but being this close without being his, I get what he was saying before. I feel like I’m dying, as though my insides are rotting away, and I’ll be hollow before the night is through.

  I unclip my clutch and look inside. It’s still there. A Hail Mary like no other Hail Mary has ever been. I whisper one of the prayers from my childhood and clip the clutch shut once more.