Finding Him

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  I wanted to leave and lick my wounds in private. “So, Rob seems nice.”

  Keaton was still holding onto my hand. “He’s a good man.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No,” I said in a clipped voice, reaching for a glass of champagne and wishing I was already drunk off my ass. “Everything’s great.”

  “Liar.” She reached for a glass and faced me. “Been busy?”

  “Small talk?” I snorted out a laugh. “Really?”

  Her face paled a bit, and I know I didn’t imagine the guilt that replaced it as she looked everywhere but my eyes.

  I shook my head and leaned in. “Don’t, not with me. I’m not one of your fans, Keaton, I’m not someone you need to be fake with. I get it, you don’t want people to assume you’re with me, fine. I imagine my father’s smear campaign did a stellar job of scaring you away from me. I don’t even want to think what you’d see if you did a Google search on me, but could you at least for my sake, on my birthday, do one thing?”

  Her eyes locked onto mine. “I didn’t do a Google search.”

  I sighed. “One thing, I want one thing for my birthday.”

  “What?” “I want you to pretend that I’m good enough to kiss you, good enough to touch you, I want you to lie to me and tell me it’s just the beginning, that you don’t care about my reputation, that you’d go home with me in a heartbeat because you can’t imagine being anywhere else. Can you do that?” I checked my watch. “For one hour. I just want one hour where—” I stopped myself.

  “Where what?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that you’re the eye of my storm? The calmest part of my life when everything around me is chaos?” I set down my champagne at a table as more people filtered into the party.

  Keaton reached for my hand again and held it tight. “Rob’s my publicist.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “You didn’t have to.” She dragged me toward the dance floor and then placed both hands on my shoulders. “I could see the jealousy in your eyes and the smoke coming out of your ears.”

  I glared. “I wasn’t jealous.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was just silently communicating with the universe and letting it know that if Rob were to fall down the stairs and break his leg I wouldn’t be mad.”

  She threw her head back, laughing, and blurted, “I missed you.”

  I went completely still. It was on the tip of my tongue to say “I missed you too,” but her rejection was still too raw. And this insane feeling in my chest kept telling me there was more, that it wasn’t just an accident, it wasn’t a one-night stand.

  She sobered and looked down. “My hands feel better.”

  I twirled her and pulled her against my aching chest. I’d been born to pretend like nothing affected me. I’d always had the upper hand—until Keaton. “Good.”

  “The doctor said that you did a good job treating them.”

  I couldn’t look away from her blue eyes. I wanted to kiss her so bad that it was physically painful to be that close to her.

  She licked her bottom lip, tempting the hell out of me.

  I groaned and looked away. My body was reacting violently to the closeness. I was thankful it was dark because I was ready to pound nails into the nearest statue and have a mental breakdown in the process.

  I was so focused on holding it together that when someone bumped into Keaton, forcing her to press her entire body against mine, I didn’t think, I just grabbed her and held on tight.

  Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. She swallowed slowly, like she was trying to process the fact that I was so incredibly aroused it was embarrassing.

  For both of us.

  Instead of jerking away, though, she leaned up on her tiptoes and whispered in my ear, “It’s not my birthday, and yet I still get a present?”

  I let out a low growl and gritted my teeth. “Don’t tease me.”

  She shimmied against me. “Oh, and I’m the tease?”

  My dick was seconds from disowning me for just standing there. I moved away from her and cleared my throat. “Enjoy the party.”

  “Wait, what?” Keaton grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”

  “Well, right now I feel like I’m going insane, so I’m going to go get enough alcohol to make my dick limp, and then I’m going to ram my face into the closest door in an effort to crack the lock so I can leave.”

  She frowned. “But it’s your birthday, this is your party, I thought—”

  “Yeah, well, I thought too,” I interrupted, anger surging all over again. “I changed my mind, I don’t want a present, I don’t want anything, and I can’t pretend. I’m not that talented. I’ve lost every single ounce of fake enthusiasm and laughter I used to possess, and now this is all I have.” I threw my hands up and shook my head. “This raw primal need to rip your dress in half with my teeth, but not just that, because that would be easy, sex is easy. I want more, and that’s the problem, Keaton. I want more of you. I have settled for enough my entire life, I want more than good enough. I want all of it, and the problem is you don’t have that to give me, and even if you did”—I scowled—“I highly doubt I’m the sort of man you would waste it on. So yes, I’m going to leave my own party. Yes, I’m going to walk away, because one of us has to, and I’m pretty sure if you left first it would break me.”

  I’d said too much.

  She was driving me insane, though, and it hurt. For the first time in a long time, I felt something real, something good, something I hadn’t had with Izzy and couldn’t explain.

  Something I couldn’t have.

  Funny how you can have millions of dollars, the best clothes, cars, and still feel fucking empty.

  I turned around and made my way toward the bar for more alcohol and mentally berated myself for being so honest with her.

  I genuinely liked her.

  And she seemed embarrassed to be next to me.

  Karma was such an evil bitch.

  I deserved it—probably.

  Didn’t mean I had to like it.

  I held up two fingers. “Two shots, bourbon.”

  “Make that three,” came a familiar voice.

  I had no fake smiles left so I turned and glared. “Dad, nice to see you.”

  “Sheathe your sword, son.” He grabbed his shot and held it up. “Saw you dancing with Keaton Westbrook.”

  “More like arguing,” I grumbled. “But good to know you’re not going blind. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “Your brother’s poor manners are rubbing off on you.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “No, actually I’m just all out of fucks.” I threw both shots back. “Enjoy the party.”

  I sidestepped him and made a beeline toward the back of the hall. At the Met Gala last year I remembered people sneaking off in that direction. If I couldn’t find an exit, maybe at least I’d find some peace.

  I was almost home free when someone grabbed my arm and turned me around.

  “You don’t abandon a lady on the dance floor.” Keaton crossed her arms and then put them on her hips. “And you don’t just confess feelings like that and stomp off like a petulant child.”

  “Are you scolding me for having a heart?” I leaned in and cornered her against the wall.

  She put her hand on my chest. “You don’t understand. In public I can’t . . . it’s different, we aren’t at the cabin anymore, Julian.”

  “I wonder if that’s how you would pen our story. Julian Tennyson, dirty little private secret . . .”

  A sharp crack split the air as she slapped me across the cheek. It stung like hell. I hung my head while she glared at me, chest rising and falling as if she couldn’t get enough air.

  “You should go.” I didn’t want her to go. I wanted to pull her against me again. I wanted her to pick me despite the fact that it was all wrong.

  “You’re a jackass,” she said through clenched teeth.


  “I never pretended to be anything but,” I said quietly while her eyes darted toward my mouth. “I never hid that from you.”

  “You’re right,” she whispered, her eyes wide, searching mine.

  We were standing so close that I could smell the perfume on her neck and taste the champagne she’d just drank.

  Keaton swayed toward me and then slid her hands up my chest. Our foreheads touched. “You’re the worst possible person for me.”

  “Are you trying to ruin my birthday?” I moved my head to the side, inhaling the perfume in her neck, ready to lick my way down the delicate column and beg for seconds, thirds, fourths. My lips pressed against her skin, and then I gave her a soft bite. Goose bumps erupted.

  “Damn you, Julian Tennyson” was all she said before jerking my head down for a punishing kiss.

  I opened my mouth, took her in, all of her, and shoved her back against the wall, my hands cupping her breasts through her tight dress. I’d never been so thankful for a slitted dress in my life as she wrapped a leg around me and rubbed herself up and down.

  Anyone could walk by.

  Fuck. Them. All.

  Because when Keaton broke off the kiss, she whispered, “I missed you more than I’ll ever admit to myself.”

  I kissed her again and whispered against her lips, “I stalked your Instagram.”

  She smiled against my mouth. “I stalked yours.”

  “Come home with me.” I tugged her bottom lip and changed the angle of my assault as I drank from her. “Please.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right the hell now,” I growled, pulling away and grabbing her hand and then sadly dropping it as I walked ahead of her back into the Great Hall and out the front door with her trailing behind me.

  I wanted her.

  That was all that mattered.

  It didn’t matter that she hesitated to claim me in public.

  I would have her in private.

  All of her.

  And it would be enough.

  Fucking worst word in the English language.

  Enough.

  My heart reminded me it wouldn’t be.

  But I ignored it as I jumped into one of the many town cars and waited for her to slide in next to me.

  And my heart broke a little bit—that when she followed me, she was covering her face.

  Enough.

  It would be enough.

  I, however, wouldn’t be.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  KEATON

  It was a bad idea.

  A few paparazzi saw us leave.

  I knew it could end badly, just like I knew I couldn’t stop following him even if I wanted to.

  It was soon.

  We were both raw shadows of ourselves.

  And yet I kept planting one foot after another. Maybe it was the fact that he made me feel good; he numbed the pain. It wasn’t fair. Then again, I knew firsthand that life rarely was.

  We didn’t touch.

  The media could speculate all they wanted.

  Speculation, however, could ruin anyone.

  And I needed to not fail at this one thing—for Noah, for his memory. I wrung my hands in my lap as the car turned around the corner.

  Next to me, Julian was silent.

  No. This really wouldn’t end well for us, would it?

  We were polar opposites. The media painted me like a saint. And Julian Tennyson? Hell’s number-one sinner.

  I wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was just mind-blowing sex.

  It wasn’t.

  Not with Julian.

  It felt raw, aggressive, violent in the way it crashed over me every time he touched me.

  But no matter how many times I warned myself in my own head, my mouth still said yes, while my body begged for more.

  The bright lights of the city only added to the effect as we went in the opposite direction of where I lived—to Julian’s.

  His building was brand new.

  I focused on the modern colors, the browns and blues, the silver handles of the door as the doorman pulled them open, the light fragrance of vanilla and new construction.

  The elevator and the dozens upon dozens of floors that would light up if we hit every button.

  And still Julian hadn’t touched me.

  He hadn’t said a word.

  We stood side by side, awkwardly riding that car to the very top.

  I exhaled when the doors opened to the penthouse floor.

  Julian got off the elevator.

  I followed him.

  And with each second, my awareness of him skyrocketed to a painful degree, even the way he slid the key into the lock had me licking my lips in anticipation. And it wasn’t just physical.

  It was the fact that we would be alone again.

  Just us.

  Blanketed in darkness.

  And for the first time since coming back from the cabin, I looked forward to the absence of light—because Julian was with me.

  The thought was terrifying.

  I barely knew him and already he was my real live version of Xanax.

  The door opened.

  And I followed him in.

  I did that.

  I made the choice.

  The apartment was blanketed in darkness except for the ambient light from the nighttime city sky filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond them was a gorgeous rooftop patio that opened up to a fire pit, a small plunge pool, and green vegetation, all overlooking the city like its own private oasis.

  I loved it immediately.

  “I love that.” I broke the silence and stared out at the patio. “I would probably spend most of my time there.”

  “Hmm . . .” He stood right next to me and stared straight ahead. “I can’t say I’ve even been outside yet.”

  I scoffed. “Why?”

  “My mom.” His voice cracked. “It was her favorite part about this apartment. I bought it because of her. She said it would be good for me, a stress reliever. I had a special bedroom made just for her. It had its own entrance, almost like a mother-in-law suite attached to the apartment.” He cleared his throat, his sigh was heavy. “She never got to use it.”

  I reached for his hand and squeezed.

  He squeezed it back then slowly turned me toward him, still clutching my right hand in his. “I lied.”

  My stomach dropped. “What do you mean you lied?”

  “At the cabin.” His eyes locked onto mine. “The first day we wrote a chapter of your book, I went outside and I had one bar. I could have called. I didn’t want to call.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Why not?”

  “I liked the calm,” he admitted. “And maybe hearing about you and Noah gave me hope that the world isn’t such a horrible, unfeeling place.”

  “It just feels that way sometimes,” I offered sadly, lifting my free hand to his cheek. His eyes closed, his dark lashes fanning against perfect cheekbones.

  We stayed like that a few minutes.

  It wasn’t uncomfortable.

  Almost like we both knew we needed silence in between stretches of heavy conversation so we could process.

  “We can’t . . .” I didn’t want to have this conversation but it needed to be had. “I like you, Julian, I do, but we can’t . . .”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Story of my life . . . wanting what I can’t have, only after realizing I never had it in the first place.”

  My stomach sank. “That’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair.” He left me then, walked over to the sliding glass door, and opened it, letting in the noises from the city.

  He didn’t look back to see if I was following.

  Slowly he shrugged out of his jacket, followed by his shirt as he pulled it over his muscled chest. Next came his pants, socks, shoes, and then he was getting into the pool.

  I watched in fascination as he swam back and forth, smooth, easy strokes. I couldn�
�t stop watching.

  I was about to turn on my heel and leave him in peace when I remembered the reason for seeing him to begin with, his birthday.

  He was alone on his birthday.

  I couldn’t even process that.

  He was alone, and all he’d wanted was me, was to pretend that it was different, that we could be together.

  The worst part was, he thought that I wasn’t proud to be on his arm, proud to be seen. What he didn’t know was that my reputation was built on shaky social media ground. People had adored Noah.

  They would crucify Julian.

  I felt protective of him.

  Protective of this strange thing between us.

  Being seen with him could jeopardize the only thing I’d promised Noah I would do. But not just that; Julian’s life was already hell. If we started openly dating, it would be unbearable for him.

  And nobody wanted to grieve in the public eye, least of all people who knew how unforgiving the media could be.

  Keyboard warriors, in my opinion, were pieces of shit who needed to get a life and stop trying to direct ours.

  I eyed the expensive stove and fridge in his fancy kitchen that looked like it could house a small family and made a decision.

  I dropped my clutch on the white granite countertop, went to the fridge, opened it, and was successfully matched with a bottle of champagne.

  I grabbed two flutes after rummaging around his wet bar and then joined him outside.

  He was still doing laps.

  The fresh breeze was cold enough to make my teeth chatter; the pool must be heated.

  I walked over to the edge, hiked up my dress past my knees, and sat on the concrete while he kept swimming. He must have seen me because he immediately stopped and swam over. “Weren’t you leaving?”

  “It’s your birthday,” I whispered.

  His smile was sad. “It’s just another day, Keaton.”

  “No,” I argued. “It’s the day you were brought into this world, and even though I didn’t know your mom, I imagine that was the happiest day of her life.”

  Tears filled his eyes.

  They filled mine.

  He looked away like he didn’t want to talk about it, so I made quick work of the champagne bottle, popping off the top and pouring us two glasses. I handed him his and lifted mine. “To living.”

  His chest rose and fell like he couldn’t get enough air in. “To living.”