by Sarah Curtis
“I think it’s safe to put me down.”
“Not on your life.” He brushed his lips against her temple, and he felt her slight jerk. He changed his mind. Setting her down, he cradled her face and directed it up to the overhead light to get a better look at the spot. Her eye was red at the corner and slightly puffy. “What the fuck happened?”
Her face twisted into a grimace, and he realized he’d shouted. Rubbing his thumb over the apple of her cheek, careful to stay clear of the reddened spot, he said in a softer tone, “What happened to your eye?”
She did a little shrug, lifting only one shoulder. “I think it was someone’s elbow.”
“Are you feeling dizzy?”
She gave him a small smile, shaking her head. “No. It’s just a little sore to the touch.”
“Maybe we should stop by the hospital just to be sure. I don’t like you were hit in the head.”
Her eyes grew large, and she shook her head vigorously before sputtering, “No way.”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you dislike hospitals or more specifically doctors?”
She cupped his hands still holding her face. “No, nothing like that. I’m fine, really, and would feel silly going for something so minor. I just want to go home.”
He stared at her for a few beats, assessing her eyes. Not that he knew what the fuck he was looking for. He might have played a doctor in a movie once, but that was the extent of his medical knowledge. He gave her a kiss on the forehead before relenting. “Okay, I’ll take you home, but only if you promise to tell me if you start to feel dizzy at any point.”
Changing her grip to his forearms, she got up on her toes and kissed his lips. “I promise. And even sealed it with a kiss.”
“Actually,” he smirked, “you kissed me and then promised. You need to kiss me again to seal it.”
She chuckled, getting up on her toes to kiss him again. “There. It’s properly sealed.”
Nate heard a car pull up and turned his head to see the valet getting out of his car and jogging around the hood. He reached his hand into his front pocket and pulled out a twenty. “Thanks, man,” he said, slapping it in the guy’s hand and giving it a shake.
He reached for the passenger door, holding it open and helping Victoria in. “Buckle up.” He slammed the door then went around to his side.
He drove straight to her place, frequently glancing at Victoria along the way. He knew he was acting irrational—worrying so much—but he’d heard some seriously fucked-up stories of untended head wounds, and he couldn’t seem to shake them from his thoughts. He wished she would let him take her to get checked out. Only then would this current obsession be put to rest.
He glanced over at her again. She gazed out the passenger window. She seemed okay, but he’d keep a watchful eye on her, and the minute he didn’t like something he saw, protest or no, he was taking her to the hospital.
Once home, he got Victoria situated on the couch then went straight to the kitchen, grabbing ice from the freezer and wrapping it in a kitchen towel. He also snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and a couple painkillers from the cabinet.
She’d kicked off her shoes and was curled into the corner of the couch, TV remote in hand, flipping through stations when he returned to the living room.
“Here, take this.” He placed the pills in her cupped palm once she held out her hand then handed her the water to wash them down.
“Thanks,” she said after she swallowed and set the bottle on the table beside the couch.
Nate took a seat next to her and positioned her legs across his lap. “I hate that you got hurt,” he said, leaning toward her to place the makeshift ice pack at the corner of her eye.
She closed her eyes and sighed. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“No, but it does make it not your fault.”
Nate’s lips tipped up, and he shook his head in exasperation. Even hurt and half asleep she was a smartass.
He hated leaving her tomorrow. More so now she was injured. Though only a two-and-a-half-hour flight, Vancouver suddenly seemed very far away. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about before I left.”
“Hmm?” Her reply was weak and slurred, and he knew she was mostly asleep.
He lifted the towel to check the swelling and satisfied with how it looked, tossed it on the coffee table before settling back into the couch. He took a breath to speak but let it out with a puff when Victoria issued a nearly silent snore. Grinning, he took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. What he had to say could wait until he got back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Victoria stared at her cell phone, debating the call she was about to make. She hadn’t heard from Nate for more than twenty-four hours and was worried.
The last thing she remembered before she must have fallen asleep Wednesday night was Nate telling her he had something to talk to her about. The next thing she remembered was waking Thursday morning alone in her bed, stripped of her dress. She’d been so out of it, not only had she not heard his departure, but she’d slept through him carrying her upstairs and removing her clothing.
He had left her a text, which she’d noticed he’d sent a little after six Thursday morning, informing her he’d had her car delivered and parked in her usual spot, so she’d have it for the weekend. He’d ended the text saying he’d call her when he reached Vancouver.
He never had.
She’d even made a point to keep her phone close by but had only received two phone calls since Nate’s last text, which she’d each let go to voicemail. One had been from Byron—she hadn’t been in the mood to deal with his nagging—and the other had been an unknown number that had left a voice message so full of static, it was unintelligible. She’d tried phoning Nate several times, but all her calls went to his voicemail, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he were using her same avoiding tactic.
Now it was nearing noon on Friday and still no word. She did realize he was undoubtedly very busy, but it also didn’t take a lot of time to shoot her a quick text to let her know he was alive and thinking of her. And him not doing so put her in the predicament she was now in—contemplating a phone call to his manager, April.
She looked back down at her phone, her thumb hovering over the keypad. She hesitated for a couple different reasons. First, she wasn’t a huge fan of April, and she knew the feeling was mutual. Like Byron, April took her job very seriously—after all Nate was her cash cow—and April thought Victoria got in the way, monopolizing too much of Nate’s time that could be spent on other money-making endeavors. Victoria thought that April was just an all-around bitch.
Second, she didn’t want to come off as the needy girlfriend, whining because her boyfriend hadn’t called. But it was so unlike Nate not to keep in touch, she was genuinely starting to worry.
Her worry for Nate was the deciding factor that got her digit moving, pressing the buttons that would connect her with April.
It only rang once before she picked up. “Yes?”
“April? It’s Victoria.”
“Yes, dear, I have caller ID.”
How someone could make the word “dear” sound so condescending was beyond her. Clearing her throat, she spoke into the silence. “I, um, was calling to see if you’ve heard from Nate.” Victoria grimaced, hating that the woman intimidated her, thus made her voice wobble.
“Of course. I’ve spoken to him several times. Has he not contacted you?”
Victoria would love to reply sarcastically, obviously not or I wouldn’t be calling you now, but April was her link to Nate, so instead said, “Um, no. I haven’t heard from him since he left.”
“I talked to him about an hour ago. He was getting ready to start filming.” Trying to sound reassuring but failing miserably, she added, “He has been very busy. Even attended a big party last night and didn’t get in until the wee hours. You can read all about it if you’d like.
It’s all over the internet. Here, let me send you a link.”
There was silence for a few beats before Victoria heard a ping on her phone. A text from April, no doubt.
“There. Sent. Anything else I can help you with, dear?”
Victoria ground her teeth, hating to ask but did it anyway. “The next time you hear from Nate, can you tell him I called?”
“Of course. Anything else?” Or in other words, quit bothering me and hang up the phone.
“No, that will be all. Thank you.”
“Anytime, dear.”
The line went silent, and she knew April had hung up.
She pulled up April’s text and clicked on the link, a feeling of foreboding entering her stomach from the headline that appeared.
Are America’s Sweethearts on the Outs?
She avoided the gossip sites for a reason. Eighty percent of the time they got the facts wrong. Sure, they got lucky sometimes, which accounted for the remaining twenty percent, but Victoria had been raised to read tabloid stories with not just a grain but a handful of salt.
She skimmed past the article, not buying into the garbage it spewed, but halted, her heart skipping a beat, when she reached the first photo. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but in this case, it was a full-length horror story. Nate stood next to a pretty, petite blonde, so close their shoulders touched. His head was tipped down, hers tilted up, and it looked as though they were in deep conversation.
She tried not to jump to conclusions—she really did—though it was hard. Nausea curled up her throat, but she swallowed it down, and instead of jumping the gun to full-freakout, she carefully examined the photo. Other than the fact they were standing too close for her liking, the picture was quite innocent. Both of Nate’s hands were accounted for. The one closest to the blonde held a beverage, the other was tucked in his front pocket.
Okay, a plus for Nate.
She closely examined the peripheral of the photo and didn’t notice any partial bodies. So, were they off alone together?
Strike one for Nate.
Stomach in knots, she scrolled to the next picture—another candid shot. The two of them are standing in a group. Nate’s head is bowed as if trying to hear what she’s saying and hers is tipped up. Zooming in on Nate’s face, he appeared bored.
Second plus for Nate.
But the woman’s hand was resting on Nate’s forearm, and no matter how innocent—or not—the gesture may be, Victoria didn’t like it there.
Strike two for Nate.
But it was the third picture that sealed his fate. A picture taken from behind, Nate’s hand clamped around the woman’s upper arm as they walked out the exit door. And Victoria knew it was the exit as the photographer was sure to include the glowing sign with its telling red letters.
Strike three for Nate, and Victoria was out, clicking her thumb down on the phone’s off button until the screen went black.
She stood from the bed and started to pace, refusing to let the tears come. She knew if she started crying, she wouldn’t stop. She was so angry and heartsick at the same time, she wasn’t sure which emotion would win out.
She brought one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth as nausea threatened again. She took a couple of deep breaths—in through her nose and out through her mouth—until it passed.
Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes, willing the ache in her heart to go away. When had it happened? When had her feelings for Nate changed? Victoria resumed pacing, unsure when the moment had been but knowing it had happened, nonetheless.
Foolishly, she’d fallen in love with Nathan Reed.
You would think she’d have learned her lesson. Hadn’t she been down that road before? Hadn’t she blindly trusted someone before only to be blindsided by life’s harsh reality? Only this time it would take more than a gallon of Rocky Road and a few weeks contemplation to mend her heart. It would take a miracle.
Stopping in the middle of the room, she swung around, eyeing her closet. She needed to leave. The last thing she wanted to do was sit around an empty house feeling sorry for herself.
Unearthing her suitcase, she tossed it on the bed and filled it with her most comfortable clothes. She had a feeling she might be eating her weight in ice cream and didn’t want to be hindered by something as trivial as a tight waistband.
She paused in the process of collecting her toiletries from the bathroom. Was she overreacting to the situation? Or were the absent phone calls and the photos with another woman Nate’s subtle hint they were through? He had to have seen the photos by now. Had to know what her reaction to them would be without a reassuring phone call. From everything she knew about Nate, she hadn’t thought him the type to end things without a proper conversation. But how well do you really know a person in only six months’ time? Obviously well enough to fall in love with them.
She thought back on their time together, trying to rationalize her fears. Not once had any promises been made. In fact, it had always been Victoria’s belief they’d be through when filming ended. Maybe he assumed she should just know? Sound logic warred with her high emotions as she finished packing until she was left confused and drained.
Whatever the case, she had a gut feeling they were done. And that left her wanting to be in only one place.
Vegas.
≈≈≈
Stepping off the plane, Nate had never been so happy to be home. It had been a trip to hell and back, and the only things he wanted were Victoria, his bed, and to sleep for ten hours straight. In that order.
He was severely sleep deprived. After he’d stayed up all night, keeping watch over Victoria after her head injury, he’d left before dawn. He’d needed enough time to stop by his house to pack his bags before getting to the airport in time for his flight.
Arriving at his departure gate with just minutes to spare, he’d discovered they’d overbooked his flight, so even though he was in first class, he’d still had to check his carry-on. Too tired to cause a stink, he’d complied. Big mistake. The airline had lost it along with his phone he’d forgotten to take from its zippered pocket. Thank God, he’d had his passport on him.
He’d caught a short nap on the plane, but with dealing with his lost carry-on after landing, he’d been late getting to the hotel and had no time to rest before he’d been whisked off for rehearsals. Then it had been straight to a party he hadn’t wanted to attend and that had lasted way too long. After which, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep before he’d needed to shoot the commercial, not finishing until a few hours before his flight home.
Did he say he was sleep deprived? More accurately, he was running on fumes. But as tired as he was, he still managed to stop by April’s office to pick up his new phone before heading to Victoria’s.
In the state he was in, to say he was mildly annoyed that Victoria’s car wasn’t in her spot when he arrived at her townhouse would be an understatement. All he wanted was Victoria in his arms on a bed. Pulling out his new phone, he barely managed to hold on to his frayed temper when his call went to her voicemail. He parked in the visitors’ lot and used his key to let himself in to wait for her.
Turned out, he ended up waiting a long fucking time—twenty-four hours too long—so by the time he heard her key in the door, he was fucking pissed.
Sitting in the darkened living room, he waited until she entered before reaching over and clicking on the lamp. She looked beautiful, as always, even if a bit tired. The paleness of her cheeks emphasized the dark smudges under her eyes that grew wide the second she spied him lounging back in the chair.
The suitcase at her feet caught his eye, igniting the simmering anger in his chest until it exploded out of his mouth. “Where the fuck have you been, and why the hell haven’t you been answering my texts?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nate’s casual appearance wouldn’t fool anyone and especially not her. She could feel his anger pulsing across the distance between them. See it in the fiery depths
of his eyes, turning them nearly black. Hear it in the forceful tone of his voice, a few octaves deeper and louder than normal.
Seeing him like that pushed all her buttons. Her depression of the last couple of days morphed into her own blazing anger. How dare he! Her whole body tensed, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her breathing became sporadic as she spat, “I could ask you the same thing.”
He had the nerve to raise a brow, his tone condescending when he replied, “You know where I’ve been.”
“And my unanswered texts?”
“You know that, too.” He stood from the chair all power and grace. His long strides ate the distance between them in seconds. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.” His last word was punctuated with his full stop before her, his hands reaching out to clasp her upper arms, pulling her into his chest.
She wouldn’t let him get the upper hand. Whatever his issue, he was to blame first. Her hands connected with his hips, pushing, but of course, he didn’t budge. “The only thing I know is the last text I got from you was at six o’clock Thursday morning.”
“I left you a message.”
“Well, I didn’t get a message.”
“Where have you been?” his tone had gentled—slightly—but his eyes were still blazing, and his jaw was locked tight.
No. She would get her information first before she eased his mind. “Are we over?”
She surprised him, she could tell by the way his hands loosened on her arms and the furrow that formed between his brows. The pressure she still applied to his hips was actually effective and moved him back a step. “What?”
“I asked if we’re over. Done. Through. Kaput.”
His grip on her tightened again, but he didn’t pull her forward. It felt more like a reflex. “Why the fuck would you even ask that?”
She yanked from his hold, storming her way into the kitchen, and yanking open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Slamming the refrigerator door shut, she turned to find him looming in the kitchen doorway.