by Cassia Leo
He chuckles. “You really like telling me to go home, but I’m already home. And I just wanted to come and ask you if it’s okay for me to take my dad over to your house later. Mason invited us over last night. You know Mason came over last night, don’t you?”
“Just stop. This little diplomacy act might work on the rest of my family, but it’s not working on me.”
“Diplomacy?” he replies. “If you call trying to help my best friend get custody of his daughter diplomacy, then you’ve forgotten how close our families are. You can’t hide from me.”
“Hide from you? I’m not hiding from anyone. You’re the one who’s been holed up in that house ignoring me for nine days.”
Ben smiles and I mentally curse myself for being so fucking transparent. “So, you’ve been feeling ignored?” he says, taking a step toward me so he’s in my three-foot radius of personal space.
“That’s not what I meant,” I reply, taking a step back.
His smile fades away as he looks me up and down for a moment. “I wanted to call you…every single day for three years straight… You’re all I thought about, Char.”
A painful lump forms in my throat. “Stop,” I whisper.
He takes another step toward me. “You said you’d never doubt how much I loved you,” he says, his ocean-blue eyes locked on mine as he steps forward again.
I can hardly breathe. “I… I have to go,” I say, turning around to put more distance between us.
The moment I turn around, I inadvertently step off the curb. My purse goes flying as I throw out my hands to break my fall. But before I splatter myself across the sandy asphalt, Ben’s arm is around my waist, pulling me upright.
“Are you okay?” he asks urgently, his mouth touching the back of my ear. “Are you hurt?”
My skin prickles with goose bumps. “I’m fine,” I reply, breathless, but as I draw in a breath, I can smell that familiar scent of alcohol on his breath. “Let me go.”
The sound of tires rolling over the sandy road makes me whip my head to the right, where I see Tyler’s charcoal-gray BMW approaching.
“Let me go!” I demand, and Ben’s arms loosen around me instantly.
He beats me to my purse, though, crouching next to me as I stuff lip balm and a mirror back inside. “I guess I’ll see you at the beach later tonight, when you’re done pretending you’re not still mine.”
“No, you won’t,” I reply, sliding my purse onto my shoulder as Tyler’s car pulls into our driveway.
Ben stands on the curb, smiling as he watches me head toward the passenger door. But much to my chagrin, the driver’s side door opens and Tyler’s blonde head pops up as he gets out of the car to open the door for me, as usual.
“I’m fine. I can open the door myself,” I call out to him.
But when he turns toward me, I can see his eyes are locked on Ben. “Is that…?”
“Ben Hayes,” Ben calls out as he approaches the car. “Are you Charley’s boyfriend?”
I wince at his words, mortified when I look at Tyler and find he’s as surprised by that word as I was when I used it a minute ago. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a guy who happens to be a friend. Okay?”
God. First, I nearly fall flat on my face. Now, I’m caught lying about having a boyfriend. Can this encounter get any more embarrassing?
Ben shrugs. “Your words.”
Tyler looks back and forth between Ben and me. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m missing something here.”
The sound of a door squeaking gets our attention and a guy who looks like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s enormous brother comes out of Ben’s house.
“I’m fine, Ponti,” Ben calls out to him.
“Just getting a little bored in there without your beautiful eyes to stare at. What’s going on out here?” Ponti replies in an unnaturally deep voice.
This must be Ben’s bodyguard. On especially lonely nights, I have found myself browsing Instagram to really cement my pathetic opinion of myself. Ponti looks like one of the few guys who’s always there in the group photos.
“Just saying hi to Charley’s new…friend?” Ben replies, cocking an eyebrow and flashing me a gushing smile when I flip him off.
“Let’s go, Tyler. We don’t want to be late,” I say, turning away from Ben so he can’t goad me on.
Tyler looks confused. “Is my little oyster not gonna introduce me to her famous ex?”
I cringe inside as I let out a heavy sigh. “Tyler, this is Ben Hayes. Ben, this is Tyler Bradford. Can we go now?”
But Tyler obviously has other plans as he makes his way around the back of the BMW toward Ben. “Hey, man. That new album is the shit.”
“You mean, the one I released two years ago?” Ben replies, and without looking at him I can hear the disdain in his voice.
Tyler nods, but something about the way he’s puffing his chest out as he walks toward Ben is making me nervous. Apparently, I’m not the only one, because Ponti immediately steps forward so he’s standing right next to Ben.
He holds up his hand, a signal for Ponti to hang back as he steps forward until six-foot-four, drunk Ben Hayes is nose-to-forehead with six-foot-two mayor’s son Tyler Bradford. A matchup that will likely be on the front page of TMZ if I don’t do something now.
“Are you harassing my girl?” Tyler asks, and I immediately rush toward them.
“You mean my girl?” Ben replies. “I’m pretty sure she just called you a friend.”
“What are you guys doing? You’re grown men. Stop it!” I shout, jostling my way between them, and I can’t help but notice that Tyler smells like the oysters he sells at their family fish market. He promised me he would change his clothes before he picked me up. I turn to Ben and he smiles as I poke my finger into his rock-hard chest. “I am not your girl.” Ignoring the feeling his sexy grin still stirs up inside me, I round on Tyler. “Or yours! We haven’t even had sex! You and your fish-funk can go to that barbecue alone.”
I march off down the concrete path toward our front door and Ben follows right behind me. When I look over my shoulder, I’m pleased to see Ponti shoot Tyler a look before he attempts to follow me, as well.
“Happy fucking Fourth of July!” Tyler shouts at me. “I didn’t want your damaged goods anyway!”
Ben darts toward the BMW as a panicked Tyler attempts to make it to the driver’s side door before him. Luckily, Ponti gets between them and holds Ben off as he instructs Tyler to get out of there as fast as he can. I shake my head as I watch Ben spitting insults at Tyler’s car as he drives away.
“And fuck you too!” he appears to shout at the sand dunes across the street.
Just when I’m beginning to think Ben may be off his rocker, the same paparazzo we saw at the beach — the fat guy with the ponytail and grease-stained T-shirt — emerges from behind the waist-high seagrass at the top of the dune with his middle finger raised in the air. Ponti maintains a firm grip on Ben to keep him from going after the photographer as he disappears behind the dune again, seemingly making his way back to the weasel-hole he came out of.
When the pictures of Ben and me at the beach hit the internet last week, I made Michelle block the offending websites in my browser using the parental filter. The need to know what people were saying about me was so strong, I actually considered wiping my hard drive and reinstalling the operating system to bypass the filter. But I didn’t.
Today’s confrontation would be even more sensational. I’d be surprised if it didn’t start trending on Twitter tonight.
I shake my head as a red-faced Ben walks toward me. “I hate you. Leave. Me. Alone.”
9
Habits
Now
When Charley slams the door in my face, I stand there for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. My first instinct is to knock or ring the doorbell and demand she talk to me. But after three years of heavy silence between us, I don’t deserve to demand anything from her.
Besides, I’ve picked up
a lot of bad habits over the past three years, but groveling is not one of them.
I head back to the house with Ponti. I ignore the shocked looks on Tyrell and Holder’s faces as I pass them on the porch on the way into the house. When I’m inside, I head straight for the kitchen and grab the bottle of vodka out of the freezer. I open the cupboard to get a glass, but I remember all the cups are in the dishwasher, where my dad’s new caregiver, Shannon, put them yesterday.
I pull the cork out of the bottle of Grey Goose and down at least four shots, then I slam the bottle on the counter and close my eyes as I concentrate on not vomiting. When I finally open them a couple minutes later, Tyrell is standing next to me looking more disappointed than my dad looked the first time he saw me do the same thing last week.
The numbness is already beginning to spread from my face down to my neck and arms. I let go of the bottle because I can hardly feel it in my hand. No one except Jordan – and now my dad, too – knows why I broke up with Charley. No one except my sleazy agent knows why I do half the shit I do. And he will never let me forget.
“If you’re thinking of expressing your disappointment, I wouldn’t do that,” I slur, corking the bottle and slipping it back onto the shelf in the freezer. “What you think of me can’t possibly be any worse than what I think of me.”
Tyrell shakes his head as he watches me collapse into a chair at the dining table in the breakfast nook. “Wasn’t gonna express my disappointment. I was gonna tell you that I got a call while you were outside. It was Katie.”
I blink a few times, then cock an eyebrow. “Katie Lindberg? She called you?”
He nods as he and Holder take a seat at the table, while Ponti begins fixing himself his third protein shake of the day.
“She sounded pretty eager to discuss the studio shots. Probably desperate for work,” Tyrell says with obvious pity. “She asked me to FaceTime her Saturday at three, so I told her that was fine.”
“Did she seem suspicious? Like, did she believe this is just about hiring her for a shoot?” I ask eagerly.
“She seemed fine.” Tyrell leans back in the chair and narrows his eyes at me. “So, what kind of information am I supposed to get out of her?”
I lean back in the chair and shake my head. “Nothing. You’re not going to talk to her.”
Holder laughs and shakes his head. “He just sent your ass on a wild goose chase, and you fell for that shit. See? That’s why I don’t do errands. I write lyrics. Don’t ask me to get your fuckin’ dry cleaning.”
Tyrell rolls his eyes. “Why the fuck did I just go through all that trouble to get her private number? Do you know how fucking difficult that shit was, with the drama-storm that’s following her around right now?”
I smile and close my eyes as the room begins to spin and I finally feel comfortably numb. “Because I’m going to talk to her… And Katie and I are gonna have a conversation we should have had ten years ago.”
Since I came home, my dad is the only person other than Jordan who knows why I broke up with Charley. But there are plenty of other people who know how toxic this industry can be. And they’ll believe me when they know the truth. At least, I hope they will, or all of this will have been for nothing.
10
These Days
Now
As I slam the front door behind me, I can’t help but think I should have worn my lucky scarf today. Then, maybe I wouldn’t have run into my cocky ex-boyfriend and made a complete fool of myself. Maybe I should have just gotten a lobotomy instead, then I wouldn’t care if I made a complete fool of myself in front of Ben.
What exactly is it that makes an object lucky?
I haven’t worn my lucky scarf since the day Ben dumped me. Before that day, I was convinced the scarf had magical powers. It was there for our first kiss, the first time he fingered me, and the first time he told me he loved me. It wasn’t there when I lost my virginity to him, but that was because our first time didn’t go quite as planned. Nevertheless, I still believed in the power of the scarf. These days, I suspect it would make a better noose than lucky charm.
“Hey, possum. Do you think Nelly is the father of St. Louis rap?” my dad calls out to me as I round the banister and start my way up the stairs. “Honey, are you okay?”
I continue toward the second floor, passing Mason and Gracie’s empty bedrooms on my way. My stomach lurches as I recall my mother’s words. “Mason said he made up with Ben a couple days ago. Ben is helping him with the court case…”
Why did I give Mason that stupid business card? I sigh as I hang my purse on the white wrought iron coat tree just inside my bedroom door. Closing the door behind me, I lie down on the white and gray striped comforter and close my eyes. I gave Mason the card because I love my brother and I want him to be happy. And I know nothing would make him happier than getting custody of Gracie.
A lump forms in my throat as a knock comes at the door. “I don’t want to talk!”
The door opens and my mom enters slowly, her tanned skin always looking more pronounced against the bright-white minimalist color scheme in my bedroom. “Sweetheart, I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Did something happen with Tyler? Do I need to call Christine and ask her to speak to him?”
I can’t help but laugh at this. “Really, Mom? You don’t think you’re already a little too involved in my love life. It wasn’t enough for you to play matchmaker with me and Tyler. Now you want to play mediator while cozying up to my devil of an ex?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Charlotte Renee Winters, I don’t care how old or mature you think you are, you are not allowed to speak to me like that. I have been very patient with you for the past three years as you’ve tried to get your business off the ground.”
I spring off the bed to face her. “Get my business off the ground? My business was doing fine until this last year. Do you think I want to live with my parents? I wouldn’t have to live here if I could afford to get my own place. And I could afford to get a place in this overpriced shit-hole of a town if I had a degree.” I look her dead in the eye, my face burning hot with anger. “It’s Ben’s fault I don’t have a degree, yet you have no problem forgiving him. How could you?”
Her shoulders slump as she lets out a heavy sigh. “Charley, how many times have you spoken to Ben since you broke up?”
“You mean, since he dumped me in front of millions of people?”
She closes her eyes, probably to keep from rolling them. “Yes, how many times have you spoken?”
“You know the answer. Zero times, unless you count the night he showed up last week, the time he followed me to the beach, and five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes ago?” she replies, cocking her thin eyebrow again.
I shake my head as I sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, he and Tyler had words in front of the house.”
My mom’s hazel eyes widen. “What happened? Did they fight? Is that why you’re upset?”
“Settle down, Mom. Nothing happened, thanks to Ben’s bodyguard.”
She looks confused now. “Then, why are you so upset?”
“Because,” I shoot back, stopping to take a breath as I realize I’m becoming impatient again. “Because Tyler got upset and left. He called me… He called me damaged goods. Now it’s over with Tyler and it’s Ben’s fault…as usual.”
My mom’s brow crinkles with worry and she takes a seat next to me. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear that. But weren’t you the one who told me you didn’t think you and Tyler would ever be more than friends?”
I let out a hoarse laugh. “You’re as bad as Ben. You never forget anything I say.”
She wraps a slender arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be. I’ll let you have some time to yourself. Text Michelle or Allie or something to take your mind off this stuff. I’ll head on over to Frank’s and tell him that we’ll have to do the usual Fourth of July cookout alone this year.”
My shoulders slump. “No, Mom, you can’t do that. It’s not Frank’s fault his son is a dolt. I’ll just stay in my room. I have some photos to retouch, anyways. Just…bring me up a plate later?”
“You shouldn’t have to stay cooped up in here on Independence Day. That’s not what this day is about.”
I laugh again. “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t revolt. I swear I’ll be fine. You guys go ahead and have your barbecue. I’ll text Michelle and maybe I’ll even head over there before she heads to her aunt’s house. No big deal.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, the corners of her mouth turning down in sympathy.
I nod fervently. “I’m positive. In fact, do you need me to help with any of the cooking?”
She smiles. “I’d love some help with the pasta salad. You’re so much better at making the dressing than I am.”
“Of course,” I reply, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
She kisses my cheek and stands from the bed. “You’re entitled to a bit of drama considering the extenuating circumstances. And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about Mason and Ben reconciling yesterday. We just…didn’t know how you would react.”
“I don’t want to talk about Ben.”
She flashes me a tight smile. “I know. All I’ll say is that… Well, things aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes, people hurt us when they try to help us…in their own way.”
I swallow an angry retort. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be down in a sec. Just gotta text Michelle.”
As soon as my mom closes the bedroom door behind her, I pull my phone out of my pocket and fire off a text.
Me:
I need to get out of here. Ben’s coming over in like five hours.
Michelle doesn’t respond right away, so of course I immediately start to panic.
Me: