Total Trainwreck

by Evie Claire

  “What?” I sit up and take notice of this.

  “Yeah, claimed he knocked her up. She threatened to sue. He paid a hefty sum to shut her up. She’s an old hand at fucking people over. Damn good at it, too.”

  “Spence...” I drag out his name because I don’t know what else to say. No doubt Heather’s got serious snakes in her head. But shaking down Vincent Hugo is like pissing on the Mona Lisa. You just don’t fuck with icons like that.

  “I’ll be right there,” he says to someone who isn’t me. “Hey, Carly, I gotta go. I’ll see you next week?” he asks. Wait? Next week? What’s he talking about?

  “Okay...?” I say it like a question but Spence doesn’t wait around to answer. The phone goes silent.

  “What the hell is next week?” I wonder aloud. Pulling up my calendar, I find about a million events Jane has created—a flight back to L.A. and the schedule for filming soundstage scenes among them. My heart drops like a rock. Back to reality. Back to HeaVon. And one step closer to my own personal hell. I close my eyes and roll my head back and forth over the chair cushion, exhausted by all the bullshit. No, not exhausted. My anger flares. I’m sick and tired of it.

  “Fuck her!” I hiss through clenched teeth, flicking my cigarette butt into the yard. Fuck rolling around in all this self-pity. I’m not a wallower—I’m a fighter. And I don’t go down in the first round. There’s got to be something she wants. Some way out of this. It’s obviously not money, but there’s something. There always is.

  Headlights turn into the driveway. I should wait for him. Take him in my arms and tell him it’s going to be okay. Honestly, I’m a little too pissed to do that. He turned his back on me first.

  I retreat to the kitchen, grab two glasses, a bottle of red and an opener. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged. I haven’t needed it. Revealing my secrets to Devon quieted my demons. Tonight, I’ve got brand-new ones whispering in my ear. We’re both going to need it.

  The doorknob jiggles. Then silences. I look over my shoulder, wondering why he doesn’t come in. I turn as the door opens. Everything in me freezes and slackens. The wine bottle slips from my hand and clatters to the counter. My lids flutter like hummingbird wings, unable to process the body in the doorway.

  “Carly.” She says my name like she’s surprised to see me. What the fuck ever. She’s a horrible actress. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  I have about two seconds to find my own inner bitch. Luckily, Heather brings out the worst in people. “Didn’t you though...really?” I squint my eyes and tuck my chin in a skeptical way.

  She laughs and steps inside, removing a full-length mink and letting it slide to the floor. No one’s here to catch it because she’s alone. Which shocks the hell out of me. Heather Troy is never alone.

  “But this is Devon’s house, according to the GPS tracker on his phone. I thought I’d surprise him. Did he tell you it’s our anniversary?” She smiles again, looking around the house, taking in its meagerness like she already owns it. She keeps babbling. All I hear is GPS tracker.

  “You don’t have an anniversary.” I shake my head and cross my arms. She is not going to con me into feeling like the homewrecker here. I’ve done nothing wrong. Devon is not hers. He’s mine.

  “No, not the traditional kind.” She saunters into the kitchen and picks up the bottle of wine, perusing its label with a practiced eye. “This looks good.”

  “Would you like a glass?” I only ask so she knows it’s my wine to offer. She’s the interloper here. And damn if she doesn’t stoke my rage in a way that dizzies me with excitement. The room is electric. A mutual hatred bubbles behind every word. My inner bitch laughs hysterically, scraping her way from the depths I’ve banished her to. I am so going to enjoy this.

  “That’d be lovely.” She returns the smile of a worthy opponent. Game on.

  “Sit.” I motion to the couch. We aren’t idiots. We both know exactly what’s going on here.

  She stares down her nose at the couch like it isn’t fit to feel her fabulous ass and opts for a nearby chair instead. Either that or she knows how many times we’ve fucked on it. I smile at the thought and sit on the couch. Plunging the opener into the wine cork, I fantasize about it being her cold, black heart instead. “Don’t you seem right at home,” she says, tossing her glossy mane.

  “Let’s cut through the pleasantries.” I slam a wineglass down in front of her. “You’re either here to tell me to stop fucking a man who—contrary to popular belief—gives zero fucks about you. Or you’re here to demand a fortune you damn sure don’t deserve. Am I close?” I take a glass and sit back, but don’t raise it to my lips. I need my wits about me for this battle.

  “Please. I don’t give a damn what infested hole Devon sticks his dick into. And I deserve every penny of that settlement.”

  “Four hundred million, three houses and a jet for being a conniving, backstabbing bitch? That’s a bit excessive, even for you.”

  “It’s a fair price for what he’s asking of me.”

  “Fair? Is that what Vincent Hugo would call your negotiations, too?” I stick this knife in and twist as hard as I can. “I had no idea imaginary bastards were worth so much.” Her head ticks at the mention of her past, but she says nothing. Point, Carly.

  “You’re smart, Carly. I always pegged you for a dumb blonde.” She tips her glass to me. I answer with an ice-cold death glare. One she has zero problems giving right back.

  “So you came for the weather?”

  She huffs a small laugh and reaches for her bag. “No, darling. I came to show you exactly what you’re getting into.”

  “Really? All this way for me? You shouldn’t have.”

  She shrugs and begins scrolling through her phone. “You don’t know Devon like I do. Not really. You don’t have the first clue what he’s capable of. Yet, you are risking everything to be with him. It’s only fair you know his whole truth before you’re in over your head.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Heather. There isn’t a nice bone in your body.”

  She makes a small sound that neither confirms nor denies my accusation. “You know about our arrangement?”

  “You mean your blackmailing,” I correct. She shrugs like it’s a minor detail.

  “And he’s told you about Dylan?”

  “Yes,” I answer, suddenly unsure of where this is going.

  “And do you also know the secret we keep?” A lacquered nail clicks against the phone screen. Below that a row of bracelets jangle on her bony wrist like cowbells. I hate the thought of them sharing something we don’t. It’s a black arrow straight to the heart, but I don’t let her see. Instead, I shake my head and look away.

  When she finds what she’s looking for in the dark recesses of her phone, she shoves it in my face and into my hands, falls to the couch beside me and takes her wine. She fluffs her hair and spreads her arms wide, claiming the couch with her sprawl.

  I up-down her, roll my eyes and turn back to the screen. It’s a video of a video. A grainy, shaky image filmed on her phone from a TV that’s actually playing the tape. The TV is mounted on a black glass wall that looks vaguely familiar.

  The action starts. A blonde girl sits alone on a couch in what looks like a club’s plush VIP room. Poor girl is the swaying-back-and-forth, staggering kind of wasted. The film fast-forwards and a guy comes into view. It’s Devon. He’s not recognizable, but anyone who’s as familiar with his body as I am would know his movements in an instant. He sits down beside the girl and puts a hand to her forehead. She rolls limply away from him, obviously trying to get away. He pulls her to him, standing her up. She falls into him, then strength takes over her weak frame and she begins whaling on him. There’s no sound, but I can tell from her face she’s yelling. Devon fends her off, crosses her arms over her body and spins her in his arms so he is bear-huggin
g her, stopping her attack. She goes limp. He releases her and she falls to the couch, head in her hands crying. Devon disappears.

  I look at Heather and shrug. That’s nothing.

  “Oh, keep watching. It gets better.” She waves her hand at the phone. I turn back to the screen.

  The video fast-forwards and Devon reappears. The girl still sits on the couch, elbows on her knees, head hung in her hands. Devon sits beside her. She reaches greedily for whatever he’s holding. There’s an exchange of words and she pushes him away. Devon takes her arm, lays her palm flat against the seat to expose her inner elbow. He takes off his belt and ties it tightly around her upper arm. My mouth falls open. I stare disbelievingly. My eyes water. He slaps the soft white flesh of her inner elbow to plump the vein. The girl doesn’t move, watching what he does from behind a curtain of tousled hair. Her chest rises and falls with labored breath. With one hand Devon pinches either side of the vein to hold it steady, then plunges a needle deep into it. I gasp, as if I can feel that needle in my own vein.

  Devon releases the belt from her arm. Folds her hand up to her chest and helps her lie back over the couch, making sure she’s on her side. He bends over her. She raises a weak hand to his cheek. He kisses the palm of her hand then bends to kiss her forehead. She goes limp and he leaves. The scene fast-forwards again. The girl is still out cold, but this time she isn’t alone. The VIP room bustles with bodies as a team of paramedics lifts her limp frame and place her on a gurney. It looks like a scene I’ve seen before. Until the black plastic rises at her sides and zips over her face.

  “Dylan,” I whisper, tears flooding my eyes. Chills race over me and I pant open-mouthed at the image left frozen on-screen.

  “I bet you wish it was gay porn.” Heather smacks her lips like she’s awfully sorry about the whole situation and takes the phone from my frozen hand.

  “That shows nothing but a girl OD’ing. Happens all the time. I should know.” I stand and cross my arms, gathering my strength, staring down at her, hoping to call her bluff.

  “True. But Devon physically put the drugs that killed her into her system. That’s enough for involuntary manslaughter in California. I’ve checked.”

  My stomach rolls over on itself, but I’m not about to show it. Instead, I shake my head and laugh through gritted teeth at her ridiculousness.

  “See, Carly, fucked-up as it may seem, I like my life. I love nothing more than being the center of attention. This life—” she pauses “—I’ve got everything I want and then some. Only an idiot would walk away.”

  Right. Needing to catch the thoughts that are racing through my head, I turn, unable to face her anymore. This is bad. Really bad. I thought Devon was being overly dramatic about the whole thing. Didn’t want to write the size check it would take to make her leave. But this? Killing your ex-girlfriend, even if it was accidental? This is a new level of fucked I am not prepared for.

  But I’m not about to leave Devon drowning in this cesspool alone. I gather my wits, clench my teeth and turn back to Heather, ready to unleash all I’ve got.

  “Only an idiot would stay,” I hiss. “And you’ve got to be the biggest fucking fool there is. I don’t know what you think you’ve got there, but I see nothing more than a horribly tragic accident. Dylan died. That sucks.” I spit on her accidentally, but keep on going. “But you’re the only loser here and you’re too damn blind to see it.”

  “Really? I’m the loser?” She stands.

  “You aren’t woman enough to keep a man like Devon without your pitiful tricks and ridiculous lies.”

  “And you are?”

  “You’re a fucking bitch, Heather.”

  “Yes, I am,” she says, smiling with great delight. Thinking she’s winning.

  “Guess what?” I ask with a snarky smile. “So am I. Your tricks, your lies, your nastiness. They don’t scare me. You don’t scare me. Devon hates you. He loves me. And I love him. And when I want something, I fight for it with everything I’ve got.” I punch my arms down by my sides and step into her space. “Go ahead. Give it your best shot, bitch. I’m not going anywhere.” I smile over gritted teeth, my jaws flexing and releasing to further emphasize my dare.

  She laughs a few breathy-snotty laughs and turns on her heel. She retreats to the door and stoops to retrieve her coat. She looks back to me.

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  “Duly noted,” I answer, tipping my untouched wineglass.

  Before she can turn around, the door swings wide. Devon stands in the doorway, eyes wide, looking like he’s seen a damn ghost when he spots Heather. His eyes fly to me, searching, making sure I’m okay. Oh I’m just fine, shooting dagger eyes at Heather’s head and wishing they were the real thing.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he growls at Heather.

  “Just leaving, actually. Sorry I can’t stay, sweetie.” She leans over and places a kiss on Devon’s cheek. “See you at home next week?” she says lightly like we haven’t just gone ten rounds over the fate of the man I love.

  “Get the fuck out of here.” He holds the door open and slams it the second she steps over the threshold.

  My resolve crumbles the moment she’s gone. Tears flood my eyes. The wineglass falls from my trembling hand. Red wine splashes everywhere. I sink to my knees, head in my hands. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Jane’s here,” I say softly, setting an overnight bag by my feet and shrugging into my parka. I don’t want to leave him, not like this, but I’ll never be able to think things through if I stay.

  Devon nods, staring at my bag instead of me. He leans over the kitchen island, elbows resting on either side of his dinner plate, picking through the meal with a fork. The plate is full. His scotch glass is empty.

  “Devon...” I don’t know what else to say. He doesn’t want me to leave. I don’t want me to leave. But I have to. I fidget with my coat toggles, trying to think of something to say that will make this okay. But there are no words. Apparently not for him either. Silently, he pushes off the counter, walks over to me and picks up my bag. Still his eyes refuse to meet mine.

  I never thought I’d be able to tell Devon Hayes no. I never thought I’d want to. But we’ve argued this point about six feet into the ground tonight. It’s crazy late. But I stood my ground until he relented. Jane is beyond confused by my late-night request for car service, but thankfully she never argues back. Without further protest Devon carries my bag to the door. He unlocks the heavy steal bolt and cracks the door. A rush of arctic wind blasts over us. He opens the door further for me to go first. I’m halfway through the door when he steps in my path, so close our bodies instantly fall together in the way they do.

  “Please don’t go.” His face is close against mine but not in a sexy way. Eyes closed, features blank, like he’s silently praying my answer has somehow changed.

  “I have to,” I answer in the same way. I place a soft kiss on his frozen cheek and step around him. An SUV sits hidden in the darkness. With its lights off I’m guided forward by the engine’s gentle hum. Jane opens the back door to help me in, spilling precious light onto my path. Devon drops the bag on the floorboard at my feet. Now he looks at me and I wish he hadn’t. Rage, hurt and sadness darken his navy-rimmed eyes. I want to cry seeing such a beautiful man so broken. More than anything, I want to hold him and tell him it’s going to be okay. To chase his fears like he does mine. But I can’t, because that would be a lie. Things aren’t going to get better for us. Not while that bitch Heather Troy still draws breath.

  He threads his fingers through mine, looks down at our clasped hands on my lap and squeezes tightly. He raises the back of my hand to his lips, presses a kiss that lingers longer than a simple goodbye and turns without a word.

  I’m already wiping tears when the door shuts
Siberia’s icy night air outside. The car’s interior dims to black. Gravel crunches under moving tires. I can’t look back. I don’t want to know if he’s waiting in the cold, still hoping I’ll change my mind. I can’t change my mind. There is absolutely no happy ending here that I can see and staying just postpones the inevitable.

  “Are you okay?” Jane asks, warily handing me a tissue. I nod weakly, my head jerking with sobs. “Want to talk about it?” she asks. I shake my head. No, I don’t want to talk about anything. I want to get wasted and run from this huge fucking problem like I always do. “Okay. Your room is ready. We’ll have you there in a few minutes.”

  At this hour, Eddie can drive like a bat out of hell. We’re the only ones on the road. He breaks every speed limit and has us to the hotel in record time. It’s all a blur of tears and bumps and brake checks.

  I compose myself enough not to rouse any paparazzi interest entering the hotel. Teeth grinding against each other to keep the tears from my eyes, I fly through the lobby, up the elevator and into the room Jane unlocks for me. She places the key on the desk and leaves immediately. Oh, she knows me so well! A bottle of wine and a pack Marlboro Reds sit on the desk. Ready and waiting. I grip the bottle’s neck and fire up the first of what will probably be a million cigarettes tonight.

  I loosen the toggles on my parka, pop open the window and settle cross-legged on the carpet. I spit in a coffee cup to catch ashes, place it beside me and hug my knees to my chest. I still grip the wine bottle, but don’t open it. My brain is swollen from crying, thinking and raging. Where do I start sorting through the wreckage of my life? I think back to this afternoon. Our world seemed untouchably perfect. Now, a few hours later, it’s a suck fest of Hoover proportions. That fucking bitch! It’s all I can think. Her whiny voice and those damned bracelets clattering like wind chimes in a tornado on her bony-ass wrist. She’s nothing but a vindictive slut, carelessly living her own life any way she pleases and calling Devon to heel with the threat of exposing his secret the minute he tries to do the same.