by Evie Claire
This is total bullshit. I run out of air and take the pillow away, calmly composed to a point that scares me. I stare at the ceiling and let the fragments of what she’s done settle. There’s no way out of this. Not that I can see. If she fries for what she did, we fry with her.
So this is my Hollywood moment. The defining, impossible choice that will make or break me. A tipping point where lesser people fold and stronger souls push on. I thought I could fight Heather with her own nasty tricks. Was even stupid enough to think I was so smart and knew better than everyone else. Turns out I was wrong. So wrong.
I’m poised to have the biggest career comeback in recorded history. A Best Actress nomination hangs with near certainty in my future. I’m in love with the man of my dreams. Our movie is box-office gold. Will I throw it all away to get even? I guess the real question is am I tough enough to suck it up and make the hard decisions, or am I just another basic bitch who insists on living life by everyone else’s rules?
Please.
I’m fresh out of fucks to give for Heather Troy. This decision is about me and Devon. Nothing else. There are people in this town who fix problems like Heather. And I bet Mr. Moretti would be more than happy to help.
A deep breath swells my chest. It cools the scorching rage burning me from inside. I place the pillow over my belly and calmly smooth the wrinkles of my wrath with a splayed hand. Heather will get what’s coming to her. I fold my hands over the pillow, clear my throat and turn to Devon with an I-can’t-believe-I’m-saying-this look that says more than words ever could.
“I want her gone.” My tone is Don Corleone cold. My stare defiant. My face pinched tight. Devon stirs at my side, wiping a hand over his brow and down his face. We both know exactly what I mean. He nods.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. I think it’s the only way.” Devon’s monotone voice hisses out through clenched teeth. His anger is barely contained. His need for vengeance is every bit as violent as mine. The manic look lighting his eyes checks my own fury. “She’s not getting away with this.”
Hollywood lore is littered with legends about these kinds of deals. These fixers who fix problems the law can’t handle. Devon will call Moretti. Money will change hands. Heather will disappear. It’s the Hollywood equivalent of a mafia hit man. Who am I kidding? Moretti’s totally mafia.
Now that we agree it’s the only way, I only have one question. “If you were willing to go to these lengths, why in the hell didn’t you do it before?”
Devon shakes his head and looks away, pressing a balled fist into his lips. His knuckles turn white and his hand shakes with anger. “I underestimated Heather.” He stares at nothing. His temple throbs. “I was dumb enough to think she’d leave us alone once we had the tape.”
I sigh and shake my head, knowing Devon doesn’t deserve my anger. We both underestimated her crazy. Who would’ve thought a woman barely capable of wiping her own ass would attempt murder? It’s totally insane. And we’re totally out of options. She’s forced us to this. She should’ve known better.
Calling in the goon squad is serious shit. Life-and-death-type serious.
“Will they kill her?” I whisper under my breath in case anyone’s listening. His head snaps around. His eyes are ice cold.
“If that’s what we want,” he says with zero emotion. I flinch and pull away.
What do I want? I close my eyes and slowly run my fingers from my chin to my forehead and around my cheeks. I’m thinking hard about this. I hate her guts, but do I really want her blood on my hands? I steeple my fingers under my chin and shake my head.
“No.” Tempting as it is to say I want to kill her, actually ordering someone’s murder is a level of cruelty even I’m not capable of. I sigh and lean back against a pillow. Deciding someone’s fate is exhausting. “I want her to go the fuck away and never bother us again.”
“Me, too.” Devon pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contact list for Moretti’s number. “You rest. I shouldn’t have let you get so worked up. It isn’t good for your recovery.”
“Pfft!” I wave my hand in the air. “I’ve had hangovers that hurt worse than this.” Once my blood started flowing the pain quickly subsided. I’d been still for way too long. Now I’ve got so much hatred boiling my blood I could marathon Everest in an hour.
“Carly...” He drags my name out like I should know better.
“What?” I turn and shrug, up-downing him like he’s being ridiculously ungrateful, scolding me when he should be thanking me. He takes my hand again, curls his around it and lays a gentle kiss over my fingers. He twists my diamond cuff like he always does. Only, tears line his lids when he finally looks at me. He glances at my belly, shaking his head. “It’s gone.” His whisper-soft voice knocks every ounce of breathable air from my lungs.
“Gone?” My hand snakes under the pillow and over my belly.
Nothing has ever settled into my bones as cold and lonely as the realization of this loss. I am numbed and chilled. Freezing hot and burning cold. Ferocious pain scorches through my body, making me wish I could crawl out of the skin that suddenly feels way too small. Tears, those seem right at a time like this. But I’m too lost to find them.
For weeks I plotted to get rid of it because I feared it would destroy us. I didn’t want it, regardless of how much he did. Now that it’s been taken from me through no fault of my own, I realize how much I did.
Devon curls closer, laying his hand over mine. We uselessly grasp my gut like our love for it might bring it back. It’s a hopeless wish.
“Sunshine,” he whispers hotly in my ear. “We’ll try again. You’re safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
I say nothing. I feel nothing. Lying in his embrace, I’m numb to everything. How can the world keep spinning after losing something so profound? A loss so consuming should bring everything to an end. Everything should implode and swallow us whole. I lie still. I wait for it. Until I realize no one else gives a shit. No one else knows what we’ve lost. It’s not the world that reaches an earth-shattering end, it’s us. The tiny sliver of happiness we held for a short while is gone. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.
Finally the tears come. Big, fat tears that slide in silent streams over my face, into my hair. When Devon sees them, the tears he’s been holding back surface. They swell over his lids and run in quick streams down his cheeks. He wipes them away in the jerky way men do. Trying to hide them behind his hands and a forced, heartbroken smile. Trying so hard to be strong for me. It makes the loss hurt that much more and I’m helplessly wracked by loud sobs bursting from my throat. It’s not just me lying here in this bed, losing the life I was ready to love. It’s us. She’s taken it all, and there’s no way we can get it back.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Devon wanted tacos, so we’re going to get tacos. In Mexico.
Cruising south from L.A., three stories above the Pacific on Spence’s yacht, we’re taking advantage of a filming break to get away. We’d never be allowed this level of privacy on land. On open water we’re as free as we are on the island. God bless Spence for offering his boat. He’s no fool. He knows how hard this insane media circus has been on me.
We anchored off Catalina last night. Dinner was brought aboard and we were close enough to hear live music from an outdoor concert. Devon held me close while we danced on the bow, in the darkness, under the stars. Just us. It was everything.
Now I’m in my bikini lounging on the stern, watching the engine kick up white water as we motor over to San Nicolas, then on to San Clemente tonight before ending our voyage on San Martin. The island is known more for sport fishing than celebrity sightings. Devon swears it has one of the best beachside taco shops in the world.
I’m officially a size zero again. Something both the mirror and my Rio-cut thong tell me. Unfortunatel
y, I’ve also lost the size D knockers. I was really hoping to keep those. The first week on set was brutal. I was in rare form, forced to fake normalcy while subsisting on lemon water and lettuce to lose the remaining bloat. Not to mention the roaring hormones that did nothing for my outlook on life. In retrospect, I’m glad I had the distraction to get through those first days after my situation stopped being a situation. I don’t like to wallow. I’m definitely a deal with the shit and move on kinda girl.
By some miracle of Hollywood magic, studio filming is ahead of schedule. As a reward we took the weekend off. Devon jumped on the chance to take me away. We both need this.
“Carly?” He’s in the chaise longue beside me, sunglasses raised, looking at me with a mix of worry and hesitation. His eyes move slowly over me. I follow them, surprised to find my hand stroking where my distended belly used to bulge. I sigh and look at him, no explanation needed.
“I can’t feel it anymore,” I say. He pulls my hand away from the ghost of my bump, takes it in his, raises it to his lips for a kiss and then places it over his chest, stroking my inner arm. Saying nothing and everything, he closes his eyes behind his aviators and turns back to the sun. I roll onto my side to get closer, savoring his touch. We haven’t talked about it. I guess he heals through silence.
Me, I go back and forth between anger, grief and guilt, though none are as strong as they initially were. It’s bearable now. I realize that even though Devon saw a reasonable way out of the situation, the risk would’ve always been there. There are moments that still prick my heart. Every time I set an alarm on my phone a wave of guilt swells in my belly, reminding me I was hours away from killing the baby myself when she did it for me. Seeing a mother and child bring on the grief of wondering what our relationship would’ve been. Could I have overcome the neglect of my own childhood to make hers better? And then there’s Heather. Picturing her raging crazy the night she... No, I can’t even go there.
“What would you have named her?” Devon asks, startling me from my thoughts. He doesn’t look at me but strokes the back of my hand still splayed over his chest.
“How do you know it was a girl?” I ask, surprised he had the same intuition as me.
“It just seemed liked it was,” he answers, sitting up and turning into me. He tucks our hands against his sun-warmed chest. I nod and make a small noise of both contentment and agreement.
“Phoebe,” I say without hesitation, even though I’ve never burned one brain cell on the topic. It just comes to me from the dark recesses of who-knows-where like it’s always been there.
“Phoebe.” He says the name aloud, letting it linger on his tongue. “I like that. Why Phoebe?”
“It was Pigtails’s real name. I’ve always loved it.”
“Phoebe Hayes,” he says aloud. When he gives her his last name it gives me goose bumps that make the back of my eyeballs sting.
“What would you have named her?” I ask, forcing a growing tightness from my throat.
“Hmm...” His head rolls back to the sun while he thinks. “Phoebe Grace Hayes,” he finally says. “That has a nice ring to it.” Beside him sits a tall glass of something. He leans up to drink it and settles himself back on his side so we’re eye to eye.
“Grace is good. Kind of symbolic for the circumstances, I guess.” I nod my approval. He lifts his sunglasses atop his head so I can see his gorgeous blue eyes.
“It was Dylan’s middle name.” He reaches over and strokes my cheek, the residual perspiration from his cup leaving a cooling line where he touches me. Strangely, naming our child after his ex doesn’t upset me. A year ago it would have totally set me off. Now that I’m a (sort of) reasonable human being, I know I wouldn’t have him if it weren’t for her.
I nod again and bite my inner lip. “I think Phoebe Grace is a beautiful name.”
“Carly...” His voice goes serious. So serious, I lean up to get a smoke. He pulls me back so I can’t avoid whatever this somber tone is about to spill all over me, because that’s how well he knows me. Shit.
With begrudged obedience, I retake my place facing him.
“It’s time we let go of all this pain we’re carrying around,” he says gently. “We can’t change anything in our past, and holding onto it only affects our future. I want a clean break. A fresh start for us without anything getting in the way.”
I pull my glasses down my nose to get a better look at him, trying to read between the lines. He cannot be pussing-out on me now. Forget what she’s done? Meh. Forgive her and move on? Hell no. Not until she’s burned to a crisp in the ashes of her sins.
“I want a fresh start, too. But, I refuse to forget everything she’s done to us.”
“I’m not talking about Heather. We’ll get closure where she’s concerned, I promise.” His temples pulse, reaffirming his devotion to ruining her. Satisfied, I push my sunglasses back into place. “This is about us. The things we’ve lost—your childhood, my years of guilt...and our baby. I like the idea that we purge all our past pain together and then build a new foundation together. Does that sound stupid?”
Hesitation and hope swirl in his blue depths, telling me he’s found his peace with all the secrets we’ve kept from each other and the world, and is begging me to do the same. It’s a tall order, but I’m quickly learning there is little I can refuse this man. I also can’t deny that it’s past time to cleanse the bitterness from our life. Our losses are exactly that—pieces of ourselves that were stolen from us through no fault of our own. It’s dangerous holding onto something so toxic. In letting go and loving each other, however, those gaping holes can finally mend. It’s time to let go. It’s time to find closure and start building our future. Together.
“It’s not crazy at all. It’s exactly what we need. Let the ghosts from our past go and focus on our future.”
Devon takes a deep breath and relaxes like he was worried how I’d take this request. “Phoebe Grace Hayes,” he says, forcing a small smile to his lips.
“She would’ve had blond hair and navy blue eyes,” I add.
“She would’ve lit up a room like her mom.”
“She would’ve stolen my heart like her father.”
It’s now that Devon’s façade slips. A tear rolls over his cheek. Seconds later, one skitters over mine. In a quick motion, he moves onto my chair and takes me in his arms, holding me so close it hurts.
“We’ll never forget her. And we’ll try again. She’ll have sisters and brothers and every time we look in their eyes we’ll remember her.”
A monsoon of tears swells inside, but I’m so over crying about this. The moment feels right in so many ways, but I don’t want it devolving into despair. That’s not an emotion I deal with well. “Devon, stop.” I lay a hand on his chest. He pulls away. “Of course, I want all that. With you. But thinking about that. Right now. I can’t...”
He pushes my sunglass back, searching my face, trying to read my clumsy emotions. I move my hand to his cheek and place a soft kiss on his lips. He exhales against me. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want this to become a wedge between us.”
I shake my head and lay it on his chest. Guilt comes sailing in out of nowhere and punches me square in the gut. I have to tell him. If we’re truly going to heal from this and get past everything, he has to know.
Acting like an adult sucks balls. I squeeze my eyes shut, braced for whatever is coming my way. “I didn’t want her. I was going to the doctor, but not for the reason you think. I was going to abort her and lie to you about it.” I’m babbling, my face turned into his chest to muffle the words so they don’t sound so awful. Please. They’re fucking appalling. Even to my ears. The damned tears are unstoppable, burning my cheeks and making my jaw quiver.
“Shh...” he coos into my ear, stroking my hair. “I know.”
His two words burst into my bra
in. “What?” I pull away, looking at him and wondering which one of us is insane. He puts a hand on my head and pulls it back to his chest.
“I knew you didn’t want her. I’m not stupid.” His hand leaves my head and falls to my back. “Every day you wanted to do it and didn’t do it, actually made me love you more.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew your love for me was what stopped you.”
His words make me want to break. How can I deserve such tender love? How can he forgive me for something like that? “And if I had gone through with it? What then?”
He makes a small noise, thinking long and hard, softly rubbing my back. “I honestly don’t know. Our relationship would’ve been built on a lie. In a way, I’m glad it happened like it did.”
My chest caves under the weight of his answer. A wave of guilt worse than the one before it crashes over me. The idea that he would rather lose our baby than lose me is a curveball I certainly wasn’t expecting. And I damn sure don’t deserve it after how selfish I was prepared to be. This is the selfless kind of love reserved for Hollywood big screens, not for real life.
“You aren’t mad at me?”
“You’re entitled to your own feelings, Carly. I wish you would’ve talked to me about it, but I wasn’t angry.” I pull away from my hiding spot against his chest, venturing a glance into his eyes.
“That night at our house, when you found out—you’d never looked at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You looked at me like you thought I was the waste of human space everyone else always has. I couldn’t take it. Not from you. I would’ve done anything to keep you from looking at me like that. Even...” I break off because I can’t say it again. In fact, I can’t even sit here anymore. I pull out of his arms and reach for a smoke. This time, he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he slides over to his chair and grabs his glass.
“I’m sorry I overreacted. I was so excited and when you weren’t it made me question your commitment.” He watches me fire up a smoke, moving away from the thick white cloud it blows over us.