by Kacey Shea
Inhaling a shaky breath, I dial the only person in the world who will understand.
“Jared?” I croak out my brother’s name on a sob, sniffling another back because I don’t want to scare him.
“Rae? What happened?”
I tell him everything. Not holding back. The good, the bad, and all the ugly flies from my lips. I don’t even apologize for the late hour; I’ve likely ruined his chance for a full night’s sleep, but I can’t hold this in. I can’t do this on my own. When I’ve unloaded all my troubles, and cried all my tears, a cathartic peace settles in my chest. Even though I have no clue what to do next, I no longer feel alone. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I called you. You’re like fifteen thousand miles away.”
“Hey. Pssh. Enough of that.” In my mind I can see him shaking his head. “We’re going to fix this. One problem at a time. I’m finding you a hotel right now and sending you money for it. Will one week be enough to find a new place? Or do you need two?”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Rae? Please. I’m your big brother. Let me take care of you.”
“Thanks.” I exhale a little of the worry in my chest. “One week is good.” I’ll put the word out at work and start looking tomorrow. Maybe I’ll catch a lucky break. The universe owes me.
“Good. Now, I can fly out tomorrow. Go with you to get your stuff out of this billionaire dude’s place. How tall is he exactly? And does he work out?”
I don’t know how he does it, but a laugh bursts from my lips at the idea of my brother—all five-foot-nine, lean and trim, never fought a day in his life—taking on Jude in my honor. It’s ridiculous, and I love him for bringing a smile to my lips after so many tears. That’s what big brothers are for. “As much as I’d love to see you, I think that’s a little overboard. I don’t want to see him, but I’m not afraid of Jude.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you going over there alone. Your ex-roommates are shit, but you must have someone who can go with you. For emotional support, and an extra hand.”
“The stylist from work, De’Shaun.”
“Good. Promise me you’ll ask. I know how you are, Rae. You despise asking for help. Like it’s a sign of weakness or something. But you know that’s bullshit, right? There are so many people who love you. Let them help. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” His words remind me of Jude—or the man he pretended to be—and as much as I want to deny the truth in them, I can’t.
“I’ll ask De’Shaun. Promise.”
“I just sent you the info on a hotel. Did you get it?” Jared waits as I pull up my email, book a reservation with my credit card, and then enter the address into my GPS. It’s only twenty minutes from here and close to the studio. Thank goodness. Exhaustion weighs heavy on my eyelids.
“Want me to stay on the line with you? We can have a virtual slumber party, like when we were kids, but with much better fashion sense.”
“I’ve got this,” I say with bolstered confidence. I may not have the strength for much, but I can handle driving to the hotel. Besides, I’ve kept him up late enough. My heart squeezes at my brother’s kindness. “I love you, Jared.” I fight the urge to cry again and turn the key in the ignition, easing onto the road with a steady breath.
“I love you, Rae. You’ll get through this. You’re the strongest woman I know. Besides Mom, who puts up with both our asses, but you know what I mean.”
I sniffle through a laugh. “Yeah, I do.”
“Okay, the hotel is expensive enough I don’t think it’s where they make adult movies, but one can never be too safe. Text me as soon as you’re checked in for the night.”
“Will do, good night.” I end the call, wipe the tears from my eyes, and make my way back across town to my new temporary housing. My heart and body feel as if they’ve been through a rugby match, tossed, smashed, and banged around. Not permanently out of order, but damaged. I could tell myself I’ve been through worse and things will look brighter in the morning, but that’d be a lie and I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.
47
Jude
Rachel doesn’t come home. I don’t know why I expected she would. This is my fault. She left because I deceived her. I don’t know how she found out about the car, but she did. There are consequences to every action, and this penance is mine to pay.
I’m miserable without her.
By Tuesday morning, my pride’s long abandoned me and I resort to texting and calling on the hour. She doesn’t pick up. She doesn’t even tell me to fuck off. God, I just want to hear her voice. Why won’t she pick up? Madness takes over and I can’t concentrate on work. I almost drive to Americana studios, or by her apartment, just for something to do.
Her silence sends a message. One I don’t want to hear. Rachel Delgado may never forgive me.
Fuck. This can’t be how it ends. She has to come back eventually. All her stuff is in my condo.
It’s the reason I never once leave my place, not even to walk Walter. To my appreciation, the condo’s security team doesn’t question why I can’t take him down myself. I don’t know what I’d tell them if they asked. But I can’t stand the thought of missing her in the elevator. Of her stuff disappearing while I’m gone. Her clothes and makeup piled in one corner of my room are my only proof that this week was real. That I didn’t dream her up. I’ll stay in this place my entire life if that’s how long it takes to see her again. I offer up a silent prayer she doesn’t make me wait that long.
It’s almost seven o’clock on Tuesday evening when my prayers are answered. The knock at the door sends Walter into a yapping flurry. As if he’s angry she left without saying good-bye too.
My heart gets caught in my throat and I push off the couch, almost too scared to hope it’s her. My feet hit the floor with heavy footfalls. Part of me wants to race to the door, but there’s another part anxious with nerves.
I’ve practiced my apology. It’s all I’ve been able to focus on. But will she forgive me?
The lock on the door clicks, and she pushes it open. My breath catches, my heart full of relief at the sight of her. But the second her gaze finds mine, I fear the worst. There’s no love in her eyes. Not even hurt. They’re cold, closed off, and that’s more terrifying than anything.
“I’m just here to get my things,” she says curtly, and steps out of the way to let in another man.
Jealously rips away all sense of restraint. All the anger I’ve been shoving aside rushes forward. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Jude. Don’t.”
The man chuckles, his hands raising with open palms. “Not here to fight, sugar.” He glances at Rachel, the humor draining from his face. “Just helping a friend.” There’s no longing in his gaze, only protectiveness. The same as a brother would have for a sister.
I realize this must be her co-worker, De’Shaun. She’s described him well enough; I should’ve known immediately. Jesus, she must think I’m an asshole.
“Excuse us,” Rachel says, her indifference more cutting than before. They pass by, and De’Shaun swears as he takes in the grandeur of my condo. They speak in hushed voices, low enough I can’t make out what they say.
Walter follows them as well. I’m the only one stuck in place as though my feet are glued to the floor. Fear grips my chest and holds tight as I process what’s happening. I thought I wanted to see her, but now she’s leaving. This time for good. I scrub a hand over my jaw and bite back the urge to yell. I can’t live without her. I just can’t.
De’Shaun emerges from my room with two suitcases, offering me a sad smile as he passes.
This is my only chance. Stepping into the bedroom doorway, I block it with my body and try not to focus on the fact she’s nearly packed. “Rachel. We need to talk.”
“No.” She shakes her head, not even lifting her gaze.
“No?” It hurts worse than any punch. “You don’t think we deserve to talk this out. After everything? After—” I’ve fallen i
n love with you.
“I know what you did.” Her jaw locks, and she zips shut her duffle bag. “I can’t move past that.”
“The car? Jesus, Rachel. I’m sorry. I should have told you.” Frustration reverberates through my muscles. This isn’t going the way I imagined. She won’t even look at me. “I had my reasons, but I’m sorry. Just don’t leave. Don’t ruin what we have over a car.”
She whirls on me, her gaze sharp with indignation. “You think this is about Iron Maiden?”
Okay, that stops me. What else is there? Oh, shit. “Look, I’m sorry, but what was I supposed to do? Watch you struggle to make ends meet when I had perfectly good connections to get you that job. You love it, and you’re damn good.”
Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, her head shaking. “You got me the job.” She blinks as if she didn’t know.
Fuck. “Rachel, I—”
“No. Don’t you dare try to justify your actions. Don’t you dare.”
De’Shaun clears his throat at my back, wanting to get inside.
I could be a dick and not move, but I doubt that’d help my case. Instead, I take the opportunity to erase the space between me and Rachel. My fists clench as I fight the urge to pull her in my arms.
“This is everything,” she says to him, patting the foldable cart stacked high with her beauty supplies. Her eyes won’t meet mine, but I know she tracks my movements. Her jaw tightens with each of my steps closer.
“Rachel. Please. Don’t do this. We can talk it out.” My words pass though her, missing the mark.
She ignores me, picking up her duffle and resting the strap on her shoulder.
De’Shaun carts her supplies out the door.
She gives the room one last look and follows.
Fuck. No. No, no, no. She can’t go. Not like this. I stomp after them, making a sad little caboose to the Rachel-leaves-Jude-forever train. I’m seconds from begging, not that it’d do any good.
She steps ahead, holding the door for De’Shaun. A few more paces and they’ll be at the elevator.
Panic surges at the reality. “Rachel, I love you.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. She drops her duffle where she stands, eyes wide and wild. “No.” She backs up.
I follow her into the hall. Cracking what’s left of my heart, I splay it wide open. “It’s true. Please, Rachel.”
“Stop lying!” Her shout echoes off the walls.
“I’m not.”
A simmering wrath settles in her gaze. Her eyes betray her resentment. “Did you ask the shop to keep my car from me after it was repaired?” Her words beg me to argue. She wants the truth. That, I can give.
“Yes.”
“How much did it cost?”
“Five.”
De’Shaun doesn’t say a word, standing by the elevator so silently I almost forget we have an audience. Not that I care what he thinks.
“Thousand?” Her chin nods, as if she suspects I lied to her before. Which I did. Doesn’t matter that my intentions were good, the tightness in her posture suggests she doesn’t want reasons. Not right now. “And you bragged about how you were going to fuck me at the gala? I was pretty easy, huh?”
Her question knocks me off balance. Who—? Understanding dawns, as I remember her friend, the one we ran into the morning after. She was the woman who overheard my conversation with Pierce. Rather part of it. “It’s not what you think.”
“What was your plan? Huh? Pass me along for a finder’s fee when you were done?”
“Rachel, I would never.” God, it hurts that she believes this shit. I get that she’s angry. Does she really think I’d do such a thing?
My brows pull together and I shake off her allegations. The sting of her disbelief in our love hurts most of all.
“At least tell me you negotiated a good deal. That I’m worth a few grand to you.”
A few grand? My face heats; the anger inside simmers to a boil, begging to be let out. How do I argue with her? How do we have a discussion when she’s already made up her mind? I’m the villain. A sinner with no hope of salvation. The silence between us builds, thick with anger and ready to snap. A few fucking grand?
From inside my condo, my cell rings with an incoming call.
“Just answer it.” She flicks her gaze to the sound.
“No.” I don’t give a fuck who’s calling. Not when the most important person in my life is standing here. “We’re not done.”
Her chin quivers, and her spine straightens as she picks up the dropped bag. “I think we are.” She stifles a sob. My phone rings again. “Answer it.” Her words are a taunt. Baiting. “You know you want to.”
I swallow thickly around the realization that no matter how I play this, I lose. “Not as much as I want to understand what happened to change this.” I motion at the space between our bodies. “Us.”
“I wish I believed you.”
“Rachel.” Now I am begging. My eyes fill with tears. I’m losing her.
“Answer it.”
“No. Not if you’re leaving.” I shake my head. “I refuse for this to be it.” The end. I can barely think the words, let alone speak them.
“I’m leaving anyway.” She smiles, but it’s the kind that breaks my heart. Sad. Hurt. Disappointed. A mask for something deeper, because I’ve lost the privilege to her thoughts and feelings. As she turns and steps into the waiting elevator, fear grips my chest. This is it. She’s walking. Tears fall freely as I watch her leave. My love wasn’t enough to keep her, and I don’t know that I’ll ever recover. Not when she leaves with my heart.
48
Rachel
Three weeks later
“You’re making the face again.” De’Shaun rolls his eyes, stepping ahead of me to climb the steps to Cora Bentley’s trailer.
“What? No, I’m not,” I say defensively.
He rolls his eyes. “Channel your inner BJ.” BJ. Before Jude. It’s a term my brother coined, and De’Shaun uses it often. Mostly because he enjoys the strange looks we get. Anytime I space out or get sad, he reminds me to pretend like Jude never happened. Impossible.
“I can’t help it.” I’ve tried to forget Jude. I really have. But the reminders of him are everywhere. I get in my car. I think of him. Driving reminds me of all the conversations we shared. I go to work and it starts again. He pulled a few of his social connections to get me this job, but I can’t quit. First of all, I love it. It’s my dream gig and the pay is fantastic. Not only do I make a livable wage, but for the first time in a year, my savings account has the start of a nest egg. Besides, there’s no way I could leave De’Shaun. He’s basically the best co-worker ever.
Once I filled him in on my living situation, he pretty much insisted I stay with him. I didn’t want to impose, but after staying at the hotel my brother paid for, I agreed to give it a try. Turns out, De’Shaun comes from a wealthy family and part of his trust fund includes a two-bedroom bungalow. The spare room is comfortable, and off the clock we get along better than either of us imagined. Plus, it’s Los Angeles. I won’t find insanely affordable rent anywhere else.
Cora’s on her phone, picking at her breakfast, and flipping through a script when we enter the trailer. Her gaze lifts to ours with a smile, and she holds up one finger. “Uh huh. Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Have them send it over by this weekend, otherwise it’s a no for me.” The actress is one of the hardest working people I’ve come to know on set. She’s different from the way the tabloids paint her—though I suspect that’s the same for most celebrities. She’s down-to-earth and treats everyone with respect, from the sound guys to the craft table attendants. Getting her ready for a day of filming is one of my favorite parts of this job.
Though we keep it mostly professional, De’Shaun and I talk freely with her as if she’s one of our best friends. I secretly think she loves us more than anyone else on set—and not just because we hold the power to make her look good.
“Have you talked to him?” De’Shaun says
quietly and lifts his brow with a pointed stare as he plugs in a curling wand.
I busy myself laying out the brushes I’ll need. Doubt resurfaces, stronger than a rolling tide, and for the hundredth time since I left Jude’s condo, I question whether I did the right thing. Should I have given him a chance to explain? Or would I have just bought more of his lies? I can’t hide or pretend I don’t know what De’Shaun means. He was there. “You know I haven’t.” Defensiveness prickles up my spine. My gaze darts over to Cora, but she’s still on the phone.
“Well, you know what I think, sis.” De’Shaun studies his reflection in the mirror of our work station. He thinks I need closure. That I won’t be able to move on until I talk things out with Jude, this time when I’m not raw and reactive. De’Shaun pulls out a pick and works through his hair, messing with it even though he already looks good.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough. Not yet.” It’s the truth. In my mind, I’ve gone over every conversation and everything we did, searching for a sign. Something I missed. Some warning signal that Jude was only pretending to be someone else with me. But each time, I come up short. I don’t think anyone’s that good of a liar. What we shared felt real. I let my guard down, sharing myself with him in the most authentic way because he was doing the same. Or so I thought. I might still think about Jude too much, but I’m in a solid place right now. I work. I eat. I smile and laugh. I only cry when watching old episodes of Grey’s. I’m scared inviting Jude back into my life, even for a conversation, will unravel all of that.
“Don’t give me your excuses.” De’Shaun rolls his eyes at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s your life. Do what you want. But don’t waste it hung up on someone you won’t even talk to. There comes a time when you gotta make a choice. A crossroads. Go right or left. Take the red pill or the blue. It does no good sitting your ass down in some self-induced purgatory, punishing yourself for what? Trusting? Loving? You deserve to have more good in your life. You’re too beautiful. Too smart. Too good of a human. Don’t let this experience brand your heart in such a way that you just give up. There’s a lotta love to show this world, honey. You aren’t done yet.”