She’d worked so hard to make this house a home, but now she was aware of the absence of people she loved in it. She still hadn’t said those three words out loud to Trevor. Every time she opened her mouth, they caught in her throat. It would come eventually, she reasoned. In the meantime, she made sure her actions told him what she wanted him to know.
They made love twice before falling asleep in her bed, Trevor’s body curled around hers, the heat from his skin warming every inch of her.
At some point during the night, she heard Frank pad into the room and felt his rough tongue on her toes. The dog had a habit of climbing into bed with her in the wee hours. Many mornings she’d wake up to find him flipped on his back, sprawled across the king-size bed. Tonight he gave a couple of mournful whines then left to find new real estate on the couch or in the guest bedroom.
Sam drifted back to sleep, her heart filled with so much joy at the changes in her life and a budding hope that it might always be this way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When she woke again, the first blush of predawn light lit the room. She felt Trevor shift and then roll away from her, a rush of cool air hitting her back as he left the bed.
She closed her eyes again, her body still languid and heavy from a night spent in his arms. That changed in an instant when she heard him let out a string of curses from somewhere in the house. Blinking to shake off sleep, she grabbed a robe from the back of the door and headed toward the kitchen.
Trevor stood at the edge of the counter with his back to her, wearing only his boxers, cell phone pressed to his ear. It sounded like he was talking to Grace, his voice low and soothing, and an instinctive panic gripped her. She grabbed her purse from a kitchen chair and dug for her phone, gasping as the screen lit.
She’d missed at least a dozen calls, three from her agent and two from Grace. The rest of the numbers weren’t familiar to her, although she recognized the California area code. The phone vibrated with a text message, and she realized she also had a whole string of unread texts that had come through in the past hour.
The most recent was from her agent and her stomach clenched as she read the three words.
Is she yours?
The image below the message was one of the photos she’d taken of Grace, the girl looking far older than her thirteen years, her resemblance to Sam unmistakable. She scrolled back through the messages and realized that several of the photos were actually stills taken from a clip from one of the popular gossip outlets, the online reporter standing in front of a screen projecting the photos of Grace side by side with images of a much younger Sam.
No.
Heart racing, she punched in her agent’s number at the same time she glanced up, Trevor’s heated gaze crashing into hers. She shook her head and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” her fingers trembling and palms starting to sweat.
There had to be an explanation for what was happening right now. And a solution. A solution was key.
“You have a daughter?” Peter’s normal baritone hit the falsetto range as he asked the question. “How did you keep her a secret for so long? I don’t remember you getting fat.” He paused and she could hear him take a long drag on a cigarette. In the almost fifteen years she’d known him, Peter Colefield had quit smoking repeatedly, only to start again during times of stress. This was definitely a time of stress. “I would have remembered you getting fat.”
“Focus, Peter.” Her voice was calm, the exact opposite of the riot happening inside her. “Who has those photos and how do we make sure they’re kept out of the media?”
He barked out a dry laugh. “Fat chance on keeping them out of the tabloids. Samantha Carlton having a secret baby is big news.”
“She’s not my daughter,” she said, bitterness and regret once again flowing through her veins. “We have to squash those photos. Who has them?”
“How can she not be your daughter? She looks just like . . .” He let out a disbelieving groan.
“She’s my niece,” Sam said softly.
“Baby Jane’s daughter?”
Sam closed her eyes and bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Ever since her falling out with Bryce, Peter had referred to her twin as Baby Jane, a reference to the old Bette Davis movie with the sister driven crazy by jealousy.
“Bryce had a baby and didn’t tell me,” she whispered. “I found out just over a month ago.”
“Probably something you should have warned me of,” he said, the censure obvious in his voice. “I could have done some preemptive damage control.”
“She’s my niece,” Sam ground out. “She doesn’t need damage control.”
She heard a curse and whirled around to find Trevor standing directly behind her. He’d gotten dressed while she was on the phone. His dark T-shirt stretched over the hard planes of his rigid muscles and was the perfect complement to his grim features. “I need to call you back, Peter. Figure out how to make this go away.”
Trevor cracked his knuckles. She ended the call and met his blue gaze, so angry and hot it was like looking directly into the heart of a flame.
“Who gave the tabloids the photos?” she asked.
“Damage control?” he asked instead of answering, his tone disgusted. “I’ll tell you how to make this go away. I’m making sure my daughter stays the hell away from you.”
Sam’s head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do this.”
“You took the photos.” He jerked his head toward her staircase. “You got her all made up and dressed in those fancy-ass clothes so she didn’t even look like herself. You made her into you.”
She opened her mouth but all the words she wanted to speak were silenced by Trevor’s temper.
“I told you I didn’t want her to grow up so fast. Now she’s out there looking like a—”
“We were playing dress up, Trevor. There was nothing indecent about it.”
“This,” he shouted, holding up his phone to display another one of the photos, “is indecent.”
Sam gasped. “I didn’t take that photo,” she whispered then scrolled through the texts on her phone to find the same image, sent by Peter an hour ago. It was a moody black-and-white photo of Grace, clearly inside Sam’s closet.
She wore a large-brimmed hat that Sam had saved from one of her most famous swimsuit edition photo spreads. The teen had re-created an iconic photo that had been taken of Sam between wardrobe changes. Sam had been seated on a wooden chair, wearing only low-rise bikini bottoms. Her long hair had covered her breasts and there was nothing particularly revealing about the photo, but the combination of light and shadows and the expression the camera caught had made the image wildly popular.
Trevor was right. Grace was an exact copy of Sam, from the fleshy pout of her lips to the slightly wounded look in her eyes. Even if she hadn’t been, Grace’s beauty was like a drug in the photo and Sam knew it would go viral in record time.
If that photo went public, it would change everything.
“She took a selfie.” Sam met Trevor’s gaze, needing him to understand that this wasn’t her fault. “I had no idea.”
“She was with you,” he shot back. “In this house. In your closet.”
“We agreed she wouldn’t share the photos.”
He shook his head. “One of the girls at the sleepover last night grabbed her phone and saw the photos. According to Grace, the girl is obsessed with reality TV and finding a way to become famous.”
Sam groaned. “And she thought those pictures were going to get her some traction?”
“Who knows what the hell she was thinking? But she posted them to Instagram and Tweeted with a caption hinting at some tragic family gossip.”
“Screwing with Grace’s life,” Sam muttered, “in one hundred and forty characters or less.”
“Grace made her take down the pictures, but they’re out there. She says this friend is thrilled because she’s gotten a thousand new followers in the pas
t few hours.”
“Some friend. I’m sorry, Trevor,” she said automatically. “But I didn’t do this.”
He stared at her for a long moment then slammed his open palm onto the countertop before fisting both hands at his sides. “It would never have become an issue if you weren’t part of her life.”
He was wrong. The rational part of her knew he was wrong. He was angry and couldn’t mean those words. But the shadowed piece of her that still felt responsible for Bryce’s downward spiral yawned and stretched, as if coming out of a deep slumber. The darkness swept through her like a harsh wind, blowing away all she’d done to make amends for her mistakes. She was the lost soul once more, spinning in the whirlwind of her own demons.
“I love her,” she said, because it was the only thing that mattered. “I love you, Trevor. We’ll get Grace through this. You know I’d never do anything to hurt either of you.” Her voice broke on the last word. “You know,” she repeated, willing him to soften.
He remained rigid. “She’s going to be hurt,” he said, his tone so cold it made her bones shiver.
“This isn’t my fault,” she murmured, more to convince herself than him at this point.
He answered anyway. “It’s mine. For believing we could make ourselves into a happy little family unit. There’s too much past between us, Sam. Too much dysfunction. Too many opportunities for more pain.”
“If we stay together, we can get through it. I’m willing to fight for us. We’re stronger as a team than we are alone.”
“I’m good at alone,” he told her, running his hands through his hair. “Alone is what kept Grace safe until she met you.”
“So it’s over?” She hated asking the question almost as much as she dreaded his answer. “Is this your excuse for retreating back into the safe shell of loneliness?”
“Maybe you were right and it never really started,” he answered.
But she knew it had, because the searing pain in her chest meant her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.
“Are you going to keep Grace from me?” She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself tightly. He could do it. He could cut off his daughter from her and there would be nothing in Sam’s power to stop him.
“She’ll fight me if I try.”
That wasn’t the answer she wanted. None of this was what she wanted. “Say the word, Trevor, and I’ll walk away.”
“You’ll turn your back on her?”
“No,” she answered immediately. “I’ll never do that. If there’s anything she ever needs from me, I’ll be there for her. In a heartbeat. But if you ask me to stay away, I will. I won’t agree with it, but I respect that you’re her father. I’ll cut myself off.” She squeezed her eyes shut and felt the tears stream down her cheeks without bothering to wipe them away. She’d given up the ghost of her tough-girl image the moment she found Grace curled up on her couch.
“I thought you weren’t a crier.” His voice had gentled, and that was almost worse than the anger or the emptiness.
“I have allergies.”
“Sam.”
“Don’t.” Her temper, the self-defense mechanism she’d relied on for years, roared to life inside her. “Don’t try to pretend this isn’t awful. Answer the question. Are you going to keep her from me?” It was terrible enough to lose Trevor; a life without Grace seemed unbearable.
He stared at her and she felt herself wither under his scrutiny. She wiped her cheeks on the sleeve of her robe, but didn’t look away. She wouldn’t be the one to blink.
After a few moments he dropped his gaze to the floor. “We need a break. Whatever happens when these photos go public, it’s going to be bad for Grace.”
“I can protect her,” she protested, but he shook his head.
“I will protect her. But I won’t forbid her from seeing you. Just give it some time.”
“Thirteen years. I lost thirteen years of knowing her already.”
“Then another couple of weeks shouldn’t be a problem.”
She wanted to rage at him. A problem? This was her life, her heart, and the future she’d thought would finally make her feel whole.
“If that’s what you want,” she answered, an eerie calm descending over her. She’d spent so many years forcing herself not to feel because the pain was too much. It was a trick she could depend on to get her through anything. She hoped.
His phone chirped at the same time hers vibrated on the counter.
“It’s Grace,” she said.
“Don’t answer.” He shoved his feet into the boots sitting next to her back door. “I’ll call her and explain. She’s got a three-day weekend coming up. I’m going to take her . . . somewhere. She’s freaked out right now and—”
“I can help. If you let me, I—”
“I’ve got it, Sam.” With one hand on the door, he turned back to her. “I’m sorry,” he said and walked out of her house.
She immediately picked up the phone and punched in a number.
“How bad is it going to be?”
She heard Peter suck in another puff on a cigarette. “She’s your niece. It will get a lot of play, especially for her. They’ll dig up photos of you and Bryce and play up the tragic death angle. Things are different now, Sam. Nothing is off-limits for these vultures. But you’re in the clear. A dysfunctional family history isn’t your fault.”
“Tell that to Grace’s father,” she whispered.
“Is she interested in modeling?”
“She’s thirteen, Peter. Too young.”
“You’ve seen the photos. That girl is the second coming of you, and there’s no one that exciting out there right now. The vultures are going to swoop in for her. No doubt about it.”
“I’m going to e-mail you the photos of me from that weekend. Offer them if they’ll bury the story about Grace.”
She didn’t need to explain which pictures she was talking about. There could only be one set that was worth enough to buy Grace her continued anonymity. A heavy silence and then her longtime agent and friend said, “No.”
“I’m not asking, Peter. I’m telling you. Let them run with those images if they’ll bury the photo of Grace.”
“Sam, you know what those pictures will do.”
She felt something brush against her leg and looked down to see Frank butting his head up against her thigh. She sank to the kitchen floor and allowed her hundred-pound dog to climb into her lap. His fur was soft as she ran her fingers through it, his warmth and steady breath calming her.
“It’s been over five years since I retired,” she answered into the phone. “Maybe they won’t be news anymore.”
“You wouldn’t offer them if they weren’t still news. But they’re the wrong kind of publicity for you now, Sam. They’ll revive the story of your years as everyone’s favorite party girl.”
Just before she hit rock bottom and left the business, she’d spent the weekend before a photo shoot for a major fashion house partying with the celebrity actor booked to do the campaign with her. They’d drunk too much, hooked up, and then wrecked the hotel room, a total cliché and one that embarrassed her to this day. Somehow the photos for the shoot had come together, but the photographer had been part of their wild antics and had snapped candid photos that were just this side of sex-tape level explicit.
The entire escapade had been a blur in Sam’s mind until the photos surfaced months later. The actor, rapidly spiraling out of control, had gotten into a feud with the photographer after some less-than-flattering photos appeared in a magazine. The still-powerful A-lister had slammed the other man’s work and reputation. In turn, the photographer had threatened to sell the photos from Sam’s shoot with the actor to the tabloids.
She’d paid close to seven figures for the copyright of those photos to keep them from going public, and they’d remained with her ever since. Several times she’d come close to destroying them, but she hadn’t. The fact that they were in her house on a flash drive locked away in a saf
e at the back of her closet was like an itch just under her skin. A reminder that was always there as a warning. That’s how far she could fall if she let herself walk that path again.
The actor who had been with her had died of an overdose several years ago. She hated that releasing the photos might bring renewed pain to his family and friends, but he’d actually gone on to make a sex tape with a B-list Hollywood starlet, so there was nothing in the images that would surprise anyone.
She’d have to distance herself from Bryce Hollow, but the camp could function without her. Any other collateral damage would be worth saving Grace from a limelight she wasn’t yet ready to step into.
“Maybe the picture of the girl won’t be as big of a deal as we think.” Peter’s voice was filled with false hope. “Make a statement claiming her as your niece and bring her to New York for a few days. We’ll make sure the paps get some photos of you together and we can reframe the story.”
“She’s in school,” Sam answered automatically. “She has to study for finals.”
“Sam, come on. You can’t—”
“The photos will be in your inbox within the next fifteen minutes. Make the deal, or I’ll do it myself.” She disconnected as Peter started another round of protests.
Tucking her phone in the robe’s pocket, she wrapped both arms around Frank’s thick neck and pressed her forehead to the soft fur between his ears. “You’ll still love me, right, boy?”
His tail rapped softly on the hardwood floor.
She took a couple of steadying breaths then extracted herself from under the dog’s bulk. Her throat dry and her fingers trembling, she walked upstairs and retrieved the flash drive. She pulled up the photos on her laptop before sending them to Peter.
There she was, glassy-eyed and naked in bed with one of the biggest movie stars of his generation, a man almost fifteen years older than her. She hadn’t cared about him and the feeling had been more than mutual. Her stomach churned from the memories of that time in her life. A wave of nausea hit as her fingers hovered over the Send button, and she stumbled to the bathroom, her body rebelling against what she was about to do.
Tell Me Again Page 23