by Ana Novak
Stop.
I left the room in a hurry after that, afraid that he’d wake up and ruin my euphoria by not being nearly as enamored with me as I was with him.
By the time the elevator made it down to the lobby, I was more composed, and I headed briskly for the front doors, pulling my suitcase behind me. My step faltered when I saw a familiar man at the front desk speaking with a clerk. It was Dave, who apparently hadn’t gone home after all. Seeing him managed to destroy my post-sex giddiness in an instant, but I stared straight ahead and walked faster. We would have to talk eventually, I knew, but I definitely didn’t want to have that conversation right now.
When I heard him call my name, I kept walking, ducking out the doors and turning right to head for the subway. The crosswalk light was red. Damn it! I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, debating about whether it was riskier to dash through traffic or hide in the alley around the corner.
“Taylor!”
This time I realized the voice wasn’t Dave’s. It was too low, too gravelly. Hardly daring to hope, I turned around.
Shane’s dark hair was mussed from sleep, and the hems of his faded jeans were bunched up inside a pair of combat boots. His jeans hung low on his hips, his hastily-thrown-on tee shirt rumpled. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Hey, stranger,” I said, desperately trying to play it cool, like I wasn’t about to have a heart attack right there in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Hey yourself,” he answered, and grabbed my arm, pulling me against his chest. Before I could react or even think, his lips were on mine, kissing me hungrily. I didn’t try to fight it, opening my mouth under his and letting his tongue tangle with mine. When he broke the kiss, I pulled him back down for just a moment longer, not wanting it to end.
“You were just going to leave?” he asked when I finally let him go, and his incredible dark eyes were searching mine so earnestly that I felt like I’d kicked a puppy.
“I left a note,” I said weakly. My hand moved, completely of its own accord, around his waist to slide itself into the back pocket of his jeans. It was only fair, considering he was still holding my arm and his other hand was on my hip.
He shook his head. “Notes aren’t my style.”
“I have a meeting with my agent,” I said lamely.
“Agent?” Shane’s smile faltered. “Are you a musician?”
Usually people asked if I was an actor any time I mentioned my agent, and Shane’s unexpected response gave me pause. “No. I mean, yes, I’m a musician, but...” I trailed off uncertainly. I didn’t want to talk about my writing or the deadline that I was about to miss. “I really have to go.” My inner voice was screaming at me to cancel the meeting and spend the day with Shane, but these feelings were too new, and Dave was right inside the hotel. I needed to get out of here and own up to procrastinating over the edits for Pack of Lies.
“Taylor!”
The blood froze in my veins. Now that was Dave’s voice. I jumped back reflexively, even as it registered in my mind that I wasn’t doing anything wrong, that I’d caught Dave with another woman only last night and I’d already told him it was over between us.
I looked past Shane and saw that Dave was heading toward me, trying his hardest to muster an expression again. I knew from the sound of his voice that he was furious, but his face only managed to look mildly annoyed.
Shane turned, looking at Dave, then back at me. “Do you know him?” he asked.
Dave heard. “I’m her husband, asshole,” he snapped, folding his arms across his chest.
“Ex-husband,” I said quickly. “We haven’t been living together for months.”
“Was this part of your plan to get back at me?” Dave demanded. “You were so pissed off that you decided to hook up with someone I work with?”
“Wait, what?” I looked up at Shane, horrified. “You work with him?”
His mouth was set in a grim line as he nodded, and too late, I remembered that he’d only just moved to town for his new job. He’d been leaving the hotel last night. The same hotel where Dave’s employer had been hosting the company office party.
“I- I had no idea,” I stammered, but even my embarrassment was overshadowed by anger at Dave’s irrational display of jealousy. “It doesn’t matter anyway, Dave. You and I are over.”
“You’re still my wife!” he thundered, and his voice was so venomous that I recoiled, taking a step back. “We’re supposed to be working things out!”
Shane stepped forward, putting himself between Dave and I, and I tamped down an immediate surge of gratitude, trying to focus on the issue with Dave.
“You had an affair!” I retorted. “We’ve been separated for months. You have no right to act like this.”
“I have no right? No right?” Dave’s voice had gone up an octave, even if his expression remained woefully passive. The fact that he was making a scene like this had me worried. In the eight years I’d known him, Dave had always avoided public confrontation at all costs.
He glanced up at Shane, his lip curling. “Did she tell you why she was here with a suitcase last night? Why she came to Manhattan in the first place?”
“Don’t you dare!” I was appalled at what was happening. A few moments ago I’d been blissfully kissing Shane, excited for the first time in a long time that my heart seemed capable of feeling again. Now everything was falling apart.
“She came to be with me,” Dave said.
“And I found you kissing your boss!” I said, but all the fight had gone from me by that point, and my words lacked conviction. Tears sprang to my eyes, unbidden.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a phone camera snapping a picture, and Shane glanced over, his expression turning wooden. In the next instant, he took a step back, away from me. “I don’t need this,” he said, holding up his hands. “The last thing I want is to get in the middle of…of whatever this is. Looks like you guys have a few things to work out.”
There’s nothing to work out, I wanted to say, but then he looked at me, and unlike Dave, his expression conveyed his emotions perfectly. His eyes were wounded, disappointed. I’d hurt him.
The words died on my tongue, and all I could do was watch mutely as he walked away.
“What were you thinking?” Dave demanded, stalking up to me. He shook his head, and I took that opportunity to slap him across the face.
“Don’t ever speak to me again,” I said, and my voice was calm and measured despite the tears spilling down my cheeks. “I’m filing for divorce on Monday.”
As if by magic, a cab pulled over at that moment to let out a passenger, and I rushed into the backseat, desperate to escape the humiliation and disappointment that waited for me outside.
Chapter 3
Sixteen months later…
I pulled my carry-on down from the overhead compartment with one hand, using my other hand to hitch up the sagging waistband of my jeans. I’d been in such a rush to make my flight that I’d forgotten to wear a belt, and I’d been regretting that lapse in judgment all day. The line of passengers was moving up the aisle quickly, and I slipped in behind a bickering couple. They’d been fighting for most of the flight and showed no signs of stopping any time soon.
Since my divorce from Dave had been finalized four months prior, I’d had a lot of time to think about what had gone wrong in our relationship. Sometimes I wondered if our marriage would have been healthier if we’d actually argued. For most of the two years we’d dated and the six years we’d been married, I had swallowed my frustration every time a conflict arose. I’d justified it by reasoning that compromise was part of every successful marriage.
Except we hadn’t been successful. Eight years of letting Dave call the shots, and it had all ended with a very public confrontation almost a year and a half ago in front of a hotel in Manhattan. I could have dismissed the public display as a single and ultimately forgettable moment of embarrassment, except that somehow my Shane had turned out to
be Shane Kruger, former lead singer and guitarist of the Grammy-winning band UnAlive, not to mention the hot new producer for the very same record label where my husband was employed.
My agent had started blowing up my phone before I even reached her office that day. A passerby had recognized Shane and recorded the entire argument. Thanks to Shane’s involvement, my own private drama had immediately begun making the rounds on social media. Rhonda began fielding countless requests for interviews. Journalists began prying into our personal lives. It came out that I was married while Shane was recently divorced, and just like that, our brief affair became front page news.
I’d fled to my mom’s house on the opposite side of the country, and that’s where I’d stayed, even after my books experienced an unprecedented surge in sales. I pretended not to care that my sudden success had resulted from a highly publicized one night stand with a celebrity. I threw myself into my work, finished the edits on my latest book, and wrote another one. I stalked Shane Kruger’s Instagram and Twitter accounts no more than once a month. Okay, twice a month.
I would have been perfectly happy hiding out in California for the rest of my life, but when three of my novels hit the New York Times bestseller list without a single promotional appearance from their author, my publisher gave me an ultimatum: participate in a nationwide book tour for the soon-to-be-released sequel to Pack of Lies, or find myself another publisher for all future works.
New York would be the first stop on my tour, but not for another two months. I had a different, far more important reason for being there tonight.
That reason was waiting for me when I emerged from the airport. His mirrored sunglasses reflected the flash of paparazzi cameras as he strode toward me, his shaggy hair framing his face. My brother had been compared to Jim Morrison more than once, and his current hairstyle underlined their striking physical resemblance.
“It’s been too long,” Van said to me, enveloping me in a hug. “Is that the only luggage you brought? Come on. My car is waiting.”
He and I were both musicians, but Van was the only one who had parlayed his talent into a career with his band, Kanesthetix. He went by his middle name, Costello, although most people just called him Cos. Tabloids had been speculating on his impending marriage for years, but now he was actually going through with it, and Mistral and I would both be bridesmaids at the wedding. I wondered briefly how well that would go over. After the blowup with Shane and Dave outside the hotel, paparazzi had dug up old photos of me with Van as well. I’d gone from mystery girl to bona fide homewrecker, and it was going to be a tough reputation to shake.
Van ushered me into the backseat of the car, flashing a smile at the people clamoring for autographs outside as he slid in beside me.
“Fancy,” I commented, running my hands over the heated leather seats.
“Is it?” He buckled his seatbelt and sat back, still wearing his sunglasses despite the complete and total lack of sun. “Thank the label.”
“I’ll do that.” I looked out the window. “I can’t believe it’s so cold already.”
“October in New York. Hey, before I forget, Mel and I are going to Dad’s place for Thanksgiving this year. You in?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, thinking about my mom alone in California. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to send her a quick text about my safe arrival. After a moment of hesitation, I forwarded the text to my dad as well. “Are you cooking?”
“Mel and I are handling the sides. Dave’s doing the turkey.” Van paused. “Is that okay? He’s always come for Thanksgiving before.”
He came because he was married to me, I wanted to say, but stopped myself. Dave and Van had been friends since high school, long before Dave and I started dating. It wasn’t fair to make Van choose between us.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said.
“Do you guys still talk?”
“Not since the divorce was finalized.” That wasn’t exactly true. Dave texted me every couple of weeks, like clockwork. I just never responded. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Van nodded, but I could sense his curiosity. I returned to looking out the window and tried to think of something to change the subject. “You do realize that tomorrow, headlines everywhere will be asking how you know America’s most notorious homewrecker.”
“They won’t have to dig deep to find out we’re related,” he said breezily.
Not until we start actually telling people, I thought, but kept my mouth shut.
Van continued, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but nobody thinks of you as a homewrecker anymore. That thing with you and Kruger is old news.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re not old news, Tay, just the scandal. Congrats on making the Times, by the way. And they say the publishing industry is dead.”
“Not if you get caught screwing a rockstar right before your book comes out,” I muttered, and offered Van a sheepish grin at his huff of disapproval. “Just kidding. Really. I’m sure I owe my success entirely to the sheer magnitude of my writing talent.”
“Well, you sure as shit don’t owe it to your sense of humor, because that fucker’s long gone.”
“Shut up. I have a great sense of humor.”
“Oh yeah, you’re hilarious. That’s why you write crime thrillers.”
“That’s where the money is.” I pondered for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind writing a memoir for someone famous, though. Like maybe a blues artist who sold out for modern rock…speaking of going where the money is.”
Van chuckled at my attempted insult. “It doesn’t matter how many records I sell, Mel’s the one with the money. Why do I even try?”
“When is she getting back?” My future sister-in-law and best friend, Mel Archer, was Hollywood’s reigning queen of romantic comedy. She would have been with Van to pick me up from the airport, but she was still finishing up filming reshoots on her latest movie.
Van checked his phone. “Any minute now. She caught a flight as soon as the shoot wrapped.”
“Should we have waited for her?” I felt mildly alarmed that we might have left Mel stranded at the airport.
He shook his head. “Private plane.”
“Damn.” I sat back, still relishing in the buttery smooth luxuriousness of the seats. “Mel’s on a private plane. I made the New York Times bestseller list. Your record label gives you a towncar for your personal use. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’ve made it.”
My phone buzzed, and I looked down. My throat tightened. The text was a screen capture of the home page of a popular celebrity gossip site. The words, “WEDDING OFF? COS KANE AND MYSTERY WOMAN CAUGHT IN PASSIONATE EMBRACE AT LAGUARDIA,” were emblazoned across the top of the page, with a picture of Van hugging me beneath it.
The text was from Dave, and his accompanying message was brief. Welcome back.
“It begins,” I said, and showed the headline to Van.
He took my phone, looking bored as he pulled off his sunglasses to survey the screen before rolling his eyes. “They just haven’t recognized you yet. They’re going to feel pretty stupid once they figure out you’re my sister.”
“If they figure it out.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, tamping down the all-too-familiar sense of violation. “I knew this would happen. Why won’t they just leave me alone?”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Taylor, but they weren’t after you. They were following me. And it’s not that big a deal.” Van shrugged, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back against the seat. “Paparazzi will always be there, and they won’t always be honest. Just ignore it.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I insisted weakly.
“No, you haven’t. So who cares what they write? We know it’s not true.”
He was right, but I was still peeved. “Nothing like this ever happened in Oroville.”
Van burst out laughing. “That’s because nothing happens in Oroville. Welcome to the r
eal world. Shit happens here.”
“That should be New York’s tourism tagline. Shit happens here.”
“Damn straight.” His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his back pocket, grinning as he read the text.
“Is that Mel?”
“No, just a friend.”
I watched him tapping away at his phone screen, and as if on cue, my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down.
Glad you made it okay. Say hi to your brother for me. Love you. –Mom
No response from my dad yet, but that was no surprise. I sighed and looked out the window, trying to ignore the extreme differences between the bustling city surrounding me now and the quiet safety of my hometown. My mom had purposely chosen Oroville for its small-town charm and lack of excitement; her affair with my father had soured her on big city living. Van had grown up here in New York with our father and his mother, and he was the one who had convinced me to apply to NYU. My acceptance letter had been a victory for us both. After years of communicating through social media and text messages, we’d been excited to finally live in the same city.
I glanced over at him, feeling a tug on my heart. Van was my closest friend. I missed my mom now, but I’d missed my big brother just as much.
“Do you want to stay and hang out for a while at the apartment?” I asked.
“I can’t stay, sis. I’m sorry,” he said absently, still typing on his phone. “We’re recording the new album and I want to tweak one of my songs before our session tomorrow.”
I’d cancelled on plans more than once to meet a writing deadline, so I didn’t push it. “How are the guys and Sam? Excited to be back in the studio?” The rest of Kanesthetix’s members, including Sam, the only female in the line-up, had always been friendly with me.
“It’s our third album. They’re feeling the pressure.”