After another long pause, he sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I did, but looking back, maybe I loved the idea of her. Maybe I felt like I should love her. I mean, I liked being around her and really think she’s a great girl, but I don’t know if it was love, Brooklyn.” And then in a softer voice, he said, “How do you know?”
I barked out an involuntary laugh. “You’re asking the wrong person.”
“So you’ve never been in love?” he asked quietly. It was the most personal question any boy had ever asked me, but that didn’t make the answer any different.
“No. But I would like to think I’d know it if I had.”
“Ouch,” he said, laughing humorlessly, making me cringe.
“You know what I mean, Dave. You thought you loved her until she broke up with you. It’s easier to say you didn’t and never did. But do you really think that?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“I don’t know.”
I wanted nothing more than to be with him, but he was still so messed up over Emmie, I knew it would be a disaster. For both of us and between us and Emmie.
“You need some space, Dave. I can’t believe I’m saying it, because...” I trailed off, realizing I had almost said way too much.
“What?”
I bit my lip and shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me.
“Because what, Brooklyn?”
I blew out a breath. He was being honest with me, so I owed it to him to do the same. “Because I liked you from that first day when you ploughed into me at registration and I thought you were Will. I’ve had a crush on you this whole time. I tried to talk myself out of it as soon as I found out you were with Emmie, but...” I couldn’t finish, it was too revealing.
“Emmie told me,” he said and I could hear the smile in his voice; I couldn’t tell if it was an ‘I’m happy about you having a crush on me’ smile or an ‘aw, how cute, little Brooklyn has a crush on me’ smile. Rationally, considering our conversation, I figured it had to be the former, but my insecure brain nagged at me that it was the latter, making me feel like I needed to guard my heart. At least a little—so much of it was already on my sleeve.
“I know she told you, which was embarrassing enough, but saying it out loud to you myself is a thousand times worse.”
“Embarrassing?”
“So embarrassing.” How did he not get that?
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Brooklyn. I’m totally flattered that you had a crush on me. Have a crush on me still, I hope.”
I couldn’t answer, but he carried on, “I don’t want to give you up because you think I’m not over Emmie. Maybe I don’t know if I loved her, but I do know it’s over.”
“That’s not enough,” I choked out. “It’s not the right time. I can’t do that to Emmie, either. Do you understand? I have to live with her.”
“The same way I live with Abe? Of course I understand,” he said.
“Did you talk to him?”
“He came to me. He told me he’d seen the way I look at you and knew I wanted you for myself.”
My heart jumped at his words.
“I felt like a total jerk,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t deny it because he was right. Then he told me you’d broken up and I...well, here I am. I want you, Brooklyn. I want to be with you.”
God. Was he trying to kill me?
It took every single ounce of will power not to give in. But if I could hold myself back from Brady (an unwelcome thought in that moment) I could resist Dave, at least for now, I told myself.
“Dave. I won’t lie and say I don’t want the same. But I can’t right now. We’re both coming out of relationships and if we’re going to have a chance of not bungling this all up, we need to be smart about it. What if we cool it until Thanksgiving? If we come back from the break and still feel like this, then ...”
He seemed to consider this, taking several moments before he responded. “Okay, that seems fair,” he said, although he didn’t sound thrilled.
“I mean, how hard can it be? It’s only a few weeks and we don’t see each other that much,” I said, trying to be breezy.
“Brooklyn?” he said, his voice deep.
“Yeah?”
“Just because I don’t see you every second of every day doesn’t mean I don’t think of you that much.”
I took a big breath. “Thanksgiving.”
There was a long silence, then, “Thanksgiving.”
“Bye, Dave,” I said, needing to get off the phone before I completely lost my resolve.
“See you Saturday,” he said before hanging up.
Right. Saturday. Awesome.
Hard Parts
I let out a breath and opened up the package. I was nervous, no, terrified of reading Jared’s manuscript, no longer because I feared he couldn’t write, but now because I was about to get a very intimate window into his past, the kind that couldn’t be unseen. From what I’d heard from Emmie, Dave and others, his past wasn’t pretty. I’d intentionally avoided Googling him—even when we were officially dating—because I wanted to only know the truth and not question the speculation and half-truths that the tabloids would have used to sell papers. I owed it to him to only want his real story. The one that he chose to tell himself.
But now that I was faced with it, I wasn’t so sure.
“It can’t be that bad,” I told myself as I slid the big stack of paper out of the envelope. “If it was that bad, he wouldn’t be putting it in a book. Anyway, you promised, Brooklyn.”
There were two rubber bands holding the loose pages together, the title page on the top:
HARD PARTS:
My life as a child actor in the successful TV series Lady Parts
By
Jared Abramovich
“This is it,” I said aloud as something of a pep talk, pulling the bands off. I turned the cover page over and read the dedication.
For my grandmother, Anna Abramovich. Who I know will never want to read this book, but to whom I owe everything. Thank you for stopping the bleeding. Thank you, Nana, for everything.
Jared
“Whoa,” I said. “Stopping the bleeding?” Pretty intense. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had about a half an hour until I had to get ready for dinner, nowhere near long enough to get into this now. I’ll just check out a few pages, I told myself.
After fifteen of them, I already needed a break. I got up and grabbed a bottle of water from our mini fridge and took a swig, swishing it around my dry mouth as I stared at the manuscript pages on my desk. Amazing how simple sheets of paper and some ink could be put together to make something so intense. I could put them in a shredder and they’d be nothing anymore, but in their current form, they made up the most heart-wrenching thing I’d ever read. I glanced at my phone and picked it up, debating for a long moment before I scrolled through my contacts and texted Jared.
Reading your memoir.
Uh oh, he texted back right away.
You’re a really good writer. It was the truth. The way he wove his story, with bits of humor and heart—even though I had just started it, I could tell the rest of the book would be just as good and was going to be a page-turner, even for people who weren’t just interested in the sordid story.
You’re just saying that to get me to ask you out.
I laughed and then sent, I’m serious. It’s really good.
Thanks :)
I looked down at the phone, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard as I figured out what to say next. There was so much I wanted to ask, so much I wanted to say, but it was so personal and maybe text wasn’t the right way.
U still there?
Yes, I tapped out.
?
I took a breath and hit the keys. It’s all true, right? This all really happened?
There was a long pause before, Yes.
I’m so sorry, Jared.
Another long pause until, It’s ok. It’s better now.
It had to be the
truth since he seemed so well-adjusted and...normal. Funny and gentle, even. No one would ever guess that the sweet, sensitive guy he’d grown to be was the product of such a horrible childhood. By all accounts, he should be totally messed up—a drug-head or a total jerk. But he was neither of those things.
I’m glad, I texted, my throat feeling thick and making me glad we weren’t face to face. I didn’t want him to see me feeling sorry for him because for all his joking around, I knew he’d hate that and it wasn’t why he asked me to read it.
Back to reading. 5 more pages before dinner.
Ok. Sorry to scandalize U.
Are you kidding? I sent. This is nothing.
Keep reading, came back, scaring me a little.
Don’t worry. I can take it, I wrote, not sure if it was the truth.
Thanks 4 reading, Brooklyn.
I’m honored you asked. Stop texting me, I’ll ttyl.
I took another drink from the water bottle and settled in at my desk to read for a few more minutes before I had to head downstairs.
Needless to say, I was late for dinner.
~ ♥ ~
“What’s wrong with you?” Emmie asked when I finally dropped into my seat beside her after I’d loaded up a plate with the dregs of the buffet. I wasn’t even hungry, but figured I’d better go through the motions. More than that, I needed a break—even just twenty more pages of Jared’s memoir had put me through the emotional wringer.
“Huh?” I said, my brain still not fully present.
“You look, I don’t know, freaked out,” Kaylee said. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, trying to throw off the mental cobwebs. “I was reading Jared’s manuscript.”
Kaylee winced. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I looked at her and nodded. As the daughter of Hollywood producers, she probably had a lot of insight into how things were for Jared—maybe even some firsthand knowledge. She wasn’t the type to blab and I’d never asked.
“Did you know him?” I asked. “Before here, I mean.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I heard rumors and I know what it can be like.”
“So what’s in it?” Emmie asked as she pushed her plate away. It’s not like she was asking in a gossipy way; I knew she liked Jared, so she was probably just curious, but somehow it felt like I’d be betraying a confidence if I told her. Which was ridiculous, since he was publishing a book that anyone could read. But it still felt like it was too close to share. Not yet.
I dragged my fork around in my salad before I said, “I’m not supposed to share it, since it’s still a draft. I’m not sure how much will make it into the final version, so he asked me to keep it to myself,” I said apologetically. It was a lie, but one I was okay telling. And anyway, I’d already told my roommate a pile of lies—what’s one more?
Emmie looked at me intently for a second and I held my breath, suddenly worried I’d offended her, but then her expression softened. “I guess that makes sense. Is it really that bad?”
Tears pooled in my eyes as I looked down at my plate. “Yeah,” I said, my voice no more than a whisper.
Coffee
Dragging my sorry, tired butt to equestrian practice at ridiculous o’clock was about the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t bail. There was no way that staying up too late to read a manuscript for the third night in a row and then being so haunted by it that I couldn’t sleep was a reasonable excuse to skip a practice.
Not one that Brady—Coach Fleming—would accept. Plus, I hardly wanted to have that conversation with him. Actually, I didn’t want to have any conversation with him because I’d found avoiding him outside the training ring was the best way to keep my distance. One on one conversations were just asking for trouble.
So I dragged on my clothes and boots and plunked my helmet on my head with my eyes barely open. Good thing I could get to the stables and saddle up Charlie in autopilot. Unfortunately, my autopilot had not stopped at the dining room for a coffee on the way.
I was pulling the girth up on Charlie’s saddle when I heard a male voice say “Ms. Prescott,” behind me, causing me to stiffen and almost lose my grip on the leather. Almost. I tightened my fingers on it, pulled it up again and fastened the buckles before turning around.
“Good morning, Coach,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could. Which was a miracle since he was standing there looking fresh and amazing in his tight riding breeches and polo shirt that showed off his arms in a very distracting sort of way. Speaking of arms, one of them was flexed and at the end of it was a coffee, the smell of it making my mouth water as much as the person carrying it.
Realizing I needed to not look at his arms, I lifted my eyes to his.
He had a polite smile pasted on his face, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, but it dissolved as he looked at me.
“What?” I asked defensively.
His brow furrowed. “You okay? You’ve got circles under your eyes; you look like you’re getting sick.”
“Just tired,” I said. “And thanks.”
“Late night?” he asked casually, but his intense eyes on mine told me there was nothing casual about his question.
“Yes,” I said, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing what had caused my late night, but I knew he was guessing.
“With Abramovich?” So much for that guessing thing.
Not the way you’re thinking, I thought, but crossed my arms and said, “It’s really none of your business, is it? I’m here, I’m ready to practice, that’s all that concerns you.” I kind of felt like a bitch and maybe I should have told him Jared and I had broken up, but it was the truth that it was none of his business, and it felt safer, easier, if he thought I was with someone else. He wasn’t the type to try to get me to cheat, but I knew he hated me being with someone else; he’d said it himself and the way he acted, I believed him. It was crazy caveman behavior, the kind that should really piss me off, but secretly, I kind of loved it. And by kind of, I mean really. Way more than I’d ever admit out loud.
He clenched his jaw and then turned away and mouthed a curse before looking back at me again. “You’re right,” he said as he dragged his free hand through his dark hair, making some of it stand up on end. I was struck by the sudden urge to run my own hands through it and mess it up even more while he looked down at me through his dark lashes, giving me one of his rare crooked smiles.
“Sorry,” he added, bringing me out of my little fantasy. “I’m not trying to be a dick. It just sort of happens sometimes.” He smirked and it almost killed me.
I shrugged and dropped my eyes from his gaze, cursing silently that my face was heating up as my fingers still itched to feel his hair between them.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly so none of the other girls could hear.
I shook my head.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Brooklyn,” he said in a commanding tone I couldn’t ignore.
I looked up into his eyes.
“That blush. That was for me, wasn’t it?” he looked around and leaned slightly closer, his bubble intersecting with mine. I backed up, but Charlie’s solid body at my back stopped me. The horse turned his head and nickered at me but it didn’t break the spell of Brady’s gaze on me. “You were thinking about what happened, weren’t you?”
Of course he was talking about the kiss. The bone-melting kiss back at the dance. The one that I couldn’t get out of my head no matter what I did. The one that I knew was killing him, too. It had been that good.
“No,” I said. “I was thinking about your coffee and how good it smells and the best way to steal it from you. I’ve pretty much decided to sweep your legs out from under you and grab the cup as you go down.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he challenged, his head cocked, full lips pressed into a disapproving line, but his eyes were dancing.
I rolled my eyes. “Now that I’ve told you, I’ve lost the elem
ent of surprise.”
He didn’t smile at my joke and I may as well not have said it. “I know you like coffee and you do look like you really need it this morning, but that’s not really what you were thinking about, is it? You were thinking about me. About us. In that closet.”
“Get over yourself,” I said out loud while my weakening knees and pounding heart agreed with him.
He stepped forward, but I was still trapped against the horse and had no choice but to let him get close to me, close enough that I could smell him, sending me into another tizzy of hormonal panic. About to protest his closeness and what it would look like to the others, I looked down the aisle of the barn, and was surprised to see we were alone, the other girls having left with their horses to get to the ring.
It was disturbing that I hadn’t even noticed. I opened my mouth to say something, but my voice dried up in my throat. I didn’t think he’d kiss me, not here in the stables and not when I was supposed to be dating someone else, but he was so dizzyingly close and he smelled so good. If he just leaned in a little...
He took my left hand and pressed the cup into it, gently wrapping his strong fingers around mine. “Here you go. No stealing necessary.”
I tightened my fingers around the warm cup but couldn’t take my eyes off his.
He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and I suddenly hated him for knowing. For having this effect on me. For being so smug about it when we were circling disaster every time we were together like this. Being together was still impossible, but I was beginning to realize another kiss was inevitable. Unless I could hold on until Thanksgiving.
He glanced up at the clock on the wall and then cleared his throat. “Practice is in three minutes, Ms. Prescott,” he said in his coach voice as he stepped back from me and turned on his heel. Over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t be late.”
I watched him go until he disappeared around the corner. Charlie shifted his weight, reminding me I needed to get moving. I lifted the cup to my lips, bracing against the unsweetened black coffee, but as I took a sip, I tasted sugar.
Reading Between the Lines Page 9