Hard & Fast (Rules to Break #1)

by Ana Gabriel

  But it’s too late now. And really? Who even gives a shit anymore. I’ve bombed a thousand auditions. Why not one more?

  “Name?” a man in a blue button-down asks.

  “Kate Macintosh,” I answer. The last thing I want right now is any added scrutiny over Cole Dean’s mystery woman.

  We get a few more particulars out of the way, and then someone tells me to go ahead.

  I get off to a rough start. Cole and Mom swim in my head and I can’t remember the lines on the script. I wince and peek down, reminding myself where I am, what I’m doing. I can feel the disapproving stares, and it bolsters something inside me. I take a deep breath and drop the script. I forget about everything else and become the character, letting all of the anger, the disappointment, the insecurity—all of the bottled up, pressurized emotions waging war on my body—breathe through my words.

  When I’m done, the man in blue gives me a curt nod, and I deflate. Because of course it’s not enough. I walk back out, past the packed waiting room of hopefuls, wondering how many more auditions like this I can take before I finally have to face the facts about my acting career.

  ~

  I’m working in the home office in the afternoon, trying yet again to drown out the effect speaking to my mother yesterday had on me. No matter what I said to her on the phone and how much I tried to believe the words when I was saying them, I’ve felt uncomfortable ever since and I can’t get away from that fact. What she said dredged up every argument we ever had about me coming to L.A. She never even gave me a chance to say that I had an audition lined up. Actually, she never asked how my acting was going at all. I can’t decide whether to be glad about the fact I didn’t have to discuss how I still haven’t got anywhere, or whether I feel so horrible because all she wanted to talk about, all anyone will talk about, is how those photographs looked. I don’t want her to be right. But I can’t escape the feeling that she is. Still, fretting about her is better than thinking about Cole. I haven’t seen him since I got back from the audition.

  I make phone calls, arrange Cole’s schedule and fill in the planner so it’s up to date for the month. I’m making reservations for the next dinner with his mother when he bursts into the office, banging the door against the wall. “There you are!” He’s brimming with excitement, face all animated like a little boy.

  My stomach jolts, but I hold a finger up, motioning for him to wait while I hold on for the guy on the other end of the line to confirm the booking.

  Cole fills up the doorway, radiating energy. He widens his eyes at me and I begin to get impatient with the guy on the phone too. What’s so damn important? The last time he was this excited, I was in the shower and he was asking me if I had a passport.

  The second I end the call he starts talking. “Okay, so I have some great news. Now, bear in mind that it’s only something small. This late on into filming there wasn’t really much else I could do, but it’s a start, and there is one line so that’s something and I think—”

  I hold up my hands. “Cole, stop. What are you even talking about?”

  He laughs, swinging into the room and leaning on the desk, knocking a stack of papers sideways. “A role. Well, it’s just a tiny bit part, but it’s something, right? I would have done more, but if you think about it, it’s probably best like this. More unobtrusive, because I know you have concerns about this sort of thing.”

  I push back into the desk chair, a little block of ice forming inside as I begin to understand what he’s talking about. “Cole,” I say, very slow and clear. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings this time. “Tell me exactly what you’ve done.”

  “I am telling you what I’ve done,” he says, grinning at me. “Yesterday, when I was with my agent? I got you, Rose Weatherston, a very small part on the movie that I am shooting right now. One line, like I said, and before you say anything,” he holds up his hands and takes a step back from the desk, “yes, I was listening when you said you didn’t want any favors. But you haven’t asked me for this so it isn’t a favour at all and I swear no one will think or even know that it had anything to do with me.”

  The cold inside me spreads outwards, numbing and shocking at the same time, like spilled ice water. Cole stands there with his arms crossed, waiting, as though he just gave me a gift and he can’t wait for me to unwrap it.

  Eventually, he can’t stand it anymore. “Aren’t you going to say anything at all? Come on, Rose, this is a good thing! You have to be on set tomorrow, but don’t worry, I think your boss will give you the day off.” He grins again.

  I push to my feet fast. “You can seriously stand there and say that to me and yet not see the problem with this?”

  He’s taken aback, doesn’t know what to say for a few seconds. “Look, I know you don’t want to accept hand outs, but that’s not what this is. I already told you—”

  “And I already told you that I want to earn a part. Through talent. Not because I screwed you. Did you even hear a word I said?”

  He stands there, disbelief all over his face.

  “How is any of this hard to understand, Cole?” I yell at him.

  “I thought—”

  “How could you think this would be okay with me?” I shake my head, heart pounding hard. I grab the edge of the desk so he can’t see my hands trembling. “Can’t you see what everyone will think?” I can hear my mother’s voice in my head now. See everyone putting two and two together after those photos splashed all over the paper. Rose Weatherston fucks for roles. It might as well have been the headline.

  “Who cares what everyone thinks?”

  “I do,” I almost scream at him. “I care. You don’t even know if I can act!” I think that might be the worst part of all of it. He’s never even seen me act. How can he be offering me this for anything to do with my talent when he doesn’t know if I have any.

  Cole’s face changes, his eyes hard and angry. He steps back from the door. “Grow up, Rose. I didn’t do this in exchange for you fucking me. This is the way the world works. And for the record, I was trying to be nice.”

  I make an incoherent noise, part utter frustration, part anger and regret that I don’t have words to express. I run out of the office and out of the house to the pool. The sun blinds me, sitting in a sky so blue it hurts. My skin is instantly hot and I’m shaking. I can’t see any way out of this now. Thoughts are skittering around my head but they just chase each other in circles. I want him. I can’t stop wanting him. But I wanted an acting career first, and I wanted it more, didn’t I? Now I’m just the latest girl in a long line of girls photographed with Cole.

  I hear the front door slam and a car start and there’s another noise, but it doesn’t register for a minute. It’s only when it stops and starts again that I realize it’s my phone. I pull it out of my pocket. Three missed calls from my mom. I almost throw the damn thing in the pool, but as I’m holding it, it rings again. Mom doesn’t usually call this many times straight in a row, even if we are fighting.

  I take a deep breath and answer it. If she wants to make me feel awful some more, she might as well do it now. I couldn’t feel any worse.

  “Rose? Thank god you answered. I’ve been trying to reach you, I—” She breaks off and there’s a hitching sound on the line, like she trying to breathe, or trying not to . . . cry.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?” It’s baking hot, but the back of my neck prickles. My mother is not prone to displays of emotions. She makes another choking sound and I start to panic.

  “Mom? Mom? Are you okay?”

  She sucks in a long, sobbing breath. “It’s your dad. Rose, he had a heart attack.”

  The words hit me in my chest. Suddenly, the blue sky and the bright sun dim and I feel unsteady. I don’t want her to say anything more. I can’t ask the question I have to ask. Instead, all that comes out of me is a little girl’s voice. “What do you mean?”

  “Where are you?” she says. She sounds more together, the childish sound of my voice pu
lling her back into mother mode.

  “Is he okay? Is he going to be okay?”

  Mom’s voice wobbles again. “He’s in the ICU. They’re taking really good care of him.”

  “I’m coming home,” I say. I take a step forward, then have to steady myself on a sun lounger. “I’m going to the airport right now. Okay?”

  Mom starts crying, outright crying. I can tell it’s with relief when she says, “Okay, Rose. I’ll see you soon.”

  The phone shakes in my hand when I end the call. I stare at it for a second until I realize it’s my hand shaking. Then I rush back into the house and up to my room. I stuff handfuls of clothes into a case, snatch up some toiletries and spend ten fraught minutes trying to find my passport. I don’t let myself cry. I can’t spare the time and I can’t let myself go to pieces. But I get more and more frantic as I search, until eventually, after tearing apart my whole room, I find it right there on my bedside table, still with the Prague tickets tucked inside. I look at them briefly, then drop them in the wastebasket. When I’ve finished packing, there’s nothing left in the room to say I was ever here.

  I drag my case out of the room and down the stairs and call a cab, too nervous to sit while I wait for it. I pace up and down the hallway, staring at the gate buzzer, willing the taxi to arrive. When it does, I run out of the house and down the driveway to meet it. I’ve left the keys to Cole’s house on a side table in the hallway.

  The whole journey to the airport, my knee jitters up and down, up and down. When we finally get to LAX, I rush out of the cab, up to a terminal and book the next flight out. It doesn’t leave for an hour and half and I nearly scream at the man behind the desk. He senses my desperation though and is extra courteous, which almost makes me cry. I’m a mess.

  By the time I board the flight, the reality of it all has sunk in and I’m exhausted as I drop into my seat for a six-hour flight. I press myself against the window and don’t even look around when someone sits in the seat next to me. My phone is buzzing with texts and calls. I glance at it as the words blur and sobs begin to shake my body. They’re all from one person. Cole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The whole flight, my mind buzzes with all of the questions I didn’t think to ask Mom when she broke the news: is Dad awake? Is he breathing on his own? What’s his prognosis? Is he even going to live? Each new question—and its potential answer—brings on another shuddery sob. The flight attendant darts nervous glances my way, but I don’t care.

  “Are you okay, dear?” the woman next to me asks. She offers me a Kleenex from her purse. I gratefully accept it and nod, even though I’m not okay. Not even a little bit. I can’t believe this is happening. It feels like a scene out of a low budget Lifetime movie, not real life.

  Cole pops into my head. By now, he would have noticed that I didn’t just leave, but packed up all of my things and moved out. Was he calling me because he was furious? Did he want to beg for me back, or tell me to screw off and never set foot on his property again.

  A whole new wave of anguish hits me. My fingers itch to grab my phone out of my purse, at the very least to see if he texted me, but the rational part of my brain kicks in and I shove my bag further under the seat in front of me. I can’t think about Cole right now. What’s happening with Dad is so much bigger than any relationship drama.

  By the time the plane touches down, I’m so worn out over all of the stress that I can barely pick myself out of my seat.

  We disembark right onto the runway, and my bag bumps behind me into the terminal. Even though I’m wearing sunglasses to shield my stinging, red-rimmed eyes, heads snap up to stare at me all the way to baggage claim. Some part of me had hoped that Mom was exaggerating about how far the news about Cole and me had spread, but it’s obvious in this moment that it’s all anyone has been talking about.

  Mom’s waiting for me in the lounge. She’s wearing a pair of wrinkled trousers and a sweatshirt rolled up to her elbows. It’s so unlike her—the woman who cares infinitely about what people think about her—that I freeze with fear. It must be bad. Really bad.

  Mom spots me and races over to wrap me up in a hug. It takes me a moment to even realize what’s happening. To say that my mom isn’t affectionate would be putting it mildly. I’ve always known that she loves me, have never once doubted it, but the biggest overture she’s ever made was a half-hug, half back pat thing after my high school boyfriend Danni Montelletti broke up with me for a member of the debate team.

  Panic clamps down on my chest.

  “Did he? Is he?”

  Mom’s brows pull together before her eyes go wide. “No! Oh, God no, Rose.”

  I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  “Oh, thank God. I was so worried. I thought—”

  “Your father is very much alive,” she says.

  I nod and wipe a hand down my face. “Alright, good.” I become aware of all the people watching us. “Let’s get to the hospital then.”

  “You don’t want to drop your bags off at the house first?” Mom asks.

  I shake my head. I need to see Dad now, before I burst from all of the tension radiating inside me. Mom’s gaze catches on something behind me.

  “Do you mind?” she snaps. I follow her line of sight to a teenager snapping a cell phone pic of me. I wonder how long it’s going to take before that picture hits the tabloids. I can see the headline now. COLE DEAN’S SECRET LOVER DUMPED!

  The whole thing is so humiliating.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I mutter. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes I did,” she says. “Now let’s get you out of here before anyone else gets any ideas.”

  Once we’re safely inside the car, I sift through the scattered questions I’d wanted to ask Mom earlier. I can hardly remember a single one.

  “How did this happen?” I finally ask.

  Mom starts the car. “He was at the store, using the lift to get lumber off the shelf for a customer . . .” Mom trails off, swallows. “They say he just grabbed his chest and . . . and slumped over.”

  I wince. Mom’s throat bobs as she swallows again.

  “Lucky for him Jimmy Haskins is trained in CPR,” she continues. “He kept your dad’s heart going until the paramedics arrived.”

  I look out the window so she won’t see my shining eyes. Had Dad just read an article about me when he collapsed? Had the customer asked him a rude question about his daughter’s virtue, or lack thereof? I picture Vivian Eggerton or one of the other judgemental women from church glaring at Dad in her prudish, narrow-minded way, shaming him.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I ask, voice thick.

  Mom presses her lips together. “The doctors say they need to run some tests.”

  I nod, and we both turn silent.

  Before long, the hospital rises up in front of us, all glass and steel beams. The last time I’d been here, it was a quaint brick building. They’d been talking about constructing a new hospital since I was a baby, but they’d finally done it. It surprises me. I wonder what else has changed since I left.

  Mom turns off the car, and I look up at the windows rising dozens of stories high. I’d been in such a hurry to get home, to see Dad, but now that I’m here, I’m glued to my seat. I don’t want to go in that place. Don’t want to see my dad as anything other than the great beast of a man who could slice a log of wood in half with a single chop of an axe.

  Guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders.

  Mom puts the car in park, then reaches over and grabs my hand. “He’ll be so happy to see you, Rose.”

  I drop my gaze into my lap. I caused his heart attack. Embarrassed him. Embarrassed the family. I sincerely doubt he’s eager to see me.

  But then Mom’s getting out of the car, and I know I have to do it sometime. I shoulder my bag and follow her inside.

  Dad’s lying in bed when I enter his room. His skin is unearthly pale and there are purple circles under his eyes. His pale blue hospital gown sa
gs limply around his neck, dozens of colourful wires taped all over his chest.

  He spots me in the doorway and sits up, a smile playing on his lips. But I see the way it strains him to move and tears prick my eyes. I hesitate in the doorway.

  Dad pats the mattress next to him. “I don’t bite,” he says. “I promise you can come closer.”

  I try to smile and fail. Somehow, my legs move. The mattress groans as I sit.

  “Good to see ya, kid,” Dad says, pulling me into a weak hug. He smells like old man shaving cream and sawdust and it makes a sob choke my chest. This is my dad. Even if he doesn’t look like him. Even if he doesn’t act like him. It’s my dad.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he says.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what?”

  My cheeks blaze with heat and I sniffle, wiping my nose. “You know . . . ”

  “Lyd, would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Dad asks over my head.

  Mom, who had been standing at the foot of the bed, nods and collects her purse. When she’s gone, Dad grips my hand.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re at fault for this, Rose,” he says gravely.

  I shrug as tears swim in my vision, but I blink quickly to force them away. Dad doesn’t need to see me cry. Not now.

  “Rose, sweetheart,” Dad says. “Don’t be upset.”

  I take deep breaths through my nose. Swallow. Bite my lip so hard it’s a miracle I don’t taste blood. It’s useless. I’m going to cry.

  “There’s something we haven’t told you.”

  That gets my attention. I sit up straighter.

  “There’s going to be a Walmart in town.”

  It’s so not what I expected that it takes me a moment to realize what he said. And then when I do, dread falls over me like a heavy cloak. “Oh no . . .”

  Dad sighs. “It was bound to happen. We were lucky we got so many good years in. But we’re going to have to close the store.”

  “What? Why? You don’t know how it’ll go, Dad. Your customers are loyal. They’ll support you.”