I'd heard enough. I opened the door and walked into the kitchen. "I have a right to know what? What's going on, Stewie?" There was already anger in my voice, and I fought hard to be calm and patient. It seemed like I was always having to find something out, and I was sick of it.
Stewie turned to me, looking fearful and maybe a little regretful. "Morgan, I think. Maybe Sean should tell you this."
"Sean's too busy to talk to me, so maybe you'd better tell me."
Stewie looked at Annalisa as if he was asking what she thought. Annalisa shook her head and threw her arms up. "Leave me out of this, Stewie. You know I disagree."
He took a step closer to me. "Maybe you should sit down."
"I'd rather you just say what you need to say. You clearly think I've done something wrong. I can tell when you go into lets-protect-Sean mode." The frustration and annoyance I felt was just too strong to keep it out of my voice or off my face. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and raised an eyebrow at Stewie.
"Okay. Well, I did a background check on you like Sean said, but there was—there was something not quite right. The firm that works for us—they looked a little deeper and found out—well, they investigated your family. They found out about your inheritance."
"Yeah, my mom's family is—my what?"
He looked at me like he thought I already knew what he was talking about. "Your grandfather—you're in his will. When he dies, you'll inherit 2.3 million dollars."
My forehead wrinkled so tightly it almost hurt. I was in my grandfather's will? But he hated me. He never even said two words to me at the stupid reunion Mom had dragged me to every year. He treated me like a leper and made negative remarks to my cousins about my clothes and my choice of college. He hated me, and I hated him. The way he treated Mom was inexcusable. He made her feel like dirt every single time he talked to her. He refused to help her financially when she had me and took care of me all by herself, working several jobs just to make ends meet. He refused to even see me or her for years. Why would he put me in his will?
After several minutes, the questions about why my grandfather did it and the memories of all the crap he put Mom and me through faded, and the really huge red flag flew in my face. How did they find out about this? This wasn't in my background check. This was personal and deep, so deep I didn't even know about it. I thought this was about things the media could easily find out about. This had nothing to do with things that could be found out about me. This was buried. They had to hunt for this information. Why? Why were they hunting for something bad? And then it hit me—that's exactly what they were doing—they were hunting for something that would damage Sean's feelings for me. Sean had said it before—his friends weren't comfortable with me. But if this is what his friends did, what the hell were his enemies capable of?
And how dare they? I didn't even know Sean's last name. I didn't know where he lived or what his face looked like. I knew next to nothing and yet they felt they had the right to go digging through my family records to find this out? Did they find out I was an illegitimate child? Would that be next on the list of "information that might damage Sean?" And what about Sean? He fucking knew about this. Stewie said he knew about this. How the hell could he let them go through my past like that? Damn him! Why the hell wasn't he worried about how I would feel about it? I wanted to throw something or hit something and Stewie's face in front of me almost made me do it.
Annalisa stood up and walked closer to me, the anger on her face comforted me a bit, but also made me feel even more justified in my own anger. "He thinks you knew about this, and you were hiding it from Sean, like you were taking advantage of all the free help even though you have money."
"What?" I spat at Stewie.
He put up his hands. "I don't think that." He turned to Annalisa. "I never said that!"
"But your little gang of Sean's protectors think that? What the fuck is the matter with you people? And why the hell would it even matter? How—how dare you go into my personal records like that. What else are you gonna come at me with, Stewie? You gonna tell me you've found my piece of shit father who walked out when I was two months old? You gonna tell me about the fights, the way my grandfather called my mom a whore? The way she'd cry herself to sleep at night trying to figure out how to afford the electricity bill because my fucking rich ass grandfather cut her off and wouldn't even look at either of us? Did you dig that up too, Stewie?"
He was shaking his head back and forth rapidly, but I was done with the conversation. I stormed back to my office and pulled out my cell phone. Stewie, Annalisa, and Cerise followed. I dialed Sean, but he didn't answer.
I shoved Stewie in the chest with my index finger. "Get him on the phone. Now!"
"Morgan, he's—"
"I don't give a fuck what he is, get him on the phone!"
Cerise came to stand beside me. Annalisa didn't even hesitate to join us. Stewie looked at us and pulled out his cell phone.
It was only a second after Stewie dialed that Sean picked up the line. Bastard wouldn't answer for me, but in a heartbeat he answers Stewie. That told me all I needed to know about his priorities.
"Sean?" Stewie started quietly. I put my hand out impatiently. "Morgan needs to talk to you."
"Hey—" He started, but I didn't even let him finish his greeting.
"I don't know who you are. I thought I knew a little about how you'd been raised. I thought I at least knew what kind of person you were. You asked if you could do a background check on me. You never once mentioned someone would dig through my past, dig through my awful family history, and pull up some shit that would bring back all the pain I went through as a kid—all the shit my mom went through. How dare you! You think just because you're rich and famous you have the right to know every fucking detail about me? You don't have that right, and now you've lost the right to even fucking talk to me. I don't want to hear from you again."
I hit end on the phone and handed it back to Stewie. "Get out."
"Morgan, he—"
"I said, get—out!"
He looked to Cerise then to Annalisa before letting his shoulders slump as he took slow steps through the door.
Cerise followed me as I walked a very angry, tear-filled path back to my apartment. I explained through broken sentences what had happened. She tried to comfort me, but I was beyond anyone's reach. I just couldn't believe Sean violated me that way. And everything my grandfather said or did haunted my thoughts. I didn't want his fucking money. It came with memories and pain and felt like a betrayal to my mother. It made me sick.
I went into my bedroom and pulled out my bag. "I have to get out of here—just—I'll be back when I—I—."
Cerise helped me throw some clothes into my bag. "I can handle everything here for a few days." She worked a key off her keychain and handed it to me. "Go to Dad's cabin at Lake George—no one's there right now. You remember how to get there?" I nodded and she gave me that incredibly worried look she got whenever I was a total mess. "You'll call me the second you get there? And you'll drive super careful. No tears while driving?"
I nodded and grabbed my bag, in a hurry to get as far away from it all as I could.
I kept my phone off the entire hour and a half to the cabin. When I turned it on to let Cerise know I'd made it, the notification light blinked angrily at me, but I didn't even bother to look at how many messages I'd received and from whom. I immediately turned the damn thing back off again.
It was freezing inside the cabin, but the heater kicked on right away, and I warmed up some hot water for tea on the stove. I tried to get comfortable, tried to relax, but I was so angry and upset. Finally, the tears came, and I cried myself to sleep on the couch watching reruns of I Love Lucy.
The next morning, I felt awful. My eyes were so red and puffy, and I was so exhausted that I just stayed on the couch for several hours. When I actually managed to get myself into the shower, I felt much better physically. Emotionally, I was a total wreck, but I managed to keep
from bawling my eyes out again. I just couldn't get over the fact that my grandfather actually thought I would want his money or anything from him for that matter. When Mom was in the hospital those last few weeks, he never even bothered to come see her. He never came to say goodbye. She never said how hurt she was, but I knew it.
I remembered the first time I met him when I was eight. He spoke to me in a very formal, very detached way as if I was nothing to him. He'd made a remark that I couldn't understand and Mom told me to wait outside for her. Listening at the door, I heard her begging him not to say something that would hurt me. She told him she didn't care what he said to her, but begged him to be decent to me. I'd never heard her beg before, and I never heard her beg anyone for anything after that either.
When I was fifteen, I asked her if she was sad that he wasn't a better father to her. I'd always remember her words. "I'd trade you for him a hundred times over, honey. Some people just can't accept others for what they are, for who they are—they'll always find faults and lay blame. You have to feel sorry for people like that because they'll never be able to really love anyone or allow anyone to love them."
I remember thinking how, even when she had every right to hate him, she didn't. As I got older, I tried to do the same, but I couldn't. I hated the man. I hated his money and how he seemed to feel entitled to making others feel like shit because of it. I hated what it did to me through Brent, and now I had even more reason to hate him and his money. But again, it wasn't just him and his money—it was Sean and his lack of concern for how his digging might hurt me. That's what had me twisted in pain the most. I didn't feel like he really cared about me. Maybe it had just all been some elaborate form of entertainment for him. I felt sick thinking of it as I dried my hair.
I wasn't the least bit hungry, not that that was surprising. I still knew I had to eat something, so I pulled on my shoes and decided to head out to the small supermarket up the road. Cerise and I walked there a hundred times during the summers we'd spent at the lake. Their popsicle selection was always well-stocked. I couldn't walk in the snow though, so I went back to the kitchen to grab my keys when there was a knock on the door.
I half expected to find Stewie on my doorstep, but a tall stranger stood there instead.
"Can I help you?" I asked politely.
The gorgeous man just stood there staring at me, his short dark hair blew a little with the wind. He was so familiar. I knew that I had seen him somewhere. His lips turned up in the tiniest smirk, and I knew exactly where I'd seen him.
My heart was beating like crazy. I was so incredibly starstruck for a moment as I tried to remember the actor's name. He'd been in The Death of Friends, which I'd seen a million times since it was one of Cerise's favorite movies. I smiled like a teenage girl with Bieber fever. "You're—you're—" But his name wouldn't come to me, and then, suddenly, it did, and I felt like an idiot. My smile dropped as I whispered, "Sean Wilder. Sean Wilder… Sean…" My voice hung heavy in the air with fear.
It couldn't be, I thought. He wasn't just some random Hollywood actor, he was Sean freaking Wilder. He'd won Academy Awards for crying out loud. I could feel the panic and anger, and I don't even know what bubbling in my chest. "Sean?" This was beyond huge, beyond anywhere near the level of fame I had imagined when thinking about Sean. How could he keep this from me?
He smiled at me. A freaking glorious smile I'd seen dozens of times in movies.
"Hi, sweetie."
Sean Freaking Wilder
My jaw must have been hanging wide open for a full minute before I even blinked. He lost his smile—smart man—and even took a step back. I may have looked excited to meet him before, but as it sunk in, I had trouble not hating him. Sean Wilder was my Sean? My Sean? Who was I kidding? He wasn't mine? He belonged to the world of shining, flaming movie stars that lived in an entirely different universe from mine. He was a thing to think about and maybe someday get an autograph from, not some let-me-chat-with-you-every damn day and hide-my-identity kind of jokester.
And this had to be a joke. How could he possibly think we could work out together? He was known worldwide, respected worldwide, drooled over worldwide. And who the hell was I? Together? He and I? Right. How dare he lead me on. My eyes were huge as I stood there freaking out. My jaw was clenched so tightly that I thought I might break teeth.
"You're beautiful when you're mad."
I would have punched him, seriously punched him, but this was Sean Wilder. He would probably sue me for damaging his livelihood or something. I didn't want to be in the media for hitting a celebrity… the media. Oh God, the media would have a field day with me. Sean Wilder takes pity on hometown nobody Morgan Edwards. Oh, but he knew this didn't he? That's what the background check was for—the digging through my past. The reminder of my father leaving, my grandfather hating me, not being good enough for the family to even be recognized as a member of it, all of it added to the anger at him keeping such a huge thing from me and left me with one pissed off option. I slammed the door in his face as hard as I could. If I was trash to mu own family, what did that make me to Sean freaking Wilder?
"Morgan? Please," he yelled as he pounded on the door. "I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to know you liked me for me, not because I'm Sean Wilder."
"You?" I yelled through the door, pacing on the other side. It was a good thing I didn't have neighbors for several miles. "You? You think I like you or—Sean—or the guy I thought I was talking to? How could I like him? I didn't even know him. You—you hid this massively huge thing from me. Big! Just—just—" I couldn't think of another word to properly convey how strongly I felt about the issue.
"Calm down. Let's just talk about this."
"Calm down? You want me to calm down? Afraid the paparazzi might hear me? Afraid I might hurt your reputation with a scene? But you like scenes, don't you? You're a famous actor! Photo shoot. I thought you were some businessman like Steve Jobs or something or some little known actor. You're Sean Wilder!"
"Morgan. I know you're upset with me, but if we could just talk about this for a moment—"
I stormed back out onto the porch and was pleased to see him take several steps away from my anger. "We could what? Work this out?" I couldn't keep the blatant sarcasm out of my voice. I laughed loudly in his face. "You and I are on different planets. You're Sean Wilder. You know that right? And my own damn family doesn't want to claim me, which you must know from the very thorough investigation you did on me. Why'd you bother? This—" I waved my hand back and forth between us rapidly and wildly. "Can't work. I wouldn't even know where to begin."
I turned back to the door. I threw it open as I looked back at his surprised face staring at me and smacked myself in the side of the head with the door. Disoriented for a moment, I nearly fell backward, but Sean-freaking-Wilder caught me. It hurt like hell and seemed to snap me out of the hysteria I'd been in. I was a little dizzy as I tried to open the door again. Sean put his arm around my shoulders from behind me. Being in his arms was so overwhelming that it made it tough to tell whether the dizziness was from him or being hit in the side of the head. He pulled me back a few steps then opened the door and nudged me inside, keeping his hand on my hip.
I tried to step away on my own, but I was suddenly incredibly weak after burning through all the adrenaline in my system yelling at him. He followed me through the door, shoved his bag off his shoulder and put both hands on my hips, steering me to the couch. And damn if I didn't want him to keep touching me. But who was I kidding? He was Sean Wilder. This was a recipe for giant, whole heart destruction here. I couldn't sit back and pretend this could ever actually happen between us. And I didn't want it to happen. The asshole didn't give a damn about me! He didn't care how his investigation into me would hurt. He didn't care that it had hurt me. He just let me—well, he flew here and—I couldn't think.
Sitting on the couch, I rubbed the back of my head, tears coming to my eyes. Again, I was unsure if the damage done was from the he
ad wound or from the gaping wound in my heart, but my lip was quivering nonetheless.
I didn't notice him walk away, but I watched him come back and hand me a bag of frozen strawberries. I looked up at him in confusion.
He shrugged. "It's the only thing in the freezer. Incidentally, they expired four years ago, so don't think about popping one in your mouth."
I took the bag and pressed it to my head, wincing as it touched the lump that had to be growing there already.
He took off his jacket and sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and stared at me. "Can we talk now?"
I just stared at him.
He shook his head and drew his lips together. I'd seen him look like that in Anthony's Coffin when the officer admitted to killing his cousin. "Everyone said I was nuts not to tell you who I was. They said—well I won't repeat what they said—but they thought it would solve all the hesitation you had about me." He shook his head again. "They don't know you."
And he did? If he knew me so well then why did he need the investigation?
He shrugged and leaned even closer to me. "I know you're pissed as hell at me. I don't blame you. I had to keep this a secret, Morgan. I had to know you liked me for me because I—" He was back to shaking his head. He leaned away from me and stared out the window. "At least now you know why I had to have you checked out. You don't know what it's like to be me." He ran his hand through his hair and folded his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes, and I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to comfort him, but I couldn't get past his face. Sean Wilder. How could I possibly comfort Sean Wilder?
"Anyway, I can't be blindsided by something the media will tear apart or someone the media will tear apart. I couldn't do that to you or to me. I had to know. This face, this name, there's so much more shit to deal with than with someone not constantly in the spotlight. You don't know how many times I wanted to be some random wealthy businessman." He leaned toward me again, staring hard at me. "But I'm not, Morgan. And I'm not alone. I support a lot of people. I couldn't put their futures in jeopardy because I was falling in love with a girl I didn't even know."
Accidental Texting: Finding Love despite the Spotlight Page 13