Roan (Hollywood Binge Novel Book 2)

by Julia Bright

  “Five minutes, Blaine. That’s it.”

  Roan’s anger vibrated through the room as he pushed off the doorframe and left her standing there.

  “Come downstairs now. They’re close by. It’ll look like we surprised them. I’m here.”

  Dang it. She didn’t even have time to make Roan see reason before she had to be downstairs. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said after a long pause. Presley ended the call and grabbed her h off the sink counter as she went for Roan. His back was to her, but she could see the cords of his neck muscles tensed and strained. She hated this caused him so much stress. If he had any real idea the true relationship she and Blaine had, he’d know this meant absolutely nothing.

  “He’s downstairs and needs me for a few minutes,” she said, standing about a foot away from Roan while pushing her arms through her hoodie sleeves.

  “Don’t go.” Those dark devilish eyes turned toward her, pinning her with his stare.

  “His parents showed up unexpectedly. I just need to go down there to see them. That’s all. When I’m done, we can go,” she tried to explain, knowing the cryptic explanation wasn’t near enough to ease any of the apprehension he was tossing her way.

  “I don’t give a shit. Don’t go, Presley. I don’t like anything about that guy.” Roan pivoted on his heels, rounding on her. He stalked toward her, coming all into her personal space as he took her by her forearms, drawing her against his chest. “I don’t want you around him.”

  “I have to, Roan. He was good to me. I owe him,” she tried to explain, desperate to make him understand.

  “He cheated on you all the time. He never respected you!” His tone grew angrier with each word. Roan’s grip tightened on her forearms, causing Presley to put both hands on his chest, pushing away.

  “I know what he did. Please don’t do this right now. This could be the last time I’ll see him, or them, for a long time. I’ll be right back. Give me five minutes,” she pleaded, taking a couple of steps backward, creating more space between them as she tried to defuse the situation. Roan stayed rooted in his spot, just glaring at her. His jaw clamped tightly closed, the tic double timing in his frustration. Mad didn’t cover it as she watched him barely hold himself together. She’d have to tell him the truth very soon, maybe once they were on the road. She had a fifteen-hour drive to confess her business relationship with Blaine and make Roan understand that he had absolutely nothing to worry about where her so-called ex was concerned.

  Knowing this was a bad idea, Presley still turned away. She left her phone with her purse sitting on the side chair and exited the room. The sooner she got this done, the sooner she could get back to Roan and make him see he had nothing to worry about.

  Minutes later, Presley was downstairs, walking out the front doors toward Blaine who stood in the circle driveway. He always looked so different when his parents were around. He wore a very respectable pair of pressed khaki pants and a crisp, clean, equally pressed button-down, looking very much like the accomplished son of a Texas senator.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, his brows snapping together when he saw her coming toward him.

  “This is what I was wearing,” she said in hushed tones as she got closer. He usually made her wear knee-length dresses when she’d have to see his parents. “Do I need to leave?”

  “Shit, Pres.”

  She laughed a little because he actually looked undecided. Poor guy. His mother and father had him scared of his own shadow for fear of disappointing them.

  “Tell them I had practice this morning. Or better yet, I can leave. I shouldn’t even be here. They need to know we’re on a break,” she said firmly. This was supposed to be his year to come out of the closet, to stand up and be the man he wanted to be. Hell, he’d been carrying on a secret affair with her stunt partner for well over a year. Blaine was in a very committed, secret relationship with the guy. They were the ones traveling together this summer.

  “They’re pulling in. Smile. I’ll think of something.” Blaine wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple as his parents’ town car pulled into the U-shaped drive. Like she’d done a hundred times before, Presley smiled brightly, waiting for two of the most pretentious egomaniacs on the planet to exit their car. His father sat in the backseat and waited until the driver opened the back door before he stepped out. She’d never liked Blaine’s parents. With that thought, she assumed the position and lowered her head to Blaine’s shoulder, stepping closer into his side. She’d put on a show one last time.

  Roan stood in the window at the perfect angle to watch Presley wrap herself around Blaine. Fuck if the neurons in his head didn’t explode with all the jealousy raging through him. He glared at the display happening below. This was something he’d been forced to watch repeatedly for the last two years. Now that he’d had her, no way would he be a party in sharing her. And that said it lightly. He hated that little slime-ball, motherfucker Blaine more than he hated anyone else in the world.

  The Danielses parked just past the awning, getting out of the car. He could see it all as they each took Presley in their arms, giving her what he could only describe as warm, inviting hugs. That frustrated him too. His own parents would look down on Presley, ensure she felt less than them because, in their mind, that was exactly where she belonged. She deserved to have a boyfriend whose family would love her. Once the initial greetings were given, Presley went back to the circle of Blaine’s arm and turned her pretty face up to that loser. He saw red as Blaine leaned in for a kiss. She planted one on his cheek. The same lips he’d spent all night adoring touched that motherfucker. Black dots spotted his vision as he absorbed a depth of jealous anger he’d never experienced before in his life. She accepted Blaine so easily after spending hours kissing him last night. Fuck, his heart couldn’t take this. Not this. The ache was so intense he absently lifted a hand to his chest while reaching down to the chair beside him, taking a seat before his legs gave out.

  Dropping his head in his hands, he willed himself to calm down. Without question, that time, his brain had exploded. Nothing prepared him for the intense jolt of resentment raging through him. He loved that woman. Everything inside him wanted her and only her and had for years. He’d tried to show her that last night. He’d purposefully and methodically made love to her over and over again, telling her everything he’d gone through while watching her from afar even though it exposed the most vulnerable side of his nature, and now her response was to cuddle up next to that low-life, fucking creep? Presley was down there, holding Blaine with familiarity and laughing along with his parents while he sat on the sidelines, watching everything at a distance.

  Fuck that.

  Roan shoved away from the chair and went for his suitcase.

  Fuck her.

  Fuck that douche-bag.

  Fuck this stupid hick town. After what he and Presley had shared last night, if she still wanted Blaine, she could have him.

  He yanked the suite door open, sending it flying as it slammed against the wall. He didn’t care. He started for the elevators and halted, pivoting on his heels. If he went through the lobby, he’d see them and probably beat the shit out of that asswipe motherfucker. Instead, he went for the stairs on the other end of the hall. He stomped down, pushed through the exit door, and went around the building for his car. Luckily, they were no longer outside. Within minutes, Roan was pulling out of the parking lot, and he refused to look in the rearview mirror as he hit the highway and headed out of this shit-hole town. There was nothing left for him there. He was done. Life was starting over from this point forward.

  With a Herculean effort, he shoved Presley out of his mind and opened the car up, letting it roar down the highway. Fuck his heart. He’d pined for years for that woman. Never, ever again.

  “Something’s wrong,” Presley said, walking side by side with the hotel manager toward Roan’s suite. It had taken some talking, but she’d managed to get the manager to enter Roan’s room
to see why he wasn’t answering the door. Fear gripped her heart, and a panic she couldn’t quite comprehend had settled in. She couldn’t wrap her mind around any good reason why he wasn’t opening the door. Images of him slipping and falling, hurting himself in some way, had her quickening her pace, making it to the door before the manager.

  “Miss, you have to stay out here.”

  The manager knocked several times, calling out Roan’s name before reluctantly opening the door. He entered first, standing just inside the doorway, calling out Roan’s name again. When he walked over the threshold, she followed right on his heels, sounding a little desperate as she also called out Roan’s name over the manager’s shoulder. She looked in the bathroom, saw nothing, then went for the bedroom, seeing only her purse still on the chair. The suitcase he’d had ready to go was no longer in the closet, and Roan was nowhere to be seen.

  “He must have left,” the manager said, turning back to her, spreading his arms in a clear I-told-you-so kind of way. Man, she wished she remembered this guy’s name. They’d had a class together. Even with the clear evidence that Roan was no longer in the room, her head was having a hard time connecting all the possibilities.

  “He wouldn’t have left me. We were leaving together.” She walked the length of the room and looked back inside the bathroom. There was no sign of him. Going for her phone, she scrolled through the contacts and realized she hadn’t added his number. “Can you call him?”

  “Miss…” The manager started hedging some. He hadn’t wanted to enter this room. Now, he clearly didn’t want to make that call, but she didn’t care. What if Roan had been robbed and they’d taken his things?

  “Please stop calling me that. You know me. We had calculus together. I’m worried about him. Not twenty minutes ago we were dressing to leave together and now there’s no sign of him.” She tried to explain the situation reasonably, knowing how frantic she sounded. The guy had to see one-night stands all the time, but that wasn’t this, and the sooner he got on board, the faster they could help Roan.

  After a minute of him just staring at her, he gave a little eye roll and conceded. “Come downstairs with me.”

  She did, again staying right on his heels, trying to speed him up. Downstairs, they wound their way to his office, where she sat across a large, empty desk, impatiently bouncing her leg, willing him to move a little faster in finding Roan’s reservation on his computer. Dread coiled in her heart. After a couple of steadying breaths, she willed herself to calm down. Maybe he’d gone for gas. No, why would he have taken his bag? When the manager picked up the desk phone and dialed, her eyes remained riveted to every one of his movements. When he spoke, her heart soared. Roan was at least able to answer the phone. Their gazes connected over the desk, and she watched as the manager grew slightly pale, lowering his gaze from hers. “I understand.”

  Apparently, the phone went dead, because he placed the receiver in the cradle while clearing his throat. He didn’t resume eye contact as he spoke. “Mr. Westfield checked out.”

  “Where is he?” she asked, confused.

  “On his way to Chicago. He says for you to gather your things from the room,” he filled in.

  “I did that. I have my purse.” She patted the purse strap hanging over her shoulder as the truth began to slowly replace the fear her imagination had been conjuring. “Is he coming back?”

  “No. It didn’t sound like that.” This time compassion crossed his face as he rose. She watched as if this were some bad, suspenseful movie as the manager ran his hand down the front of his blazer before coming toward her.

  “What did he say?” she asked, her eyes staying on him, even when she had to strain her head to look up at him. She had no other choice but to remain seated, her heart sank in her chest followed by an enormous amount of pain.

  “I’d rather not say,” he said, coming to stand in front of her, leaning back against the edge of his desk. His fingers gripped on to the edge, his knuckles turning white—the only sign he wasn’t the calm, cool, collected guy his passive face tried to portray.

  “Say it anyway,” she demanded. Presley could feel the heat on her face and the tears filling her eyes. Roan had gone on to Chicago and left her behind? No. He couldn’t have. No.

  “Presley, I’d rather not. It was colorful.” They stared at one another as the wind knocked from her lungs, and she sat fully back in her seat to absorb the blow. He had left her. Roan had done exactly what she’d thought he would. He’d used her and then left.

  Oh God.

  “Let me get you a cab home.”

  “He left without me?” She wasn’t processing any of this well, but Roan had wanted her. She hadn’t imagined that. He didn’t have to say all those things, but he had. And then he’d said them over and over again. What in the world happened between then and now?

  “I can probably get the van driver to take you home. Do you have friends you can call so you’re not alone? You’re turning pale in front of me,” he said, reaching for the phone on his desk as she just sat there becoming almost despondent. What happened? What had she misread?

  “I…” When nothing else came out, she forced herself up. The helplessness was coming on full force now; the tears were brimming.

  “Come on. I’ll make sure you get home.”

  “Are you sure that he left me?” she asked, the pain of the reality shattered her heart. All her well-used defense mechanisms came rushing forward, protecting her from the tremendous pain and humiliation settling in. She had to get out of this hotel. She couldn’t catch her breath as little huffs of air escaped. Roan Westfield had in fact used her last night—filled her head with nonsense, broke through all her barriers, and took everything she had to offer. She’d completely given herself to him on every level, believed all his lies. She still believed his lies. He was a master storyteller, and she’d bought every single word. A tear broke free, falling down her face, and she lifted a hand, swiping that aside as another followed right behind.

  “Ah, Presley, you’re killing me. Do you have some friends to call?” She looked around the office, everything somehow a little different now. After a second more, she got to her feet, swiveled on her heels, and went for the office door.

  “I… Yeah. I’ll call them. I can get home. It’s not far,” she said, opening the door.

  “Let me drive you,” he offered from behind her. Based on his worried tone, she must look very much like the train wreck she was, and his concern seemed to be escalating. It was very sweet, but every insecurity she’d ever faced was nothing compared to this moment. She shook her head. No way. She couldn’t handle the pathetic looks he kept throwing her way. She’d seen that too many times in her life.

  Presley left the office, tossing out a barely audible, “No, it’s fine. Thank you for your help.” She dug her sunglasses out of her purse and shoved them in place as she walked through the lobby. Still, it felt like all eyes were on her, watching her in last night’s clothes as she moved through the crowd in all her shame.

  Presley walked the three miles to her on-campus apartment. By the time she opened the front door, the tears that had fallen in absolute desolation were coming to an end. A blessed numbness now in its place.

  Okay, so Roan had used her just like she’d thought in the beginning. Ultimately, she’d been the one to give herself to him. She thought she could handle a one-night stand. She couldn’t. Lesson learned. More importantly, this wasn’t the first time she’d been beaten down; she’d rebuild her spine, get stronger with time. The only idea she couldn’t quite wrap her head around was how she could be this destroyed over a guy she’d just gotten to know.

  Chapter Six

  Three months later

  “God, it’s hot outside,” Presley said, wiping a trickle of sweat off her brow. Sticking her fingers under the hem of her uniform top, she adjusted the tightly fitted material, trying to make more room for her growing breasts. A full summer of drowning her sorrows in tubs of Blue Bell’s praline pe
can ice cream made all her clothes grow snugger. The midriff top was crushing her breasts. If something didn’t change, she’d have to get a bigger size or go on a massive diet to get some of this weight off.

  “It’s not as hot as it’s been,” Tena said, bending over, touching her toes, stretching her body before the first city-wide pep rally of the football season.

  “I don’t feel good,” Presley said and started to bend, but stars began shooting through her vision and she wobbled a bit on her feet.

  “You haven’t felt good for a long time. Buck up, buttercup,” Tena teased with zero compassion. Presley got it. She’d been a mess for months now. She couldn’t pull herself together no matter how hard she tried. When Tena rose and got a better look at Presley, she stepped in closer. “You look terrible. You’re all pale.”

  “I’ll be all ri—” The stadium blurred and her legs gave out as she crumpled to the ground and darkness took over.

  Forty-five minutes later, tears welled as Presley stared at the nurse in the emergency room where she’d been transported. This couldn’t be happening. Months had passed by. Surely, she’d have figured all this out by now.

  “Can I call someone for you?” The compassion in nurse’s voice made the tears tumble over, spilling as they ran down her cheeks. Tissues were pushed into her hands as a gentle palm patted her back.

  “It can’t be possible,” she said in complete denial.

  “You have a lot of options. I can call our social work department; they can help—”

  “No. I just need to go home,” Presley said through hiccups and sobbing as she pushed off the gurney. She wiped at the non-stop tears still streaming down her face while going for her duffle bag, praying she’d packed her warm-ups.

  “I need to get your discharge papers, but, Presley, we’re here for you. There are people that can help you with this.” The sincerity in the woman’s voice was too much, and Presley just stopped in the middle of the room, dropping her head in her hands. How could she have let this happen?