by Anah Crow
One Real Thing
By Anah Crow and Dianne Fox
Nick Addison has taken care of Hollister Welles since college. Though the responsible grad student and the uninhibited partier were total opposites, they had always shared an inexplicable bond. Nick knows he should stop saving the out-of-control Holly, but when Holly hits rock-bottom hard—and publicly—he can’t resist coming to his rescue one last time. Can’t resist the feeling of having Holly need him again.
Bringing Holly back to New York City, Nick gives Holly the chance to face his demons and break his dangerous habits—while keeping Holly’s presence a secret from Nick’s wife. He doesn’t want to face Caroline’s hatred of Holly…or the reasons she might have to resent him.
Then the tables are turned. Just as Holly pulls himself together, Nick’s life falls apart. Now it’s up to Holly to bring Nick back from the brink—and to make Nick finally face the desires he’s long denied.
Dear Reader,
A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions.
This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions!
But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and military science fiction to fairy-tale fantasy, from mysteries to romantic suspense, we’re proud to be offering a wide variety of genres and tales of escapism to our customers in this new year. Every week is a new adventure, and we want to bring our readers along on the journey. Be daring, be brave and try something new with Carina Press in 2011!
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Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
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Dedication
For John and Jason. Thank you for your (nearly) infinite patience.
Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
Chapter One
Nick Addison stared at his computer screen and sighed. An email from Rich stood out, bolded and unread, in the list of incoming messages. Rich’s messages were invariably filled with links to gossip sites reporting on their old friend Hollister Welles’s latest exploits. Did Nick really want to know what was in this one?
Yes. In the seven years since Nick finished graduate school, and they’d gone their separate ways—Nick establishing himself in journalism and Holly finishing his undergrad and ending up in public relations—Nick had followed Holly’s adventures through tabloids and the occasional holiday cards they sent to each other. He’d watched Holly barhop through life the same way he’d party-crawled his way through college, flitting between cities and lovers and jobs. Just like in college, Nick couldn’t look away.
to:[email protected]
from:[email protected]
Welles never could stay away from the cameras. I don’t have to wonder what’s happening to him. I just wait for the tabloids to tell me. Check it out. Some things never change. I know you take the news too seriously to read this crap, so I do it for you.
http://www.outoutout.com/entertainment/wrong-pressley
http://www.gossipfly.com/entertainment/sierra-lays-down-law
http://www.stargazer.com/gossip/sierra-single-again
Rich
PS: Anne says to say hello to Caroline. Something about that Junior League thing with the charity ball. I wasn’t listening. She’ll know what I mean.
Nick clicked the first link and scrolled past several grainy photos of two men making out. One of the men was tall, with short, frosty blond hair. The other might have been any blond surfer type with unruly curls, but Nick knew it was Holly. A familiar surge of heat rushed through him. Nick always told himself it was simply annoyance, but he only ever felt it when Holly was involved. According to the article, the tall one was Simon Pressley. The last Nick had heard Holly was dating some reality TV star named Sierra Pressley.
Oh. Simon was her brother. God, what had Holly done now?
Nick clicked the next link and saw a blonde in stiletto heels and a skimpy cocktail dress—Sierra Pressley, the caption said—screaming at Holly and threatening him with a bottle. Skimming farther down, Nick found a flash-burned shot of a couple of leggy young women in similarly skimpy dresses who were helping Holly out of the gutter. A quick glance at the surrounding text revealed that Sierra’s bodyguard had thrown Holly out of the party and into the street.
A third photo showed Holly at some other club, sprawled in a corner booth, surrounded by women. In the foreground long bare legs stretched up from a pair of impressively tall stiletto heels planted on the table in front of Holly, then soared up and out of the shot. Stripper. In the corner a brunette in a bright red bikini bent over to serve drinks from a tray.
That was just like Holly. Get dumped, get kicked to the curb and go right on partying. Why stop? It wasn’t like anything actually fazed him, not that Nick had ever seen.
And then it got worse. The last link led to photos of Holly’s Bimmer bathed in flames outside an expensive-looking set of condos. Nick gritted his teeth. The plastic casing on his mouse creaked under the strain of his grip. That woman had no right to punish Holly that way, no right to punish him at all if she couldn’t manage to keep him under control. She obviously didn’t deserve him.
Nick made himself close the email. He’d try to find time to call Holly’s office later, but for now, he needed to focus on work. He had to get this exposé on Senator Ingalls to the editor within the hour to make the cutoff for tomorrow’s paper.
As he went over the article one last time, his mind wandered. He couldn’t help pitying the senator—how was she going to feel, finding out her husband had been sleeping with her interns, one after the next, for years? Especially since it was election season and her campaign was in full swing. Nick couldn’t even begin to imagine. Her reelection had seemed like a sure thing, but this would put her job in jeopardy. The blame could be laid entirely at her husband’s feet.
And Nick’s. Not that it would keep
him from breaking the story. Reporting on state politics was his job, and he was damn good at it.
“How’s the story coming?”
Nick looked up to see Max, his editor, leaning against the half wall of his cubicle. “Take a look for yourself—I just emailed it to you. Should be in your inbox now. Her husband’s been using her campaign office like his personal brothel, and it’s going to sink her career. The lazy bastard couldn’t even cross the street to screw around on her. I’ll never understand that mentality.”
Max hummed and nodded. “I’ll get back to you in a couple of minutes. I’m going to check in with Sheila about her piece on the bridge funding mess first.”
“No problem.” As Max walked away, Nick checked the clock.
His wife, Caroline, had gotten them tickets to a show. He’d warned her he was working on a big story—that was the most she ever wanted to know about his work, was the story big enough to garner attention?—but that hadn’t swayed her. It was opening night, and everyone who was anyone would be there.
If Max got back to him soon, Nick would be able to get there on time. Barely.
***
Nick managed to get to the Hirschfeld with only seconds to spare. He slid into the seat next to Caroline moments before the lights went down, but long enough for her to grace him with a saccharine smile that assured he’d be hearing about his choice of attire—the same suit he’d worn to work—as well as his timing once the night was over. Then the lights dimmed, and she turned her attention to the stage.
In the cab on the way back to their apartment, Nick turned to Caroline and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thanks.” Caroline smiled at him, a reward for stating the obvious. She knew she looked good, but as she’d said when they started dating, she wanted to know he knew it too. “Wish you’d had time to look as good.” She sighed and reached up to tweak his wilted collar. “It’s probably for the best that you arrived so late. If anyone saw you like this, they’d think I was doing charity work. At least you weren’t dressed like that man in the first row. Jeans on opening night. No class.” She patted his thigh. “But I’m glad you made it. I hate sitting alone. People feel sorry for a single girl with an empty seat, you know.”
“The story goes to print in the morning, so my schedule should be back to normal for a while.” Nick kissed her cheek by way of an apology and rushed to change the subject. “I heard from Rich today. Anne says hi and something about a Junior League thing.”
“Oh yes. I’ll call her tomorrow. I’ve been so busy, I’d forgotten. I hardly noticed you weren’t around for the last week. How you keep track of everything without writing it down is beyond me.” Caroline opened her clutch and pulled out her ever-present PDA so she could leave a note for herself. “It’s no wonder things end up slipping your mind once in a while.”
Nick’s organization system—pen, paper, the recorder function on his phone and his memory—had never quite suited Caroline, but it worked for him. “Rich sent me some links to what Holly’s been up to lately. Looks like he’s having a hard run of it.”
“Holly?” Caroline’s laugh was politely derisive. “You mean he’s still at large?” She snapped her clutch closed. “I had no idea he hadn’t managed to wrap his car around a tree or something yet. I suppose I’d’ve heard about it, though. His ambition always did seem to be maximum collateral damage.”
For all that Nick hadn’t seen Holly in years, Caroline’s attitude hurt. Nick’s relationship with Caroline had driven a wedge between him and Holly. In college, they’d stayed close, but once Nick got his master’s and married Caroline, everything had changed.
Once upon a time, he and Holly had been something like friends. Best friends, but not like other people would have defined it. They’d been at odds on every topic, and it had taken Nick a while to work out that their debates had simply been Holly’s way to get closer to him. Even within their circle of friends, Nick’s relationship with Holly had been unique. Holly had flirted with—and often fucked—anyone he could get his hands on, anyone but Nick. Nick had been the one to take care of him and reel him in when he got too far out of bounds. Holly was out of bounds now, had been straying further and further in the last few years, but Nick was too far away to help.
“I’m sure you’d have heard about it,” Nick murmured noncommittally before letting the conversation drift to safer ground. “So what are you and Anne working on?”
Caroline gave him a fond look. “You know, it’s a good thing that repeating myself only helps me to clarify and solidify my already brilliant schemes.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I shall count your lack of attention as one of your many contributions to this marriage. But if you don’t pay attention this time, you’ll find yourself auctioned off at a charity ball.”
She’d do it too. Nick put Holly out of his head and listened to her plans.
Chapter Two
“Rent time.” The pounding on the door was nowhere near as loud as the pounding in Holly’s head.
“I just paid,” Holly shouted back. Oh God, his head and his body were so, so heavy. He unglued one eye and peered around him. Heavy because someone was lying on him.
“You pay last week’s rent. This is this week.”
Oh, the logic. It burned. Holly dragged himself from underneath the body weighing him down. “What week is it?” His hands landed on the ancient carpet, and he slithered off the bed, picking his way between the empty bottles scattered like a labyrinth. His hips came free, and he fell forward all in a rush, bashing his cheek against the floor.
“Third week of June, Mr. Holly. You want me to come back later?”
“Uh, no.” Holly crawled toward the rickety armchair by the window. He was sure he’d stashed rent money in there.
“Stop screaming,” someone on the bed mumbled. “You’re gonna wake the squirrels.”
Squirrels. It had been that kind of week. The room had to stink like burnt trash and tires—drug paraphernalia littered the table by the bed—but he couldn’t smell it. He hated when he snorted something he shouldn’t have. If only he could remember what it had been. Fuck it, he didn’t care. Caring was just a reflex these days, and an inconvenience at that.
Holly found a wad of money he’d shoved through a tear in the underside of the chair. He squinted at it, but his eyes wouldn’t work in the smoggy, yellow half-light.
“I got money,” he called.
His legs didn’t want to work, but Holly managed to get to the door and pull it open as far as the chain would allow.
The manager’s face was dark and soft and wrinkled and sagging; random hairs sprouted all over it, white ones, putting the lie to the harsh red curls above it. Her face looks like a scrotum, Holly’s drug-and-booze-addled inner narrator observed. You’re renting from a walking testicle.
Fuck. Holly hated his brain. “Here.” He shoved the money at her. “How many weeks is that?” I wonder if she has a twin sister. Balls come in pairs.
The manager—the patch embroidered on her blue vest read Yeleña—took the roll of money and pulled off the rubber band so she could examine it. “Three weeks.” She put the band back on and shoved the money in her pocket. “I come collect next week anyway. You need bigger deposit. I smell drugs. If cops break down the door, you pay.”
“Hey!”
But Yeleña’s back was turned and she was off down the long row of dingy doors, to hound another deadbeat into coughing up the two hundred bucks it cost to stay at the motel for a week.
“Baby.” The word was drawn out all sexy, but then a cough ruined it. A pair of fake-tanned hands tipped with pearl-pink acrylic nails slid over Holly’s belly and down to his dick.
Why didn’t you tell me I was naked? Holly shrieked at his brain. Naked and thin. The skin on his belly drooped between his hip bones like a sheet hung up to dry.
I thought you were trying to get a break on the rent.
“What?” Holly closed the door a
nd rested his forehead on the frame, clinging to the handle to stay upright.
“We’re outta party.” Malinda sounded bereft.
Of course we are, said Holly’s brain. Princess here goes through more weed and E in a night than you do in a week. Kids these days.
“Ask your father.” It was about time Holly’s ex-boss chipped in. Again.
Of course the PR firm where Holly had once held a decent job working for Malinda’s father had dumped him like a syphilitic whore as soon as the pictures of his breakup with Sierra hit the papers. Holly hadn’t expected less—Sierra wasn’t going to let her PR firm employ her ex.
Lorne, the cheap bastard, had not only fired Holly, but he’d taken the cost of the destroyed company car out of Holly’s generous severance package. What was left of the money, Holly had vowed loudly to everyone in the office, he was going to use to wipe his ass. He hadn’t done that with all of it, but when it came to disrespectful behavior, Holly liked to start with the basics.
Screwing his ex-boss’s daughter was a good finishing move—especially since he had it on good authority Lorne had cooked up the whole Simon debacle—but Holly was done with her. She was in the way of his downward slide—because as much as she liked to play tough, he knew she didn’t want to go the distance with him. He didn’t want that for her either. He was sick and tired of being bad for people.
Wisely, Holly got out of the way as she tried to smack him.
Three steps to the bed. He could get that far.
“Fuck you.” Malinda pouted and slouched against the door. Holly sprawled on the bed and squinted against the slivers of light coming in around the curtains, so he could see her professionally sculpted face.