by K B Cinder
She shrugged and folded her jacket over her arm. “Maybe he’s in the bathroom.”
Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Theron didn’t do public bathrooms. He’d sooner take a leak on the side of the expressway.
“Please,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm before I knew what I was doing. “Can you check a log or something for me? It isn’t like him not to text.”
I hadn’t heard from him in hours. The last I’d heard, he was leaving for the airport in a cab.
The woman shook my hand away as if I were infected. “Don’t touch me, Curly.”
She kept it moving, but her friendlier counterpart lingered.
“Please.” I didn’t want to beg, but it wasn’t beneath me to roll around on the floor or offer her money. I didn’t have much, but $20 was $20.
The woman’s eyes flicked to the grouchier one and back to me. “I have to be quick. We have a shuttle to catch to the hotel.”
“Oh my god. Thank you.” I could’ve cried. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew in my heart something was wrong.
“His name?” she asked as she slipped behind a customer service podium.
“Theron Slater.”
She looked up from the screen to me. “Seriously? Like the Theron Slater.”
“Yes.” I didn’t miss the flash of envy in her eyes, but rather than intimidate me, it made me proud. Yeah, that was my man. My big hunky sexy missing man.
She tapped away on the keys and waited. Then tried the same thing again before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. He never boarded. It appears he missed the flight in New Orleans. His boarding pass was never scanned.”
Heat hit my cheeks before the tears made it to my eyes. He didn’t board? That made no sense.
“Can you check again? There must be a mistake.” Maybe they missed his pass. Maybe she spelled Theron wrong. Mama spelled it like Aaron with a Th- on his ticket for my graduation. Whiteout saved the day on that one.
She obeyed, typing again. “There’s no passenger checked in with the last name of Slater. I’m sorry, Miss. He’s not here.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, but I had no missed calls or texts. He hadn’t even read the texts I’d sent.
The knot in my stomach got tighter and tighter.
Theron Slater had ditched me again.
20
Theron
On a scale of one to a hundred, I was fucked.
Not raw, at least.
I had protection in the form of a six-foot-five bulldog.
Vince sat beside me on the plane to Philly, heading in the opposite direction of where the world expected me to be. Everyone but Lita, that is.
We’d waited until production wound down and all the lights dimmed across the set to make our move, and it paid off. We made it out of there undetected, despite the hulking mass of Vince.
The only casualty was my phone, and we lost him at the airport in an unfortunate taxi cab accident. RIP little guy. He didn’t even see the wheel coming.
Oh, and we also missed our fucking flight. Not intentionally. Traveling from the middle of the nowhere took longer than ever thanks to a feral hog crossing somewhere between I-Kiss-My-Cousin and Nice-Mullet, USA.
The next flight had a five in the morning departure time, which meant we’d slept side by side in plastic airport chairs overnight. A hooded sweatshirt and a bandana from the gift shop had my privacy’s back, the slapped-together duo providing a screen of mystery so I could sleep in peace.
Lita would kill me when I showed up looking like a transient without calling or even sending a text, but my hands were tied thanks to the broken phone. I hadn’t memorized her number, and she’d deleted her social media, so it wasn’t like Vince’s phone was of any use in the situation.
Her graduation started at noon, so we had plenty of time. I’d just barge in her front door, shower, shave, and tada—good to go.
She wouldn’t even notice Vince on her sofa. He was like a Basset hound, really. As long as you fed him and let him out, he didn’t make a mess.
Production would discover that we were gone in a matter of hours, and thanks to a series of painstaking calls with attorneys all week, Umi Jonas would also be served with a cease and desist order. Clarke, Georgia, and TNK headquarters would also receive their own copies since I flexed my contractual muscles like I should have done the moment the Fix Up finale aired.
By my contract’s terms, all footage was mine pertaining to my projects until I signed over ownership with final approval. With none in place with the Fix Up, every second of footage Umi held over my head like an ax was mine. Not only had she violated my contract, but so did every higher-up attached to the project.
In essence, I could sue them all until they started hemorrhaging money.
But I didn’t want money. I had enough of that. I wanted the one thing that money couldn’t buy, but I needed to shake the foundations of the shackles that held me.
I’d finally done the thing I feared most, and it felt amazing. I took back control, and I was well on my way to being free.
I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than with Lita, and the slow-moving car crash that was my life finally seemed to turn the page and drop into the rearview mirror. I didn’t need that brand. I didn’t need the fame. Fuck, I didn’t need Sinners.
I’d happily pay out the crew to be free. They could pay their bills with no need to sweat their asses off in the southern heat, too.
“What are you going to do with your time now, old man?”
Vince chuckled to himself. “I might take up yoga. Do you think I have the figure for it?”
“Only if you wear spandex,” I sighed. “It really shows off your calves.”
He laughed as he opened a package of peanuts. “Wherever you go, I go, kid.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, shunning the peanuts for a shot of bourbon. “How are you not sick of me after all these years?”
“I never said I was sticking around for you, jackass,” he grumbled, popping a handful of nuts in his mouth. “I smell grandkids in my future, and they’ll be a lot cuter than you.”
Grandkids. Huh. I hadn’t thought of myself ever being a father, but something about that felt right. Especially with Lita.
“You think I can handle it?” We were joking around, obviously, but a part of me wanted to be serious.
“You’re a Slater. You can handle anything. I was married to Satan, and I’m still here. Kids should be a walk in the park. Just don’t fuck it up like I did.”
“You didn’t fuck it up.” I paused as I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. “Okay, maybe you let me get away with murder and introduced me to Hollywood, which ate my entire soul for a good portion of my life, but you didn’t fuck it up. You stuck by me. That’s more than some parents can say.”
He followed me to hell and back—squawking like hell—but he’d made sure I was safe. I’d repaid him by stripping him of the old title he had left: Dad.
“You’re a good egg,” he laughed. “A pain in my fucking ass, but a good egg.”
21
Talita
Crying in the shower was not how I imagined my graduation day to start.
I hadn’t expected to cry all night, either.
The waterworks rewarded me with puffy eyes and a cherry-red nose, making me look like a clown with an allergic reaction. Good thing I had a day of photos ahead.
I couldn’t believe that Theron ditched me. He’d promised me. And he’d let me down.
Any other time would’ve hurt less, but bailing on my graduation felt personal. He knew how hard I’d worked for it. He knew the literal blood, sweat, and tears I’d shed in the kitchen for the day, and rather than celebrate that, he bailed on me.
I blowdried my hair through angry tears, hoping the diffuser attachment would also diffuse some of the disappointment that had settled in my chest.
It would be a good day. He might’ve ignored my texts and frantic calls, but it would be a good day, dammit. It h
ad to be. I’d worked too hard and come too far to fall.
A knock at the door made me drop the hairdryer, and that handy diffuser attachment popped right off and skittered to the other side of the bathroom.
I checked the time. My parents were over an hour early, but I wasn’t surprised. Mama always insisted on arriving a decade before showtime to get good seats, even in assigned seating situations.
I slid my robe from around my shoulders and shook my hips to fluff my dress. I hung the robe on the back of the door, careful not to snag my dress on the stupid broken doorknob.
Rini helped me pick out the white sundress, and surprisingly, I didn’t hate it. I wasn’t a big fan of the girly-girl scene, but the breezy little thing made it feel like the Fourth of July. All I needed was some strappy wedges and a beer, and it’d be perfect for a summer barbecue. It looked adorable under my chef coat and apron too, so it almost made up for the hat I had to wear during the ceremony.
“Coming!”
I rushed down the hall and into the entryway, almost tripping over the silver heels I’d set out on the way. A broken ankle would’ve been a shit show so close to showtime.
I unlatched the deadbolt and pulled the door open, but I didn’t find my parents.
I found Theron and Vince looking disheveled in rumpled clothes.
The man I loved held a bouquet of red roses in his arms that were nearly as big as I was.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, flinging myself at Theron.
I’d been ready to write him off forever, but one look at my face told me he felt awful. He hadn’t bailed on me. Something happened. I felt terrible for thinking otherwise.
He caught me in one arm before handing Vince the flowers with the other. “Missed my flight,” he choked out as I squeezed him.
I pressed my face to his chest and fought off a fresh round of tears. He smelled like diesel fuel and Lysol, making my nose wrinkle. “You need a shower.”
“I’m well-aware,” he laughed. “I’ve been a little preoccupied with sleeping in an airport.”
I pulled away from him and looked to Vince, suddenly face-to-face with the man I now knew was Theron’s father. “Hi.”
He leaned in and offered a hug, one that I readily accepted. “Long time no see.”
“It’s nice to see you.” I smiled, meaning every word. Something about seeing the two together again in front of me grounded the situation. It felt natural. It felt real. We weren’t in some fantasy land anymore. We really were happening.
Theron kissed me gently as he smoothed a wet tendril of hair behind my ear. “No time for small talk. We’ve got to get ready.”
* * *
“Talita Kristina Maria Nunes,” the speaker announced, summoning me to strut my stuff to accept my diploma from the dean.
I stood, willing one foot in front of the other gracefully as I walked across the stage.
“Go big T!” a voice bellowed as my family went insane in the audience. I knew that deep, bellowing voice anywhere, and only one Jumbotron of a man could be that loud: Sage. “Hottie in a hat!”
My knees shook for the first time since the finale taping, but I didn’t let them slow me down. I made every inch of that stage my bitch. I worked my ass off for four years that five seconds in the spotlight, and I wouldn’t let my nerves ruin it.
I paused at the dean, Mrs. Monroe, and accepted my diploma with a huge smile. I did it. It was finally over.
“Congratulations,” she murmured as she shook my hand.
“Thank you.” I turned to pose for a photo with her, my family cheering even louder as I did.
I scanned the crowd for them and found the cluster toward the middle standing while everyone else sat quietly. I was glad they stood out. That’s what made us us.
Rini and Sage stood side by side clapping, her baby bump highlighted in an adorable pink shift dress. Mama and Papa were beside them just as enthusiastic along with Raya, whose new nose piercing had all of Papa’s ire. And then there was Helen, who wouldn’t miss my graduation for the world. She was smiling wider than the others, and with good reason.
On her other side stood Theron, the Sinner himself there to support his girl without shame. He didn’t hide in a hat or bother with sunglasses. When anyone asked for an autograph, he respectfully declined, though he encouraged them to grab one from his star, me.
He was too much sometimes.
Luckily, I was ready to take it all.
Epilogue
Four Years Later
“We open in an hour!” I screeched.
I was losing my mind.
Actually, I’d already lost it.
No one tells you that opening a business is the time when your brain checks out of the situation, and I learned that cruel reality every second of every day for the last three weeks.
Lita’s was my heart and soul, but the cute little restaurant down the shore also robbed me of my sanity.
First, they lost the permits in the mail. Then there was a sprinkler mishap that put us behind in construction.
“Relax, love.” Theron walked in the door looking like sex on a stick in slacks and a button-down. It was the first time he’d dressed up since we’d moved to Ocean City, New Jersey, the year before and he’d fully embraced the beach bum look. “Everything looks beautiful. Including the owner.”
“Don’t flatter me!” I warned as I smoothed a tablecloth. Once he started that crap, I was done for. Besides, it was a full house, and hanky-panky in the kitchen wasn’t an option.
“Everything will be fine,” he reassured, taking my hands in his as he neared. “You’ve done an amazing job. I’m proud of you.”
I squeezed his hands. “And I’m proud of you.”
He’d finally taken his tumultuous childhood by the horns and signed up for therapy. Long overdue therapy.
“I love it here,” he breathed, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. “And I love you.”
I smiled, leaning up to peck his lips when he tried to pull away. “And I love you.”
We found a home in the seaside resort town, one free of the drama of LA and the hustle of the heart of Jersey. Things went a little slower, even during the peak of tourist season, but we loved it.
When he’d finally announced that Georgia was his mom, it was anticlimactic. Of course, he also tied that into his lawsuit against TNK, where he essentially bankrupted the network unless they replaced all management.
Mommie Dearest had to find a new job, along with some weirdo panty-sniffer with a combover who was arrested afterward for things I couldn’t say without feeling nauseous.
And then Umi. That gem. The last we’d heard, she was producing nothing but tears after threatening to leak naked footage of me from the show, thus kicking the whole lawsuit off. Theron hadn’t wanted to tell me, but he slipped during an argument over paint color one day.
But life was happier, even after the craziness. We had an amazing house a block from the beach, and Theron got to flex his chops in a new role: stay at home dog dad. So far, he was great at it, and our Labrador, Molly, seemed to think so too. The little showoff knew more tricks that I did.
But that would change in a few weeks, when another baby came. The one that made my boobs and back ache and took away my ability to paint my own toes. Luckily Theron was a trooper. Even if he did paint a penis on the nail of my big toe once and didn’t tell me. My OBGYN found it hilarious.
“How’s Jada today?” my husband asked, placing a hand on my belly.
“Kicking the shit out of me.” At her favorite pastime’s mentioning, our future soccer player delivered a bladder shot that threatened to test the waterproof pad in my skivvies.
“That’s my girl,” he laughed, brushing his lips against mine again.
“No tongue in the dining room!”
We turned to see Helen waltzing into the restaurant wearing an aqua romper and glasses that matched the ensemble perfectly.
“There wasn’t any tongue,” I
said, patting my husband on the chest as we watched her shuffle over. “Just a peck.”
“Why the hell not?” she shot back. “He’s gorgeous. Half the town wants to climb in his board shorts.”
Did I mention that my former boss bought a condo around the corner from us when she retired? And that she showed up at our house with a plate of food every day that made fitting into leggings an Olympic sport?
“Because we’re in public, Helen.” Mr. Slater got plenty of tongue and then some at home.
“I’ve got to grab Molly from Grandpa’s,” Theron announced, kissing me again. His lips lingered longer than they should. Not that I’d complain. “But I’ll be back before you open the doors. I promise.”
Yes, our dog daughter went called Vince ‘Grandpa’. She liked it. Don’t judge.
I ran my hands down his side, earning a shiver from the six-foot sex pot. “Okay. Be careful, babe.”
He walked away, but paused at the door with a wink “Later, Slater.”
Copyright KB Cinder (2020)©
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any way, shape, or form without written permission from the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, scenes, and dialogue are entirely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or incidents is purely coincidental.
For the rebel in every heart
Coloring in the lines isn’t for me.
Neither is the quiet life.
I party hard every step of the way.
Maybe a little too hard.
Now I’m in quite the pickle, and my family is desperate to wrangle me in.