Mr. Hollywood

by Lacey Weatherford

  I shook my head vehemently. “I . . . I can’t. I’ve worked too hard to leave you in my past. I need to keep you there.”

  His fingers tightened on me. “Please. Isn’t this therapy thing about healing? You’re crucial to my healing. I even told everyone I’d only agree to this forced rehab if you were my nurse.” Abruptly, he released me. “So, if you leave, so do I.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” I stubbornly clenched my jaw, irritation continuing to eat at me.

  “I don’t care how it works. I’m asking you to stay and give me a chance.”

  Eyes widening, I stared incredulously at him. “Give you a chance at what? You can’t have a relationship while you’re doing the program. Relationships are strictly forbidden. Patients are encouraged to not even date for a year while they concentrate on becoming stronger in their recovery.”

  Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “I don’t give a shit about all that.”

  “Well, I do! This is my job and I’ve seen lots of people get better by successfully working the program. I’d never knowingly jeopardize that for a patient. Even if that patient is you!”

  Growling, he turned and walked back toward the window, rubbing his hands over his face. I took the opportunity to finish gathering my papers, and carried them to the table so I could sort through them. Taking my time reorganizing them, I tried to gather some composure before facing him again. When I finally did, it was to find he was simply standing there, watching me.

  “You really hate me, don’t you?” he asked, sounding stunned.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he seemed surprised. I chose to ignore his question, using my job as a shield against him. “Since I’m already here, I need to get your vitals and do my evaluation with you. Can you have a seat so I can check your pulse and blood pressure?”

  He shook his head. “You won’t get an accurate reading.”

  “And why is that?” My patience with him was running thin.

  Moving, he stood in front of me, so close we were but a hair's breadth apart, but wisely, he didn’t touch me. “Because my heart is racing like the wind. Having you in the same room with me tends to do that. I swear it’s like we’ve never even been separated. I think that says a lot about us. Don’t you?”

  My breath caught for a moment, his words finding their way into the soft spot in my heart. Immediately, I reinforced my barriers to Level Impenetrable. “I’m not falling for your sweet talk ever again, Zane McCartney. You hear me? That ship has long sailed, so you can just forget it.”

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between us as we eyed one another.

  “Fine,” he finally relented. “Then if there is nothing between us anymore, then there’s no reason you can’t be my nurse, is there?” Sitting on the bed, he held his arm out so I could check him. “Do whatever you need.”

  Relief and sorrow both flowed through me. While I was thankful he wasn’t going to press me any further, I was sad that he seemed to give up so easily. It only served to reinforce my earlier conclusions of him. Yes, Zane McCartney was more handsome than sin, and he could talk any girl right into his sheets, but he was cold hearted. I couldn’t let him get to me again.

  Searching for his pulse, the heat from his skin seeped into me as my fingers brushed lightly against him. He was right about one thing. It was slightly elevated, but that could easily be from withdrawal symptoms.

  “Can you tell me what kinds of substances you’ve been using?” I asked, jotting his pulse rate down. His drug use history was already written in his chart, but as part of my assessment I had to ask again and look for any discrepancies with what he told the doctor during his evaluation last night.

  “You name it, I’ve probably tried it at one time or another.” His voice almost sounded dead and uncaring, totally blasé.

  I placed the blood pressure cuff on his arm and started inflating it, taking a slightly perverse pleasure at cranking it up so tight that it caused him to wince. Feeling guilty for doing so, I immediately released it, listening for the rhythm.

  “130 over 90,” I said aloud as I noted it in the chart.

  “That’s high for me.”

  “It’s to be expected with what your body is going through. How are you feeling this morning otherwise?” It was taking everything I had to keep this semi-civil conversation going.

  He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

  Sighing, I stared at him. “I’m not asking for the macho, I’m-a-tough-guy answer. I’m asking for in depth explanations as one of your healthcare providers.”

  “Sorry. It’s hard for me to show you my weaknesses.” His eyes locked with mine and I saw he was telling the truth. Even after all these years, I was surprised at how easily I could read him.

  Bitterness crept back into my voice. “I’ve seen all your weaknesses splattered on the front of every tabloid magazine on every newsstand in town for the last ten years.” Honestly, standing in line at the grocery store was almost unbearable. Pictures of Zane were constantly in my face, and he was usually on the arm of some stunning starlet. It was enough to drive an ex-girlfriend mad.

  “Touché,” he replied, his eyes drifting over me from head to toe and I didn’t miss the spark of desire in them. “That couldn’t have been easy on you.”

  “It’s been pretty awful.”

  His eyes filled with wonder now. “I can’t believe you’ve been in LA all this time.”

  “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” That was more than I wanted to say. I needed to get out of this room as fast as possible.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, concern written on his features. “Was something wrong?”

  I couldn’t help my wry laughter. “It’s okay, Zane. It happened ten years ago. I obviously survived and I didn’t need you to do it.”

  A small grunt escaped him. “You never needed me, Aubrey. I was the one who needed you.”

  His words pierced like an arrow through my armor, sinking deep into my soft, tender heart, wounding me to the core. Tears immediately flooded my eyes and I suddenly felt light headed. I struggled to lift my barriers against him, wanting to continue lashing out at him. I was so angry with him for throwing everything we’d had together away. It was more than I could bear. “Then you should’ve done a better job of showing it.”

  Gathering his chart and the cuff, I headed for the door, placing my hand on the knob.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he said, his voice raw and full of emotion and I faltered for a mere moment before stepping out and shutting the door firmly behind me.

  “Are the Rumors True? Is Mr. Hollywood in Rehab?”

  ~Celebrity Times~

  Chapter Five

  Z

  “It’s nice to meet you, Zane. I’m Dr. Wilson, the head therapist for Sunnybrook Haven. Come in and take a seat.” Gesturing to a nice leather couch seated beside a matching chair against one wall of his office, he held the door open for me.

  “Thanks,” I replied, not wanting to seem rude, even though I wasn’t looking forward to this session at all. I wasn’t one who liked to sit around discussing my problems. I was more of a sweep it under the rug and forget about it kind of guy. But then again, that could be why I ended up here. And really, how much actual forgetting had happened doing things this way? I was pretty sure I wasn’t forgetting one damn thing.

  As far as first impressions went, I thought Dr. Wilson seemed the perfect therapist. An older gentleman with silver hair, his smile was warm and friendly and there was a kindness in his eyes that made him look like someone trustworthy. I could easily see why he was picked for this job. He immediately made people feel at ease.

  Moving to the couch, I plopped down, sagging into a comfortable position. The medication Aubrey had given me earlier was helping a lot with the tremors, but I still felt jittery and out of sorts about everything.

  My encounter with Aubrey hadn’t helped my nerves any. I knew she’d be angry with me—hell, I was angry with me—but I hadn’
t expected her to be quite so bitter about it or willing to shut me out of her life completely.

  Now that I’d seen her again, I was sure of only one thing. I had to fix things between us somehow. There was no way I could leave things like they were; only I had no idea of where to even start. It wasn’t like I could make up cheating on her. There was no way to take that back.

  Dr. Wilson spoke, dragging my attention away from the situation with Aubrey. “Before we get started, I just want you to know that everything you say to me in here is confidential. Nothing will be shared with anyone else unless you sign off on it. You’ll only be asked to sign a release if something you say during our sessions is pertinent to the rest of your care and needs to be shared with another physician. Is that good for you?” Picking up a clipboard and a pen off his desk, he joined me in the seating area, sitting in the leather chair.

  “Works for me.” I’d do whatever they wanted me to do, just so I could get on with my life.

  “Great. So basically, we can talk about anything you’d like. Our focus is to bring to light any underlying issues that may contribute to your need to use substances. We want to teach you how to handle stress in a healthier manner, so you don’t feel the need to rely on anything outside of yourself for relief. Does that sound good to you?”

  I shrugged, still feeling a bit obstinate. I knew what my triggers were, but I sure didn’t plan on sharing all of them. Some things were better left unsaid. “Sure. Whatever.”

  He smiled, in a friendly manner, not patronizingly. “I get the impression that you don’t want to be here.”

  A wry chuckle escaped me. “You’re good, Doc.”

  “Lester. My first name is Lester. Feel free to call me that. We want you to feel like you’re part of the family here.”

  “Well, no offense, but it wasn’t my idea to come here. I was kind of forced to do it by the studio who is producing my next picture.”

  “And you feel their assessment of the situation is wrong?”

  Sighing, I shrugged again. “I don’t know. I mean, I get that using hardcore drugs isn’t really a great thing, but it’s not like I was actively seeking to get strung out all the time—a lot of the time, yes. But I’ve still been working and being productive, so why does anyone else care if I use drugs or alcohol to party and take the edge off? As long as I’m getting stuff done, shouldn’t my private life be just that—private?”

  “Is your private life private?” Dr. Wilson asked, making some notes on his clipboard and I was tempted to lean forward and try to read it. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen your private life plastered all over the media the last few days.”

  Damn. “There is that.”

  “Would you call your recent behavior—speaking specifically of the night club incident—normal for you?”

  Scowling, I pondered his question for a moment. “If you mean am I with a lot of women, the answer is yes.”

  He shifted a bit in his chair. “I’m actually getting a little more personal. Is it common for you to have sex in public places?”

  I laughed. “Well, I’ve had lots of sex in public places where we could’ve been caught, but no, I wasn’t ever trying to get on camera, if that’s what you mean. It’s just kind of exciting to do it somewhere that someone might see.”

  “So would you say you’re seeking the thrill?”

  “Sure, I guess so.” What did this have to do with anything?

  He made more notes on his chart.

  “Is that bad?” I asked, feeling nervous about what he might be writing.

  “Not at all. But it tells me a lot about you. If you are seeking the thrill when you act out, there may be other ways you can fulfill that need without resorting to substances.”

  “Hmm. I never considered that.” I was impressed. He really was good, and actually made sense. This was something I’d never thought of before.

  “My job is to help you identify things that might be a trigger for you and offer up suggestions which could be a healthy replacement. For instance, if you’re using substances to relax yourself after a hard day at work, I’d suggest you try meditation, massage, or a soothing hot bath—anything designed as a way to naturally reduce your stress levels. In your case, though, you may be seeking adrenaline. You could fulfill those needs with extreme sports like skydiving, rappelling, riding recreational vehicles, or anything like that which mimics the high you get from substances.”

  If only it were that easy, I’d be booking my next extreme sport right now. “I’d love to do any of that stuff, but I can’t. I’m often under contract to not do anything dangerous that could result in injury or death. Producers don’t want me doing activities that could hurt me and leave their picture hanging in the balance.”

  He pondered this for a moment. “Hmm. That does make things considerably more difficult. Are you prepared to choose your health over your job, if necessary?”

  “Not a chance.” I planned to keep acting until no one would hire me anymore, or they carried my body out on a stretcher. I might hate it sometimes, but it was in my blood now. Plus, it funded the rest of my lifestyle and regardless of whether or not I successfully quit using, I wanted the rest of my life.

  Damn it, he was jotting more stuff down.

  “Is there anything else you like to do that gives you that same kind of thrill?”

  Immediately an image of Aubrey popped into my head, her luxurious brown hair was spread out over a blanket, and the moans she was making filled my ears. Closing my eyes, I savored those sounds—sounds I’d replayed in my head over and over so many times since the last time I’d seen her.

  We’d only been together, in the physical sense, for one day. She’d given me her virginity before I’d left for my first big modeling shoot with Zombie Gothic Apparel after I’d won their online model search.

  I couldn’t help my smile. “My ex-girlfriend.” I knew that wasn’t what he meant when he asked me what I liked to do. This was the truth, no matter how crass it might sound.

  “Ex?” His interest perked up. “Let’s talk about her. Are you able to stay in committed relationships for very long?”

  “She’s the only truly committed relationship I’ve had,” I replied honestly. I’d had other girlfriends, one I’d been fairly close to since Aubrey, and while I loved her, I’d never been “in love” with her. It didn’t matter anyway, since it had ended very badly.

  “How long were the two of you together?”

  “A year.”

  “And you were sexually active with her the whole time?”

  I laughed. “Not even close. We fooled around a lot—heavy petting and whatnot. But as far as actual sex, we had one amazing day together, right before we broke up. She was worth the wait though.”

  Holy hell, she’d been worth every frustrated blue balls moment I’d spent with her. I’d never wanted anyone in my life as badly as I wanted her. Just thinking about it was causing something to awaken in my pants.

  There was no point trying to hide the truth anymore. Seeing her again had forced me to admit my feelings for her. I’d never loved anyone the way I loved Aubrey Hart. She was perfection as far as I was concerned. There wasn’t a woman on the planet that could measure up to her—at least not that I’d ever met.

  “Why did you break up?” Dr. Wilson asked, continuing to probe for answers to my damaged psyche.

  “Actually, we never did—at least not officially. I had hoped to bring her to LA with me when I first moved out here, but I got drunk one night and cheated. After that, I couldn’t bring myself to face her. Instead, I waited for her to get ahold of me again, but she never did. I’ve since discovered that she walked in on me while I was with someone else. She just left—didn’t confront me about it. I never knew why she disappeared, only my own part in it.”

  “So this happened a long time ago? Haven’t you been in Hollywood for quite a while?”

  “Yeah, ten years. She was my high school girlfriend.” There he went with that damn pen of his again
. I sure wished I could see what he was writing.

  “Was sex with her also your first time?”

  That was funny. “Oh, hell no. I’ve been sexually active since I was fourteen.”

  “And have you had any other meaningful relationships before or since then?”

  Quickly, I thought back over the last several years and the people I’d been with. “I’ve dated one woman more seriously than others, but never with the intent that the relationship was going anywhere. Mostly it was just because I liked to pass the time with her. She was comfortable—easy to talk to—most of the time.”

  “So you’ve never met anyone else who meant as much to you as your old girlfriend?”

  “Not even close.” It was incredible how much pain those words revealed. Regret laced through me, making me feel tied up in knots. I wanted to suppress the feelings inside me and make them go away.

  “How do you feel about this girl now when you think about her?” The questions were getting harder, but I was up for it. Somehow, talking about Aubrey was easing some of the frustration from our encounter.

  “Honestly, she turns me inside out. I feel terrible about hurting her, but there’s no way for me to make it up to her. How do you take back being unfaithful to someone you love?”

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  “I am.” Wow. I didn’t even hesitate.

  “Have you seen her since you split?”

  “Not really. I just barely discovered—like two days ago—she’s living here in LA. I had no idea.”

  “If you had the chance to make things square with her as part of your recovery, would you want to?”

  “Absolutely! One hundred percent—no question.” I’d do anything to not see the pain in her beautiful hazel eyes staring at me from her lovely face.

  “What was your substance abuse history like while you were with her?”

  “Pretty much nonexistent, except for alcohol at parties on weekends and maybe some marijuana occasionally. Normal teenage party behavior.”