I frown. “Then why, not two minutes ago, did you say you’re headed for another year of uncertainty?”
“Oh my God, Indie, can you please not remember every single thing I say? Let’s change the subject. How’s the hot movie star? I want details.”
“He’s great, and you’re not getting those kind of details.”
“Party pooper.” She rears her head as Foo Fighters Learn to Fly fades and drifts into another song. “ABBA. They’re actually playing fucking Dancing Queen in here.”
Wren and I burst out laughing at Mila’s horrified face.
“I didn’t know anywhere still played this track,” I say.
Mila shakes her head. “It was supposed to die with NSYNC. Who the fuck do these people think they are?”
Wren sits taller. “Oh, I know you didn’t mean that! Justin Timberlake can sing to me anytime.”
She tilts her head. “Wren, the things I want Justin Timberlake to do to me don’t involve singing.”
“Ooh, the hottie neighbour just walked in with a hottie friend,” Wren says, ignoring Mila, looking over my shoulder.
I glance over but turn back before they catch us.
“Reid is lovely,” I say. He’s much more Mila’s type. They’re both book nerds.
Wren sighs dreamily. “If I wasn’t married. You should go talk to him, Mila.”
“I have a half boyfriend.”
“I said talk, not lick.”
“This is a girls’ night. I’ll say hi to him the next time we’re taking a bin bag out at the same time.”
“You got something against your neighbour?” I ask.
“No, why?”
“You just sometimes seem… irritated with him. I’m not sure why.”
“I’m not irritated at anyone besides the dickhead who put ABBA on. ABBA! Oh my God, there’s a woman dancing to it. No shame.”
“Mila,” Wren scolds, laughing a little too much to have any authority.
Reid walks past and does a double take.
Wren lifts her hand. “Hey, how’s it going?”
His intense eyes reluctantly shift away from Mila. “Hey, Wren.”
Mila holds her hand up before he can say another word. “Do you like ABBA?”
“No,” he replies, frowning.
“Mila’s angry with the music. Ignore her,” I tell him. “Would you two like to join us?”
Neither of us dare to look at Mila. We don’t have long left to convince her that she’s with the wrong person. She needs someone who looks at her the way her sexy neighbour does.
“Sit,” I say, patting the empty stool between Mila and me. “There’s a spare stool near the bar for…”
The friend leans over. His black skin and dark brown almond eyes are as hot as sin. “Jason. Hey.”
Jason drags a stool over. They both have a Coors Light, but Reid goes back to the bar to buy another pitcher of Woo Woo for us.
I give Mila a pointed look. How are you so blind?
Reid’s eyes, possibly even darker than my own, find their way to her more often than anything or anyone else. They’re sitting quite close—almost touching. If she feels the tension, she’s not letting on.
“This song better?” Reid asks Mila as NSYNC’s Bye, Bye, Bye plays. She rolls her head towards him, and his eyebrows rise. “That’s a no.”
“I’m going to get shitfaced,” she says.
He smiles. “Are you a happy drunk? Emotional? Fighter?”
“I’m a friendly drunk.” She smiles. “You need to promise to not let me hug everyone in here. Some of them dance to ABBA.”
He chuckles and necks more of his beer. “You’ve got it.”
Wren, Jason, and I exchange glances.
I suddenly really want Spencer. Watching people flirt together makes me miss him more than ever. He can’t really come though. We’re out of town and there are a lot of people in here who would probably crowd him.
That’s fine. I get to see him in two days. I told him that I need a full uni day to catch up tomorrow so he’ll have to survive without me. Really, it will be me trying to cope without him. Spence pouted but said he was going to catch up with a couple of friends from his old school.
What I really have to do is pick mum up from rehab. She’s done, coming home, ready to continue her recovery. I’m spending the whole day with her and getting her settled in.
I sit back in my seat and bite my lip. My heart is lighter than ever.
For the first time, I’m looking forward without wishing time away.
I’m… happy.
Forty-Three
Spencer
It’s six in the morning, according to my iPhone, and some arsehole is banging on my front door. With my parents visiting family until they go back to work after the Christmas and New Year break, I’m the one who needs to get that. I didn’t have to get up until late because Indie has ditched me for the day and I’m not meeting the guys until two p.m.
Shoving my quilt off of me, I pull on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt before I run downstairs.
This had better be fucking good.
I yank the door open to find Mila standing on my doorstep. She’s dressed in an oversized hoodie and jeans, with her hair in a big ball on the top of her head.
“Are you serious?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. Then I see her expression, pale face, and wide, frightened eyes.
“What? What is it?”
“Did you know?” she asks, holding out her phone.
“Know what? Come in,” I say, taking the phone and looking at the screen.
The headline on an article posted around midnight reads: SPENCER LOWE’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND’S TRAGIC PAST.
Tragic past? My pulse thuds in my ears.
“What?”
She throws her hands up. “Oh my God, read it in the car. Hurry up!”
My stomach is in knots. What tragic past?
Slipping on my shoes like a clumsy toddler, I take my keys from the side and close the door behind us in a daze.
I start with the article. There’s a picture of me and Indie holding hands in the street. I didn’t even know it had been taken. There’s also one of her rushing into my house the morning the press was outside my house.
I read the first paragraph twice and look at the date three times. “Fuck. Her dad just died?” I say as I get into Mila’s ridiculous beetle.
“Yes, in November!” Mila says. “That sickness bug was her cover story. Why?”
“Jesus.” My heart sinks. “He died of liver failure as a result of alcoholism.”
That’s what she’s been hiding.
Mila clutches the steering wheel tighter. “They were both alcoholics. Her mum has been in rehab!”
“What?” I scan the article faster.
“There are a lot of lies about celebs and their families; I never trust what I read the very first time. But this isn’t one of those cases, is it?”
I shake my head. “No, it all makes perfect sense. The secrecy, not wanting anyone to meet her parents or come to her house. She only let me take her home last month. Her dad was dead and her mum in rehab. Shit. She’s been dealing with all of this alone for years.”
I scrub my hand over my head. Somehow the reporter has also spoken to one of Indie’s old teachers who confirmed that Indie was sometimes withdrawn and didn’t always complete homework on time. She didn’t ever have help with it.
“Fuck!” I shout. I want to throw the phone out of the window.
I pull mine out and call Denny. “Spencer, I’m dealing with it,” he says before any pleasantries.
“When did you find out?”
“A second ago. I was just about to go to bed. I’ll bury this and sue whoever we need to. Tell her not to worry.”
“Thank you.”
He hangs up, and I close my eyes.
Mila sniffs and whispers, “How do we fix this?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She kept all of this from us. I knew there was something wrong. I thou
ght they just didn’t care. I should have done something. I never thought…”
“I hate them.”
We pull into her drive, and I catch Mila’s wrist before she leaps out of the car.
Amber eyes stare back at me. “What?”
“We need to handle this gently. Indie didn’t want us to know about this, and now everyone knows.”
“I can do gentle.”
I let go of her, and we both get out. Mila is ahead. She’s damn fast, and knocks on the door just as I get to her. Her fist pounds a little too hard. She drops her arm and steps back.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters.
I can’t blame her; I want to kick the door down.
She steps back, making sure she’s slightly behind to let me lead.
Indie opens the door a minute later, and her eyebrows pull together.
“What are you two doing here?” she asks, looking between us both.
I walk in so she can’t slam the door in my face, and Mila closes it behind us all.
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
I step closer and take her hand. “Spencer, you’re scaring me. Is it Wren?”
“No, she’s fine… but something has happened. My agent is on it, so I don’t want you to worry.”
She takes a step back. “What does that mean?”
I feel sick as fuck.
“We know what you’re hiding.”
She tugs her hand out of mine. “What do you mean?”
“We know that your dad died and that your mum is in rehab. Baby, I’m so sorry. You could have come to me.”
We stand in silence in the hallway. It’s still dark outside but the light above us is bright. I can see the anguish on Indie’s face. We were never supposed to know.
“No. No, that’s not…” She turns and walks away.
Mila and I look at each other. “What do we do?” she asks.
With a shrug, I follow Indie into the living room. The house looks very different. It’s now fresh and ready for the twenty-first century. When did she do this?
“Indie, please talk to us,” Mila pleads. “We love you. We can help.”
She twists around and throws her hands up. “I don’t need help from anyone. I’m fine. Why did you say Denny is on it? Why does he need to be on it?”
“I’m so sorry, the press got hold of it.”
With a sharp breath, she steps back as if she’s been shocked.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Maybe you should go, Mila.”
Her face crumples, but Mila eventually nods.
“Call me if you need anything,” she says to Indie. “I love you.” Then, she’s gone.
Indie sits down and pulls her feet up on the sofa. She curls her arms around her legs and puts her chin on her knees, defeated. This has to be the last time I see her like this. “How did it happen?” she asks me.
We’ll come to that one in a minute.
I sit beside her on the sofa. There is no indication that she notices I’m still in the same room.
“Did I do something to make you think you couldn’t open up with me?”
“No.”
“Then why did you never say anything? I would do anything for you.”
“Shh, she’s still asleep.”
“Who?”
“Mum. She’s got home yesterday.”
She’s here?
I lower my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?”
Her eyes well with tears. “Who does? No one wants to admit when their home life is shitty. I was afraid and ashamed, and I just wanted one part of my life to be normal. My parents would rather drink themselves to death than look after their daughter. It’s not something I like to advertise. I didn’t want anyone to know what it was like. I…” She trails off, lowering her head.
I put my arm around her shoulder, caressing her skin. She allows it.
“You what, Indie?”
Her fingers dig into her legs. “I was scared there was something wrong with me… and if you knew that my own parents didn’t love me enough, you wouldn’t either.”
“Fucking hell.” Her words are a blow to my chest. “Hey,” I say, lifting her chin. “Never think that. I love you unconditionally. Jesus, Indie, I’ve loved you since we were kids. I love you.”
She whimpers.
I take her hand in mine before she claws her skin off. There are tiny half-moon crescents indented into her legs. “Hey, stop. None of this is on you. You’re perfect. You’re everything, and if they never realised it, that’s on them.”
“Stop,” she sobs. Her head lands on my chest, and she breaks.
“Hey,” I whisper, scooping her onto my lap and wrapping my arms around her. “I love you. I’ll never stop telling you how amazing you are. Or how much of a miracle it is that you love me, too.”
She curls on top of me, her body tense but shaking.
I bury my head in her hair. “It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be fine now. I’m not letting go, Indie. I’m here, and I’m going to make everything right, baby, I promise. I’ve got you.”
There are a lot of questions I want to ask. Right now I just need to hold her.
My heart breaks with hers as she sobs in my lap, clinging to my chest. I feel her pain so acutely, I can barely breathe. “I love you,” I whisper over and over.
We sit that way for about ten minutes until her body starts to relax.
She moves, and I sit straighter so she can raise her head.
“Hey,” I say, smiling and stroking her damp hair out of her face. With puffy red eyes, she’s still ten times more beautiful than any other woman. I stroke her face, still in fucking awe that she’s mine. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m not even going to comment on that. Please tell me how it got out. How does everyone know about my family?”
“Denny is trying to find out exactly who is responsible. He will, and I’ll sue the shit out of them.”
“It won’t change anything, though, will it? Everyone knows.”
“Some dickhead must have done some digging into you and paid off the right person.” I omit the part about her teacher for now. It’s just another person letting her down who was supposed to protect her.
“I hate this,” she whispers, climbing off my lap.
“I’m sorting it. Indie, please.”
Standing, she looks around the room. “This was supposed to be a fresh start. Mum is doing well—she’s sober—and now everyone knows my past and what happened to my dad. They know about Mum’s rehab stint.”
“Indie?” someone calls from around the corner.
She’s not reached the living room yet, but she’s heard us.
Indie’s mum.
I watch on as she appears. My stomach churns with anger. She looks nothing like Indie really, besides the same shade of chocolate hair. She’s slightly taller than Indie, but pale and very thin.
Her eyes slide to mine.
Indie must get her dark eyes from her father.
“Who is this?” her mum asks.
I’m about to meet the mum, and it’s so different to what I thought it would be.
I stand, my heart racing over the fact that Indie hasn’t said a word yet. She’s worked so hard to keep us separate but we can’t go back to that now. This person has left so many scars on the woman I love. I want to shout at her, but I know Indie doesn’t want that.
I force myself to smile. “I’m Spencer.”
“The boyfriend? It’s nice you meet you, Spencer. I’m Jessica.” She slides her suspicious eyes between us both. “What’s going on?”
“They know. Everyone knows,” Indie says.
“What?”
“It was all leaked to the media. Our whole life. The alcohol, Dad’s death, your rehab. Everything.”
Jessica frowns. “You’re not making sense, Indie. The media. Why would they care about us?”
“Spencer’s first movie just came out. It’s a blockbuster hit. The press mus
t have seen us together so they started digging. There’s a story about us.” Her voice is cold, bitter, and pissed off.
My heart sinks. She blames me, too.
Am I losing her?
Forty-Four
Indie
It took a long time for Spencer to leave yesterday. He was worried about everything, but Mum and I needed to talk. When Mum went to sleep—after crying in bed for an hour—I called him. We spoke for a short time, but it was enough to pull me back from the utter despair I was feeling.
It was around eight in the evening when reporters showed up outside. Spence isn’t only hot news in America. Now we’re prisoners in our own home.
I slept like crap, waking at five a.m.
It’s now almost eleven a.m., and all Mum has done so far is drink tea and trawl through articles about what a shitty parent she’s been. She’s read over and over how ‘poor Indie’ must have suffered.
I’m guilty of looking, too. It was stupid, and I regret it. I read a comment saying HER OWN PARENTS DON’T EVEN LOVE HER. WHY IS SPENCER BOTHERING???
Three question marks. Like she absolutely can’t comprehend us as a couple. THERE IS NOTHING GOOD ABOUT INDIE CROFT. Another person said that Spencer needs someone to walk in the limelight with him. Never have I asked him to hide. I’m the one who has pushed him so many times whenever he had a knockback. No one knows that, though. They only assume I want to keep him from the world.
Spencer assured me that he’s dealing with it, or Denny is, but the internet is forever. He can’t make it go away, no matter how much we all want it to. It’s out there. I can’t take that back, and I will never have the privacy I’ve fought so hard to protect.
I hate this. I can’t even leave for uni because everyone will look. Thanks to my relationship with Spencer, I’m on the radar. People care about what I do, who I am, and what I’ve been through. So many of them feel they get a say in whether or not I’m worthy of a Hollywood star. Like I don’t already struggle with that.
I rub the growing ache in my chest.
I really hate people.
“They’re still out there,” Mum says. She’s curled up on the sofa, nibbling her nails to the quick while she watches through a slither of space between the blinds. Her phone stops glowing as it locks. I bet if I was to open it, I would see the latest article she’s torturing herself with.
Just Like the Movies Page 23