Small town romance boxed set

by Goodwin, Emily

  I considered getting some cast mates to go to the bar with me instead, and finding some random chick to take back to my room and fuck, pounding her until Haley was just a memory. I could have easily, but I didn’t. I came back to my room alone and am now drinking in the dark, thinking about second chances.

  You don’t get a second chance. Life fucks you up, and you have to move on and make your new destiny. There are no do-overs. Because if there were, I’d have found mine.

  I’m tired, and my body wants to sleep. I close my eyes and see her face. I roll over and grab my phone, swiping the screen and tapping in my password. I open the Internet and stare at the blank screen. What do I expect to find? Even Google can’t help me figure out why Haley got under my skin so much.

  Regardless, I type in her name and add “horse rescue” to the search. What comes up horrifies me. The first hit isn’t a website for her barn. It’s a news article from April. I want to stop reading. I don’t want to know these horrible things. I’ve shut them out for the last four years, surrounded myself with fame and the finer things in life for a reason.

  I’m pissed at her now for bringing darkness. I’m pissed at her because now I care, and now I feel like an arse for asking about her burns.

  And I’m fucking pissed I want to make it up to her.

  I let the phone fall onto the mattress. Images of fire flash before me. I wasn’t even there and it terrifies me. My eyes open and I sit up, clutching my chest. I’m not drunk enough to pass out, but I have enough alcohol in me to shut off my mental filters.

  Nope, not doing this. I get up and weave my way into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, get dressed, and get the hell out of this room.

  In just two hours, I’ve successfully obliterated myself. I bring a woman back with me to my hotel room. She’s tall and blonde with a big arse. I think we have sex. Maybe. I’m too drunk to remember anything.

  When I come to that next morning, I’m naked at the foot of the bed, tangled up in sheets. I have a condom on—thank God—and the girl I banged is sprawled out on the floor. Fuck. I have no idea what her name is.

  She’s not as attractive as I thought she was last night. I hadn’t noticed the layers of makeup or the clip-in extensions. Whatever. It’s what I needed. Right? A fun night. No-strings-attached sex. Well, that’s what I assumed happened. For all I knew, she passed out and I jacked myself off before I passed the fuck out.

  I text Claire, my PA, and tell her to bring me clothes and something to eat…and to deal with that chick who’s naked and lying spread eagle on the floor of my suite. Then I plan to pass out so I can get up and repeat the same thing tonight.

  * * *

  “Aiden.”

  I groan and feebly raise my arm in the air, swatting away whoever is standing next to my bed.

  “Aiden, you have to get up.”

  It’s Claire. What the fuck is she doing here? She knows not to wake me up. “Go away,” I mumble. The blankets get yanked back. I open my eyes and feel nausea twist in my gut. Why are the curtains open?

  “Get up,” she says sternly. “You’re already late.” Late? Late for what? Ah, fuck. Work. I was supposed to get up and get to the set around sunrise. Well, that’s not happening. “The director called.”

  “No, he didn’t. Stop lying.” My face is pressed into the pillow. I don’t think she can understand anything I’m saying. She says I sound ‘too British’ when I’m hung over and makes me repeat everything. I don’t care. All I care about is going back to sleep.

  “Fine, his assistant called. It doesn’t matter who called, Aiden. You have to get up and get your ass to the set.”

  I groan and push myself up, unable to open my eyes.

  “Jesus,” she says, extending a water bottle and two pills. “You look like shit.”

  I glare at her, wishing I felt well enough to threaten her job or at least make a retort back. Instead, I pop the pills in my mouth and take a gulp of water. “Tell them I’m sick,” I say. “Food poisoning. Or the flu. Or something. Fuck, anything. I don’t care.”

  “Everyone knows you went out drinking last night.” She hands me a shirt. “This is a small town. Even if it weren’t for the paparazzi, you stick out. There are pictures of you on Perez Hilton’s site.”

  I stick my arms through the sleeves of my shirt and struggle to pull it over my head. I’m still fucking drunk. Finally, I get the shirt on and glare at Claire. Her red hair is pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head and her pale skin is flush from frustration.

  I’ve fired her three times over the last year. Yet I always hire her back within a week. She’s a pain in the arse and never sugar coats anything like the other assistants I’ve had. She doesn’t stroke my ego or anything else—I’ve tried before when I was drunk—but she’s damn good at what she does. I don’t say it, but I can’t function without her. And she knows it.

  I pull on trousers and stand up. Claire runs her fingers through my hair to pull out the tangles. There’s nothing sexual about her touch. She’s several years older than me and puts off a mum vibe. I haven’t admitted to myself yet that I like the maternal affection. God knows I didn’t get any of it as a child.

  “Put these on,” she says, giving me sunglasses and a baseball cap. “Keep your head down. We can’t afford any stops, and trust me, you don’t want anyone seeing you like this.” She’s on the phone as we hurry through the hallway of the hotel. Frank, my bodyguard, nods at Claire and his cheeks redden just a bit. I smile to myself. Oh, there’s something going on between them.

  “Where’s my phone?” I ask, and Claire digs it out of her giant bag.

  “Your battery is at fifteen percent, but I have the portable charger in the car.”

  “Thanks.” I unlock it and scroll through my messages. Most are from my friends, who are also famous. Actors, artists, and a few TV show hosts. I answer as many as I can on my way to the car, which is waiting for me in front of the hotel. A small crowd gathers around. I don’t care what Claire says. I hold my hand up and smile.

  Claire shakes her head and sighs, opening the door for me to get into the car. I slide in the back of the sedan and take the sunglasses off. I open the Internet to look at the supposed horrible picture of me. My browser is still open to the article of the barn fire that killed Haley’s mother.

  “That girl who interviewed me Saturday,” I start and close the window. I remember Haley’s eyes so vividly. A pretty shade of green with blue flecks around the pupil, holding back so much hurt, reflecting the pain I’ve tried so fucking hard to bury.

  “What about her?” Claire asks, eyes going wide. “Was she rude? Did she do a bad interview? Should I call and bitch?”

  I smile. “No, but can you get me info on her?”

  Claire turns to me, eyebrows hiking up so high they disappear under her bangs. “Why?”

  I shrug. “Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

  She purses her lips together. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  Another shrug. “Anything you can find.”

  “If you go to jail for stalking, it’s not my fault,” she says as she types a reminder in her phone. I just smile and lean back, letting my eyes close. It’s an hour drive to the set—just enough time for a nap.

  Claire wakes me up when the car goes through security. I run my hands over my face and groan. I’m hungry, have to pee, and feel like total shit.

  “Eat this,” she says, handing me a protein bar. “Then drink this.”

  I take a bite of the peanut butter flavored bar and force it down before chugging the rest of the water. I get a coffee while I sit in hair and makeup. I sip it and think about my character. I channel him, letting my thoughts fall to the wayside. I become him, feel what he feels, and let Aiden Shepherd disappear into nothing for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  “I know you get fixated,” Claire says that night. It’s eleven o’clock and we just got back from filming. She picked up Mexican food and brought it b
ack to my room. “But this one, I don’t understand.”

  She hands me a Styrofoam box filled with tacos, rice, and beans. I looked down at the papers she printed off about Haley Parker.

  “She’s pretty and all, but she’s just some horse trainer who works for a small press. I don’t see why you’re so interested.”

  “I asked her to go out with me,” I say, picking up a taco. It’s hot and dripping with grease, and totally against my strict diet. It’s heaven. “And she said no.”

  “Oh, so you need to recover your ego?” She sticks a fork in her salad and flips through her calendar.

  “Yeah,” I say quickly. It’s more than that. There’s something about Haley that hits me hard, and I’m still pissed she caused such darkness to stir inside of me. “She probably swings the other way.”

  Claire shakes her head. “According to Facebook, she ended her last relationship with some boy named Lucas in February.” She sighs. “I don’t know, Aiden. You saw what this girl has been through. Maybe you should leave her alone.”

  “Maybe,” I say so she won’t lecture me. I know that’s not something I can do. Haley is unlike anyone I’d ever met. Her passion for giving the horses a second chance, the way she thought anything could be redeemed, could be saved.

  Maybe, just maybe, she’d think the same about me.

  Haley

  I take a deep breath of warm June air. I love the way it smells when it rains. “It’s okay,” I say softly to Phoenix. She knows I’m coming in to treat her wounds. I can’t blame her for shying away; it can’t feel good. I hold out a treat, but that doesn’t work anymore. I get what I can and decide to come back later, not wanting to stress her out.

  It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m scrambling to get my barn chores done before Lori comes over to hear every last detail about Aiden. It’s windy and has been raining on and off since I drove home from Lily’s Café.

  I can’t get Aiden out of my head. He’s kind of a pompous ass, but shouldn’t I have expected that? It was hard to dig up info on his life before he became famous. He comes from a middle-class family living in London, went to college for theater, and landed a role in some British Broadway show. Things went crazy from there, and he’s now a mega superstar making tons of money.

  His life is charmed. He has everything he could ever want and more than he could ever need. I could get angry thinking about how unfair it is. Part of me wishes I would. At least I would feel something. It isn’t his fame, fortune, good looks, or even the presumptuous way he asked me out that sticks in my head.

  It’s the scars, the way his beautiful eyes dimmed, and for a minute I thought he understood what I meant about saving the horses and getting second chances. I shake my head at the thought. No, that’s stupid. We didn’t share a moment. We didn’t share anything but conversation and a table. I don’t know him. It’s impossible to connect that fast.

  Or is it?

  Mom’s voice rings in my ears, telling me to loosen up and enjoy life. It’s over before you know it. One day you’re young and in your twenties, the next you have a daughter who’s turning twenty-one. Life can be over before you know it, before you expect it. Before it’s fair, before you can be ready, and just like that it’s swept out from underneath you, knocking you back into icy water. I’m treading as fast as I can, furiously kicking my legs. Yet I’m sinking below the surface.

  I bring Sundance into the crossties and run a brush over his dark bay fur. He’s a muddy mess from rolling around in the pasture.

  “Hey, boy,” I say to him. “I’m sorry you haven’t been ridden. Though you probably like it. You are kind of lazy.” Ten minutes later, I take him out to the round pen to be exercised. I stand in the middle of a circular arena and motion for him to move forward. I watch him trot around, seeing his muscles flex with each stride. Sundance came here in rough shape too. He had mange and worms, and his mane had to be shaved off because it was so full of burs. It took months of trimming to get his hooves looking good again.

  I let him out in the pasture then get Benny, repeating the same process. How could something I once loved feel so tedious? Not wanting to be in the barn and around the horses filled me with guilt. Mom would be ashamed. Being there without her…it was too much.

  “I didn’t forget about you,” I say as I slide open the heavy oak door to Shakespeare’s stall. He nickers softly and moves to me, pieces of hay sticking out of his mouth as he chews. Just the sight of him makes me smile, and my broken heart thumps in my chest. He nudges me with his nose and I turn around, offering him my back. He rubs his head on it, covering me in white fur. I twist and wrap my arms around him, inhaling the sweet scent of grain and hay. I get a flashback to one of our first shows we did together.

  It’s the middle of summer and so hot. I’m sweating in my breeches, tall leather boots, and black show jacket. I lead him into the ring, smiling for the judge. I hate showmanship. I hate not being on my horse. But Mom thought it was important.

  Shakespeare is as bored as I am. He digs at the ground, rubs on me, and then rolls. I stand back and watch in horror. My freshly bathed white horse is rolling in the damp sand arena. All eyes are on me. I can hear Mom shouting at me to get him up.

  But I just laugh.

  He jerks his head up and looks out the open Dutch door, hearing the car pull into the driveway before I can. I move to the door and wave to Lori. She parks by the house and gets out. Chrissy lazily trots over, wagging her tail. She’s such a great guard dog. I hug Shakespeare, let him out, and hurry up the driveway.

  “Tell me everything,” she says. “I am so jealous!”

  I smile because I know I should, though really I feel dead inside. I should be excited, right? I should share Lori’s excitement. I am just as big of a fan of Aiden as she is, and an even bigger fan of Shadowland. But I just don’t care. We go inside, and Lori sets a bag of takeout on the counter.

  “I got Thai food,” she says. “You didn’t eat, did you?”

  I shake my head, and my hunger comes on with a vengeance. I forget to feed myself, and preparing meals takes too much energy. I’ve missed more meals in the last few months than ever before, and it’s starting to show.

  “Did you touch him?” she asks, hazel eyes sparkling. “Please tell me you did. Oh, did he smell good? Did you take a picture with him? Let me see!”

  I grab two glasses from the cabinet next to the sink and fill them both with water. We take our spots at the island counter. I take a bite of spicy noodles before I get out the voice recorder.

  “No to all of your questions,” I say with my mouth full. “Listen.” I press play.

  Lori leans in, too enthralled by Aiden’s voice to eat. I slowly chew my noodles, listening to the interview. I sound bored, disengaged even.

  “You don’t even sound nervous,” Lori says. “I’d be stuttering and mixing up words like crazy.”

  “I was nervous at first. Then we got to talking and I actually felt sort of comfortable. He was easy to talk to.” And I really didn’t care, but I don’t tell Lori that, nor do I tell her about him asking me out. She’d take me straight to the loony bin for sure, or at the very least demand I take the antidepressants again. And maybe she’d be right.

  “I am so, so fucking jealous, Hay. You have no idea.”

  I laugh. “I have a little idea.”

  She nudges me and rewinds the interview, listening to it again. “Is he staying in Billings?”

  “I didn’t ask. I’d assume so. He was at a bar there, so it makes sense, right? Besides, there aren’t too many other cities around here with nice hotels.”

  “You should have asked.”

  I shake my head and flash another smile. I could have found out. Well, maybe. Who knows if we would have gone back to his hotel room or not.

  “Let’s go bar-hopping in Billings next weekend.”

  Going out, getting dressed up…I used to love it. Now it seems like too much effort. “I shouldn’t,” I start. I can’t look Lori in the
eye. “I don’t have extra money to spend on drinks and—”

  “I’m buying your drinks,” she says. “I never got to take you out for your birthday, and one night out will do you some good, even if we can’t find Aiden.”

  “What about Kit?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  She waves her hand in the air. “He won’t care. At all. He picked up a few extra night shifts next week at the hospital.” She clasps her hands together. “Please come out with me. You need this.”

  “Fine,” I say. It’s a week away. I can get out of it by then. There’s no reason to stress about it now.

  * * *

  “You look hot,” Lori says, standing behind me Friday night. I look at my reflection and hardly recognize the woman looking back at me.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m all for showing off my boobs, but don’t you think this dress screams, I give it up in the bar bathroom?”

  My dark hair hangs in tight curls around my face that will loosen by the time we get to the bar. My hair never holds a curl. I think I look substantially better with a full face of makeup. My skin isn’t horrible, but I have red marks dotting over my cheeks and a general uneven tone across my whole face. I like wearing eye makeup though I haven’t that often recently. It just runs down my cheeks when I cry.

  Now I’m sporting a gray and black smokey eye, red lipstick, and this dress. It’s dark purple with black lace around the edges. The neckline is low and it’s tight around my breasts, which have nearly doubled in size since I put on a few pounds. The burns on my left shoulder show, and even though it doesn’t quite match, I put on a black cardigan to cover them up. “I’m fine with looking like a whore,” I say, tugging at the hems. My thighs are bigger than the last time I wore this. “But I don’t want to look like a cheap whore.”

  “Cheap whores don’t wear Jimmy Choos,” she says with a smile and reaches into her bag, pulling out a pair of deep purple heels. “Or carry designer bags. We’re going all out tonight. No excuses. I’m ordering you to have fun. Or else.”