by Torsha Baker
I laugh, liking her instantly.
“No, just this one, darlin’.”
She nods and turns back to me, examining me for a second. “You’re very pretty.”
I smile. “So are you.”
She lifts her chin. “I know.” She hands me the flowers. “I picked these for you. Do you like forget-me-nots?”
“As a matter of fact, forget-me-nots from that exact garden,” I say, pointing at the garden, “are my absolute favorite. Thank you.”
She smiles bigger, then takes my free hand and Jax’s and leads us both back to the others. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starvin’.” I look down at her little hand in mine, and a warmth and wonder fills my heart like I’ve never experienced before. My gaze finds Jaxon, and he looks back at me with pride and understanding. Maybe things really will work out for us. Maybe we can be a real family.
The rest of the dinner is filled with talking and laughter, of shared memories and new stories. It all feels so easy, like I’m just a puzzle piece that found its rightful place in the bigger picture. There is familiarity here and newness that intertwines into a beautiful tapestry. I want to wrap myself in that tapestry and never take it off.
After dinner, the boys set to the task of gathering the dishes to take inside.
“Why don't you help me get dessert ready,” Kitty says to me. We go inside with the others. The spacious kitchen has white cabinets and quartz countertops with a good sized island in the middle. On the other side of the island, the kitchen opens up to a cozy family room. Off to the side of the kitchen sits a huge wood farm table—one big enough for the Wyle brothers and all their future wives. Will I be one of them? I watch Jaxon pick up Audrey and playfully throw her onto one of the large, cushioned couches. She squeals in delight. I smile at them, imagining many more nights like this.
Dillon turns on the television.
“Oh come on, Dillon. Turn that off,” Landon says. “Come help with the dishes.”
“Leave some for me,” he says, leaning on the arm of the couch. “I just want to catch the stocks real quick, and then I’ll shut it off.”
I follow Kitty to the fridge. She pulls out a bowl of mashed raspberries and individual cups of what looks like panacotta, then grabs a couple of spoons from a drawer.
My mouth waters. “Panacotta?”
She smiles. “Yes! I love that you know what it is. I have to tell the boys it’s fancy pudding. Help me scoop the raspberry puree into each cup?”
I take one of the spoons from her. When I’m on the second cup, Audrey tugs at my sleeve. “You’re on TV!” she exclaims. “It’s awesome having a friend who’s famous. But you look prettier in real life.”
We all look to the television. There’s a picture of me in my workout clothes, and my hair is in a messy bun. I have no makeup on, and my face is all red. It’s not flattering at all and was definitely taken right after a workout. The headline says: Malia Kalama in rehab. My heart drops along with the spoon in my hand, splattering red sauce on the white countertops. I want to run over and shut the TV off . . . or throw something at it . . . or crawl in a hole. But instead, Dillon just turns the volume up. I feel my cheeks burning as the reporter speaks.
“A-lister Malia Kalama was admitted into rehab. During an interview, Trey Wentworth said that it was Malia’s problem with partying that led him into another woman’s arms. He sincerely regrets his indiscretion now and hopes Malia receives much needed help. It’s unclear what Malia is in rehab for, but what is clear is that her fans are standing by her and praying for a full recovery. Next up—”
Dillon turns the TV off, his brows scrunched in thought. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. I want to sink into the tile floor and completely disappear. I can’t believe I forgot about the rehab story. I’ve been so caught up in my time with Jaxon that it completely slipped my mind.
“What’s rehab?” Audrey asks, breaking the silence and gazing up at me.
I laugh nervously. “That’s wrong. I’m clearly not in rehab.”
I scan over the others, but no one seems ready to jump in to help me. In fact, they’re all waiting for my response just as much as Audrey is. Perhaps it’s a test to see how I handle the tough questions of a seven-year-old. I turn back to Audrey. “Um, well, it’s where people go who have a particular problem that they can’t solve on their own and need help.”
Her face scrunches in confusion. “But you’re not in rehab. You’re here with us.” She squints her eyes and examines me. “You don’t seem like you have any problems. Do you?”
One big problem right now, actually. “Well I have some, but none that need rehab.”
“Why would that man say that?”
I figure the best response is the truth. I sigh. “Because my publicist told him to.” I pick up the spoon I’d dropped, hating more than ever that JulieAnn felt this was the best way to help my career.
“But that’s lying,” Audrey says matter a fact. “And what’s a publicist?”
I glance up at Jax who gives me a small smile and an encouraging nod. Again, not jumping to my aid. Some hero. “You’re right,” I tell her, fingering the spoon nervously. “It is lying, and it’s wrong. Just think of publicists like villains in a show. Sometimes they lie, even though it’s wrong because they’re from a place where lying is second nature to them.”
“Because they’re evil,” Audrey says with her hands on her hips. “You should throw some water on the publicist so she stops telling lies about you. That’s what Dorothy did in the Wizard of Oz, and the evil witch melted. Water,” she repeats with a head nod.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
She turns to Jax. “Daddy, can I help Uncle Preston feed the horses?”
“Just grab your jacket. It’s getting cooler out there.”
She runs to the other room to get a jacket.
“You handled that well.” Kitty takes the spoon from me before placing it in the sink.
I might have been able to talk my way around Audrey’s questioning, but one look at Jax tells me that the discussion is not over between the two of us.
Chapter Seventeen
JAXON
After we finish the fancy pudding, the others disburse and Malia and I go outside to talk. We’re standing on the wraparound porch, watching Audrey in the distance with Preston, feeding the horses. The sun makes its decent in the sky, turning everything an orange-gold hue. A breeze brings Malia’s floral scent. I glance at her standing beside me, casually leaning against one of the beams, a look of joy on her face.
Malia was amazing today with Audrey. Everything went better than I could have imagined. It would have been a perfect evening, if only Malia’s name hadn’t been on the news. Rehab. A knot of worry tightens in my gut. How will it look to a judge that my girlfriend was in rehab? As soon as Brittany finds out, she’ll use it against me. Maybe I can convince Malia to come out with the truth. The whole thing is just insane. Pretending to be in rehab and to be with a guy who cheats? Malia is so much better than all of that. If the world could see her for who she truly is, they’d all fall in love with her.
“So,” I say. “Rehab, huh?”
Her shoulders stiffen. “I know, I know.” She shakes her head. “It’s ridiculous and I hate it.”
This might be easier than I thought. “Good, then you can call a press conference and tell the truth.”
She sighs. “It’s not that simple.”
“Really? Because it seems so easy to me. You’re not a drug addict.”
“Rehab isn’t just for drug addicts. I could be a cutter or an alcoholic.”
“And that’s better?”
She cringes. “You have a point. I’m sorry, Jax. I’m even more sorry that Audrey was exposed to the news report. That’s definitely not how I want her to see me. My publicist seems to think this will help my public image.”
“How does being hooked on drugs or cutting or alcohol help that exactly?”
She moves a lock of her hair
behind her ear. “You saw what they said on the news report. My fans are rooting for me. It’s exactly what JulieAnn predicted. The fans want someone to root for, and when I make my miraculous recovery, coming out of it even better than before, they’ll be thrilled. My name will be fresh on everyone’s mind just when JulieAnn is working on getting me the audition for the role I’m going after.”
“That all sounds very. . . complicated.” And completely unnecessary. “I can never understand why people try to make things a bigger deal than they have to.” I’m surprised that Malia allows herself to be sucked into the drama.
Her brows scrunch up. “It is complicated. Sometimes it’s more than I can take, but this silliness will be over soon. Then I’ll have the role in a blockbuster, and after that movie, I’ll be in a position to pick any role I want.” She slides her hand into mine and pulls me to the porch swing. And I let her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever sat there with. The swing was a special place for Mom and Dad, and has always held a sort of reverence for me.
Malia takes my face in her warm delicate hands. “What’s not complicated is us.” She leans forward and brushes her lips over mine, and the knot in my gut eases, replaced with desire. She pulls back and murmurs, “You and me. No complications. Simplicity at its best.” She brushes another feather-light kiss over my lips, pulls back again and whispers, “You love me, and I love you.”
It’s the first time Malia has voiced those words since we were eighteen. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve been aching to hear them, but I don’t blame her for taking her time. I had broken her heart after all. And now she’s giving it to me once again, trusting me, trusting in us. And even as she says the words, I realize that’s what I need to do—trust in us.
I brush her hair from her face and nod. “I love you so much,” I whisper back and then lower my lips to hers. She kisses me fiercely, as if to seal the truth of her words through touch and taste, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe her life is a little convoluted, but she’s right. What we have is clear and simple and right.
Malia has gone home, and I’ve just tucked Audrey in for bed. I make my way downstairs and hear the hushed voices of my brothers talking. I take a deep breath before entering the kitchen. Preston is eating another helping of the fancy pudding; Landon is leaning on the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of him, his brows creased; and Dillon is pacing. Great, pacing is never a good sign. They all look up when I enter, and Dillon opens his mouth to say something.
I lift my hand to silence him. “I already know what you’re going to say.”
He lifts his brows. “Oh really? So you’ve already deduced that you’re screwed? That as soon as Brittany finds out that you’re dating a drug addict, she’ll have a ground to stand on and take Audrey from us?”
I sigh. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
Dillon’s brows somehow rise even higher, and he throws his hands up in frustration.
Landon pushes off the counter and puts himself between the two of us. “This is a big deal, Jax.”
“Huge,” Dillon says from behind him. Preston just nods from his place at the kitchen table, his mouth full of pudding.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Look, how would Brittany even know that we’re dating? By the time it comes out that we’re dating, Malia will have the role she’s going after, and she’ll have recovered from rehab. And by the way, rehab isn’t just for drugs. You’re just assuming that Malia’s in rehab for drugs.”
Dillon’s laugh is devoid of humor. “She’s not in rehab at all.”
Landon sighs. “Can’t you just talk to Malia and tell her what’s going on. Tell her that we need her to tell the truth?”
I shake my head. “I can’t expect her to let her career suffer because my ex-girlfriend is blackmailing me. Brittany is my problem. I won’t put that on Malia.”
“But—” Dillon protests.
“No buts,” I say with a firmness that is rare for me. “We leave Malia out of this. End of story.” Then I soften my voice. “It will all be okay. Just have some faith, brothers.” But even as I say it, I can’t be certain that anything is going to be okay.
Chapter Eighteen
MALIA
It’s been a few days since the night I met Audrey and told Jax I love him. We take turns spending time at each other’s houses. Jax gets along great with my family, and more than anything, my parents have totally fallen in love with Audrey. She helps my mother with gardening, and my dad teaches her a new card game every time they come over. I love seeing our lives intertwine, and more and more I can see our future together.
Jax and I have kept up with my training sessions. He’s taught me to shoot a gun and rope a cow while riding bareback. Today he’s teaching me the basics of self-defense, as well as some offensive moves. One by one, I’m checking of the skills I’ll need for the role.
Jax hasn’t brought up the rehab situation since that night. I know it wasn’t really fair of me to pick that moment to tell him I love him, but I’d been wanting to tell him all night, and more than anything, I wanted him to know that our love is what matters most. I think he’s over the fake rehab for the most part, although there are times I catch him looking off into the distance and think he might bring it up again. Or maybe he’s upset that the world thinks I’m dating someone else. Either way, he hasn’t confronted me about it. Part of me thinks it’s good he’s holding back because deep down, I know he’s right. I should tell the public the truth. Lying is wrong. But the other part has noticed the good the lie is doing for my career, and what’s the real harm in a little fibbing anyway? Or at least that’s what I keep asking myself.
Jax stands across from me holding punching pads. “Don’t tuck your thumb into your fist unless you want a broken thumb,” he says, and shows me where my thumb should go when throwing a punch. He’s already taught me how to kick without falling on my bum and a few defensive moves. We’re in the barn where Jax has strung up a punching bag in the rafters. The smell of hay and horses is strong in the air, and particles of dust dance in the sunbeams. Major, the brown colt, neighs for attention for the hundredth time, and it’s taking all of my will power to keep from going over and rubbing his soft fur.
“Focus,” Jax says.
My attention snaps back to him, and I try not to smile. “He’s just so cute,” I protest.
“And I’m not?” he says with mock offense.
My eyes roam over him. He’s wearing Wranglers and a thin white T-shirt, damp from sweat, that beautifully hugs his muscles. My heart speeds up at the thought of running my hands over them. “Cute isn’t the word I’d use to describe you,” I say with a little purr. “Hot,” I say slow and deliberate. His eyes darken. “Sexy,” I add.
He drops the pads before reaching out and pulling me to him in one quick motion. “Now how am I supposed to keep things strictly professional when you throw words like that at me?” He moves my hair from my face.
I smile, feeling satisfied that with a few simple words, I know how to drive him crazy. But I do still need my lesson. “Play later, work now,” I give him a quick kiss before twisting out of his grip with one of the moves he taught me just moments ago. “Focus,” I say.
He chuckles, and I love the way his eyes dance and his dimple comes out playfully. “Nicely done. Okay, back to work. Fist up. Imagine an invisible line going from your knuckles to your wrist to your shoulder.” He touches each spot, letting his fingers slide up from my hand, to my arm and then my shoulder. Warmth flows through my body, and goosebumps form on my skin. It still surprises me how the slightest touch from him can have such a strong effect. He takes my fist and pushes it into his open hand. “This is the part that should hit, not directly on the top of the knuckles. Don’t turn your fist at all. Keep it square, or you’ll risk breaking your wrist.”
I nod. “Got it. Can I hit something now?”
“So violent,” he says. “And oddly, a little sexy.”
“We’re
never going to get anything done with continual talk like that.”
“Promise?” he asks. I tilt my head and give him an exasperated look, earning another chuckle. “Start by hitting the pads.” He picks up the discarded punching pads and holds them out. I practice hitting them over and over again. He stops to correct me when needed. Once he’s sure I have it down right, he wraps my hands and we move on to the punching bag. He teaches me some basic combos, and we work on those. Then he shows me a few combinations with someone striking at me, so I can get my blocking and dodging down. By the time we’re done, we’ve both worked up a sweat.
We’re drinking water while sitting on a couple hay bales that Jax put a thick blanket over.
“This is supposed to be your last lesson,” he says. “Do you think you learned everything you needed to?”
“According to JulieAnn, yes. But for all I know, she has told the casting director that I can sky dive and do gymnastics.”
“What kind of movie would require rock climbing, fighting, shooting, and cow roping?”
“You know, I don't even have all the details yet. All I know is that it’s a Harry Wilson film. His movies always have a ton of action and explosions and go on to be box office hits.”
“So what happens when you get the role?” he asks. I notice that he’s not meeting my eyes. Instead, he’s picking at some hay at the edge of the blanket, which means this is something he’s uncomfortable talking about. I wonder why.
“If I get it,” I say.
“I have no doubt you will. When Malia Kalama sets her mind to something, she makes it happen. It’s a fact.”
This is mostly true, now that I think about it. “Well, if I get the part, we’ll probably start production in a few months. It’ll give me enough time to learn my lines. Then we’ll start shooting at the designated locations. Most of it will happen on a set in California, but there might be some off-sight locations as well. Like I said, I haven’t gotten all the details yet.”
