“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she encourages, glancing over her shoulder and leaving the door ajar.
I step outside, still amazed at the tents concealing the driveway, right to the end of the road. Helicopters whir overhead. The upcoming release of the DNA results has them clamoring around again.
She yanks the diaper bag from me as I slide into the back seat of her Aston. The center console runs from the front to the back, with room for only four passengers, so the baby seat in the back looks completely out-of-place.
Wasting no time, Abby screeches off like we’re making a great escape as I secure Bryn in her seat.
It surprises me that the first stop is my doctor. Abby parks behind the office, where building security awaits us at the back entrance. They usher us to the fifth floor via a service elevator. Dr. Shelby’s nurse allows us entry through the door the practice physicians use.
“I didn’t mention Dr. Shelby so you can get me an appointment,” I tell her, once we’re alone. Abby has Bryn, and I’m on the exam table. “How did you know who my physician was?”
“Please, girl. Everyone you’ve been associated with in the past months is now known to the public.”
“I shouldn’t have come here. Why didn’t you ask him to make a house call?”
Abby scoffs. “Because you need to get out of the house. The media has figured out my trail is cold. It leads to nothing. I go to my condo for a few items and return to Rand’s. Go shopping. My daily therapy. Maybe, meet a guy to fuck.” She shrugs. “They don’t want me, they want Sloane.”
“Or me,” I snap.
“Yesss, true. But I’m under the radar. As long as you’re with me, you are, too.”
We’re in and out of my appointment in ninety minutes. We head to Abby’s condo, where she swears she only wants to pick up her camera. It’s a lot of trouble getting Bryn in and out of her seat, so I opt to wait in the car. True to her word, Abby isn’t long.
“Where to now?” she asks, still in her allotted parking spot, looking into her rearview mirror and applying lipstick.
“Back to Rand’s.” I feel so exposed out in public.
“Wrong answer. Now, we go for lunch and shopping.”
“Are you insane?” Bryn jumps at my raised voice, so I scowl at Abby’s profile and lower my tone. “No fucking way. Someone is bound to see me and all the measures you took to keep me out of sight at the doctor’s office will be for nothing.”
“Yes, I admit there’ll be a slight risk, but you haven’t done anything but live in misery for days. What’s the most that can happen to you?”
“Eggs can be thrown at me. I can be called names. I can have cameras shoved in my face. I—”
“Hold your head up, for God’s sake. Your only crime is being in love with Sloane. That’s it. There’s no age allotted to when we fall in love. You tell that to any fucker belittling you.”
“A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer,” I quote and smile at her confusion. “Emerson. His words. That’s what I was getting at this morning.” Hoping to ease my rising tension, I rub my temples. “I’m not a hero and I’m not brave. I—”
“You are.” She twists completely around in her seat, resting her elbows on the shiny console. “If an asshole is mean to you five years, you have to be stronger for five years and five minutes. You’re strong, you survive. You’re weak, you die. Life’s just a game. The last man standing is the one with the most endurance. I know you’re upset because Sloane left the band, but this is his opportunity to find himself. He needs this. Whether he knows it or you believe it. This is your chance to find yourself.”
“Who are you?” I ask softly. “Have you ever thought about that? If I look too deeply inside of myself, I’m afraid of what I’ll find. Maybe…” Maybe, Mom and Kiln will be right about me.
Abby leans toward me, extending her body as far as possible, and reaching out to clasp my hand. “Who am I? I’m Abigail Mason, who’s afraid to fall in love again. The one time I did, it ended in heartache for me and for him. I hide behind excessive shopping and sleeping around. I’m a party girl, with nothing but time and money. But I’m me.”
Out of all the women who’s ever been around me, Abby is the only one who lets me be me without judgement. She’s the only one who’s ever been so open and honest with me. Lindsey watched over me, imparted wisdom here and there and listened to my heartache over Sloane, but I never knew anything about her. Grandma always had an agenda. And, Mom…Mom just hated me.
“How many relationships have you been in? Maybe, I need to know how not to fall in love.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes, but she smiles. “Most of us have no control over who we love, babe. I’ve only been in one ‘relationship,’” she admits, using air quotations. “I’ve dated guys for six, seven, eight months. I’ve had sex with other women. But I’ve only been in love once.” She no longer meets my gaze, and I suspect who it is she’d fallen in love with. As she starts to turn around, I call her name. She doesn’t answer until she’s facing forward once again in the driver’s seat.
“It’s my dad, isn’t it? You fell in love with him.”
“He loves your mother, Georgie,” she tells me, gazing at me through her rearview mirror. “I was never a threat to their relationship. I never told him how I felt, but I didn’t consider Cassandra. Your grandmother didn’t accept my apology and she refused to let me talk to your mother. I felt responsible for the turmoil between you and her. If I hadn’t been with Parnell, your mom…I don’t know what I’m trying to say. But, yes. It was your dad.”
“Do you still love him?”
She shrugs. “Does it matter?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.”
Opening her purse, she takes out a lacy handkerchief and dabs at her eyes.
“Hey, you know what? It’s just what you said. We don’t choose who we fall in love with. My dad had become completely distracted with me, but he’s a nice guy. I’m sorry it ended for you the way it did. Not because my parents are involved. You deserve happiness, too. Who knows? Dad might grow a spine one day and realize he’s staying with Mom more out of fear of my grandmother than any lingering love for my mom.”
Though I doubt it. Just as the thought crosses my mind, I hear Abby mumble, “Doubtful.”
I giggle, and she laughs, too.
“You’re sliding into a deeper funk the longer you’re locked away,” she begins after a few minutes of silence.
My turn to mumble, “It’s worked so far.”
“We’ve become party poopers with the heaviness of this conversation. We can’t go back to Rand’s house so mopey and sad. So no shopping. Just lunch. Aren’t you tired of looking at those four fucking walls?”
“It’s sixteen walls,” I counter, to be difficult. “Bedroom, closet, sitting room, and bathroom.”
“Splitting hairs, Georgie,” she sniffs, then backtracks. “No lunch. Just shopping. I have a date tonight and I have to have this panty set from La Perla. You may want something, too.”
“How am I supposed to get it?” I retort crossly. “With my fucking looks?”
“If anyone could pull that off, you can. You really need to talk to Sloane about money and credit cards. It’ll give you some independence.”
If I tell her how fucking tired I am of having things thrown at me, instead of love, she’ll lecture me again. I don’t respond.
“We’ll be in and out of the boutique in thirty minutes.”
“Fine,” I relent and stare sullenly ahead as she finally backs out of her parking space and speeds away.
Once we arrive at the outdoor mall with boutiques and exclusive shops, Abby hands me a pair of sunglasses she took out of her purse. After I strap Bryn into the sling and slide the glasses on, I follow Abby to La Perla. Inside, I stay close on her heels, looking at merchandise too, and regretting my inability to purchase two gorgeous pairs of panties, a bra, and three baby doll gowns. I’m a pro at shopping myself. Not that Abby
is aware, since I’m broke as a joke, and never went shopping with her. Window shopping is a new experience for me.
A peek at my watch tells me we’ve been in the store for fifteen minutes. It never took me long to spend thousands of dollars. Noticing how crowded the store is becoming, my contentment slips away.
A woman squints at me, and I turn my back to her. Three saleswomen roam about the store, as several more women pour in, gazing around. Though they stay professional, the store associates seem a little surprised at the sudden rush of customers.
One talks to Abby and sidles a frown to the growing number of people, another greets a customer, a smile plastered on her face and the other stands near the register. When a newcomer whispers to her, her mouth thins and she grabs the handset of a phone, dialing. Three women walk near me, throwing covert glances my way. Sweat rises on my skin. I think I’ve been recognized, but no one is making a big stink. Abby is heading toward the register.
“Are you Georgiana McCall?”
Glancing to my right, I stare at the stranger who’s narrowed her gaze on me. Inspecting her closer, her dirty blonde hair and sharp features seem oddly familiar, but I don’t know from where. As I try to recall where we met, I stay silent. Her eyes drop to the back of Bryn’s head.
“You are,” she barks, snatching away the sunglasses I’ve kept on.
Alarm races through me. I back away, just as she lunges for me. Moving fast, I sidestep her, jarring Bryn, who whines in protest.
“Bitch!” the woman snarls, advancing toward me. “Lying whore.”
Abby yanks my arm and turns toward the entrance, throwing the merchandise she’d chosen to the floor. We hasten outside.
And right into a crowd.
A massive amount of people block our escape, but I have no time to consider how these people amassed so quickly.
“Die!” someone screams.
The original woman snatches my hair, wrenching me back. Automatically, my arms wrap around a now-screaming Bryn. Protecting my baby leaves me vulnerable and I can’t deflect the punch to my eye. My attacker is grabbed from me and I scramble back, covering my head, afraid to move with all the insults and threats being hurled at me.
“Fucking crazy bitch and your false accusations.”
“Cut out her tongue.”
“Throw her in a pit of snakes.”
“Venomous cunt.”
Abby straddles the woman who hit me, and slams a fist against her jaw. Behind me, the store’s door is opened.
“Come in quickly!” the associate who’d been greeting everyone urges. “Mall security and 911 has been called.”
Sirens blare in the background as I get to my feet and sprint into the store, hoping I won’t be attacked by whoever remains inside. Right before the door closes, something hits the back of my head and I nearly lose my balance.
“Get inside,” Abby orders, breathing hard like me.
The saleswoman locks the door, as the crowd attempts to gain control and storm the place. To get me.
Other women remain in the store, but before they do anything, Abby and I are quickly led to the storeroom, where the door is closed. I’m shaking so badly that Bryn’s screams go right over my head, and I ignore Abby’s conversation with the store employee who’s in here with us. The ringing of my phone snaps me out of my terror.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Sloane snarls into my ear the moment I answer. “Stay fucking put, Georgiana. Kiln’s on the way.” He hangs up. A moment later, Abby’s cellphone rings and she grimaces. I know it’s Sloane.
I remove Bryn from the sling and hold her in my arms. We sniffle together until Abby holds out her mobile to the sales woman fifteen minutes later. Whatever Sloane told her has her in tears. Once she takes it, Abby comes to me.
“I’m so sorry. Sloane’s furious and he has every right to be.” Swiping at her cheeks and eyes, she runs her fingers through her disheveled hair attempting to appear calm when we’re both shaken up.
Words are escaping me right now, so I press my lips together. When my head throbs, I remember something hit the back of it. Abby takes the same handkerchief she used earlier and runs it over my head. The material turns blue.
“I think it was a snowball,” she tells me faintly.
The wide-eyed, slightly pale saleswoman walks to us and hands Abby her phone, interrupting my response. She gives me an apologetic look. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry you went through this. Whatever you’d like in the store…” Blushing, she can’t finish, and I don’t blame her. Who can think of shopping right now?
She turns to Abby. “I’ll personally bag the items you chose.”
“Fuck the clothes,” Abby snaps. “There are people out there who want to kill Georgie.”
A knock bangs on the door, and Abby stomps to it, throwing it open.
“Fuck me,” I groan.
Staring at me, looking less than pleased, are Mom and Grandma.
The ride to Mother’s house is made in silence. Georgie stares out the window. Abby’s preoccupied with her phone, and Mother glares between the two of them.
I have no understanding why Mother thought it necessary to rush to Georgie’s rescue. We were leaving our facialist, headed to a meeting for a mental health foundation whose board we now sit on, when she got a call. Immediately, our plans changed. Mother instructed the driver to go to the mall. We arrived the same time as the sheriff’s deputies, so without fanfare, they got us through the crowd that mall security hadn’t been able to fully disperse.
It’s hard for me to believe all this ruckus is for Georgie. But it’s something Mother hasn’t gotten under control. If, and until she does, I have to live with it.
The miserable ride finally ends, and the security Mother has in place at her house swarms her limousine. A few yards away at the gated entrance, photographers clamor for a prime spot, for a perfect shot. I pause long enough to offer them decent images.
“Go in, Cassandra,” Mother instructs with annoyance.
Abby materializes beside me, with no acknowledgment, as if I don’t know how her pussy looks beneath her clothes. She’s forgotten that I watched Parnell make her come the day I met her.
What the fuck is she doing with my daughter?
Once we’re inside, Mother barks orders for a light brunch to be served immediately in the family dining room.
Georgie and Abby sit next to one another, like good friends. A twinge of momentary regret surprises me. Not for Georgie, but because I have no clue what a real friend is. Sometimes, I feel the loss of not having another woman to confide in. I’ve never had a woman who deserved me as a friend, my equal.
“Abigail,” Mother begins coldly, sitting at the head of the table and drumming her fingers.
Abby doesn’t respond though her clenching jaw tells me she heard.
“I’m Georgiana’s legal guardian, young woman,” Mother says. “I can bar you from having anything to do with her.”
“Talk to Sloane,” she says simply.
Georgie remains silent, wrapped up in her brat. What else can I expect from a fucked-up, drug addict slut?
Mother huffs out a breath. “Talk to Sloane? What does that mean?”
“Just what I said, Helen.” Abby throws her phone on the table to focus on Mother. Blood speckles her shirt and a small bruise blooms on her cheek. Her clothes are disheveled and her hair is wrecked. “Georgie needed help, and Sloane hired me.”
Really? He’ll go to any lengths to hurt me. He’s well-aware of Abby and Parnell’s affair, another fact I’m sure he kept from Georgie. I glare at the stupid little bitch, so still and silent, except to whisper to Sloane’s daughter. “Do you know your father ate Abby’s cunt? She offered to eat mine the day we met, but I had her do it another time.”
Abby pales and Georgie flushes, still not looking at me and giving me the respect I deserve.
“This whore gave him pussy in my bed and—”
“Dad used his cock in your bed,” Georgie snaps, then frowns,
disgust crossing her face. “Whatever, Mom. Okay? That’s between you, Dad, and Abby. It no longer matters if they fucked swinging from the chandelier in the foyer. You’re still with Dad, so you must’ve forgiven him.”
Oh, she walked right into this one. I smile in triumph. “He forgave me for sucking Sloane’s dick,” I tell her with glee, almost coming when tears rush to her eyes. “Do you know how many times I came against Sloane’s tongue? How good his big cock felt in me?”
Mother narrows her eyes, but I refuse to stop. A soft sob escapes Georgie. As soon as I can I’m excusing myself and fingering my pussy to thoughts of her heartache and the idea of dancing in her blood. “I hate you. If not for you, Sloane would still be fucking me. You’re nothing but a stupid little groupie.”
Abby bows her head.
I want to break Georgie.
She. Took. Sloane. From. Me. And Parnell. And Josh. Even Abby, in a way, who’d never consider coming back to our bed now and betraying Georgie. “Did he ever tell you how wet I got for him? I may be old, but I’m still juicy.”
“Enough, Cassandra. Georgiana is your daughter and your crass comments to her are inexcusable. Who wants to know about their Mother’s sex life, you idiot?”
Just like that she throws me off the high I’m riding on. I can’t even point out that she mentioned her sex life to me, I’m so humiliated by her dressing down.
Mother rubs her temple while Abby digs in her purse, pulling out a handkerchief stained with a blue tint in the middle and hands it to my oh-so-fragile daughter.
“Is Bryn all right?” Mother asks.
Though Georgie nods, Abby answers. “She’s sleeping.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Sanderson isn’t receiving visitors,” a butler says in exasperation from outside the door.
“Tough fucking shit,” Sloane snarls, a moment before he walks in.
A blue bandanna covers his head and calls attention to his perfect face. He’s wearing leather fingerless gloves, T-shirt, and jeans. His gaze falls right on me and my breath catches until hatred washes over his face.
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 49
