High Tide

by Michelle Mankin

  “Sweet Hollie.” He gathered me close, kissing the tears from my cheeks. “My Hollie.”

  Laying me out on the bed as he had before, he caressed me, licking and sucking all the places he knew gave me the most pleasure.

  He did give me pleasure. This was Max, but he didn’t seem to notice that there was an underlying tension within me. He’d always seemed to be so in tune with me before, and him not being that way tonight made him feel like a stranger.

  On the other hand, I wanted to please him. It was my fault he’d had a hard day. My fault he’d been so upset he’d had to go drinking. So what if I did a little extra acting in my own bed at the end of the day.

  • • •

  The talk I’d been determined to have with Max didn’t happen the next morning. He had a massive hangover, and then we worked late again. So I put it off.

  The next day he was so sweet and made love to me so tenderly, I didn’t have the heart to bring up a subject matter that would likely put us at odds. Then the next day he was gone early in the morning for his day off.

  He left me a note, a sweet love note that I read and reread. The condo seemed too empty with him gone.

  Work that day was at the studio, so I took the car service in alone. Filming was productive, maybe even more so without me having to worry about Max’s reactions, but I still missed him being close by.

  When he returned late in the evening, I met him at the door and hugged him close, but he was quiet and reserved in a way that worried me. He hadn’t been out drinking that I could tell. He smelled like sunshine and ocean.

  Once again, I decided to let it go, but he brought up my concerns himself on the weekend.

  “Hollie.” He took a seat beside me on the sectional. “Can you set aside the social media stuff for a minute? I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure.” I lifted the computer off my lap and leaned forward to place it on the coffee table.

  He glanced at the screen, then frowned at me. “You keep putting Hart’s people off.”

  I dropped my chin. “I don’t want to talk in detail about that night with a bunch of strangers.”

  “You can’t avoid it forever.”

  “I know.”

  “You need to talk about it with someone.” Max brushed the fall of my hair aside and peered at me with his gorgeous blue eyes soft, and a gentle expression on his handsome face. “How about me?”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “You don’t trust me to understand?” His frown deepened.

  “I don’t trust anyone to understand. I . . . I haven’t even told Fanny everything.”

  He nodded as if I confirmed something he’d already guessed. “That’s not healthy.”

  “What he did to me wasn’t healthy or remotely normal.”

  “I get that. I’m so sorry, baby.” His brow creased as I drew my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “And there she goes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You retreat. You avoid. You withdraw into yourself. Like with the distance you’ve allowed to develop between us.”

  What? He was the one, not me. “I don’t—”

  “Denying there’s a problem between us doesn’t make it go away.”

  “Why don’t we start with me,” I said. “What did I do wrong? If you don’t tell me, I can’t fix it. Did I do something to upset you?”

  “Yes, baby.”

  “What?” My brows rose.

  “The emotional withdrawal, mainly. I can feel it from you in bed. It makes me hesitant to touch you.”

  “You frightened me the other night,” I blurted. “With the drinking and the spanking.”

  His eyes flared hot for a long moment, then cooled. “All right. Okay. You seemed to like it at the time, but maybe I misread the situation.”

  I nodded.

  “I thought it would be a good way to reestablish the parameters of our relationship. It gets so skewed at your work. Did I get it wrong, us wrong? Do you not like me leading in the bedroom?”

  “I do like you being in charge sexually.” My cheeks flamed. “I just didn’t like the belt and the drinking.”

  My cell suddenly rang, and I sighed. It had been ringing all morning. Olivia. The assistant director. Fanny. I’d ignored all of them, and ignored this one as well.

  “You were saying?” Max glanced away from the cell as it stopped ringing and turned back to me.

  “Just those two things. That’s all.” I braced. “Is there, um, anything else that I’ve done?”

  “Not what you’ve done.” He raked a hand through his hair while studying me closely. “It’s more what you haven’t.”

  “And that is?”

  “I’ve said the words, Hollie. Many times. But you don’t say them back. With all the other stuff—”

  “What other stuff?” I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ease the painful tightening of my stomach.

  “The ignoring my wishes at your work. The withdrawal from me here in our bed. The refusal to confide important stuff.”

  Oh my God, he was right. He knew me pretty well. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not asking you to apologize, shug. I love you. That’s not going to change.”

  The vise around my stomach loosened.

  My openness to being vulnerable had changed as I’d watched Samuel and my mom. Love had become hatred. I might not have seen the beginning of the crumbling of their marriage like Fanny did, but I had seen the end, and it had affected me.

  Max sighed. “I just need you to tell me that you’re with me, and that we’re working together on building something strong.”

  “I’m with you. I’ll try harder. I have a lot of stuff to work through.” It didn’t really register until right now just how much.

  “Like what happened with Samuel?”

  “Yes.” I swallowed hard. “And before that with him and my mom, and him and me.”

  “Did he . . .” This time Max swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Did he abuse you?”

  “No,” I said, and the sudden intensity in him relaxed. “Not physically.”

  “Oh, Hollie.” His eyes burning cobalt bright, he reached for and took my hand, upsetting my defensive positioning. “He’s a sorry son of a bitch. Can you talk to me about it? I think it will help you—and us—if you do.”

  “Not yet.” I withdrew my hand from his. I was afraid to tell him. Afraid knowing how weak I was would be a turnoff. “Give me some time. Don’t be mad. You asked me for some processing time once, and I gave it to you.”

  “You did.” The crease in his brow deepened.

  “So now it’s my turn.”

  Time became a noose that strangled me. I was so entrenched by fears I’d never addressed—fears I didn’t have a clue how to address—they choked me every time I thought about confiding in Max.

  So I began to avoid him. Staying up late. Getting up early. Working constantly.

  Hours became days. Days became weeks. Weeks became months, and somehow, we arrived at the end of filming the Valentine movie with my worst fears remaining secret.

  “We have to go.” I set down the flat iron I’d used to smooth my hair and tried to move around Max.

  “We don’t have to do anything.” He grabbed me by the upper arm and turned me toward him.

  The irritated glint in his eyes barely fazed me, probably because it wasn’t a glint anymore. Now it was a constant glow of disapproval.

  “You have a breather tonight. Let’s stay in. We need to talk.”

  “We’re always staying in.” After work, weekends, away from the demands of my job, those were the times we were in sync.

  I tugged my arm free, and he let me. I might be the chief avoider, but he had his way of avoiding too.

  “C’mon.” My cell dinged again in the living room. I exited the bedroom and scooped it off the end table to scan the text messages. “Everyone’s already there.”

  “It’s not an official
function.” He moved behind me.

  “It’s the wrap party.” I turned to look at him. “They’re about as official as an event can get. If I don’t show, I’ll get a reputation for being standoffish.”

  I couldn’t afford any negative publicity. After I completed the upcoming indie film in Chicago, my calendar was wide open. Not a single additional job offer had come in. My social media accounts were pretty much stagnant for growth. Samuel had gone silent. My phone rarely rang except for Fanny, my agent, and Zachary.

  “Stop running.” Max reached for me. You’re always in motion. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with you.”

  His long fingers were warm on my skin and so welcome. I closed my eyes, fighting the desire to give in, knowing if I told him all my ugly truths, I’d lose him.

  But you might already be losing him.

  Not yet. That was my constant inner refrain each time he said those three little words. And each time I failed to return them, the embers of certainty about us dimmed a little more in his eyes.

  “After tonight.” I opened my eyes and forced my lips into a smile. “We’ll take a week off. Fly to Chicago early before filming starts. Sightsee. Be tourists. Just you and me.”

  “That would be good,” he said carefully, studying me closely enough to unnerve me.

  “I try to be good. I’m trying to be who you need me to be.” For once, I held his gaze instead of avoiding it.

  “You shouldn’t have to try to be anything but yourself.”

  Just be me and he’d accept me? Keep loving me? Not possible. Not the way I’d had love modeled for me.

  “We’d better get going.”

  “Okay, Hollie.”

  Max didn’t call me shug as much anymore, but I didn’t fixate. I kept moving. Problem was, the way I did it didn’t seem to propel me forward.

  We argued on the elevator ride down to the garage about the pros and cons of using the car service rather than taking his truck to the club. I gave in. He said he wanted to drive, but I guessed it was more that he wanted to leave the party when he was ready.

  Up in the cab on my side of the truck, I stared out the window as he drove. The hustle of constant movement along the route we took to the trendy West Hollywood club was familiar, and that consistency soothed me. I also marveled at the outside world that I’d seen so little of over the past months. We had wrapped up the movie with close-ups, interior shots, and fine-tuning of scenes we’d already filmed on location.

  When we arrived, Max handed his keys to the valet and jogged around the hood to open my door. He was a better view to marvel at than the scenery in his worn jeans, scuffed work boots, and the 2 ROWS BACK T-shirt that I’d commandeered as a sleep shirt. Constant washings due to my use had faded the color and shrunk the cotton. It clung to his wide shoulders the way I did when he was making love to me.

  “Why are you blushing?” he asked with his hands on my waist as he swung me out of the cab.

  “No reason.”

  “You never blush for no reason.” He backed me into the closed door, caging me in with his strong arms and staring down at me with his sky-blue eyes.

  “I was thinking of you.” I lifted my chin. “How your muscles bunch under my grip while you’re inside me.”

  “Hollie.” He groaned, lowering his head.

  Flashes erupted all around us just as he was about to kiss me. Disappointed, I ducked my head into his chest.

  “Better get you inside,” he said in my ear so he could be heard over the din of photographers calling my name. Ushering me forward into the interior of the club, he said, “Forgot how crazy that is.”

  So had I, and I wasn’t prepared for the fallout from his abrupt switching of roles from boyfriend to bodyguard.

  “Hey, stripper,” Zachary said, the crystal chandelier overhead adding more sparkle to his normally flirty gaze than usual. “You’re late. What was the holdup?” He glanced back and forth between Max and me. “Or should I ask who?”

  “Who.” I took a step back and latched onto Max’s arm before returning my gaze to my costar. “I keep telling you Max and I are together.”

  “Yeah.” Zachary ran a hand through his glossy hair. “Just never saw the evidence until now. Thought maybe you were just holding me off.” He turned his gaze to Max. “Good work snagging her.”

  Max didn’t respond. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something. I just wasn’t sure exactly what.

  Before I could figure it out, a group of giggling women surrounded me, my stripper entourage from the movie. They pulled me farther into the darkened nightclub. A quick glance over my shoulder made me frown. Max and Zachary weren’t following. They were exchanging words. Ones that had them scowling at each other.

  I was at the bar with my crew and a round of drinks on the way when they finally rejoined us. Max threw his arm around my shoulder. Zachary threw his around the platinum-blonde beside me, the understudy for my part.

  “Here you go, ladies.” The shirtless bartender slid a tray of assorted cocktails in front of us, returning my card.

  “You drinking?” Max asked, looking surprised as I signed the receipt.

  “Cranberry juice.” I set down the pen and brought the tumbler to my lips.

  “What’ll you two gentlemen have?” the bartender asked, grinning widely as he tucked away the receipt. Having seen my hefty tip, he was obviously eager to earn another.

  “Stella,” Zachary said.

  “Jameson. Double. Neat.” Max slid his wallet out. “I’m buying this round. Least I can do since I’ve got the girl.” He and Zachary exchanged a heated look.

  “Dance with me,” I told Max, hoping to distance the two rivals to ward off further tension.

  “Don’t do that kind of dancing.” He shook his head at the lit-up floor where a dense crowd of people bounced to the heavy techno beat.

  “I do.” Zachary set his beer on the bar, stretched his arm across my understudy, and held out his hand to me. “C’mon, stripper mine. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

  “Is it okay with you?” I asked Max.

  “Go ahead. Don’t mind me. I’ve got my drink.”

  “And I’ll keep him company. Just until you get back,” the blonde rushed to add when I narrowed my eyes at her.

  Perplexed by Max’s acquiescence, I frowned as Zachary led us toward the dance floor. Maybe this was Max’s way of showing me he didn’t feel threatened so long as I was acknowledging him.

  Comforted by that thought, I didn’t worry, well not overly, as the blonde moved closer to Max. Stepping onto the lighted platform, I lifted my hands in the air and turned toward Zachary, who was already doing some kind of complicated maneuver.

  We danced for a couple of songs. It was so crowded, we got thrown into each other several times.

  “Think I like it right here.” Zachary put his arms on my shoulders and moved closer.

  I reached up to remove his hands, wondering yet again about his girlfriend, when someone familiar tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Cutting in, Flynn,” Cedric said.

  “Go away.”

  “Up to the lady.” The former teen heartthrob looked at me, lifting a questioning brow.

  “It’s okay,” I said as the current song stopped and a slower one started.

  “Get lost, loser.” My childhood crush gave my current costar the middle finger before he put his hands on my waist. “You’ve been avoiding my calls, Miss Wood.”

  “Been a little busy, Mr. Wells.”

  “No one’s that busy.”

  “It’s a Valentine film.” I gave him my signature brow.

  “Maybe.” His lips flattening, Cedric drew me closer. “Did you at least read the script I sent you?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “It’s good.” It was actually incredible. A plane crash in the snowy wilderness. Two men, both former lovers of the female lead, and a lot of desperate choices for survival.

  “It’s freaking phenome
nal, and you know it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can’t pay you the big bucks. Reimbursement of expenses only. Everyone involved is taking it in the teeth financially.”

  “I can’t afford that kind of hit right now.”

  “You can, and you should. It’s the kind of role that could define your career.”

  “You have to say that. You’re the producer. You mortgaged your future to get it made.”

  “Olivia told you.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, she’s right. And you’re perfect for the lead. Say yes and it’s yours.”

  “You don’t want me to read for it first?”

  “Nope. I’ve been with you on set. We have chemistry that can’t be faked. You and me, we’ll rock this thing. Shake up the cronyism network and then some, if we can get a decent distributor for the box office. Audiences and critics love these types of films.”

  “I love them.” Heavy character development. A redeeming love storyline. Women would flock to see it in droves.

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think quick. You’ll have to fly out and start filming soon.”

  • • •

  “What’d the guy from the airport want?” Max asked when I returned to him.

  “He offered me the leading role in a film he’s producing.” I frowned at the trio of empty tumblers beside Max on the bar.

  “He wants to nail you. Same as the other guy. Same as every other guy here. All staring at your tits and ass in that dress.”

  “They can stare.” I moved closer, and my frown deepened when the alcohol fumes hit me. “But they can’t have me. You do.”

  “Not so sure of that anymore.” His expression turned stony.

  After Cedric, I’d danced with the girls for nearly an hour. I was sweaty and hot, but I suddenly felt cold.

  “Well, you should be sure.” Beyond not saying the words, I’d given him no reason to doubt my fidelity.

  “This party sucks. Let’s go home.” Max stumbled as he grabbed my arm.

  “You can’t drive like you are.”