“I know. I’m going to give you the keys.”
“I’m not comfortable driving that big truck.”
“It’s not that hard.” His eyes hardened. “Sometimes we have to stretch beyond what we think we’re capable of to get where we need to go.”
“Max.” I shook my head. “Not now. Let’s not get into this here.”
“Where then? You avoid the topic at every turn. You’re avoiding me. How are we going to fix this when you won’t stick your neck out for me, even a little?”
“I have. I do. No one else has me the way you do.”
“It doesn’t feel like that to me, Hollie. The entire planet has more access to you than I do.”
“They have only what I allow them to see.”
“Same exact thing could be said for me.”
“It’s a mine field inside my head. I’m not letting anyone forage around in there. It’s too dangerous.”
“Bullshit. You’ve walled it off. Your heart too.”
“My heart’s in bits of broken pieces. You have the only salvageable part.”
“If you’d let me, we could work together to repair the rest.”
“You don’t want the pieces. They’re not useful for anyone. Take what I’m giving you or—”
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?”
“No, Max. I’m not. I don’t want it to be an either-or. I just want us to continue.” I wanted what he’d alluded to earlier. “I want you to accept me, to accept us the way we are.”
“Wake up, Hollie,” Max said.
“No.” I buried my head deeper under my pillow.
“You’re not an ostrich. Your appointment for the deposition is in ninety minutes.” He yanked the pillow away. “Get up. Get a shower. It’s time to get going.”
Cracking open my eyes, I glared at him. Wasted ire, since he didn’t see it. He was on his way out of the room.
“Coffee will be waiting for you in a to-go mug.”
I threw back the covers and slid out of the bed. Padding to the shower, I noticed the concrete floors weren’t as cold under my feet as they’d been months ago when I first moved in. Nor was I as self-conscious about sleeping naked. But one thing hadn’t changed in all the months since I fled home.
My illusions from my childhood remained shattered.
After finger combing my sex-tangled hair into a messy ponytail and avoiding my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I took a quick shower and got out. I was pulling on a NAMASTE emblazoned sweatshirt over my cropped top when Max returned to check on me.
“Going like that?” His eyes widened.
“Not likely to be photographed.” And I was likely to be emotional, so a makeup-free face and comfort clothing were a must.
But as I’d dug the yoga clothing from the bottom of my drawer, it hit me hard how long it had been since I’d meditated. Not once had I taken out my mat since my sister and I separated and Max came back into my life.
More than my life and my childhood illusions had been ruined by Samuel. My faith lay in tatters too.
“I have directions and a code for the parking garage at Hart’s office.” He rocked the travel mug as if it were a carrot dangling on a string. “You can drink your coffee on the way.”
I took the mug and slugged back a mouthful. “I’ll have it finished by the time we reach the truck.”
“Don’t doubt it.” He chuckled low. The sound of his amusement reminded me of the night before.
I reached for his hand as we exited the condo. “Thank you for last night.”
Max turned to me, his expression cautious. “What about last night?
It had been intense at the wrap party. I understood why he wanted clarification. “The making-up part.”
“I liked that too, shug.” He tucked me into his side and pushed the button to call the elevator.
“Only liked?” I gave him the arched brow.
“Loved it all—the first time fast, the second time slow, and the third time laughing and making plans for Chicago.”
One time had led to the next. It had seemed as though our fight and the mention of an ultimatum had put it in both our minds that as good as things could be between us, they were also fragile. Or at least, that was how it felt to me on the eve of the deposition I’d been avoiding for months.
“Hey, don’t be scared.” He tipped my face up to his on the way down to the garage.
I didn’t deny my fear. My hands were clammy. My pulse thready. My knees wobbly. And I still had Max beside me and we hadn’t even left the building.
He wouldn’t be allowed at the deposition, not that I wanted him to be. Speaking of that night in generalities nauseated me. Breaking it down into specifics was going to wreck me.
I swigged more coffee as I moved alongside him, my footsteps much more rapid in order to keep up with his long-legged strides. He helped me up into the truck and squeezed my thigh once before closing the door and rounding the hood.
My eyes burning from the pressure of tears, I watched him, grateful for him, appreciating his strength and his rugged good looks, but not reveling in them. I was too scared.
I needed Fanny. She’d grown up in the battle zone our home had been. If anyone could understand, it would be her.
The artificial light in the garage gave way to the brightness of the sun, the city streets to the highway, the valley to the hills, before Max spoke again.
“It’ll be okay.”
I shook my head, my fingers curling into tighter fists on my lap. I glanced at the empty travel mug in the cupholder, now regretting the liquid that felt like acid in my stomach.
“It will. I know you don’t think so right now. But keeping secrets inside messes you up.” He spoke reflectively, probably thinking about how he’d kept his gambling from me. “Once they’re out, you’ll see that you built them up into this huge crisis point in your mind, when in comparison to all the good in your life, the bad is relatively small.”
“No way.” I gave Max a sharp look. “Not small.”
“You don’t know. If you share with me first, maybe—”
“No. Don’t ask me to talk about it again. Once today with the lawyers. Once in the courtroom. Then never ever again.”
Turning from him, I blinked the tears away.
• • •
“Relax, Miss Wood.”
In the private conference room, Andrew Hart straightened his sky-blue tie. The color reminded me of Max’s eyes. He’d looked so sad when I had to leave him to wait for me in the outer office.
“You’re not the one on trial.”
I gulped a dry swallow. That wasn’t a comforting thought. No one crossed Samuel Lesowski. I was out-of-my-head crazy to.
“There’s no right or wrong thing to say. Only your truth that he’ll be held accountable for.”
“Can I have more water, please?”
Hart glanced meaningfully at an assistant, and she scurried away to draw another one from the cooler.
“Can we start again?” he asked softly after I’d drained the cup dry.
“Yes.” Nodding, I crushed the paper cone in my grip.
“So, the night of the eleventh, after midnight.”
“After one a.m.,” I said to correct him.
“Why were you up at that time?”
“I wasn’t. I heard a crash.”
“And that crash was?”
I closed my eyes as it all came back to me in a rush.
The panic. The revulsion. The fear . . .
• • •
“Daddy?” Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I’d stood in the doorway to the library, taking in the scene. The smashed glass. The fireplace poker in his hand as he’d turned toward me.
“Not your daddy.”
“What?” I whispered, my attention not on him but on the portrait of my mother.
It should have been hanging over the fireplace, but it was lying on the floor. Her beautiful face was ripped in half, shards of glass strewn all around it. Playbills
from a shadow box were also scattered on the floor. Pictures from family photo albums crinkled to black inside the fireplace, letting off acrid fumes as the protective plastic burned inside the roaring fire.
“You’re drunk,” I said, noting the empty crystal decanter on his desk. Tears pricked my eyes and a shard of glass cut my foot as I crossed the room. “Why did you do this? These are irreplaceable. How could you?”
I dropped to my knees and began gathering the scattered mementos into a pile.
“They’re lies. I should have destroyed them years ago.”
I ignored him. My father spat out bitter nonsense like this when he’d been drinking, and he drank to excess almost every night after my mother died.
“You look like her.” His shadow fell over me. “More and more every day.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re a better actress than she was, and in the end, I discovered she was really rather good.”
“Why don’t you go to bed, Daddy.” I could smell the whiskey on him. “I’ll clean this up.”
“There’s no cleaning up the damage. So many lies.” He didn’t seem to be listening to me. It was like he was speaking to himself. “So many years of them. How did I not see she wasn’t mine?”
Glass crunched under his shoes as he moved away from me and popped the cork on a new bottle. I let out a sigh and stood awkwardly with the gathered things in my arms, as much as I could carry. I’d take them to my room and come back for the rest.
“Where are you going?” he snapped, and I turned my head to glance back at him. His eyes were unfocused, his expression dark.
“I’m going upstairs to put these things away.”
“Put your suitcase away. You’re not leaving me.”
“I’m not . . .” I swallowed hard. He thought I was my mom. She’d had her suitcase packed the night she died. The police had brought it from the boat to the house. “It’s me. Hollie.”
“She’s not my daughter. She’s not his either. Not in any way that matters.” My father crossed to me so swiftly, I didn’t have time to react. “You stay.”
He shook me so hard my teeth rattled. I bit my tongue, and the things I’d rescued fell to the floor.
“Let me go,” I cried as his fingers bit into my flesh. “You’re hurting me.”
“You’ve hurt me worse. Lied. Made me love you. Never loved me back.”
“I love you, Daddy,” I whispered. But did my love matter to him? Did he even understand what love was? It seemed all he wanted to do was control me.
His eyes cleared as he looked down at me. “You look like her.”
He released my shoulders, and I exhaled a shaky breath.
“I know. You already said that.” I glanced down at the pictures and papers, lost hope and abandoned dreams. I felt cold, like a marble statue, a barely breathing monument among the rejected relics of the past. “You really should go to bed. I’ll straighten up.” Everything needed to go to my room for safekeeping.
Afterward, it would probably be better to stay in my room until morning. With my mother gone and Fanny out on her own, there was no one to buffer me from him when he got like this. Usually, I avoided him, remaining in my room with my door locked, but I couldn’t let him destroy all the pictures. They were all we had left of her.
“Wait.” He grabbed me by the arm, whirled me around, and dragged me toward his desk. “I have some documents I need you to sign.”
“What documents?”
“Legal stuff. Extending my guardianship. Management stuff for your career.”
“Not tonight.”
Ernie had mentioned some things my accountant had told him that didn’t add up in my personal bank accounts. Worrisome improprieties, nearly as worrisome as Samuel’s deteriorating behavior. Disturbingly, he had grown more critical since my mother’s death. He said inappropriate things I shouldn’t ignore, treating me less like a daughter and more like one of the women he had under his thumb.
“Yes, tonight.” My father squeezed my arm so tightly, I cried out.
“No.” My eyes burned. My foot was bleeding. My arms hurt. I’d have bruises on my skin in the morning, dark ones.
I managed to disengage and tried to skirt around him. He’d never hurt me physically before. I was less appalled than I would have imagined. It seemed almost a predictable progression, every criticism and harsh word over the years leading us here.
“You need to learn your place.” He moved in front of me, blocking my path to the door, and dipped his gaze to my chest. The way he looked at me made my skin crawl.
“You’re my father,” I reminded him. “And you’re scaring me, acting like this.”
“The funny thing is . . . I’m actually not.” He glared at me. “Your mother was pregnant with you before I fucked her.” His shocking, hateful words made my heart start to hammer in my chest. “Shouldn’t have fucked her, but like you, she had those amazing tits.”
His arms flashed out without warning. He grabbed fistfuls of my cotton top and ripped it apart. My chest exposed, buttons scattered, pinging as they hit the hardwood floor.
My eyes wide and heart pounding, I bolted for the door. He grabbed me, hooked a leg under my knees, and I fell. I didn’t even have time to brace. The force of my body hitting the floor knocked the air out of my lungs.
He followed me down. His body was heavy on top of me. I bucked, but I couldn’t get him off me. Couldn’t breathe.
“Sexed-up whore curves, just like hers. I’ll see if you fuck like her too.”
Mortified tears slid hot down my cold cheeks as he ground his erection against me.
“Don’t,” I whimpered, banging my fists on his shoulders. “Please don’t.”
Ignoring me, his face a mask of ugliness, he lowered his head and fastened his mouth to mine. He speared his wet tongue between my dry lips, gagging me.
Bile rose to the back of my throat. I was going to throw up and choke to death on my own vomit before he raped me. Knowing that was a very real possibility, I bit down on his tongue.
Howling, he ripped his mouth from me. The blood on his chin made the sneer on his face even more terrifying as he reared back and slapped me.
My cheek flared with fire.
“Let me go. Please. Please let go of me . . .”
• • •
“It’s okay, Miss Wood. Let me have that.”
As I refocused on the present, Hart gently took the mangled paper cup from my fingers.
“It’s over. It’s in the past. The past can’t hurt you anymore.”
He was wrong. So wrong. The past was a rip current. Just dipping my thoughts into it had swept me into nearly inescapable, treacherous depths. I shook my head, realizing only then that my cheeks were wet from my tears.
“Joslyn.” He turned his head to the assistant. “Can you get Mr. Cash in here? I think Miss Wood has had quite enough for today.”
The ball of poison that I’d shoved way down deep inside to deal with someday (never, actually) infected everything after the deposition. Nature or nurture, the process that had brought me to this point in my life didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the evil that lurked inside Samuel Lesowski was now inside me, and I didn’t know how to get rid of it.
The past most certainly wasn’t over.
“Baby, wake up.” Max’s gentle voice lured me from the darkness.
“Max.” I pried open my eyes to see him staring down at me. The lamp behind him added additional shadows to those already on his concerned face.
“Yeah, shug. I’m right here. Not going anywhere, just like I promised.” He continued to softly skim his fingertips up and down my arm.
My heart rate slowing, I glanced around the unfamiliar dark room, trying to get my bearings. “Where—”
“Chicago. The windy city. The Rafaello Hotel. As Good as It Ever Was. The indie romantic comedy. Second week of full production. Awake enough to remember now?” His eyes narrowed as mine cleared, and it all came back to me
. “You were thrashing about again. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”
“Thank you.” I sat up, and his hand slid away. “Thanks for helping me get my brain back on track. I’m fully awake now. I’m okay.”
Max’s expression darkened. He knew it was a lie, and so did I. But the obvious solution involved acknowledgment of the past and its hold on me. I wasn’t ready for that. I was too busy trying to run away from it.
“Was it the same nightmare?” he asked.
“Yes, with a few minor variations.”
A man whose face I felt like I should know on the photographs scattered on the floor. My mother standing at the far end of the library, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Fanny appearing then, shaking her head disappointedly at me and walking away, even though I yelled and yelled for her to help me. I’d been having the same recurring nightmare every night in the weeks since the deposition.
The only saving grace?
Max had stopped asking me to talk about it.
Talking didn’t help. Talking about it with the lawyers had gotten me here in this continuous cycle, forced to relive one of the most horrible moments of my life whenever I slept.
“What time is it?” I swiped the sheet across my tearstained cheeks when he turned to look at the clock on his nightstand.
“Two hours until you have to be on set.”
“I should just go ahead and get up.” Yet I yawned. Weeks of inconsistent rest had exhausted me.
“You can usually get a little nap after a nightmare.”
“I’m . . .” I licked my dry lips, afraid to go back to sleep. “I need to practice my lines anyway.”
“I’ll help you.” He threw back his covers as I did.
“No, that’s all right. At least one of us should get some sleep.”
He frowned. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not.”
But I was. More and more since the deposition.
Max was the one who had insisted on me doing it. I would have put it off longer if I’d had my way. It had been one of the few things he’d put his foot down about.
Maybe subconsciously I blamed him. Maybe he knew it. Mostly, he let me steer the ship now, and I didn’t want to analyze too deeply why.
High Tide Page 25
