Finding His Redemption

by Melanie A. Smith

  He gives me a smile I haven’t seen before. His eyes are warm, his mouth tilted up on one side. He squeezes back and my heart flutters. I’m so screwed.

  “Okay, we’re ready,” Carter calls.

  I pull back self-consciously and give thoughts of West’s smile a giant shove out of my brain. Time to focus on the task at hand.

  We finish the pre-interview and the wait begins. But the time his sister was supposed to arrive has come and gone. As time passes, whatever small bursts of conversation were happening cease. Carter regularly checks with the driver who was supposed to pick her up. He’s there, she’s just not answering the door, or her phone.

  Just when we’re about to give up nearly two hours later, there’s a knock on the door. Carter’s assistant answers and we hear a strangled cry.

  “Kris?” a woman’s voice calls.

  West, who’d been sitting on the couch, head in hands, looks up in surprise and quickly bolts to the door.

  “Annika?” he returns. And then a broken sob rips out of him as he draws the tiny female at the door into his arms.

  Carter has his assistant swing the camera toward them, but something inside me protests.

  “Carter?” I call softly. He looks at me. I point to the camera and shake my head. He pulls a face. “Turn it off.”

  With a small sigh, he complies.

  West leads his sister into the room and one look at her tells me my instincts were dead-on. A massive bruise covers her right eye and part of her face. She has scratches on her neck. And she looks deflated. Like she’s hit rock bottom.

  West settles her on the couch and I get his attention. He steps to the side where she can’t hear.

  “We don’t have to film this,” I tell him. “Say the word and I’ll get everyone out of here.”

  West closes his eyes for a moment, his shoulders dropping with relief. He reopens them, his eyes now glistening, and simply says, “Thank you.”

  I swallow hard and nod, quickly working to usher everyone out. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  He nods, and I leave with the last of the crew. The last thing I see as I close the door behind me is him crouched in front of his shaking, beaten little sister.

  Nearly six hours later, just after ten, there’s a soft knock on my hotel room door. I keep the bolt closed and open the door a crack to find West leaning against the doorframe.

  “Can I come in?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

  I close the door, unlatch the bolt, and reopen it. “Of course,” I reply, gesturing for him to enter. Trying not to be self-conscious of my sweats and “Peace, Love, & Music” Snoopy T-shirt.

  He tugs on the hem of my shirt as he passes. “Cute,” he murmurs with a small, tired smile.

  “Thanks,” I reply, closing the door.

  He settles on the small, utilitarian navy couch across from the bed. No private living room here. The only other furniture is a dresser on the wall between them. I take a seat next to him, which is as far away as the loveseat will allow.

  “How’d it go?” I ask.

  He scrubs his hands over his face. “You were right. She was ready. The bastard beat her when she told him she was going to see me today. She had to wait until he was gone to leave. She won’t be going back.”

  “Is she still using?” I ask.

  West shakes his head. “No, thank god. Apparently she got pregnant a year or so ago and stopped. She still lost the baby, but she hasn’t gone back. At least, not to the hard stuff.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. So she finally wanted to leave?”

  He tips his head back and forth. “She wasn’t sure how she could, so I told her to take my room. For as long as she needs, I’ll make sure she has a place to stay away from him. I tried to get her to come home, but she’s afraid of everything right now, especially our dad.”

  “Sounds like there’s a lot of that going around. But I guess I’ll get to see firsthand why that is soon.”

  “I’m sorry I threw us off today. Is Carter pissed?”

  I look up at him in shock. “Fuck Carter,” I reply vehemently. “If he couldn’t look at your sister and see that doing a fucking interview was the last thing she needed, then he’s a fucking waste of space.”

  “Wow, Maxi, that was more cursing in one breath than I’ve ever heard out of your mouth,” he teases. Then he leans in. “I like it.”

  I snort. “You would appreciate a foul mouth.”

  “No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. I like that you get what’s important. It’s something I’m still learning. I think you’re a good influence, though, Maxi. I may keep you around a while.”

  I scrunch my nose. “You get me for …” I quickly calculate how many days between now and the airing party. “About three weeks. Though I doubt we’ll need to see each other much during post.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  I shrug. “So you dropped by to let me know your sister is okay?”

  He sinks into the couch a little, clearly exhausted, leaning his head back and stretching out his legs. “Yep. And to ask what my penance will be. Then I’ll go get another room.”

  “Carter plans to do post in the morning before we leave.” I pause. “And we also planned to do the shoot in your suite because we couldn’t get another room; the hotel’s fully booked. So you can just stay here.”

  He opens his eyes and looks up at me. “Well, fuck, Maxi. A pretty girl asks you to sleep over, you can’t say no. But I don’t have to. I can go crash with Carter or something.”

  I roll my eyes. “I have a king-sized bed, there’s plenty of room, and we’re both adults. Besides, you don’t even like Carter and you look like you’re about to fall asleep right there.” As if to prove my point, his eyes had drifted close in the middle of my rant, and they now pop back open.

  “You’re a saint, Maxi.”

  I snort, rising and heading to my side of the bed. “Hardly.” I point at the side I wasn’t planning on sleeping on. “You can take that side. Consider it your reward for doing right by your sister today.”

  With a sleepy smile, he rises, kicks off his shoes, then falls face-first on top of the covers. And I’m pretty sure he falls right to sleep.

  Me? I lay on my side of the bed wondering what form of temporary insanity caused me to invite West into my bed. Even if it’s not like that. Sometimes I’m too nice for my own good. Or, as Alexsis would probably say, it’s just a sign of all the “secret” feelings I have for West. Well, news flash, Alexsis, they’re not secret. I’ve just learned to ignore them for a very long time.

  I wake in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason at all. The room is eerily quiet, but now that I’m awake, I realize … I really need to use the bathroom. I debate for a good few minutes, not wanting to chance waking West.

  I glance over my shoulder to find him lying on his back, though still on top of the covers, but he’s perfectly still. The longer I wait, the stronger the need becomes, so I finally give in.

  I do my business as quietly as I can manage before creeping back to the bed as slowly and stealthily as possible.

  “You can stop acting like a cat burglar. I’m awake,” West says dryly.

  “Shit, sorry,” I mumble as I climb back into bed.

  In the dim moonlight peeking around the drapes, I see him tilt his head toward me.

  “It’s not your fault. I never went to sleep.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s almost two.

  “Makes sense you’d be a night owl,” I reply, wiggling to get comfortable.

  “I’m actually fucking exhausted, but every time I close my eyes I see that bruise on Annika’s face and I get pissed off all over again,” he admits.

  My heart twists. “I’d be angry at the fucker who did that to her too.”

  West rolls toward me, and I pull my head back in surprise. He’s still not super close, but the move makes me nervous for reasons I’m not willing to examine too closely.

  “I’m the fuc
ker who did that to her,” he says ardently. “Or I might as well have. I introduced them. I introduced her to heroin, Maxi. Nobody else. This is on me.”

  I scoot up on my pillow. “How old was she then?”

  His brows scrunch together. “Twenty-five. Why?”

  “Because that means she was a grown woman, perfectly capable of making her own choices. That’s not to say you didn’t play a part; I’m just pointing out that it’s not all on you.”

  He huffs a breath out of his nose in clear disbelief. “Annika’s worshipped me since we were kids. She even wanted her own guitar when she was ten so she could be just like me. She’s always wanted to be like me. This isn’t on her. It was reckless, thoughtless, and totally fucking insane to bring her into that world.” He shakes his head and flops backward onto his pillow.

  I blink hard against tears as my heart bleeds for him. For Annika. For their family, and what both of their addictions have done to all of their lives.

  “Did she forgive you?”

  West shakes his head, and I’m surprised, until he says, “Yes. But I don’t fucking deserve it.”

  “Nobody deserves forgiveness, West. They earn it. And I think you earned it today.”

  “Thanks,” he murmurs, surprising me. I expected snark. Or at least more protest. He must really be twisted up over this. “Let’s just hope Carter, Ford, and the rest of those fuckers think so too.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I have some ideas for what we can shoot to cover our asses.”

  “Good. Because I’m all out of fucks to give.” Every word is laced with exhaustion. The soul-deep, heartrending kind, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and comfort him.

  But touching him would be a very bad idea. So instead, I offer the only comfort I can think of.

  “West?”

  “Yeah?”

  “For what it’s worth? You’ve earned my forgiveness too.”

  I swallow hard against the conflicted emotions saying those words out loud brings. Because I really do forgive him. But I haven’t forgotten yet. I’m not sure if I ever will.

  West’s head slowly rolls toward me. And though I can’t see his eyes in the dark, I can feel them searching for mine. I close my eyes, the vulnerability of this moment too much to bear.

  Really, though, how could I not forgive him? He’s crawled out of the pit of addiction and, despite understandable protests, is laying his life out in front of the masses while he attempts to make amends for the things he’s done. That takes a strength of character I’m not sure many people have, myself included.

  So as wary as I am of him, it’s a truth I can’t withhold. And one I’m pretty sure he needed to hear right now.

  But the silence stretches on.

  “You still awake?” I ask self-consciously.

  A deep chuckle rumbles out of West. “I’m awake. I heard you. I just … I’m kinda shocked, to be honest, Maxi. Thought you’d take that grudge to the grave. Not that I’d blame you.”

  “Is that your way of saying thank you?” I ask wryly.

  “Yeah. I guess it is.”

  I snort. “You’re welcome, then. Get some sleep, West. You’re going to need it.”

  He doesn’t respond. But a few minutes later, I hear his breathing even out. I sit up delicately and carefully lean toward him. He’s finally asleep.

  I watch him for a moment, fighting that feeling that keeps grabbing me. The one that says this is all too unreal; that I’m the one sleeping, my subconscious creating this fantastical dream to resolve all the feelings I’ve had about this man over the years.

  Except I know if it were me dreaming this, it would’ve been without all the snarky banter that makes me want to slap him. And there would have been a lot less clothing.

  With a quiet chuckle, I roll over and allow myself to drift off, equal parts wanting and fearing to have those particular types of dreams about West again. But they’re just dreams, right?

  13

  Father of Mine by Everclear

  * * *

  Max

  Two days after San Francisco, we’re back in Corona for West’s apology to his father. And while I’m looking forward to finally understanding this piece of West’s puzzle, I’m not looking forward to another awkward-as-ass encounter.

  Because from the moment we woke up Friday morning, we had no clue how to behave around each other after the momentarily peaceful connection we’d shared in the wee hours of the night.

  Those moments shook the foundations of our whole dynamic. And now what? Now awkwardness with a side of tongue-tied idiocy.

  Because of which the first half of Friday was spent avoiding conversation during down moments while we recreated what happened between West and his sister with interviews — not including his sister, of course. The second half was travel, which none of us did together. Alexsis went back first thing, then me after interviews, then the crew after taking some scenic footage to cut in, with West staying behind another day to look after his sister. So I didn’t even get to tell Alexsis what had happened, and she’s not here today to act as a buffer. But thankfully I didn’t have to travel with West. Half a day of trying to reestablish our rapport was more than enough.

  But today will be a full day of just me, West, and Carter and crew. Oh, and Bill Westberg.

  In an effort to find something to talk about, I tried asking West a bit about his relationship with his father on Friday morning, but he continued to stubbornly deflect talking about it. So I’m pretty much flying blind here. This ought to be fun.

  I pull up outside of West’s childhood home to find the production van already there, with Carter sifting through equipment in the back.

  “Hey, Carter,” I greet him.

  His sandy blond head pops up and he adjusts his glasses. “Afternoon, Max. I’m glad you’re here early.” He sets some recording equipment down and takes a seat on the tailgate. “Ford and I had a meeting yesterday. He’s happy with what he’s seeing, but since we couldn’t get the actual apology with the sister on camera, he wants to make sure this one packs an extra emotional punch. Plus it’s the last before the private concert.”

  I frown, instantly knowing what he’s asking. “You want me to push West’s buttons before the interview.”

  Carter nods slowly. “Something like that. You seem to have a knack for it anyway.”

  I shake my head. “Except West has purposely kept me at arm’s length on this one. I have nothing to go on. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  Carter removes his glasses and starts cleaning them on his shirt. “Ah. Yes. Well. I may have had a bit of a chat with Erik Westberg that went beyond what we technically needed for the shoot.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “About?”

  “His sister and father. I wanted to be prepared.”

  “You know something,” I accuse.

  Carter nods grimly. “I know everything.”

  West breezes in minutes before we’d planned to start shooting. I know it’s part of his attempt to keep me in the dark, but he’s unknowingly already lost that advantage, courtesy of Erik and Carter.

  “Maxi,” West greets me with a curt nod. Not awkwardly, but definitely more reserved than usual.

  It takes me a moment to realize his energy is nervous. And if I was unsure before, I’m dead certain now. I can’t do what Carter and Ford want me to do.

  “We need to talk,” I respond, pulling at his arm and leading him to my car. “Get in.”

  He gives me a quizzical look but does as I ask. As soon as the doors are closed, I realize I don’t even know how to begin.

  “Are we going somewhere?” West asks.

  I shake my head. “No.” I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “They want me to push your buttons before you go in to talk to your dad.”

  West snorts. “What else is new? This whole charade is about pushing my buttons, isn’t it?”

  I press my lips together in frustration.

  “This is worse. So much w
orse.”

  “Worse how?”

  I pause, not wanting to reveal his brother’s role in this. No sense shaking that tree. Might as well let him assume it came from his father. Lord knows West kept them well away from his sister, so he’ll know she wasn’t the one to spill the beans.

  “They know everything, West,” I say carefully. “And they want me to tell you in the pre-interview that your father has had professional help and is — their words — a different man now. They want to see you break down. They want you two to reconcile on camera. And they want you both crying.”

  West pales. “Do you know everything?” he asks somberly.

  And the anxiety written all over his face, in his voice, makes my heart shatter.

  But before I can respond, someone knocks on the window behind West’s head, startling us both.

  He pops the door open to reveal Carter.

  “We’re ready,” Carter says abruptly before walking away.

  With the door still propped open, West looks back at me.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I tell him.

  His jaw clenches. “Let’s go, Maxi.”

  “Wait,” I call.

  But he’s already out of the car.

  So, with seemingly no other choice, I join him.

  Carter has cameras set up on the front walkway, clearly intending to shoot with the house behind us. His assistant lines us up on our marks.

  And then we’re rolling. For the first time, I may be just as uneasy as West is.

  “We’re here outside of the Westberg family home, getting ready to talk to your dad,” I say, looking toward West. “How are you feeling right now, West?”

  “Just peachy, Maxi, thanks for asking,” he replies drolly.

  “Really?” I press. “Because from what I understand, your dad wasn’t the nicest guy to you as a teenager.”

  “Nope,” he confirms brightly.

  And his perky yet sarcastic responses are unnerving me even more.