He picked up a sea star from the table beside him and absently studied it. “I know you. You’re always up for a good time.”
I held back a sigh. I thought I’d grown up since then. I hoped I’d grown up since then. But what if I hadn’t? What if the changes in me were because of this place? Because of the people I was around? Would I be strong enough to remain this new person once I was back around old influences again?
I desperately wanted to say yes.
But I wasn’t totally sure.
“I am,” I finally responded. “It’s just that . . . I wish I could have planned. And how did you find me?”
“I just did a Google search. This address came up. In fact, there were three cars driving past and taking pictures when I pulled up. It looks like everyone knows you bought this place. Hopefully you weren’t looking for privacy.”
“I was.” How had I been discovered? I really hoped I didn’t have to hire security . . . unless Jackson counted.
If that was the case, fans could drive by all they wanted. As long as Jackson was nearby to keep me safe, it would be a good trade-off.
Sam plopped on the couch. “You look great, by the way.”
“Thanks. So do you. I’m surprised Hank didn’t come.”
“Hank? Didn’t you hear? He’s dating Kate Hatchet now.”
My eyes widened. “Kate Hatchet? I had no idea.”
“Oh, yeah. The two seem really happy together.”
“Well, good for him. And you?” I lowered myself in a chair across from him. I might as well make the best of this since Sam was here and obviously not going anywhere.
“I’ve just been taking it easy. I did that film for HBO—Hood Links. Did you see it?”
“No, but I heard about it. You were nominated for an award, right?”
“Golden Globe.”
“That’s awesome. Good for you.”
We talked for two more hours until my eyelids started to droop. And then I rose.
“You get a hotel room in town?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “No, I thought I’d crash here. Besides, I heard some people at the gas station saying that all the hotels are booked. Is it okay that I stay? I didn’t think you’d mind.”
My stomach clenched. Here? Oh no. How did I tell my friend—and that’s all we’d ever been—that it would be weird for him to stay with me? Especially when there was nowhere else to stay.
“The upstairs is off-limits right now, so that would only leave the couch . . .” That seemed like a good way to broach the subject and gently discourage him. I mean, who wanted to sleep on a couch?
“I’m good with that. I’ll go grab my things.”
I bit down on my bottom lip. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought anything about this. But now?
I had my doubts that this was a good idea. A lot of doubts. Especially now that I was officially Jackson’s girlfriend.
As Sam settled on the couch, I excused myself into my bedroom and called Jackson.
Though part of me said Sam staying here wasn’t a big deal, the other part put myself in Jackson’s shoes. What if he had a girl spend the night at his place? Would I be jealous? Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t be happy at all. I wanted to be respectful of our relationship. But where did that leave my friendship with Sam?
Unease churned in my gut as I waited for him to answer. I sat on the bed—not my bed but at least I’d changed the sheets and comforter—and I crossed my legs beneath me. I could really use some familiar comforts right now, but instead I felt like I was living in a stranger’s house.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jackson answered. “It’s late.”
Based on the murmuring in the background, he was still working the case.
How did I say this? I just needed to get it all out at once. “My old friend from Relentless surprised me and showed up in town. He’s staying at my place. I just wanted to let you know.”
The words came out rapid fire.
“Wait. What did you say? A guy is staying over at your house?”
And there it was. I could already hear in Jackson’s tone that he didn’t like this. “It’s Sam Butler, my costar. I had no idea he was coming.”
“Can’t he get a hotel?”
“They’re all booked,” I reminded him.
“So he’s staying with you?” Jackson repeated, as if clarifying he’d heard correctly.
I leaned back into my pillows and closed my eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “I hadn’t planned on it. But I can’t kick him to the curb.”
“You don’t think this is weird, Joey? I mean, we’re official now. And another guy is staying at your place.”
“It’s weird. But he and I are just friends. There’s nothing funny going on between us.”
The sounds in the background faded, and I pictured Jackson moving away from the crowd. “I don’t like this, Joey. I mean, I don’t care what people think. You know that. But if the press finds you and sees this . . . if word gets out . . . there’s going to be speculation. It’s not a great way to start our future.”
I understood what he was saying, but . . . “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course I trust you. But . . .”
But what? Was there a condition on his trust? Was that what he meant?
“What do you want me to do?” I finally asked. “Kick him out?”
Jackson didn’t say anything for a moment. “No, I know you don’t want to do that. I guess I’ll just have to deal.”
Just have to deal?
This was not the way I wanted our relationship to go. First, I’d offended Jackson by asking if we could keep our relationship quiet. Now this.
I already felt like I was failing at the relationship thing, and more than anything I wanted it to succeed. Then again, maybe it was like I had thought earlier. Maybe finding Desiree in my house had set off some kind of bad luck chain reaction.
I had to find out what happened to her before this streak continued—especially now that it seemed like Jackson had been added to the mix. We should be the happiest we’ve ever been, and instead all I felt was the weight of tension.
“I love you, Jackson.” My voice cracked as I said the words.
“I love you too.”
But as I ended the call, everything felt wrong. I walked to the window and slid it open, trying to let some air in. Instead, sounds of another fight next door assaulted my ears.
I just needed to go to sleep. Now.
Because this day hadn’t gone anything like I’d wanted it to.
Chapter Eleven
While Sam slept on the couch, I quietly slipped out of the house to meet my friend Phoebe for an early morning smoothie and a heart-to-heart talk.
I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night.
For starters, I hadn’t gone to bed when I’d said I was going to bed. No, I’d sat out in the living room catching up with Sam.
Then when I’d tried again to go to sleep, I’d kept hearing creaks come from above me. Yeah, that’s right. In the room where Desiree died. I imagined her walking around up there. Asking for help. Declaring that she was going to be someone. Desperate for a role in my TV show.
I imagined her angry. Angry at me for not being here. For not interceding.
I had to get a grip. I didn’t believe in ghosts. Then why had I felt so terrified?
Rest became a distant reality.
So then I’d gotten up and studied my script.
But, of course, I hadn’t been able to actually study my script. Because I started thinking about Jackson. I kept thinking about the hurt look on his face when I’d asked to keep our relationship quiet. I thought about the disappointment in his voice when I’d told him about Sam being here.
For a moment—and just a moment—everything had felt blissful. It had gone downhill very fast. And now I felt like I was questioning everything.
More than anything, I wanted to be with Jackson. But how would our lives blend? How would we make it work when so many in
Hollywood came from a string of broken relationships? I already had the start of that string. I was divorced after a horrible marriage.
I didn’t want that to ever happen again.
Then again, who did? What would set me apart from everyone else who’d been in my shoes before?
Finally, I’d decided to take a shower and get ready. Phoebe needed to get to Oh Buoy, a smoothie shack, at six a.m. to start her shift. I was meeting her at 5:30 to talk first. I’d texted her after midnight and she must have sensed my desperation because she said yes. I was eternally grateful.
It was still dark as I stepped outside. At least everything was quiet at my neighbors’ house.
Ten minutes later, I pulled up to Oh Buoy. The small restaurant was located across the street from the beach and had a mix of nautical and tiki bar decorations. It was one of my favorite hangouts.
I knocked at the glass door. Phoebe appeared from the back and let me inside. My friend was one of these all-natural beauties who didn’t have to wear makeup, fix her hair, or even wear nice clothes, and she still looked like a million bucks. Most people would call my fit, blonde friend a beach bunny, and I supposed she was. But she was a humble beach bunny with a wholesome smile and generous spirit. She was quiet, didn’t like attention, and she was a hard worker.
She was basically my opposite.
Oh, and her sister had been married to Jackson. But she’d died of cancer.
“Morning, Joey.” Phoebe locked the door behind me before offering a quick hug. It had been two weeks since we’d seen each other. “I came in extra early to get things ready. I figured that way we could talk without interruption.”
“You’re the best,” I told her.
She was.
“And I made your favorite smoothie,” she said. “It’s in the booth over there. Let’s sit and enjoy the quiet before chaos breaks out later. This time of year is so busy.”
“You don’t even know how much I need this. Thank you.” I took a sip of my Mirlo Sunrise, and delight danced over my taste buds at the icy, citrusy flavor.
“You look tired.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night.”
Phoebe leaned forward, her smoothie between her hands but untouched. “What’s going on?”
So I told her about the dead body, about the fighting couple, about Sam showing up.
“Wow—that’s a lot of stuff going on,” she said. “Another average day in the life of Joey Darling.”
“And there’s Jackson. We had the conversation last night. You know, the one where we told each other we didn’t want to date anyone else.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s awesome. But I figured it was coming.”
I nodded. “I really love him, Phoebe.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks.” My voice lacked enthusiasm, but I took a long sip of my drink, hoping to conceal my inner turmoil. Yesterday had been a wonderful turning point in our relationship. It was just too bad we’d argued and disagreed so much afterward.
I frowned at the memory.
Phoebe studied my face. “Why do you look burdened?”
I sucked on my bottom lip for a moment, trying to decide how much to share. And then I decided not to hold back, and I did one of my conversation pukes all over her. “I think I offended Jackson because I asked if we could keep our relationship a secret. It isn’t that I’m ashamed or that I don’t want people to know. It’s just that I don’t want the wrong people to know. And then Sam showed up, and all the hotels in town were booked, and he just assumed he could stay with me, so he did. But Jackson didn’t like that. And I can understand why. But I just feel that, as soon as Jackson and I got serious, everything has been going downhill.”
I stopped and took a breath, waiting for Phoebe’s reaction. She knew Jackson well—she was his sister-in-law, but the two were like brother and sister. They had a great relationship.
Her eyebrows knit together, and she nodded slowly as she processed. “Wow.”
“That’s all? Wow?” I had to admit that I was a little disappointed.
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t stress too much about it. Jackson just doesn’t like a lot of drama.”
“But I’m an actress. Why would he want to be with me? I’m all about drama.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just mean he likes things simple—”
“Need I remind you how complicated my life is?” I resisted the urge to let my forehead hit the table in my normal dramatic fashion.
Phoebe frowned. “I’m sure it will all work out, Joey. Jackson wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t love you.”
“How are our lives going to blend?” I continued. “I’ll be away filming. He’ll be here. What if I mess him up?”
“Mess him up? What are you talking about, Joey?” Phoebe tilted her head, looking honestly confused.
“I just mean that he has a good life. When I bring my craziness into it . . . it’s not going to look the same.”
“He’s smart. I’m sure he’s considered that. I can tell you’re anxious.”
“Anxious is an understatement.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Things have been relatively calm for the past four weeks since everything went down with my mom and dad. I guess I just hoped that would continue.”
“Your life is about to change. You’re going to film a TV show four hours from here. You bought a house. You’re getting serious with Jackson. And then there’s the dead body found at your house . . .”
“I know.” My life could be a TV show.
She pressed her fingertips together in a yoga pose and straightened her back. “Just take a few deep breaths. Everything will be fine. And talk to Jackson about this. You two can figure this out.”
“You’re right. I’m overreacting. I think maybe the stress of all these changes is getting to me.”
Just then, someone knocked at the door. It was time for Oh Buoy to open. Our conversation was done.
“Thanks for being a listening ear,” I told Phoebe, grabbing my smoothie. “I appreciate it.”
“Any time, Joey. Any time.”
When I walked back out to my red Miata, I was surprised to see Jennifer standing beside it.
This was just great. Did I have someone else following me?
Seriously, when I encouraged people to “follow” me, I was just talking about on Instagram, not parking lots.
“Hi, Joey.” Jennifer straightened and sniffled. Her eyes were red-rimmed still and her terse expression indicated she was still upset. Maybe even hysterical.
Hysterical people weren’t my favorite to deal with.
“Hi there. It’s early. And you’re standing by my car.” I paused in front of her—and therefore in front of my car.
“I’m sorry to insert myself into your day like this. But I really need to talk to you.”
“Not the police?”
“I’ve heard you’re actually a better detective than they are.”
I might have beamed a little.
“Did you?” Then I realized the delusion I was living under and snapped out of it. “I’m actually not. I’m pretty terrible.”
“But the police aren’t going to get what I’m talking about. You will. You’re an actress.”
“What’s going on, Jennifer?” The sun already beat down on me. It was going to be another hot July day. Not to mention that it was already getting busy. Three surfers had just walked past, boards in hand, and carloads of tourists headed toward the public parking access in the distance.
“I’ve been trying to call Desiree’s boyfriend, Michael Mills. I haven’t been able to get up with him, which is weird, you know? He’s one of those people who’s always attached to his phone.”
That did sound strange. “You think he had something to do with this?”
She twirled her hands in the air, indicating her wheel of thought needed to keep going.
“Well, give me a minute to finish here. I finally called Michael’s parents because I thought it was weir
d that he wasn’t answering. I mean, he should be worried about Desiree. That’s what I thought at first, at least. And then I realized I needed to tell him what happened.” Her voice cracked.
“Go ahead.”
She swallowed hard and her gaze caught mine. “His parents said that he’s actually here in Nags Head.”
I sucked in a quick breath. “What? Did he come with Desiree?”
“No. He didn’t. She didn’t tell me that, at least. And I talked to her the night before she died. She would have mentioned it.”
“So you think Michael followed Desiree here.” It was another puzzle piece. But did it fit?
“I think he did. And I have no idea why.”
“Can we find him and ask him?” Maybe this was the lead we were looking for.
Jennifer frowned in a big, overblown expression. “That’s the thing. His parents said he was in a car accident. He’s at the hospital on a ventilator.”
She let out a sob and fanned her face, her motions nearly manic.
“What?” That threw a wrench in things.
Jennifer nodded. “I started to go there, but I thought I should tell someone first.”
“Did they say when this accident happened?”
“Apparently, it was the same night . . .”
“ . . . that Desiree died.” I finished.
“Exactly.”
This Michael Mills guy was looking more and more suspicious all the time.
I nodded as I processed that. “This has been helpful, Jennifer. Thank you.”
I passed her and walked toward the driver side door.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell Jackson—I mean, Detective Sullivan.”
Chapter Twelve
I couldn’t get up with Jackson—which bothered me. But maybe he was doing something all police-y, and he couldn’t answer.
So I decided to go to the hospital myself.
If Michael Mills couldn’t talk, I wasn’t sure what I would prove by visiting him. But I was going to try anyway.
Gaffe Out Loud Page 6
