Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  “How bad is it?” he asked again.

  I sighed. “I’d love to tell you they could be blamed on a smudge of something or…” Or what? What else could someone blame a mark like that on? “The media’s all over it already anyway.”

  Jesse faced me. When our eyes met, the guilt cut deeper, and I dropped my gaze.

  “Christ, I am so sorry, Jesse,” I said.

  “It wasn’t your fault. It took two.”

  “I know, but I should have…” I paused, making a sharp, frustrated gesture in the air. “I got carried away and didn’t think. God, I am so—”

  “Anthony.” He touched my face and leaned in to kiss me gently. “This wasn’t. Your. Fault.”

  I rested my forehead against his and closed my eyes. “I still feel terrible.”

  “We can’t change it,” he whispered. “But what do we do?”

  I exhaled. “At this point, I’m not sure. The media’s jumping all over it and calling it spousal abuse, so—”

  “What?” He jerked back and stared at me. “Spousal abuse? You’re not serious.”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said. “After people overheard you two fighting, and then saw the marks…”

  “Oh, God. Simone.”

  “Where is she?”

  He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “She left. After we fought this morning, she was pissed, so she left. She’s…fuck, she’s probably heard by now.” Exhaling sharply, he stepped away and picked up his phone off the table. “I need to talk to her,” he said as he speed-dialed her. “She’s probably…shit, this is going to put her over the edge.”

  I said nothing. Panic mingled with the guilt, and I silently prayed she hadn’t been driving or anything when she heard the news.

  Jesse put the phone to his ear, and he paced across the floor, his brow furrowed as he muttered, “Come on, come on, pick up…”

  I drummed my fingers just to keep myself from pulling out my lighter, because if I did that then I’d want to light a cigarette. The media, we could handle. Somehow, someway, I’d figure out how to do damage control, and this could be brushed off and glossed over just like any sensational story they dug their claws into. But placating the media was part of my expertise. Dealing with Simone? Not so much. She wouldn’t handle this well. Of that I had no doubt. And how could we help her? How could we even take the sting out? She’d probably never forgive either of us for this, and really, could I blame her?

  Jesse cursed and tossed his phone on the bed. “She’s not answering. Fuck, I…I need to get home.”

  “Go,” I said. “I’ll handle the media and everything here. Just go. Take care of her.”

  He looked around the room, gaze drifting from one piece of luggage to the next, and I didn’t have to ask what was on his mind.

  “Jesse.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “Don’t worry about packing. Just go. I’ll take care of everything here.”

  For a moment, he didn’t respond, just stared at me like he had to process what I’d said. Then he nodded. “Right. Okay. I’ll…I guess I can borrow Ranya’s car again. She’s probably—”

  I took my keys out of my pocket and pressed them into his hand. “Take mine. You focus on her. I’ll take care of everything else.” I cupped his face in both hands and kissed him lightly.

  “Thank you,” he said softly and wrapped his arms around me. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I kissed him again, then gently nudged him toward the door. “Now go. Simone needs you.”

  Jesse gave me his room key and left. Alone in his hotel room, surrounded by his luggage and the sound of my pounding heart, I hoped to God he made it to her before she really went over the edge. I hoped I could figure out how to clean up this mess and assure the media all was well.

  But ever the pessimist, I couldn’t make myself believe it.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jesse

  I pushed the accelerator to the floor, and the engine whined as the speedometer’s digital readout rapidly changed to mark the increasingly illegal speed. Ignoring the green numbers, I focused on the road and the white stripes flying past Anthony’s car. My driving record was pristine. One ticket wouldn’t kill me.

  Three times I tried to call Simone. Each time, the phone on the other end rang five times, then kicked over to voice mail. When I tried a fourth call, it went straight to voice mail.

  I swore and tapped my phone against the wheel. At least that meant she was likely all right. Uninjured, anyway. She hadn’t heard the news in the car and driven into a guardrail or something. It may have sounded ridiculous, but I had visions of her doing just that, not because she was suicidal, but being behind the wheel and trying to process something she couldn’t process…

  No. Don’t think about that. She’s obviously okay because she turned off her phone.

  Gaze flicking back and forth from the road to the phone in my hand, I scrolled to Dean’s number. I quickly found it, hit Send, and put the phone to my ear.

  “Dean Reilly.”

  “Dean, it’s Jesse,” I said. “Listen, is—”

  “Leave her alone,” he growled. “You are the last one she wants to see right now.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” I pushed down a little harder on the accelerator. “Could you at least tell me if she’s all right?”

  He laughed humorlessly. “Do you really expect her to be?”

  I resisted the urge to reach through the phone and choke him. “You know what I mean.”

  “She’s fine,” he snapped. “Just leave her alone.”

  And with that, he hung up.

  I swore and dropped my phone in the passenger seat. Gripping the wheel in both hands, I pushed the gas pedal down harder.

  Okay, so she was physically all right. Emotionally, though? Bad. Real bad.

  I finally made it to Malibu and to my own driveway. I pulled up to the gate and rolled down my window. My fingers hovered over the keypad. Damn it, the code. I knew this. What was—

  The numbers finally came back to me, and I quickly punched them in. The gate opened, and as soon as there was enough room for the car, I slammed on the gas, spun the tires, and tore up my driveway.

  I parked out front and went in through the front door. The security system was off, but I probably wouldn’t have bothered to turn it off anyway. Let it go off. Let the police come. Just please, please tell me my wife was okay.

  “Simone?” My voice echoed down the hall. I hurried into the kitchen, glanced out on the veranda, checked the living room. “Simone?”

  The creak of footsteps on the stairs sent cool relief rushing through my veins. I hurried back up the hall.

  It wasn’t Simone, though. I should have known from the weight of the footsteps, but who was rational in a moment like this?

  “Where is she?” I asked Dean.

  “She doesn’t need to see you.” He stood in the middle of the stairs, and I swore his shoulders expanded to fill the space and forbid me from going by.

  I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. “I need to see her.”

  “Yeah, and she doesn’t—”

  “Look, I’m the one who fucked things up for her,” I said. “I’ll be the first to admit it, and there’s nothing I want more in the world than to make it right. Just…let me talk to her.”

  “So you can do what?” he snapped and took a step toward me. “Apologize again? Tell her how much you don’t want to hurt her?”

  I set my jaw. “This is between her and me.”

  “So am I,” he growled.

  My shoulders dropped. “Dean, please,” I said, almost whispering. “I know she doesn’t want to see me, and I don’t blame her. But this has gone too far. The way the media’s treating her, all of that. I’m not here to apologize and pretend that’ll fix everything. I’m not sure what I can do yet, but this is going to stop. It has to. But I need to talk to her.”

  Dean pursed his lips, and for a moment, I thought he just might deck me. Then he dro
pped his gaze and turned, leaving me just enough room to walk past him. “She’s in the bedroom.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  I took the stairs two at a time and followed the hall to the bedroom Simone and I once shared. The door was ajar, but I tapped it twice with my knuckle first.

  “Simone?”

  No answer.

  Cautiously I pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking in the otherwise silent room.

  And there she was, on her side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her thin shoulders shook, and she couldn’t quite muffle her quiet sobs.

  “Simone?” I approached slowly, warily, like she was a skittish animal who might suddenly take off or lunge at me.

  She murmured something I didn’t understand. When I sat on the edge of the bed, she pulled her knees up and recoiled from me. I touched her arm, and she recoiled even more.

  “Simone? You all right?”

  God, what a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t. But what the fuck was I supposed to say?

  She sniffed sharply and buried her face even deeper, tugging her arm out from under my hand.

  Hoping she didn’t shove me away, I lay beside her and put my arm over her waist. She recoiled slightly but then sank back against me, and her body shook even harder. God, she felt so thin and frail like this. I wanted to hold her close to me, but I was irrationally certain I’d break her.

  “Hey,” I whispered, kissing the back of her shoulder through her shirt. “Talk to me, Simone.” My stomach twisted into guilty knots, and my chest ached as she lay in my arms. Making sense of—never mind discussing—emotions was nearly impossible for her, but usually she either went into a rage or a deep, silent depression. Then she’d move on as if nothing ever happened. She gave that appearance, anyway, and refused to acknowledge any lingering feelings.

  This? This shook me straight to the core. I’d seen stress and emotions take their toll on her time and again, but in all the years I’d known her, I had never seen her break.

  After a long moment, she whispered, “How could they think I would hurt you?”

  “They’re just looking for the most sensational story,” I said softly. “They took what they heard and what they saw, and they spun it into something to get ratings.”

  “But they think I…” She shuddered. “Jesse…”

  I pulled her closer. My throat aching with the threat of tears, I said, “I’m so sorry, Simone.”

  “I thought I could just suck it up, wait a few months until the election is over, and…” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “God, every time I… When they…” With a choked sob, she buried her face in her hands and the pillow and, for a moment, just quietly shook.

  I stroked her hair, struggling to keep my own composure and completely at a loss for any words that might put the slightest dent in her pain.

  “I can’t do this, Jesse,” she sobbed. “Not when they think I’m hurting you. It was bad enough before. It was bad enough when it was just you and Anthony.”

  My heart dropped. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not angry,” she said. “About you and him. I didn’t mean what I said this morning. I know things with us are over, and we agreed we could see other people. And I know you’re happy with Anthony. God, I can see it every time you look at him. But…”

  I smoothed her hair. “What?”

  “I didn’t realize how hard it would be to be constantly reminded that I’m not the one you want.” She wriggled a little, so I lifted my arm to let her move. Then she rolled onto her back. I propped myself up and brushed a few strands of hair off her damp cheek.

  Reaching up to touch my face, she said, “You’re gay. You’re with Anthony now. I know all of that, but none of that changes how I feel about you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Simone,” I whispered, and words had never felt so damned useless.

  “And when it comes to the election, it’s…it’s just…” She pressed her lips together and avoided my eyes, and her whole body trembled like she was trying that hard not to cry again.

  I pulled her closer to me, holding her carefully. “Tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it is.”

  She took a deep breath and rested her head against my chest. “It’s just that every time I have to go out there and play the happy wife, it hurts so, so bad. But that isn’t even the worst part. Even what they say, that I’ve hurt you like Julie hurts Chris, isn’t the worst of it.”

  I swallowed hard, struggling to keep it together. “What is?”

  Simone released an unsteady breath. “The worst part is knowing you have to fake it. Because the thing is, I’m not faking it. I’m pretending to be happy, but the rest of it…it’s not an act. And I…” She pulled in another long, ragged breath and wiped her eyes. “God, Jesse, I can’t tell you how much I want you to love me the way you do in front of the cameras.”

  Holy fuck, nothing she’d ever said, not even all those times when she lashed out without thinking, cut that deep. And how could I blame her?

  “Do you know what kind of hell this has been?” she whispered. “I’ve been putting on this fucking act that isn’t an act, and then the media still tears me apart and tries to blame me for everything. God, Jesse, they’re saying I hurt you! Physically. I could never—” She covered her mouth, closing her eyes as a few fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

  “I know you wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Every time they ask me questions,” she went on, “I just want to tell them the truth. That I would never hurt you and I would never cheat on you, and it hurts like hell knowing I’ll never be able to have a baby with you.”

  The lump in my throat rose with every word she said, and what could I say? How could I possibly fix any of this?

  “I can’t make you happy,” she went on. “And I know this career, this is what you need. It’s what will make you happy. And I’ve tried, Jesse. I’ve tried so hard to help you, so maybe I could be part of something that made you happy, but…” She exhaled and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jesse.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I whispered and smoothed her hair. “If I had known in the beginning how much all of this would hurt you, I never would have put you through it. I swear it. I knew it wouldn’t be easy for either of us, but this…” I closed my eyes and kissed the top of her head. “Jesus, sweetheart, I had no idea things would turn out like this.”

  Simone said nothing.

  After a long, long silence, she drew back and looked up at me. “What do we do now?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know. But I promise you, I’ll do whatever I can to stop this. I’m tired of the way they’ve treated you, and I’ve already done enough to hurt you myself.” I lifted her chin with two fingers. “I’ll do something about this, Simone, I promise. I just can’t promise it’ll be overnight. Can you have faith in me? Just a little while longer?”

  Simone nodded, and I held her gaze, hoping to God this was one vow I could actually keep.

  Taking a deep breath, she touched my face with a cool, unsteady hand. “Can I ask you something?”

  I nodded. “Of course. Anything.”

  “And you’ll answer me honestly?”

  Another nod.

  Simone moistened her lips. “Did you ever love me?”

  “Oh, Simone.” I brushed another tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I will always love you.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I mean, did you ever…love me?”

  I swallowed, forcing back the ache in my throat.

  “Just tell me,” she said, barely whispering. “Please.”

  I took a breath. “Not the way you deserve to be loved, sweetheart.” I stroked her hair, and as fresh tears filled her eyes, I couldn’t stop a few from sliding down my face. “I wanted to give you that, Simone. I wanted to from the beginning. But…I can’t. And you deserve so much more than that.”

  “I don’t care what I deserve,” she said, brushing a tear off my cheek. “I want you.
I mean, I love—” She glanced past me, toward the bedroom door, and as her eyes shifted back to me, she lowered her voice. “I love Dean. I really do. But not like I love you. You’re the first man who ever treated me like I wasn’t just a sex object or a piece of meat. You don’t know how scared I am that I won’t find that again.”

  “Dean doesn’t treat you that way, does he?”

  “No, but…” She sighed. “The thing is, I can’t fall in love with anyone because I’m still in love with you.” She put a hand to her mouth and softly added, “I don’t know how to let you go, Jesse.”

  “It’ll get easier with time.” I cleared my throat. “You’ll find someone. There are good men out there.”

  She sniffed and smiled. “Well, you found someone, so I guess there’s hope.”

  I returned the smile and brushed a few more strands of hair out of her face. Then my smile faded, and I trailed my fingertips along her damp cheek. “I never did any of this to hurt you, Simone. I swear on my life it’s the last thing I ever wanted to do, and I’m so, so sorry this election has just compounded everything. I do love you, and I always will. You’re not losing me. I’m just setting you free so you can have the love you deserve.” I smoothed her hair. “I’m not walking out of your life unless that’s what you want me to do.”

  She held me closer. “No. No, I don’t want you to leave. That’s…that’s the problem. You’re the only one who’s ever cared about me like this,” she said. “I don’t want to lose that. I’m scared to lose that, Jesse.”

  “You’re not losing that. We’re getting a divorce so we can both be with the right people, but I’m not disappearing from your life.”

  She sniffed but managed to crack a smile. “You’d better not be.”

  I laughed softly and kissed her forehead. “Anything you need, anytime, I’m here for you. I promise. And as far as the election, the media, all of that, I’m going to make this as right as I can.”