Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  “And where will you actually be?”

  “Don’t laugh, but Cooper and I will be living on a boat.”

  “A boat?”

  “Well, more like a yacht. There are some details we’ll have to work out when the time is right, but no one tracks boats. Not like they do aircraft. So, in theory, I could drive, or maybe even helicopter, to where the yacht is, and sail to a different location. Never a night in the same place, basically.”

  “You’ve really thought this through,” Cooper states, smirking at me. I think he might be proud.

  “And what about Eastbrooke?”

  “I promise that I’ll stay here until March. So, what do you think?”

  Garrett smiles at me. “I will admit, your plan has some merit.”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention that starting now, Cooper works for me.”

  “Is that right?” Garrett asks Cooper directly.

  Cooper looks him in the eye. Man to man. And says, “That’s right.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn’t told me his decision yet.

  Garrett slips me a forged doctor’s note. “Why don’t you get back to school?”

  I glance at Cooper. “You’re going to stay here and talk, huh?”

  They both nod, so I grab my keys and head to my car.

  When I get there, I call my mom.

  Surprisingly, she answers.

  “Hey, Mom. I really need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure, honey,” she says. “I’m just finishing up some packing.”

  “I’m glad you and the girls are going to France.”

  Mom gives me a little, “A-hem,” in agreement. I know her. She doesn’t like to lie.

  “This thing with Vincent has been tough on all of us. You need some time off.”

  “I’m fine, Keatyn.”

  “No, Mom. You’re not. And I know you planted all the stuff in the press about the affairs and about your health.”

  Mom lets out a big sigh. “Does Tommy know?”

  “Not yet, but he will. Don’t let this ruin your relationship. You have to stop lying to Tommy. And me. We can handle the truth. Seriously. And I am going to handle it.”

  “Keatyn, you’re just a child.”

  “No, I’m not. My sisters are children. I met with Garrett today. I know about the breach in security. I know Vincent hasn’t stopped sending you stuff. Scary stuff.”

  Mom starts to cry. “He . . . He . . . left black roses on the swing set. Four of them. One for each of the girls. He sent a photo of Tommy getting out of a car in the city, and it was photoshopped so . . . so that . . . Tommy had been shot in the head. I can’t do this anymore. If he wants me, then he can have me.”

  “But that’s the thing, Mom. He doesn’t want you. He wants me.”

  “Well, he can’t have you!”

  “He’s not going to. Garrett and I have a plan that takes you and the girls out of the mix. But I need your help. With the press.”

  “How?”

  “I need you to announce that for your health and well-being, you’re taking a break from the movie industry. If they ask where you’re going or what you’re doing, you’ll have no comment.”

  “They’ll ask about Tommy.”

  “That’s an easy answer. Tommy will be filming Retribution in New York and you will not be joining him.”

  “Everyone will assume we’re not together anymore.”

  “That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but then . . .” Mom starts sobbing. “I’ve been trying to hold it together. But it’s so hard. I’ve missed you so much, Keatyn. But I’ve been so afraid. Afraid he’d get my phone and find your number. Afraid someone would overhear me talking to you. I needed you to stay safe. You’re my baby. And this is all my fault. I thought if I left the girls safe with James and went on the press tour that maybe he’d just take me instead.”

  Tears stream down my face. I had almost started to think that she didn’t care about me anymore.

  “Remember New York, Mom? When Vincent chased after me?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was following you, but it was me that he chased. It’s me that he wants. And that means it’s time for me to take control of this situation.”

  “Take control how?”

  “Well, to start with, Garrett works for me now. You have to promise, no making up plans of your own, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says cautiously.

  I can tell she hasn’t fully committed.

  “You and I agree on one important thing, Mom. And that’s keeping the girls safe. Go to France. Relax. Eat. Get some sleep. Have fun with the girls. And know that Vincent is going to be busy with other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “Well, aside from the premieres and press that’s due to start on your movie, we’re going to mess with his business.”

  “Does he care that much about his business?”

  “His business owns the rights to remake your movie. The movie seems to be the core of his obsession. If he is at risk of losing it . . .”

  “He won’t have time to worry about us.”

  “That’s the theory, yes.”

  “I like that. It feels like we’re fighting back.”

  “I like it too.”

  “Does Garrett really think it will work?”

  “Yes, he’s completely on board,” I say confidently. Well, okay, like, mostly on board. “So, are you in?”

  “Do you promise me that everything you do will be approved by Garrett?”

  “Garrett or Cooper,” I reply, not wanting to lie to her.

  She exhales heavily, like maybe I’ve lifted a weight off her shoulders.

  “Then I’m in.”

  “Good. I love you, Mom. I have to get back to school, but call me once you get settled, okay?”

  “I will. And I love you too.”

  With her mother agreeing to take herself and the girls to France, Keatyn is ready to set her plan in motion.

  I go into the stairwell and make myself at home on a cold, hard cement step. I pull up the video conferencing software and click on B’s photo. While I’m waiting for him to come online, I stare at his tan face.

  I close my eyes and remember what it was like with him. So different than it was with Cush.

  It was never fast. One time, I wanted to do it on the beach—like, quick—and he told me sex isn't about just riding the wave. That it should be the joining of mind, body, and soul. That it’s waxing your board, paddling out, floating over the swells, patiently waiting for and preparing yourself for the bigger wave. Then it’s all about working your way back to shore.

  It never felt like just sex with him.

  But I know why.

  It’s because I loved him.

  But then I think about Dawson and how hot it was.

  How Aiden can make me feel on fire with a single touch.

  And I can’t help it. I want it all. The connection and the heat.

  I think about his surfing reference of working your way back to shore. Which is fitting because it’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Get back to my family. To him. To my home. To our beach.

  I know I can’t keep going like this.

  I hear him say, “Keats?”

  My eyes fly open. “Sorry, I was just thinking about surfing.” I start to get tears in my eyes. “God, I miss you. For two years, I saw you almost every day. I feel like a piece of me is missing.”

  “I feel like a part of me is missing too. I miss everyone. Our beach.”

  “Are you getting tired of traveling?”

  “The flights are a bitch sometimes, and I complain about it. But then I find myself on another amazing beach. Kinda like our summer of waves—all the beaches we discovered. Except bigger and better.”

  “It was a good summer.”

  “Yeah, it was. So, I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to get together with the guy on the takeover stuff yet. I will, though. This
week or next, maybe.”

  “But, I thought that’s why we were talking tonight, so we could get started? We need to start now, B. You don’t understand. There are a lot of moving parts to this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It has to be timed so that it hits Vincent all at once.”

  “What does?”

  “A hostile takeover alone won’t do it. I have to push him from every direction. The publicity for Mom’s movie starts this week. We have to start this week.”

  I’m starting to panic. I need this to go according to plan. It has to.

  “Oh,” he says. He closes his eyes and looks down. I notice he looks stressed.

  “I have something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Something was delivered to my hotel room earlier.”

  “What?” I say, instantly on edge.

  “A box. In it was a framed photo of me, taken when they handed me the trophy this past, uh, weekend,” he stutters again. He’s shaken.

  “Can I see it?”

  “Garrett made me send it to him, hoping for forensics.”

  “He won't find any.”

  “Probably not, but I took pictures of it. The ones I texted him when I got it.”

  “Send them to me.”

  I watch as he grabs his phone off the table. He gives me a bleak look and I wish I could reach through the phone and brush the lines of stress from his face. They just don’t look right on him.

  My phone vibrates with the text.

  “I know this is going to upset me so, before I see it, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you. How, through all this shit, you've grown and focused and taken a chance on your dream.” I put my fingers against the computer screen.

  He mimics me, our hands touching tenderly onscreen.

  “I was serious when I said I wouldn't be here without you. That night at the Undertow was a turning point in my life.”

  In both our lives, I think, remembering falling straight into Vincent's arms.

  I keep my hand glued to his as I look down and see the photos pop up on my screen. I click on the first one, making it bigger. It’s of a plain white gift box, white tissue paper pulled open, and black rose petals sprinkled around an ornate black picture frame.

  I look up at him. “I just looked at the first photo with the black rose petals, so I know it's from Vincent. B, have you been keeping anything from me?”

  He stutters, “Uh, um . . .”

  “Look, it's okay if you have. My mom did the same thing, trying to protect me. So, if you've gotten other things from Vincent, or seen him, tell me now.”

  “What? Uh, no. He's never been spotted, other than Long Beach. But, except for Hawaii, my tournaments have been out of the country.”

  “And he’s never sent you anything else or threatened you in any way?”

  “No. Other than not being able to see you, this whole thing really hasn't affected me that much. Until now.”

  I look at the second text. This one is a close-up version of the photo inside the picture frame. I can see B holding a trophy above his head in victory. It's exactly as I imagined the scene when I heard it. But then I notice writing on the bottom. I quickly zoom in to read, I wouldn't be here without you. I love you, Keats. I smile until I notice the spots. I squint, trying to figure out what they are.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Your quote. But I see spots around them and I—” I instantly lose my voice as my eyes focus in on the reason for the red spots. There's a single bullet hole in Brooklyn's forehead and the whole back of his head is blown away. A horrible special effect frozen in time.

  I drop my phone into my lap and cover my eyes with my hand, willing my brain to wipe away what I just saw. No wonder Mom freaked when she got a similar photo of Tommy.

  “Keats.”

  I uncover my eyes, B’s face a welcome sight compared to the horrible image in the photo. “What you said about me has put you in danger.” Guilt, love, and horror swirl in my brain causing tears to spill down my face and filling me with hysteria. “I’m so sorry, B. I'm so sorry you had to see that. You never . . . should’ve . . . said you love me.”

  “Um, about that.”

  “About what?”

  “The I love you part.”

  “That's what made you a target. This photo is for me, not you. He's trying to scare me,” I sob. “He’s succeeding.”

  “Keats, look, I just need to tell you something . . .”

  “You have gotten other stuff from him?”

  “No, it's, well, there's this girl . . .”

  His words feel like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

  “No! Don’t, B,” I beg, covering my eyes again. “Don’t say it. I can’t hear it. Not right now.”

  “Keats. I know you’re seeing . . .”

  “No, don’t! Just lie to me.” I feel like a riptide is pulling me under, drowning me. I’m crying hysterically now. I put my hand against my forehead, trying to calm myself down, but I can’t. My heart’s beating wildly.

  “You need to calm down.”

  And that sets me off. “Calm down?! Calm down?! The only thing that’s getting me through this is the thought of being able to go home. You made me promise you another chance. That we’d be back on our beach. I can’t do all I’m about to do if you aren’t gonna be back on that beach with me.” I sob more. “I just want to go home. He ruined our beach, B. I want it back. I want my family back. You and the beach are part of my home. I. Just. Need. To. Go. Home.”

  “It sucks, but . . .”

  “No buts! What if that horrible picture happens?”

  B nods and buries his face in his hands.

  Then he looks up at me with a mix of tears and determination in his eyes. “You're right. We have to do this. We have to get our lives back. I’ll text you with a time to talk to the takeover guy.” He puts his hand back on the screen. I reach up and touch it. “And I promise when this is over, we'll both go home.” I nod as he says, “I love you, Keats,” kisses his tattoo, and gently closes his laptop.

  I shut mine too.

  And cry.

  I’m sure he’s seeing someone. And it’s okay if he is, but I need him in this with me. I’m not sure I have the guts or the courage to do it alone.

  I love you flits through my brain. I do love B. I just don't know what kind of love it is anymore. And, based on what he says, he doesn’t know either. Still, I know he's part of the mix. Of all the people I love. Of my family. Of my friends. Of him. My home. And I know that neither one of us will be able to go forward without going home first.

  I sneak back into my bedroom and try to go to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see the photo Vincent sent B.

  Only I see it in motion.

  The extended trailer for Abby’s new movie is getting a lot of buzz. It was a brilliant move to pair something so sensual with the most watched televised lingerie show in the world. Abby Johnston might be the only one not watching it. She is on a plane to France with her girls, the nanny, James, and a six-man security team—Garrett deciding it was the perfect time to get them out of the country.

  But Vincent is watching. And so is Keatyn.

  “This is it!” Annie says excitedly. “The extended trailer for Abby Johnston’s new movie. I heard it’s really hot.”

  I sit up straight, my eyes glued to the screen.

  The trailer starts out with Mom sitting at a desk writing To Maddie, With Love in a journal. The music moves as painfully slow as she writes. Mom looks beautiful as a brunette, but a little ragged. The slow music is replaced by a techno beat and images flash quickly across the screen. Maddie cutting her wrists. A hospital. Drugs on a kitchen table. Bottles of alcohol. Then back to her writing again. Same desk. Same stress on her face. Then techno. Faster images. Happy Maddie. Dancing. Kissing a man in a dark alley. A flash of Maddie’s body. Lips. Hips. Sex in the alley. A bed. Nakedness. Sheets. Smiles. The music changes
as we watch Maddie writing again. Then more flashes. Drugs. A club. Dancing on a bar. More men. More sex. The flash of money. Then back to Maddie.

  The images are powerful, emotional.

  Even though I don’t want to see her naked, I want to see this movie. I want to know how Maddie went from a seemingly happy party girl to trying to commit suicide.

  “That looks really good,” Aiden leans over and whispers to me. “We should go see it.”

  In front of me, Dallas say, “All I know is Abby Johnston looks fucking hot. We definitely need to go see that one.”

  “I’m not sure if I’d like it,” I say to Aiden.

  Dallas’ response to the trailer upsets me, and I can see why it upset Vincent. Maddie looks like she lived a very wild life. And I know she did. Mom let me read the script last year when she was considering the role. Reading about it was interesting. Seeing it played out before my eyes is another thing altogether. And I know that the movie, though poignant, is also supposed to be disturbing.

  A little bit sick and twisted.

  And, right now, I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach. Not because I’m not proud of my mom, but because I know it’s images like these that set Vincent off.

  Vincent is with his friend, Bobby, having a beer and discussing the lack of success of his nationwide search. Hoping maybe he’ll have some brilliant idea on how to find her. The money guy has found nothing. The people he has hired a waste of air. So he’s focusing on Abby. The dead flowers on the playground and the slashed fence should have sent her a bold message. That he’s done fucking around. He’s taking action. And he plans to do just that. She has one week. Then he’s going to kidnap Abby himself. She knows where her daughter is, and he’ll torture her if he has to. She deserves it after what she’s put him through.