Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  “Lane, oh my darling,” her mother cried just as soon as Delaney was in the front door of their Beverly Hills home. She pulled her in for a tight hug, her jewelry jingling over a spandex workout top. “Thank God, you’re finally home. We’ve been worried sick.”

  “I know, Mom. I’m sorry. My phone got stolen and then there was the car accident. It was all crazy.”

  Her sister Roxanne joined in on the hug. “Hey, welcome home. We missed you.”

  “Lane, is that you?” Her tall, lanky dad came into the room wearing something from the Steven Tyler collection, and she moved from her mother’s hug into his. His hair was back in a ponytail that every single one of them wanted him to cut off. “Hi, Daddy.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Well, we are sure glad to have you home. I was about ready to call out the National Guard. What the hell have you been up to?”

  “Just trying to take a little break from reality. Turns out reality follows you.”

  “Well, come and sit down and tell us everything.” Her dad pulled her over to the sofa but the others moved with them en masse, as if no one wanted to let her out of their sight, and it warmed Delaney through. The press might be out there ready to pounce, but her family loved her, and that’s what mattered most.

  She filled them in on most of the details, wanting to be as honest as possible. If she’d learned anything from this experience, it was that dishonesty just wasn’t worth the trouble it caused, and it ate away at your soul, leaving a big black stain. But one thing she wasn’t completely forthright about was how much she missed Grant. It wasn’t so much a secret, but it was private. Another thing Delaney had figured out during her soul-searching plane ride was that she had a right to that. Privacy. Just because she shared parts of her life, she didn’t have to share all of it.

  She held it together pretty well with her family, and she was feeling a little proud of herself for that. No pity. No whining. She owned up to her part in everything that had happened, and she was determined to face what came next. But when she was getting ready for bed that night and pulled out the I love Elvis shirt Grant had given her to sleep in, she gave in to all her sadness. She’d earned that too, this right to feel devastated. Whatever they’d had, it had been beautiful and special and she wanted it back. She wanted him back. True love wasn’t about the amount of time you spent with someone, it was about the quality of the time. She just needed for him to figure that out too.

  “Good morning, Lane. Sure is nice seeing you sitting there again,” her dad said the next morning as he poured a cup of coffee. She was at the kitchen table sorting through a few weeks’ worth of junk mail that had arrived in her absence. She’d have to remember if she ever ran away again to forward her mail. It was going to take her hours just to deal with all of this.

  He came and sat down. It was just the two of them. They were the early risers and she’d always loved that they had this little pocket of time together before the rest of the family was buzzing around. It was also before the cameras showed up.

  “Are they going to be filming today?” she asked.

  He nodded. “That was the plan. You know they actually want to do some extra interview time with you too. Are you ready for that?”

  No, she’d never be ready for that. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

  He sighed, and for just that moment, he looked his age. He looked almost paternal. Almost. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  “I don’t have to do my best?” she teased.

  He smiled the famous Jesse Masterson smile. The one that had made all women of a certain age melt and remember their high school days, but to Delaney, it was just her dad’s smile.

  “You should always try to do your best, sweetheart, but what I mean is, you don’t have to do this interview. You don’t even have to do the show if you don’t want to. Honestly, I feel just awful that the stress of all these cameras made you drive off into Timfucktu, Michigan.” He took a slug of coffee and set the cup down hard.

  “Dad, it wasn’t so much these cameras as it was Boyd’s camera. That’s what sent me over the edge.” Few things in life could be more humiliating than talking to your father about your sex video, even if your dad was a longtime rock ’n’ roller with a checkered history of his own. But he still had that paternal face going, and for the moment she felt very much like his little girl.

  “You just say the word and the lawyers will go after him. Tony says the case is strong, especially if they can prove Boyd benefited financially.”

  “Word.” She smiled.

  “What?”

  “I’m saying the word. Let’s tell Tony to go for it. I’m not much for revenge, but Boyd broke the law and that’s not OK. Yes, I was a consenting adult, but I never consented to being videotaped, so I have to think about what kind of message it sends if I don’t defend myself.”

  Her dad nodded, contemplating her words, his hands wrapped around his mug of coffee. “That’s true. I guess you do.”

  “You know, I spent the last few weeks being terribly embarrassed about this, and honestly, I still am, but the worst thing I could do was to hide. I don’t want people thinking I’m a coward, but even more than that, I don’t want people thinking I had any part of this. I have to speak out and remind everyone that Boyd is the one who did something wrong.”

  Her dad stroked his chin with his thumb and index finger as if he was letting this soak in. “That’s pretty courageous of you, Lane, and you know the family is behind you one hundred percent.”

  “I know you are. I appreciate that. I’m sorry I ran away and freaked everybody out.”

  “Well, you did what you had to do, I guess.”

  “I could have handled it much better, though, and there’s something else you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll keep doing the Pop Rocks show because I want to honor my contract, but we have to tell the producers no more footage of me looking ditzy. That’s not who I am, and it’s not the persona I want people to see. I do nice things, and I do worthwhile things, so I want viewers to know that and not just think I spend all my time getting my nails done and gossiping about other celebrities.”

  He leaned back in his chair, tilting it on two legs. “Delaney Louise Masterson, you’re like a whole different person this morning.”

  Delaney smiled because that felt like a compliment. “I’ve tried being a different person, and it turns out I liked it, only it wasn’t so much about being different as it was about being authentic. I think I got so caught up in creating a show about my life, I forgot about actually living a life. Remember how you and I used to volunteer at that music studio? I want to do that again. We had fun, but better than that, it was a really valuable thing that we did for those kids. We made a difference in their lives just by sharing time with them and teaching them a little music. I want to do more stuff like that, things with some substance, stuff that actually adds value to humanity. Honestly, I don’t think the world really needs another celebrity stylist, plus I’m not really cut out for it.”

  Her dad’s eyes widened as she spoke, the coffee cup hovering forgotten near his lips.

  “What the hell happened to you out there in the real world?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He brought the chair down to four legs again. “Well, whatever it is, I like it. I’m proud of you.”

  “Proud of me for running away?”

  “Proud of you for taking the time you needed and then coming home stronger. It takes a lot of guts to face this music but it sure sounds like you’re taking charge of things now.”

  “Maybe. A friend recently told me it’s better to be the sheepdog than the sheep.”

  Chapter 26

  GRANT CONNELLY STOOD IN LINE at Gibson’s grocery store the day after returning to Bell Harbor and realized something he’d never even considered before. It’s entir
ely surreal to see your face on the cover of a magazine. But there he was, right on the front of some glossy celebrity gossip sheet.

  It was a picture of him and Lane, all snuggled up on the piano bench in the Jungle Room Lounge. How the hell had a picture like that found its way into the news? He pulled the magazine from the rack, left his cart off to the side, and wandered dazedly over to the little coffee shop inside the grocery store. Sitting down at a table, he opened the pages to find half a dozen pictures of the two of them, all lousy quality photographs, obviously taken by an amateur opportunist with a cell phone, but just as obviously them.

  The headline of the corresponding article read MISSING IN ACTION?

  While we’re very glad to report that

  Pop Rocks star Delaney Masterson is no longer missing, it’s clear she’s still getting some action. Hiding out at the Heartbreak Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee, recently with cinematographer boyfriend Grant Connelly, the 27-year-old celebrity stylist looks anything but heartbroken. Sources close to the pair say the canoodling was impossible to miss.

  “They were kissing and laughing and totally into each other,” reported the confidential source.

  Connelly, 31, a coproducer and director of photography for the popular action-adventure show

  One Man, One Planet was recently fired, but lucky for him, if he’s looking for a “job,” he’s found the right girl. Although sources report she seems to be splitting her time between Connelly and Paradise Brothers front man Reggie Bryce, 29. It was Bryce who escorted Masterson to the Memphis airport days later, leaving us to wonder who she might be flying mile-high with next.

  What a steaming pile of horseshit.

  No wonder Delaney tried to hide away from this kind of crap. For one thing, he hadn’t been fired, but that lie wasn’t even worth being upset about compared to the slanderous innuendos made about Lane jumping from man to man. It just wasn’t true.

  He knew that now. A little distance from the situation had helped Grant understand that the honky-tonk huckster had never been an issue. Not because Reggie was such a stand-up guy, but because Grant knew Lane.

  The feeling knocked him forward.

  He knew Lane.

  That idea had clung to him ever since leaving Memphis yesterday, but seeing this article drove the point home. He did know her. Whatever she called herself, he’d seen everything that was real about her. Everything that mattered. It still hurt that she’d lied, and it was humiliating too, but having had some time to think about things, he wondered if maybe he’d been unfair. She wasn’t Miranda, and after hearing Finch and Humphrey talk about her reaction to the paparazzi, he knew fame hadn’t been her goal after all. The magazines had lied.

  The truth was, maybe some of the details about her life weren’t as important as he’d originally thought, or as nearly important as how he’d felt. He’d followed his instincts with her, and it had all felt right. It was just too bad he couldn’t decide what his instincts were telling him now.

  He looked down at the photos again. There was one of them facing each other, smiling and leaning close. His hand was on her leg. Her hand was curled around the side of his neck, as if she was pulling him close to whisper some naughty secret. He remembered that moment. He couldn’t think of what she’d said just then, but he remembered the feel of her lips as she’d pressed a kiss just below his ear seconds later.

  Whump went his heart, as if the thing was trying to get his brain’s attention. This was how she made him feel. Breathless. Dizzy. Overheated. He missed her. More than he’d ever imagined it was possible to miss a woman. More than he’d ever known it was possible to love a woman. He did love her, still, whether her name was Elaine or Delaney or Mary or Sue. He just wasn’t sure if it was real.

  He’d wanted to call her a hundred times since she’d ridden away in the taxi after leaving his aunt’s house, but pride was a buzzkill stopping him each time. Then he’d been busy making travel arrangements and getting his mother home. They’d arrived back in Bell Harbor late last night, and Carl, God love him, had welcomed her back with open arms and a sloe gin fizz, so at least that had gone well.

  Now Grant was on his way to Tyler’s house to have dinner with him and Evie. He’d only stopped at the grocery store to pick up a bottle of wine, so he couldn’t call Lane now. It wouldn’t be a fast conversation, and he wasn’t even sure what he’d say. Until he had things figured out . . . well, he just couldn’t call her right now.

  He pulled up at his brother’s house fifteen minutes later with two bottles of wine and one tabloid magazine—because he needed some advice. Tyler seemed to have a much better handle on this whole relationship thing than he did. Maybe his brother could tell him what the hell to do.

  “Just call her, you jackass. If she doesn’t hang up on you, then keep talking.”

  That had been his brother’s not-so-helpful advice.

  “That’s it?” Grant said as he uncorked the first bottle of wine. “You just got back from your honeymoon and that’s the best, most romantic advice you can offer? What the hell am I supposed to say to her? Hi, total stranger. I’m still really angry that you lied to me about everything, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “No,” Evie said, walking into the kitchen where the brothers were discussing Grant’s current predicament. “Skip the part about being angry. She already knows you’re angry, but definitely tell her you can’t stop thinking about her. Women love hearing that.”

  She ran a hand along Tyler’s waist as she walked by. They’d been doing that all night, that seemingly unconscious touching. It was like sharing a meal with static cling.

  It was also more than a little awkward discussing this topic in front of his new sister-in-law. They hardly knew each other, but if Evie could shed some light on what he should do, he’d listen. Tyler was proving to be much less useful than he’d hoped.

  Grant turned to Evie instead. “So, I tell her I’m thinking about her, and then what?”

  “Tell her why.”

  “Why . . . what?”

  Evie’s smile was patient. “Why you can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “Oh, but I’m not . . . I’m not sure why I can’t stop thinking about her.” He felt like someone had asked him to do a very complicated story problem in math class. It was making him sweat.

  “OK, then, what things are you thinking about? What are you remembering?”

  Vision upon erotic vision crashed into his brain all at once, each one involving Lane, and each one sending heat to his face. The X rating must have been obvious.

  His brother started laughing.

  Evie blushed. “Oh. Well, tell her that then.”

  “Listen,” Tyler said a moment later, “I don’t know what you should say, or honestly even what you should do, but it seems pretty obvious you have feelings for this woman and the only foolish thing would be to not give it another chance. Sometimes life gives you a do-over, so make the most of it. Call her. And don’t be a douche bag.”

  MY SISTER WOULD KILL ME IF SHE KNEW I WAS SENDING U A TEXT, BUT U SHOULD WATCH TONIGHT’S SPECIAL EPISODE OF POP ROCKS. STARTS IN 15. JUST SAYIN. MELODY MASTERSON

  Dinner was over and the second bottle of wine was almost finished when that text showed up on Grant’s phone. He stared at it for a full minute, wondering if he’d had too much to drink and read it wrong. Maybe his brain was imagining things.

  “Bad news?” Tyler finally asked.

  “I’m not sure. It’s from Lane’s sister.”

  Evie’s eyes lit up. She’d had on lots of makeup at the wedding, but tonight without any she looked more sweet than elegant. She was still completely out of his brother’s league, but after spending this evening together, talking and laughing and getting better acquainted, he could see she and Tyler really were ideal for each other. It made Grant happy for them, but reminded him of just what he was missing. />
  “A text? What’s it say?” she asked.

  “It says I should watch Pop Rocks tonight, in fifteen minutes.” He couldn’t decide how he felt about that. His instinct wires were crossing again. Falling in love had made him a second-guesser.

  Evie sat forward. “Really? Want to watch it here?” It was obvious she was now fully invested in the outcome of this relationship.

  “I don’t know if I want to watch it at all.” But he knew he would. Even if it was like watching a car crash, he knew he wouldn’t be able to look away, and he’d have to watch it here because he still had yet to hook up any sort of television at his house.

  Tyler stood up. “We might need more wine.”

  Fifteen minutes passed in a blink and Grant realized he should’ve gone home just as soon as the opening credits began. Sitting here watching his Elaine traipse about in some palatial Beverly Hills home was going to make his head explode. Would her hair be blonde again? Would she even sound the same? Did she know the picture of the two of them together at the Heartbreak Hotel had been splashed all over a tabloid magazine? Was she hurt, mad, vengeful, relieved? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

  Then there she was, on the screen. Her hair was still dark but straighter. He liked the waves better but this wasn’t too drastic. She had on a plain white blouse and jeans, and was sitting cross-legged in a flowered armchair in an average-looking living room. And she was barefoot. For some reason that melted his defenses just a little bit more. Maybe some part of him had worried she’d be that Delaney from the first magazine, with the slinky dress or the tight miniskirt. Not that she hadn’t looked smokin’ in those outfits, but barefoot in jeans, that was Elaine. That was the one he’d fallen for.