Total Trainwreck

by Evie Claire

  Wait...did I miss something here? His train of thought is moving at a breakneck speed, but what else could this possibly be about? I’m just about to ask when he clears his throat to speak.

  “You chose to leave me, too.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m here.” I sit beside him. The bed jostles beneath us then stills. He takes a deep breath.

  “The night we sat right there—” he points at the floor near the wall “—and you bared all your demons to me, I stayed. I held you. I loved you when most would’ve run, because I knew how much you needed me.” He hangs his head, staring at his fingers interlaced in his lap. “Tonight, you discovered my demon—the thing that haunts every corner of my life. Tonight I needed you like that, and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  His words cut through my anger like a freshly honed blade. I shrink back, closing my eyes against the pain that seizes my heart. How could I be such a heartless bitch? He’s right. I did leave. Selfishly, to clear my own head, I left, never once thinking about what he needed. Devon always seems so strong. So in control of life. I feel like the weak one, always needing to be held and loved and coddled. It never occurred to me he could need that, too. And when he did, I wasn’t there. I left just like she did.

  “I don’t even know what to say...” My voice breaks under the weight of what I’ve done and my blinding self-obsession.

  He turns his head toward me, but looks down. “All day I’ve wrestled with the reality of giving up everything to be with you. All day, I’ve calculated what it would take to earn it all back. For us.”

  I swallow hard and grimace, knowing this isn’t going anywhere good. Needing something to hold onto, I fist the sheets and bite my inner lip.

  “I was ready to cut my losses and walk away from her. Until you walked away from me in the hour I needed you most.”

  Good god. A dull axe to the neck would be less painful. I sit still, my breath punctuated by jagged sobs. Tears slide over my cheeks. Uncontrollable trembles skitter down the length of me. I suck at this. I cannot grasp the concept that falling in love means forgetting yourself. My selfishness now directly affects someone. Someone I would never intentionally hurt. Yet that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t try to comfort me. Leaving me to assume the decision he’s obviously made.

  “I guess we both know I’m not worth it.” I hate the words before they leave my lips. I hate the words he has yet to say even more. A sliver of rational thinking tries to convince me it hurts less if I say it. But it’s a lie.

  I fall back against the bed, curling into the fetal position, bawling into my hands and burying my face in the covers. The bed shifts when he stands. I don’t look up. I can’t watch him walk away. His footsteps disappear down the hallway, leaving me alone with my misery.

  Had I stayed, had I had the balls to stay and work through the situation instead of running like I always do, we could’ve had a chance. But for me, running is easier than coping. Doesn’t matter that it wasn’t drugs or alcohol I ran to. It still had the same effect. Running ruins everything.

  Truth is, after seeing things through his eyes, I’m not even that mad at him. Who would want to give up their life’s work for someone as insensitive as me? And on the flip side, what kind of person would demand someone they love give up so much? No, I’m the only asshole here.

  I cry and feel sorry for myself longer than I should. Hugging his pillow, I inhale deeply, unable to imagine a world where I no longer know his scent. The wet, mascara-stained pillowcase sticks to my cheek when the tears finally run dry. I roll onto my back, staring at the early morning shadows dancing over our ceiling.

  Our ceiling. Our room. Our home. This is what I want. Devon is all I want. And even though I may be the world’s biggest idiot right now, I’m still a fighter. A fighter who’s finished running.

  Heather’s nasty tricks and blatant threats can’t chase me away. A year ago, sure, I would’ve been long gone. No looking back. But self-obsession is exhausting and overly consuming. Devon’s changed me and I don’t ever want to be that girl again.

  Heather doesn’t realize I’m no longer the hotheaded prima donna of tabloids gone wild. Hotheads are the easiest people to manipulate. Once you goad them enough, they blow. Once they blow, they ruin everything themselves. The old Carly would’ve played right into her hands. Not anymore. For once, I’ve found something worth fighting for, and I refuse to lose it.

  I get up and stagger down the hallway, my steps sloppy, my brain soggy. No, I’ll never give up on him. Not while there’s breath in my body.

  Devon lies on the couch. His eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping.

  “No,” I whisper. Navy blue eyes flutter open, looking up at me looking down on him. “I’m not giving up on us. I love you. I made a huge mistake leaving you. But I swear on our love, I will never do that again.”

  With a tortured groan, he sits up and pulls me onto his lap. “I was just about to slash your tires so you couldn’t leave again.”

  “Do you see what she’s done to us?” I ask, brushing a hand through his hair.

  “I hate her for it.”

  “I don’t.” I pull his face up to mine.

  His features twist in confusion.

  “You never would’ve told me what you did.” I raise my hand to his lips to silence his protest. “Heather’s outrageous demand would’ve broken us apart or it would’ve bought her off and allowed you to bury your past even deeper. Had she not shown up I’d never know the truth of what haunts you, and it would have been this unspoken thing between us forever.”

  He runs his fingers over his lips, knowing I’m right.

  “In trying to break us up, she’s only brought us closer together...if you can forgive me for leaving.”

  “Ugh, Carly!” he growls into my neck, planting a soft kiss on the spot that wrecks me. “I can’t leave you.” He shakes his head like he’s at a total loss. I am too.

  “How come?”

  “You know my secret. That gives you just as much control as her.” He says this only half joking.

  “Only, I’m not a conceited, backstabbing, conniving bitch.”

  “True.”

  “I can be a bitch when I need to.” My look goes ice cold. I playfully grab the hair at the nape of his neck, yank his head back and plant my lips over his. We share a long kiss before I pull away. “Heather is going down.”

  “I like this side of you,” Devon says, turning me in his lap to get a better look at the determination tightening my face. “But I don’t see how we win. I can’t meet her demands. It would ruin me financially.”

  “Hell no, you aren’t giving in to her demands. A bitch like her is bound to have some buried secret of her own. If we even the playing field, she’ll have to settle for less. Have you ever had anyone look into her past?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you’re about to.”

  * * *

  According to Devon’s lawyers, Shay Moretti is the toughest fixer in Tinseltown. His mentor swept every trace of the Kennedy boys from Marilyn’s house before the cops got there. He’s a ghost spoken of only in whispers. When you need some shady shit done, you call him. I assume he’s mobbed up. I’m certain you don’t fuck with him. His newest job is finding every skeleton in Heather Troy’s considerable closet. Get ready bitch, we’re coming for you.

  I’m binge-watching Ray Donovan reruns and dreaming up a million different ways to take the skank down. Something tells me I’d make a damn good fixer. I’m sprawled on the couch, iPad in hand when Devon comes through the door, shaking the rain from his coat. In addition to being bone-numbingly cold, it started raining last night and hasn’t stopped. The castle flooded so badly they canceled shooting for the day. Fine by me. Ray’s been keeping me company while Devon stayed behin
d to manage the setback.

  “What’s the word?” I ask, pausing my show.

  “According to locals it’s typical weather for this time of year. These storms stall out for days. We’ve sandbagged the castle to save equipment, but we won’t be shooting anytime soon.”

  “Too bad we aren’t somewhere I’d actually like to be a tourist.” I roll my eyes and turn back to Ray. “Have you talked to Mr. Moretti?” I ask as if it’s an afterthought. Admittedly, I’m way too into this whole Spy vs. Spy thing. He’s maybe been on the case a day. Still, I can’t shake this growing feeling that he’s our answer to everything. Devon gives a silent but amused chuckle.

  “It’ll take him at least a week to do his research. He should have something for us by the time we get back to L.A.” I scowl at his answer. L.A. is an entire six days away. How the hell am I supposed to wait that long? There are only so many episodes of Ray Donovan a girl can watch. “If I have to look at these walls until the rain stops, I’ll go crazy.” He drops the contents of his pockets to the table and stretches his back. I love us like this—in these rare quiet moments where there’s nothing to do but focus on being us. It tells me how real this is and strengthens my resolve to beat Heather at her own game.

  “Then look at me,” I tease with a sexy wink. Given a few rainy days, there are at least a million ways I can dream up to take him down, too. In a totally sexual way, of course.

  “Hmm... tempting.” He tackles me on the couch, shaking the wet from his hair all over me. I toss my iPad on the coffee table to save it, and turn back to be devoured by his kisses. “But I’ve got a better idea.”

  He sits up, interrupting what was a very promising make-out session. I frown like the whore I am. He whips out his phone with a schoolboy grin. What is he up to?

  “Ernest? Have the jet readied for takeoff. We’re getting out of this frozen wasteland.”

  I sit up, too, immediately forgetting his kisses. “Where are we going?” I whisper, pulling at his arm. He playfully brushes me off, shaking his head like it’s a secret of national security importance. I continue to grab at him, going for his crotch because I know he won’t deflect those blows.

  Barely able to speak with my hands working their magic down there, he turns what little attention he can back to the phone. “Yes, destination Cagliari.”

  He ends the call with a triumphant smile, gives me a mischievous side-eye, and settles back to enjoy my handiwork. Once the destination registers, my hands freeze.

  “Cagliari?” I ask, my mouth hanging open. His only answer is a simple shrug.

  “You better pack your bags, Sunshine.”

  I squeal, leap to my feet and sprint into the bedroom on air, leaving his cock hanging...literally.

  I’ll finish it at 40,000 feet.

  We’re going to the island.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Shh...” he whispers against my lips, silencing my pleasured pants with a kiss as best he can. But even his tongue in my mouth can’t stop the ecstasy ripping from my throat.

  I turn my head and bite his shoulder, sinking my teeth into the soft flesh like it may help. It’s no use, and only adds his barely muffled grunts to the mix.

  We’re naked, tangled in the luxurious sheets of a double bed, thousands of feet above the ground. With an audience on the other side of the door only a few feet away, it rouses the same voyeuristically erotic notion that made fucking him on set so damn hypnotic.

  His arm slips under my leg. He hooks his elbow around my knee and pulls it up to the side, opening me further as he drives deep inside. My other leg snakes around his bare ass, taking him all the way in before I plant my foot on the sheet, knowing I’ll need something to hold onto. It’s building. I’m coming, and with the added weightlessness, humming engines and sheer thrill of fucking midflight, it’s not going to take long.

  It’s like doing it on a magic carpet soaring above the clouds. A million splendid sunset hues stream in through a small portal window, covering us in a kaleidoscope of color, because that’s how high we are. It feels like I could reach out the window and touch the burning flames.

  But the only thing burning right now is the growing need his thrusts coax from deep inside. Sensing the time is near, he once again places his mouth over mine.

  “Come for me, baby,” he whispers into our kiss. He doesn’t have to ask twice. I close my eyes, whimper against a sensation that is both heaven and hell, and cling tightly to his back as my insides quiver around him with a release that turns me to jelly. Satisfied I’m done, he looses his own silent orgasm, absorbing all the sound in a tightly pinched face and a rigid body. We don’t move, silently listening to normal airplane sounds, hoping the engine noise was enough to drown out our lovemaking. Not that it really matters. Why fly private if you can’t fuck when the mood hits?

  Our bodies relax into the sheets, muscles spent, orgasms softly fading. He lies over half of me, stroking my hair while my fingertip follows the line of his bicep back and forth. It’s all blissfully perfect until I have to open my big fat mouth.

  “Have you done it up here before?” I ask, pushing him off and turning onto my side to get a better look at his answer. We’re sated and sweaty, biting at sneaky smiles over what we’ve just done. His lips twitch before a hand moves to cover them. Stall tactics like this are beyond obvious and annoying as hell, especially with his come still slicking my thighs. Admittedly, it’s a loaded question.

  “Have you?” he asks, lowering his gaze from the ceiling to me. Through his post-coital trance, his navy eyes sparkle with a roguish gleam. I shrug and shake my head, looking away like it isn’t a big deal. “You know, it’s really not even the mile-high club. A mile is around five thousand feet. We’re at least thirty-five thousand right now.”

  “You’re such a nerd.” I huff and turn my back to him because I know what his evasion means. He’s already a card-toting member. Even though the revelation doesn’t really surprise me, it’s still aggravating as hell. So much so, I wish I’d never asked. “Who was she?”

  An exasperated breath escapes him. “I don’t even remember her name. It was a bucket-list check mark back when I was young, dumb and full of come. From what I remember, it sucked. Even in a first class bathroom.”

  “You did it flying commercial?” I ask, slightly appalled. He nods. I gag. “Ew!” I climb out of his arms, trying to talk myself out of my mounting anger. I’m the idiot who started this conversation, and I had zero control over his cock back then. But still. I search through our discarded clothes, find his T-shirt and pull it over my head.

  Without another word, I walk into the bathroom and shut the door. Don’t do this, Carly, I think to myself, splashing water on my face and taming my hair. Fighting with him over something as pointless as where he decided to stick his dick decades ago is ridiculous. The sane part of me realizes this. The irrational parts of me that still linger are mad as hell. Right now, they’re winning.

  But it’s not his frequent-fucker status. Not really. This is just the first sore spot to come to a head I can squeeze. If I’m honest, it’s everything. Since Heather showed up and tried to sabotage our world I’ve had this sinking feeling about us. About him. Doubt crept in and I can’t help feeling like everything we do is a repetition of what he’s already done. No matter what we do, he’s been there with someone else.

  I’m not his first lover or his first love. Someone else has already met his family and heard his first I love you. When people think of him, I’m not the woman they picture on his arm. Hell, outside of our Siberian reality, I’m not even the one he wakes up to. These thoughts have crawled all under my skin. But for the sake our trip, I swallow my emotions as best I can, slap on a half smile, and emerge from the restroom ready to act like they’re not gnawing my gut in two.

  Only, when I open the door, I crash head-first into his bare chest.
He’s hanging in the doorway, hands gripping the top sill, waiting, listening, knowing me well enough to know something’s up. With a weak smile I push past him, ducking under an arm. In the tight quarters of his flying chariot’s bedroom, he easily catches me around the waist and pulls me into him.

  “What’s wrong, Sunshine?”

  I try to wiggle away, but it’s no use. So, I smile and lie, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Nothing.”

  “You’re a horrible liar,” he says, tightening his grip and leading me back to the bed. I push against his raw strength in protest. When I was using, I was the best damn liar there was. Have I lost that, too? We sink into rumpled sheets, me landing in his lap. “Would you feel better knowing you popped my private mile-high cherry?” His smile is easy, but I see the anxiety hiding behind it.

  “Really? You’ve never fucked in this bed?” My side-eyed smirk makes it clear I don’t believe him.

  He shakes his head. “Never. It’s only you.” The earnestness of his admission calms some of my crazy. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Avoiding this is pointless. He’s onto me. “Everything we do, you’ve already done. We have nothing that’s ours.” I trace a finger over the line of his shoulder, feeling the vulnerability of my admission break hot over my cheeks.

  “Sunshine, everything is new with you. Before, I was only going through the motions. Those motions meant nothing because there was zero emotion behind them. You—” he takes my chin and looks deeply into my eyes “—make life everything.” His look is wounded, like my unhappiness somehow calls into question the very essence of his manhood. Men only look at women like this when their whole heart is in the game. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. Yes, I know I’m half crazy.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not this insecure. It’s just...” I pause because I’m not exactly sure how to say what it is I’m feeling. I nuzzle into the warmth of his neck and inhale deeply the scent that wrecks me. “I feel like I will forever be trying to crawl out from under the shadow of what your life was before. Regardless of what happens with Heather, I’ll always be the other woman in America’s eyes. What everyone thinks you have...it’s Camelot, Devon. It’s an impossible reality your fans worship. How can I, can we, ever compete with that?”