Just a Little Camera Shy: A Scripted for Love Novel

by MK Meredith

  “You said you’d always be by my side.” Her words were spoken through the thickness of tears.

  Slowly turning, unaccountable agony tore through him and he shouted, “You didn’t stand by mine, Addi. This whole thing was about a house.”

  Martin stepped through the French doors with his hand out. “Roque.”

  Roque grabbed the front door and slammed it. The image of Addi’s tear-streaked face, her arms wrapped around her waist, would stay with him. He wanted to turn around and slam the door again and again and again.

  He was done.

  He should have known.

  Because he knew Malibu. And the place was full of backstabbing. Why he thought Addi would be different, he’d never know. It was a hard lesson, but one he’d never forget.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What have I done?” Addi bit on her knuckle, trying to hold back her tears.

  Her father pulled her into his arms and held her.

  That broke the dam, and she cried for all the mistakes she’d made, for the people she’d hurt, for the pain she caused Roque. Not with one lie but several. Had she known, she’d have never gone forward with her plan.

  Her stomach turned, and she lurched toward the kitchen sink, leaving her father holding thin air. She threw herself over the side of the sink and retched.

  Her mother stepped behind her and pulled her hair back from her face. “Oh, baby.”

  Addi closed her eyes. How many times had she heard those words? That tone? The you-need-someone-to-take-care-of-you-why-wasn’t-I-a-better-mother tone.

  Raquel walked up with a cool washcloth and laid it on the back of Addi’s neck. “There now, darling. I sent everyone home. The party was wrapping up anyway.”

  “Talk about entering thirty with a bang,” Martin said in a gruff whisper.

  “Martin,” Raquel admonished.

  “What? Frank?” Martin asked.

  Addi’s father shook his head. “You’re on your own with that one.” He put his arms out to Addi.

  Grabbing the towel next to the sink, she covered her mouth and walked into his arms. “I made a big mistake, Daddy.”

  “We all make them, baby. We all make them.”

  Chase stepped up. “Come back to my place, hon. That way you don’t have to go to the bungalow.” Turning to Sam, Chase asked, “Do you want to come with us?”

  “Of course. I’ll text Gage and tell him I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  Addi shook her head. “No, go home, Sam. Don’t be silly.”

  Sam walked up and wrapped her arms around Addi. “Who’s being silly? Of course I’m coming, you’re my baby sister.”

  Addi sniffed, and new tears streamed down her face. She was a fool, an idiot, and worse, and if someone called her baby one more time, she’d scream. The tightness in her chest wouldn’t let up, and she doubted it ever would.

  Chase grabbed her bag. “Come on girls. Raquel, if you wait until tomorrow, I’d be happy to come over and help clean up.”

  Raquel laughed. It sounded odd to Addi’s ears as if her brain couldn’t process the concept. “Don’t be silly, darling. That’s what Martin’s for.”

  Addi looked over at Martin’s stricken face. She’d normally have giggled but couldn’t muster the strength or appropriate emotion.

  Her dad spoke softly. “Go. Rest. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  Tomorrow.

  If only.

  But she’d seen the look in Roque’s eyes.

  If only she could go back to the first time she’d opened her front door to him and start over.

  Chapter 23

  Roque pushed out another rep. His muscles screamed. Eventually, his body would be so tired he wouldn’t be able to think, and maybe then he’d finally have some peace.

  “Dude, take it easy.” Martin Jr. lifted the bar to put it back on its perch.

  Roque tightened his grip. “No. Five more.”

  “You’re going to tear something. Don’t be an ass.”

  “Fuck you.” He pushed out another chest press.

  Martin Jr. flicked him on the forehead, the sting shocking him but not as much as the action did. Was he fucking kidding? Did he just flick me? Motherfucker.

  Releasing the bar into his buddy’s hands—and at this point the word “buddy” was loosely defined—Roque sat up. “What the fuck?”

  He caught the towel thrown toward his face, glaring over the offending object at his friend.

  Martin waved his look away. “Either go see her, or call me when you’re over it. Working out with you like this is stupid and dangerous.”

  Roque slung the towel around his neck. “What’s the real problem, Cousin? Can’t keep up?”

  Martin Jr. snorted. “With Roque Gallagher? Any day of the week. But I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks. The jackass sitting in front of me acts like he’s a teenage asshole with a small ego and a smaller di—”

  Roque shot his hand up. His cousin was right, but the past couple of weeks exhausted him with the constant fight to stay away from Addi. As much as his mind said no, his heart—ugh, he wanted to retch—pulled at him to check on her, make sure she was okay. So he did what he did best. He worked. All day and all night. Hell, he had the time. No one waiting for him at home, no one counting on him for anything.

  Might as well stick to what he was good at.

  Besides, it served its purpose—keeping him away from Addison Dekker.

  They’d finished the main filming at the bungalow and got the hell out of Dodge. Now they had a few offsite location scenes to film, and then it was time for post-production edits. He’d bury himself in that, too.

  Martin Jr.’s eyes narrowed. “She really fucked you up, didn’t she?”

  Roque blew out a breath. “I should have known something was up. She’d get nervous and vague. I had a feeling but couldn’t put my finger on it. I missed little clues.” He shook his head. He knew she was afraid of the dark, but he bought the whole “walking in the dark elbow injury” hook, line, and sinker. He’d been too distracted with the film, with her. Snapping the towel from around his neck, he stood. “Well, not anymore.”

  “Dude, my mom said she was desperate. Going to lose her house. And, I hate to say it, but the rumor that Heart Break was her manuscript has merit. Have you looked into how it was optioned?”

  Roque stilled. Was his friend really defending her? Her secrets? Her stealing from him?

  Martin Jr. put up his hands. “Okay, I recognize that look. Never mind. What the hell does my mom know?”

  For the first time in days, Roque cracked a smile. If Raquel ever heard her son utter those words, she’d kill him. If anyone knew anything, it was Aunt Raquel—at least according to her. “I dare you to tell her that.”

  “Fuck you, too.”

  Now Roque did laugh. It came out awkward and rusty.

  The two men walked toward the locker room, and Roque flexed his pecs. His chest ached already, but then again, he couldn’t tell if it was his muscles or his fucking heart. Damn pansy-ass organ.

  “You need to talk to her, hear what she has to say.”

  Roque stopped before stepping into the locker room. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  Martin Jr. raised a brow. “Because she’s putting the house up for sale.”

  Shock stripped him of words for a beat. Addi was selling the bungalow? Why the hell would she do that after everything she put him through? There was no way she was selling that house. After what she did, he’d make sure she kept it, lived in it, a constant reminder of what she’d chosen.

  And in the meantime, he had to get to the bottom of the origins of Heart Break. His own and the movie.

  “The hell she is.”

  Addi walked through the empty front room of the bungalow, heart heavy but eyes stone dry. She’d done all the crying physically possible over the last two weeks and hadn’t a molecule left.

  The crew had cleared out the day before, taking every scrap of evidence that proved they’d even be
en there. She’d received a call from Jimmy informing her she could move back in and that he wished her well and Roque was an ass, of course. But Addi knew better. She appreciated Jimmy’s kindness, but they all knew who the ass really was.

  The movers would bring the remainder of her things back the next day. In the meantime her room and the kitchen were both intact, minus the odds and ends, equipment, and the crew. It felt like yesterday she’d been wishing she had her house all to herself, and now she’d give anything to go back to that day. All the people, the chaos, Roque, and the chance to be honest without being forced into it.

  Her stomach rumbled, but the idea of putting anything into it made her want to retch. Besides, it wasn’t so much the feeling of being empty of food. Losing Roque left her hollow.

  She scanned her labors. The cupboards were spotless. Her back ached, her muscles ached—her heart ached—but her kitchen sparkled.

  A weary sigh escaped her lips, and she blew at a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail to tickle her cheek. Rubbing the back of her hand across her brow, she took stock of what still needed to be done in order to get the house in selling condition.

  The thought pulled at her heart and filled her with self-disappointment and regret. Aunt Addi would have never let anything happen to her home. She’d been a spitfire, full of liquor and spice. A little of her warmed and energized; a lot would knock a person on their ass. Addi could picture her dressed in all her wild colors, flowing skirts and scarves, and sometimes a turban just because she could, and the hell with what anyone else thought. She taught Addi not to apologize for who she was, but in this case, Addi needed to. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Addi.” Her whispered apology floated about the lemon-scented kitchen, and she sat listening to its ghostly echo.

  The doorbell shrieked, catching Addi so off guard she screamed in return. Slapping her hand to her chest, she cursed. “Why the hell did I turn that monster back on?”

  Swinging her cleaning rag over her shoulder, she made her way through the open and airy front room. The contrast to the chaotic mess of the film crew almost gave her pause, but she wrenched open the door before her visitor could consider ringing the damn thing again.

  All of her breath left her lungs in one full exhalation. “Roque.” Her voice was so low, she barely heard herself over the pounding of her heart. Hope flared and then snuffed out with finality at the look on his face, leaving her hollower than before. The crash always hurt worse after the high.

  He stared at her, his hands fisted at his sides.

  She soaked in the sight of him. He looked bigger somehow, more handsome than ever, but his eyes lacked the passion and joy she’d always attributed to the intensity of his gaze, and it was her fault. The pressure in her chest suffocated, silencing her from asking his forgiveness. She deserved his contempt. Pulling her shoulders back, she met his slicing gaze.

  He looked past her into the house.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “Are you seriously selling this house?”

  She stepped back at the vehemence in his voice. He followed, then slammed the door behind him.

  He pointed his finger at her. “After all the work you did to keep your secrets, why am I not surprised?” He ended with his voice low, saying the words in a staccato tone.

  She gripped her hands at her chest. Desperation for him to understand thickened her voice. “I have to. I don’t see any other way.”

  “Too bad you didn’t come to that conclusion earlier like an adult.”

  She deserved that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. His words stabbed like tiny insistent daggers, sharp, relentless, making her bleed. “I gave it all back, all that I had, anyway. When I saw you never cashed the check I wrote you, I sent one to your accountant. He took it from me a few days ago. I’ll pay you back the rest as soon as I figure out exactly what I need to do with the house. My main option is selling.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but they quickly shuttered with cynicism. “I’m touched. I suppose you want a ‘thank you’ for your sacrifice?”

  Tears burned behind her eyelids, tightening her throat and threatening to choke her. She pulled in a breath to steady her chaotic emotions. “I made a huge mistake, but Gallagher Studios isn’t innocent either. I’m trying to figure this out because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Now you’re worried about doing the right thing? Where the hell was your conscience two months ago?” he said. “You put on quite a show with your dreams and your need to stand on your own two feet. What you needed was my money.”

  What she needed was for him to go; her heart couldn’t take it. The Roque standing in front of her was nothing like the man she knew. He lashed out because she’d hurt him. But seeing him this way, hating her, deserved or not, was too painful. She’d made a huge mistake, and she was paying for it, but she couldn’t stand here and take his anger any longer. She had to draw the line somewhere and before she fell apart right in front of him. Not that it really mattered since she had no dignity left.

  He didn’t think she was responsible enough for him, and right now she couldn’t blame him, but she was changing. She was owning her mistakes and moving forward. It looked like the end for her and Roque, but it wasn’t the end for Addison Dekker. She was finally beginning.

  Still, the pain in her chest threatened to knock her legs from under her.

  Walking over to the door, she opened it and spoke softly. “I can see this is the last place you want to be.” She needed him to go before she made a fool of herself and begged him to stay, to forgive her, to give her a second chance. But that time was past. This was not the man who loved her a couple of weeks ago, and she wasn’t the same woman. She was stronger now, smarter. She’d made a mistake and now was working hard to make it right. The truth of that helped her stand tall, helped calm her heart and pull in a breath.

  He stepped in front of her, blocking the sun. “I loved you, I opened my heart to you, and all you did was look after yourself. I thought we were partners. But I was wrong.”

  The pain in his voice broke her will to be strong. Tears ran freely down her cheeks. “I loved you too—I do love you. I didn’t know the money was yours. You have to believe me.”

  He clenched his jaw, the muscles leaving hard lines across his cheeks. “We’re over. I don’t have to believe anything you say, ever again.” Stepping through the door, he turned back. “You knew things about me I never shared with anyone, and you used them very effectively, I might add.”

  Shock silenced her for a moment. She couldn’t truly believe what he was saying. She shook her head. “No, I never—”

  “But you did.” He slashed his hand to halt her words. “I didn’t come to hear any more of your stories. I just wanted to return your check. If living in this house is so important that you’d steal, then you might as well keep the money.”

  He stepped off the porch into the sunlight, and his eyes held hers for what she feared would be the last time. “I hope you’re happy.”

  She reached out to him, hating herself for putting such pain in his eyes and agony in his voice. “Please.”

  He shook his head, the emotion gone, cold stone in its place. “Good luck with your writing. Fiction suits you.”

  And with that, he turned and didn’t look back.

  Addi watched him go, regret and anger combined into a thick wedge in her heart.

  He was really gone.

  She closed the door and sunk into her couch, looking around the room, remembering the first day he’d stopped by and the first night he’d stayed with her.

  The truth might be the responsible thing, the right thing, but it was also the painful thing. She turned his check over in her hand and stared at it.

  She’d take fiction any day.

  She couldn’t stand to be alone in her home for one more second. She wanted her family.

  “Mom, please. I have to do this myself.” Addi leaned back against the counter in the kitchen. Sam and Luca sat at the
table peeling potatoes, and their dad prepared the steak with his secret herbs. If they tried to peek, a hip-shoving contest never failed to ensue. “Not until you’re married,” he’d always say.

  Attempting to distract her mother, she eyed the rub. “Sam, you have Dad’s recipe now, don’t you?”

  Sam continued to peel potatoes, whistling a tune of innocence and refusing to look up.

  Addi pushed away from the counter. “I can’t believe you’re keeping his secret.”

  Sam looked up this time and wriggled her brow. “The power feels awesome.”

  Gage looked down at his phone, a smug look on his face. “Got to take this.” He disappeared through the sliding glass door onto the back porch before Addi could try and get the recipe out of him.

  “Coward,” she said.

  “Or very, very smart,” Sam returned.

  “Sam, quit distracting your sister. Seriously, Addi. Let us help you.”

  Damn. Distractions usually worked. She sighed. “Mom.” She walked up and rubbed her mother’s shoulder. “I told you I need to do this one on my own. Please don’t ask me again.”

  “But my dear dead aunt’s home?” Her emotional plea fell upon deaf ears.

  Addi shook her head as she walked over to snatch a red pepper strip from the platter her father worked from. He slapped at her hand, but she snagged a few more and ate them with a smile.

  She wasn’t budging. Standing up to her mother wasn’t easy, but it was time. “Nice try, Mom. You’ve been harping on me to sell that house and move back home since the day I moved into it. You have no more emotional attachment to that home than I do to your pleas.”

  Dee widened her eyes and then threw her hands up with an air of drama they’d all come to love and adore and—who was she kidding—barely tolerate. “Sam, do you hear your sister?”

  Sam shared a look with Luca. “Don’t try to pull me into this. I get what she’s saying.”

  “Oh please, why’d I even ask you?”