by MK Meredith
Sam’s expression hardened. “Your whole life we’ve loved you; we’ve taken care of you because you were the youngest. You never complained about it before. Now I get attacked?”
Addi returned her sister’s hard stare. “I am not a baby.”
“Then quit acting like one,” Sam yelled.
Walking over to the kitchen sink, Addi rummaged in the cupboard and found peroxide and Band-Aids.
“Old habits die hard. When you’re hurting, I go into big sister mode.” Sam put her hands up in surrender. “You’ve shown us you can do anything you put your mind to. Hell, who else is brave enough to leave a stable job to pursue a dream before actually making it?”
“You mean stupid enough.”
Sam shook her head. “No. I don’t. You’ve always amazed me at your verve, your passion. You were the fearless one, the feisty one.” Taking the peroxide from Addi’s hand, Sam opened the cap and, holding Addi’s finger over the sink, poured a small amount over the cut. As the wound bubbled, Sam blew on it to ease the sting.
Addi smiled at the top of her sister’s head and pulled in a shaky breath. “Really? You think I’m brave?”
Sam looked up from her task. “Incredibly. It was the beginning to this change I’ve been seeing in you. With time, Mom and Dad will see it, too.” Leaning her hip against the counter, she handed Addi a Band-Aid. “Remember when I went through all that trash with Gage? I almost lost him because I was so scared. You aren’t afraid of anything.”
Pain throbbed with each heartbeat behind Addi’s eyes. “This is different,” she whispered.
Sam pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s not.”
“Sam, you’ve been doing things on your own, depending on no one but yourself, forever. Marrying Gage didn’t change that. I’ve never stood on my own two feet. You or Luca or Mom and Dad always did everything for me.” Addi removed the adhesive covers and wrapped the bandage around her finger. She glanced up and held her sister’s gaze. “The bungalow went into foreclosure. I had to save it. Just me. On my own. I couldn’t bear to lose this house.” She sent her hand in a wide arc to encompass the home she so adored. “I couldn’t bear to let you guys down…again.”
“Oh, Addi.” Sam wrapped her arms around Addi’s waist. “You’ll figure this out, too.”
Addi sniffed. “Mom didn’t think I should quit my job.”
“What else was she supposed to think? You may not want to hear it, but you leaned on them even when you worked full-time. The writing industry isn’t exactly kind. She worries about you. We all do.”
Tears welled over and streamed down Addi’s cheeks. “Well, you don’t have to anymore. I’m done filling the role of baby sister.” She sniffed. “My mind is made up. It’s time for me to grow up, Sam. Aunt Addi left this place to me, and as much as my heart aches to sell it, I might have to. I loved Aunt Addi, we all did, but this is something I have to do. I have to have a consequence in order to learn, apparently. Losing Aunt Addi’s bungalow will do the trick.” She dropped her head into her hands.
“Don’t you think you’ve been punished enough?”
Turning her head from one side to the other, she whispered, “He won’t talk to me.” Her heart ached for the scent of him, the warmth of his skin when he held her, the timbre of his voice when he whispered in her ear. She’d had every dream she hadn’t realized were hers in her hands but couldn’t quite get a grip soon enough to make them real. Her chances with Roque were gone, so the best she could do was go after the positive direction her writing was finally going.
But even the prospect of writing success seemed hollow without the man who had stolen her heart.
“He’s hurt and hiding. Men do that, believe me.” Sam ran her hand over Addi’s hair. “He’ll come around.”
“I wish you were right. But not this time. This is one romance I can’t write a happy ending for.”
“You’ll find a way.” Sam grabbed her bag. “Listen, I gotta run. Gage and I are meeting the landscapers to go over the design for the backyard.” She walked to the front door. “Call me. Okay?”
Addi nodded.
Sam hesitated another beat, making Addi laugh. Pointing toward the door, Addi demanded with a smile, “Go. I’ll be fine.”
The house fell into silence once again, and Addi walked into the kitchen, then hopped up on the counter. She wanted an éclair—four, really—but she hadn’t dared to bring anything messy into the house. It was hard enough for her to stay tidy even without the delicious pastry.
With a lazy sigh, she turned her laptop to face her and clicked on her email.
Spam. Advertisement. Spam. Omigod.
Staring at the “from” name, she pulled in a shaky breath. Her dream agent.
Her fingers shook as she clicked the cursor to open the email.
Dear Addison Dekker,
She read through the correspondence as well as she could with tears blurring her vision and disbelief tightening her throat.
Your writing shows great promise.
Pressing her hands to her chest, she tried to swallow past the lump that had formed.
Please send me another sample, and then I’d like to speak over the phone.
The completely overwhelming feeling of relief coupled with ecstatic hope was too much on top of her sadness over Roque, her disappointment with herself, and the possible loss of her home. Her emotions bubbled up, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
A lightness eased into place, nudging the heavy weight of shame from her back. The agent she wanted to partner with saw promise in her writing.
In her.
A small giggle escaped her lips, and she tasted the salt of her tears. Tipping her head just a bit, she pulled in her elbows and opened her chest as her instructor always suggested in yoga class.
She was making progress, after all.
But she needed to do it in a sustainable way. If she sold the bungalow and paid back Roque, she’d be able to afford a small studio apartment and maybe a part-time job that would allow some flexibility for her writing. She didn’t need to live large, but she did need to live her dream.
And that was reasonable.
She’d learned a lot the past few months. She’d fallen in love. Not only with Roque—and that wasn’t changing anytime soon—but with herself, too. With her possibilities, with the potential of her future.
She couldn’t have Roque.
But she did have hope.
Chapter 25
Roque came to, welcomed by an incessant pounding in his head. His stomach rolled from the stench of stale beer in the air, and he looked around for the offenders. He grabbed the empty beer bottle from his lap and the two from beside him on the couch and threw them in the trash, wincing as they clattered together at the bottom.
Gingerly dropping his feet from the coffee table to the floor, he held his head in his hands and took in the mess around him. Notes about the film were strewn all over his couch alongside his tie and jacket. His laptop sat on the table open to the same screen for the past two hours. No progress.
His phone rang.
He wanted to ignore it, but saw it was Gage. “What.”
“Where the hell are you? We’ve been waiting almost thirty minutes.”
“What time is it?” Roque raked fingers through his hair, biting back the angry retort from the tip of his tongue. Slowly, Gage’s words sunk in. “Shit!” They’d had an interview with the press about the movie at six, then he’d agreed to have dinner with his dad at eight.
“Exactly. You know this project only works with both of our heads in the game. Come on, man. They’re here and ready to go. There’s no way in hell they’ll wait any longer.”
“Can you answer a few questions and tell them I had an emergency?”
An aggravated sigh came across the line loud and clear, followed by Gage’s voice. “This better not happen again. I can’t believe you forgot. This is not the time to start falling apart.”
“It won’t. I
’ve been working through the film edits and lost track…fuck.”
“I get it. Listen, I’ll whip something up about two featured interviews. I’ll throw in some sort of promo incentive and have them reschedule your half. Don’t mess it up next time.”
Roque disconnected the call, then tossed his phone onto the cushion.
God dammit.
The silence of the house roared in his head. Pushing up from the couch, he went to his room in search of a movie. Roman Holiday seemed to gravitate to his hand without any will of his own. Wasn’t that perfect? A love story filled with secrets that had no chance of ending well. He made his way back to the couch after sliding in the DVD.
The opening music immediately relieved some of the tension gathering at the base of his skull. He never had trouble working in silence before, and he couldn’t figure out what the fuck his problem was now.
Dropping to the cushions, he pulled his notebook onto his lap and stared at his chicken scratch. Post-production editing was underway but moving slow. He and Gage couldn’t agree on the opening shot, stopping them before they started. He shoved the pad of paper aside. With a sigh, he leaned back, his hands behind his head, and watched the film. Gregory Peck found Aubrey Hepburn asleep on a public bench. Now that was a man with class and presence. The only thing Roque had lately was a fucking headache.
He remembered back to when he introduced the movie to Addi. His chest tightened.
She’d loved it like he did.
The movie had always been a favorite, introduced to him by his mom and dad. They loved it, having spent their honeymoon in Rome. Roque loved it for the impossibility of finding such love and then having to let it go. He also found the simplicity of the cinematography refreshing in a time when production seemed so complicated that the actual story was often forgotten.
It was amazing how different the movie felt when he watched it with Addi compared to now. He shook his head, securely grounded in his new reality. Warm beer, an empty house, and work he couldn’t focus on.
And Addi was gone.
He flipped over his phone. No texts or calls, no unannounced visitors on his doorstep. He was more alone than he’d ever been. His dad knew not to push, and his friends knew he’d only be an ass. Everything irritated the shit out of him these days. The sun was too fucking bright and his friends too fucking loud. The only thing that gave him any peace was sleep.
But even that was in short supply lately. He’d lie there night after night, eyes wide open, sleep further away than an Oscar. It was wearing on him.
Yawning, he pulled his laptop onto his thighs, placing his feet on the table with his ankles crossed. He again watched the options he and Gage were considering for the opening shots, but halfway through realized he quit paying attention. “Fucking great.” If he wasn’t interested in his own film, no one else would be, either.
He couldn’t believe he’d missed the meeting with the press. That would look great if Gage decided to walk, too. And the delays in the editing were costing both time and money. If he couldn’t get his head out of his ass and focus on the film, he’d lose that, too.
But what the fuck did it matter anyway? His film could be a huge success. He could be surrounded by his friends and family. But when he imagined it all, the pride he felt was because of the smile on Addi’s face as she stood next to him. By his side. But she wasn’t by his side. She was further away than anyone ever could be.
Addi was gone.
And he’d lost everything that ever really mattered to him. She’d poisoned his passion with her verve and spunk. Without her there, his work seemed cold and empty.
Now, even if he was a success, it would be tainted and hollow.
Checking the time on his phone, he figured he could keep at least one of his appointments. Besides, he needed to get away from his condo—it reminded him of what a mess his life had become. He found a clean shirt, then hunted down his keys.
He was a workaholic, which had robbed him of both his mother’s last days and his ability to be worth a damn in a relationship. But he’d been trying. Apparently, trying wasn’t enough. Because Addi was just the most recent in a line of women he either failed so completely they left him or else simply used him until he couldn’t take it anymore.
Being used hurt the worst.
Roque shook his head as he sunk into his favorite spot in the corner of the couch in his parents’ library. “Don’t even try it, Dad. I’m not in the mood.”
Mac scoffed and forged on as he set the jukebox to play. “Don’t tell me what to do, boy. I can talk about whoever I want. And I want to talk about Addi.”
Roque had made a mistake accepting the dinner invitation from his dad. Dinner had gone fine, but he’d known this was coming. There was a reason he’d been avoiding everyone. He ran his hands through his hair, then down over the stubble of his chin. He needed a shave and a shower. What the hell had he been doing the past week?
Sulking. Fucking baby. “I need a drink.”
Mac poured a finger of Scotch into two tumblers and walked back to his seat, passing Roque his drink along the way. “Salute.”
Roque lifted his glass to his father’s, remembering how a certain someone was able to throw one back, and then let a hot mouthful burn down his throat. He blew out a breath, enjoying the heat spreading across his chest. Fucking hell, he was tired.
“I missed a meeting with the press.” Maybe he needed some time off work to clear his head.
“I heard. Your uncle told me.”
“Of course he did.” Roque shook his head. His aunt’s and uncle’s ability to keep a constant pulse on Malibu never ceased to amaze him. It was true, the saying that mothers and fathers had eyes in the back of their heads.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Roque raised a brow, anger digging into his chest with the question. Addi’s face rose in his mind, tearing at his heart, filling his gut with dead weight. He was sick of the pain. Anger helped numb it, or at least that’s what he told himself.
“What are you going to do about her?”
Roque tossed back his drink and then coughed as the burn seized his lungs. “Shit.”
His dad laughed. “Well, what the hell’d you expect? This ain’t your first Scotch, boy.”
Roque ignored his father, trying to find his breath. Trying to find reason behind the intensity of his feelings, his anger, his pain. Why? Why hadn’t he been enough? Addi’s actions felt like a betrayal of incomprehensible levels. He’d been a good time and a means to an end to her but not much else.
When his mother told him about her cancer, giving him very little time to say good-bye, he’d have sworn it was the most painful experience in his life. This challenged that, though, and he’d never thought anything could be more painful than losing his mom. Nothing except the realization that she hadn’t told him about her cancer because she knew he’d drop his work for her, and she knew how much he loved his work. So she’d chosen for him.
And now Addi. She’d found her way under his skin and into his heart. Fucking shit. She’d been alive and well and his. Dreams of their future had teased him, excited him, had him making plans.
Now he faced his future alone.
“Have you thought about why you were so upset about your mom’s decision?” His father’s voice broke through the haze and numbness, leaving him confused with the change of subject.
“Seems clear to me.”
“Is it?”
“Dad, why the hell are you asking me this now?” Roque rubbed his chest.
“Because I didn’t realize I needed to before.”
Roque set down his glass and clenched his fist. His father was ridiculous, the conversation was ridiculous. He needed to go home. He stood.
“Sit down.”
“Seriously, I need to go.”
“Sit. Down.”
Dropping to the couch, he glared at his father. “You shut down after Mom died.”
His father never blinked, just studied him with
a calm and resigned look. “I was afraid that’s what was going on here.”
“Do you deny it?”
“No, I don’t.”
Macklan Gallagher stood, poured another two fingers of Scotch in Roque’s glass and then paced the billiard room, his hands in his pockets, a faraway look on his weathered face. “God, I loved that woman.”
Roque’s throat burned with the threat of tears. The last thing his dad needed was him crying on about his mother while the man had lost the love of his life.
“She got me in a way no one ever had, ever could.” He looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times before going on. “She was more than my wife; she was my life. No, not my life so much as the air that gave me life, energy, love. I lived, really lived because of your mother. And you.”
Mac stopped in front of Roque and studied him. “I’d go through losing her again and again just for the experience of her love even once.”
Denial soured the liquor in Roque’s gut. “That’s crazy, that’s—”
“Love.”
Roque fell back against the cushions of the couch.
His dad poured another drink, then dropped to the couch next to him. Both men leaned back with their eyes closed, a comfortable silence only those who were really close could enjoy.
“I miss her,” Roque whispered.
“Miss who?”
He rolled his head to the side, scanning his father’s strong profile. “Mom stole from me, too. Stole time.”
She’d stolen time but also choice, and options, and knowledge. Roque had shut himself down after that. He’d chosen to be independent, to make sure no one could hurt him again.
Mac opened his eyes and sipped from his glass. “She never intended you to feel that way, but she knew you’d quit what you were doing and run to her side. She didn’t want to hold you back. In fact, she felt it was her sole purpose for living to hold you up, push you forward. Watching you go after your dreams was her dream come true.”
Roque pulled in a breath, blinking to hold back the tears burning behind his lids. God damn it. “But I missed so much time.”
