Reckless Romance

by Maggie Riley

  I shook my head miserably. “It’s what I did.”

  “You’re perfect. Like a goddamn Disney princess in black overalls and glasses. If there were woodland creatures in New York City, they’d be following you around,” Joanna said loyally. “How could it possibly be your fault?”

  “I lied to him,” I hung my head. “I didn’t tell him about being Caroline Richmond.”

  Joanna stared at me, blinking. “So? Who the hell cares?”

  “Josh cares!” I said miserably. “He cares because I didn’t tell him. Because I kept it from him. I should have told him.”

  “What does it matter?” Joanna asked. “You were Caroline Richmond and now you’re Reagan Bennett. People change their name all the time.”

  “It’s not that,” I told her. “It was the lying. Josh hates lying.”

  “No one likes lying,” Joanna said flatly. “But sometimes there’s a good reason for doing it. This is one of them. And it’s not really like you lied. You just withheld the truth.”

  “He felt betrayed.” I put my face in my hands. “We ran into Patrick last night.”

  “Oh.” Joanna sat down on the couch next to me. “Did you punch him?”

  “No.” I felt as if I was going to start crying again. “He told Josh who I was. That my parents had money. And then,” a sob escaped my throat, “he told me that my parents paid him to date me.”

  “He said this?” Joanna’s eyes were wide. “In front of Josh? And Josh didn’t punch him?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m going to punch him,” said Joanna, standing. “I’m going to punch both of them.”

  I was crying again, remembering the look on Patrick’s face. The smug cruelty. And the one on Josh’s face. That of betrayal. Anger. I had wanted so badly for Josh to have said something to Patrick. To have defended me. But he didn’t. He was too angry. And I couldn’t blame him for that.

  “Did you explain why you changed your name?” asked Joanna. “Surely he had to understand once you told him about your parents.”

  “He was too upset,” I told her. “He wouldn’t listen. He said I was just some weird little rich girl,” my voice wobbled. “Playing at being a director.”

  I burst into tears again. It had been like reliving every fight I had ever had with my parents. The disdain on Josh’s face. The way the word weird had been fired from his lips like a bullet. One that hit its bulls-eye inside of me, decimating all of the courage and confidence I had spent years building up.

  “That asshole,” Joanna muttered.

  “It wasn’t going to last,” I said wearily. “It couldn’t have.”

  “Well, not if he’s an asshole.” Joanna’s voice was firm and I couldn’t help a watery smile.

  “We’re too different,” I said. “He’s an All-American kind of guy and I’m—” I gestured down at myself. “I’m me. Weird, weird me.”

  “Stop it,” said Joanna, taking my hand. “If he can’t accept you—weird, weird you—then he’s a moron. And he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “You have to say that,” I told her. “Because you’re my friend.”

  Joanna gave me a look. “I don’t have to do a damn thing. Because technically you’re my employee.” She stood up and went to her desk, pulling out her bottle of whiskey. “Which means that this is direct order.” She poured a glass and handed it to me. “You’ll drink, or I’ll fire you.”

  “It’s 10am,” I pointed out.

  She poured herself a glass and took a long swig before gesturing at mine.

  “It’s an order,” she said. “Do you want to get fired?”

  I took a drink.

  “Good,” she said, sitting behind her desk. “Now we plot our revenge.”

  Chapter 29

  REAGAN

  There was no revenge plotted, of course. We drank a little bit more and once Joanna had declared that I looked human, and not like a ‘walking definition of unhappiness’, she allowed me to leave the office and go back to the rehearsal.

  Allie, who had been conferring with her stage crew, gave me a questioning look but didn’t come over to ask me directly. I was grateful for that. I really didn’t want to talk to her about the fight I’d had with her brother.

  It had been a bad idea to get involved with Josh. I could see that now. But with hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that jazz, I hadn’t been able to accept it when I was in the midst of something that had seemed too good to be true. I should have trusted that instinct. The part of me that had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  I shoved my phone to the bottom of my bag, willing myself not to look at it, not to keep checking it for messages or missed calls from Josh. We had our first performances coming up soon and I had to focus on our performance.

  The theatre looked beautiful. Our set designers had done an amazing job transforming the place into an idyllic small town, each set piece practically brimming with nostalgia. The actors were dressed in period appropriate clothing, but each with its own little quirk, something that indicated that things were not all they seemed. One of the actresses had glittery red heels—like Dorothy—contrasting her bland, modest skirt and sweater set. Another had her hair styled like a Dr. Seuss character. Another wore enormous glasses that lit up in the dark.

  As the play progressed, as characters fell under the spell of the fairies and the magical world closing in on them, their costumes became more and more wild and strange. I sat in the audience and watched our first full dress rehearsal, holding my breath as each costume reveal occurred.

  Joanna was on one side of me, silent and inscrutable, while Liz sat on my other side taking notes. I could hear Allie in the booth, whispering directions to her lighting and sound board operator.

  I told myself to relax into the play. To watch it as if I was watching it for the first time. And it took a while, but by the time Bottom was wearing his enormous pink donkey ears, and braying his love while Titania gazed adoringly at him, I was lost in the world I had created. It felt right. It felt good. It felt safe.

  Then the show ended and the lights went up. Back to reality. I checked my phone.

  Josh hadn’t called.

  I kept myself busy over the next week, preparing for previews to begin and for our official opening night. Yet, I kept trying to look for the silver lining in everything that had happened. It had always been my way of coping. But this time I couldn’t find it. The philosophy I had based so much of my life on was faulty. Unable to bring me comfort.

  I threw myself into my work, remembering what I had told myself at the beginning of all this—that theatre was constant. Theatre never let me down. I had always believed that—because it was true. Now I believed it because I had to. Because if that was wrong as well, then I would be completely, utterly lost. I would be broken.

  JOSH

  I drank. A lot. Any and all light that had made its way into my life had been snuffed out the moment I slammed Reagan’s apartment door behind me. Because the moment I left, I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew I should have stayed. I knew I should have done all of it differently. But I didn’t turn around. I didn’t go back.

  And it wasn’t until I was already in the cab heading uptown, heading back to my apartment, that I realized why that blonde in the restaurant had looked familiar. It was because she was dressed exactly the way Reagan had been dressed for our very first date. The styled hair, the sheath dress, the heels, the make-up. When I had picked up Reagan, I had thought it looked like a costume—not like her at all. Now I wasn’t sure. Which was the real costume? The high class attire, or the black overalls and glasses?

  It took a while for my anger to fade. Because even though I realized I had been wrong, I was still angry. And it was hard to see past that for a few days. Especially with all the drinking I was doing. Because I wallowed in that bitterness. In that sense of betrayal.

  I thought Reagan would call. I thought she would call and explain. Apologize. And when she didn’t, when the haze of anger f
inally lifted, when I sobered up, I realized exactly how much of an asshole I had been.

  She wasn’t going to call.

  And I didn’t blame her at all. She was better off without me. Without some bitter, angry moron who couldn’t even look past his own hurt feelings to defend her against the unbelievably shitty behavior of her so-called ex-boyfriend. I was selfish and immature and she deserved better than that. Way better.

  This was only confirmed when Allie stormed into my apartment—making me regret that I had given her a key—and woke me up by bashing me in the face with one of the pillows she had helped me buy to decorate my slightly less desolate space. It was one in the afternoon.

  “Get up.” She hit me again.

  I reached blindly for the pillow, but got smacked twice more before wrestling it out of her hands. When I finally threw it aside, I was able to fully register Allie, standing at the foot of the couch, her face red, her hands on her hips.

  “Are you kidding me?” she demanded.

  “What the fuck?” I yelled, immediately regretting the sound.

  My head ached. I had cut back on my drinking, but apparently not enough. I put a hand over my eyes as if I could control the blinding pain coming from behind them.

  “You broke up with her on her birthday?” Allie’s voice was laced with anger.

  “No,” I muttered, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” Allie grabbed another pillow and brandished it.

  I held up a hand in surrender.

  “Stop hitting me and I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Something in my voice, or my face, must have made the difference, because she stopped. She stopped and her entire expression changed, going from fury to sympathy in a second. She sat down next to me.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  I closed my eyes, my face tilted up towards the ceiling. If I was going to tell her, I really didn’t want to see her expression. Because it was probably going to lose that sympathetic look pretty damn fast.

  “We ran into an ex-boyfriend of hers at the restaurant,” I told Allie. “Some jerkoff named Patrick.”

  Allie sucked in a breath through her teeth, indicating that she knew exactly who I was talking about, but she didn’t say anything, allowing me to continue.

  “He told me that Reagan’s name is Caroline Richmond. That she’s from some rich family in New York. That her parents are wealthy.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, as if I could escape the memory of that night. But compared to everything else that had happened in the past few days, that moment was crystal clear. Reagan’s tears, her struggle to explain, the hurt on her face when I said what I did. It made me sick to my stomach. And I knew that no matter which way I told the story, I was the bad guy in it.

  Allie listened to all of it silently. And when I was done, I kept my eyes closed, bracing myself for another pillow to the face. Instead, she put a gentle hand over mine.

  “You had a fight,” she said, as if it was as simple as that.

  I opened my eyes and stared at her.

  “I failed her,” I said. “I let that asshole talk to her like that, I did nothing except yell at her and walk out.” I shook my head. “What a prize, I am.”

  “Why didn’t you call her?” Allie asked. “Why didn’t you tell her all this? Why didn’t you apologize?”

  I ran a hand over my face. “Because I don’t deserve her,” I told Allie. “When I first started seeing her, you were worried about me using her. Well, you were right. I did use her. I used her to prop up my own ego and used her happiness to make me feel better. And I gave her nothing in return.”

  Allie hit me with a pillow, but it wasn’t as harsh as the other impacts had been.

  “You’re a moron,” she told me.

  “I know,” I said. “That’s not really up for debate.”

  She sighed. “Do you know why Reagan changed her name?”

  I shook my head. “She wanted to tell me, but I didn’t want to listen. Because, again, I’m a moron,” I pointed at myself.

  Allie narrowed her eyes at me. “Stop it,” she said. “I can call you a moron. No one else.” She took a breath. “I don’t know the whole story, but I do know that Reagan’s parents are rich. Reagan is not. She changed her name because they cut her off when she decided she wanted to work in the theatre and not become a lawyer.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I felt even worse.

  “Obviously she has a complicated relationship with them,” Allie continued. “But she had her Great Aunts who supported her. I think that’s who she got her current last name from.”

  I let out a breath, scrubbing my hand over my eyes. It made sense.

  “She deserves better than me,” I told Allie.

  “Bullshit,” she retorted, surprising me. “Are you seriously telling me that you gave her nothing in return?” When I didn’t say anything, she shook her head. “Men. It’s so annoying when you try to get all self-sacrificing.”

  “I’m not self-sacrificing,” I argued.

  “Of course you are,” Allie glared at me. “You’re giving yourself an out. You’re wallowing because you don’t want to admit that you messed up.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve admitted that a few times now.”

  “Only as an excuse for why you haven’t done anything about it.” Allie leveled a look at me. “Do you like Reagan?”

  “Yes.” The response came without hesitation.

  “Then apologize to her,” said Allie. “You can fix this.” She poked me in the arm. “You just have to get over yourself.”

  She made it sound so easy.

  Standing, Allie pulled something out of her purse and handed it to me. A ticket.

  “Opening night is tomorrow,” she said. “Obviously I want you to come. But I don’t want you to come for me.”

  The message was clear. Show up if you’re going to apologize or don’t show up at all.

  “Thanks,” I told Allie, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was thanking her for.

  “Do the right thing,” she told me. “I know you can.”

  I didn’t know what gave her such confidence in me, but I was grateful for it. When she left, I forced myself off the couch and took a shower, washing the past few days—the beer, the misery—off of me. I got out of the shower feeling better, but kept nervously eying the ticket Allie had left.

  I wanted to go. I wanted to apologize to Reagan. To tell her that I was sorry. That I had screwed up. That I loved her. But I was afraid I was being selfish.

  My phone rang. It was Kelly.

  Suddenly, for the first time since my injury, since leaving baseball, I wanted to talk to him. I had been holding on to my anger, to my bitterness, for so long and if I had any chance of making things work with Reagan, of being the kind of person she deserved, I had to let it go.

  I picked up the phone and accepted his call.

  Chapter 30

  REAGAN

  I couldn’t wear my good luck dress. After everything that had happened with Josh, it felt like that dress had been cursed. It held too many bad memories now, so I hung it up in my closet, pushing it all the way to the back.

  The only other nice dress I had was my bridesmaid dress from Allie’s wedding. That still had memories of Josh, but for the most part it still made me smile. Because it felt like love. Like the love I had felt between Allie and Shane. And I needed that tonight.

  We had been getting a good response from our preview performances, but tonight was important. Press and important guests milled around the lobby while I stood in the corner, wishing that I was invisible. I was so nervous I wanted to throw up. That’s how it always was.

  Joanna stood next to me, wearing a black suit, somehow managing to not look like she was going to a funeral, and radiating calm. I felt better being near her, though she had to put her hand on my shoulder several times to get me to stop bouncing on my toes.

  I w
as counting my breaths—in through my nose, out through my mouth—when Joanna’s hand came out and grabbed my shoulder. But this time, she squeezed it. Hard. I looked up at her to find her normally placid face wide-eyed and pale. Following her gaze, I found the object of her attention. My stomach dropped down to my knees.

  It was Lincoln.

  “What is he doing here?” Joanna hissed.

  Luckily, he hadn’t seen us yet. I had meant to tell Joanna that I had invited him. Meant to tell her everything about the foundation and all that. But then I had gotten caught up in my grief over my breakup with Josh and thrown myself into the play and completely forgotten to have that conversation with Joanna. I had been a wimp. A coward. I had hidden the truth from her just like I had hidden the truth from Josh. What a friend I was.

  I turned to face her, stepping in front of her, blocking her from Lincoln’s view. Holding onto her hands, I made her look at me. Her eyes were wild, and she looked very unlike Joanna. At least, unlike the Joanna she had made herself into. She looked very much like the Joanna I remembered from school. The one who had laughed and been silly and allowed herself to fall in love.

  “Joanna,” I told her, squeezing her hands tight. “Remember how you said that sometimes there’s a good reason for lying?”

  Joanna’s eyes narrowed and she glared at me. I gulped and forced myself not to back down.

  “And this wasn’t really a lie,” I told her. “I was just . . . withholding the truth.”

  “I can’t believe you,” said Joanna, looking angrier than I’d seen in a long time.

  “I will explain everything,” I promised. “You won’t have to interact with him at all.”

  She relaxed a little.

  “There better be a damn good reason he’s here,” she muttered.

  “There is,” I swore. “Do you trust me?”

  She took a deep breath. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do,” she said, her new Joanna mask falling back into place. “Let’s go to our seats,” she said. “I’ve had enough of standing in the lobby watching for people I don’t even want to talk to.”