The end.
As always, to my wonderful husband and children, who manage to always be patient with every book I write. Thank you.
To Taylor, for always having an open ear to ramble my frustrations to. You never judged, always listened, and always believed that I’d push through.
To Skye Turner, Barbara Ronevich, Missy Stegman, and my daughter Stephanie. Thank you for all the texts messages that make me spit out my coffee, those are the best. You ladies keep me from going insane.
Chelsea Camaron, for all the advice. You have me see reason at the end of every phone call.
To my all star team, the beta team, my editor Edee M. Fallon, my cover designer Sarah Hansen, my graphic designer Rebecca Marie, Stacey Blake my formatter, my promotional crew Jennifer Greef and Ena Burnette, ending with my street team, who are too many to list. All you ladies are the core of my career and without you I wouldn’t be as strong as I am.
My wonderful beta team: Missy Stegman, Barbara Ronevich, Rebeka Perales, and Melissa Martin.
To the ladies who took the time to be my second pair of eyes: Missy Stegman, Janett Gomez, and Barbara Ronevich.
Last, but not least, to all the readers, and bloggers who took the time to read the Clarity. Without you I wouldn’t have a reason to write. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Author page: http://gabbiesduran.com/
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Gabbie is a Southern California native, who lives with her wonderful husband, two amazing kids and a senior citizen kitty. When she’s not writing you can find her reading or sneaking off for a run. Some might say it’s a crazy life, but she wouldn’t change anything about it.
And now, read a little from authors Briana Gaitan and Casey Harvell.
The One Thing
By Briana Gaitan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
www.bookswithbree.com
www.facebook.com/booksbybree
Copyright © 2014 by Briana Gaitan
Lyrics from “Ginger” used with permission by Josh O’Brien.
First Edition, 2014
This is a work of fiction.
All characters appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
Hollywood Timelines Series
The Last Thing
The One Thing
Companion stories
Bash
Maria
CHAPTER ONE
The raindrops mix with the tears streaming down my face. Each drop of water cools my burning skin and for the briefest moment, I stop and lift my head to the sky. As the water washes away my thick layers of makeup, it feels as if I can finally breathe for the first time in over two years.
“Wait!”
The voice calling out pulls me back to reality, and I take off running again through the parking lot. When I reach my car, I pull the keys from my purse. Before I can press unlock, the keys slip from my wet grasp and slide behind one of the front wheels.
“Shit!” I yell above the rumbling thunder. Yesterday, my life was perfect. Yesterday, I’d have settled for the wool being pulled over my eyes. Today though, I have to deal with the sting of life. I bend down. Ignoring the mud that now stains the front of my priceless designer dress, I feel around with my fingers. I can’t see a thing, but dammit, I will not give up this easily. I need to get out of here.
“Ginger! Please!”
I ignore Barrett’s voice and fumble around on the dirty pavement quicker. My fingers encase my prized Fendi keychain. Gotcha! I run my fingers down the filthy matted down fur. I take a brief second to mourn my favorite, and at the lovely price of three thousand dollars, most expensive accessory.
“Ginger! I told you to stop.” Strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me up from the ground. I brace myself, not sure what to expect. Is he going to push me around? Taunt me? In the two years we’ve been together, he’s never laid a hand on me, but still, do I even know him? After everything that’s happened tonight, did I ever know him?
“Don’t leave like this,” he begs. He pushes me up against the car and presses his cheek to mine. He breathes heavily against my chest, struggling to catch his breath. Normally, I crave the drama, the fights, and the make-up sex. This time, I’m unresponsive to his tactics.
I’ve felt this hurt before, and each time it’s gotten a little bit easier to bear. We’re just two selfish people going through the motions of another breakup.
“Barrett—I—I can’t deal with this right now.” I fight to push him off me, but he only clutches me tighter.
“I love you, Babe.”
“Ha!” I push my soaking wet hair out of my face and shake my head. The red tendrils slap my cheeks; each as a reminder of how easily he has said this before and how foolishly I had believed him. “Do you even know what love is? Love isn’t hurting me over and over again. You expect me to keep on forgiving you, but I’m sick of it! I’m not gonna do this anymore. It’s over!”
“I’m sorry, okay? I admit it, this is entirely my fault. I adore you, Babe. There’s no one else like you. Please don’t make a scene. Come back inside, and finish dinner.”
“Really?” I gesture toward the dirt that covers my entire dress. It’s a five star restaurant; do the math.
“You can dry off in the bathroom.”
His voice is gentle, and if I didn’t know better, I might believe him. Yet, the whole world will be watching as this scandal falls down around us.
They’ll be expecting me to either stand by his side or kick his sorry ass to the curb. Our producers, our agents, they want me to stand by his side to help his image, to help our show’s ratings. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve stayed with him for so long. I suppose some would say I chose my reputation over my happiness. I raise my fists and beat against his shoulders until he backs away from me. Ah, that felt good.
“You sent a picture of your penis to some stranger. What were you thinking? You slept with some eighteen-year-old slut and expected her not to share her story with the world? You’re disgusting!” I speak slowly, enunciating each word like I’m talking to a three-year-old.
He wraps his hands around my waist and buries his face in the crook of my neck. “I wasn’t thinking, baby.”
“You’ve fucked us both!” I use my remaining strength to, once again, push him off me, and watch him fall to his knees. This makes too many times. Too many girls. Too many broken promises.
“And what’s worse, you let me walk in there tonight like some gullible fool. Your agent and the producers already knew what was going on. Everyone was thinking ‘poor pathetic Ginger’ while I was oblivious to it all.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have picked a public restaurant to break the news.”
“In private!” I poke him in the chest with one of my long, fake nails, wishing I could cut through his skin and impale him straight through the heart. “You should’ve told me alone and in private.”
“Stop being so dramatic. You’ll get over it. You always get over it.”
“No! I’ve put up with the rumors and gossip but I’ve never gotten over it. I can’t feel like this anymore. I want someone to love me. Someone to take care of me. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a little girl. That was my fuckin’ dream, Barrett! And you’ve destroyed both it and me! Why couldn’t you have just loved me? All I wanted was for you to love me. Just love me!”
My teeth chatter as I wrap my arms around my body, craving warmth. Hell, here I am screaming, outside in the pouring rain, lik
e a maniac. I dig deep inside to find the strength to walk away. For good this time. No more taking his bullshit just because I hope he’ll change one day. I’ve waited long enough for his love.
“I won’t settle.” I pull the enormous pink diamond from my finger, the one he gave me just days ago. The nerve, asking me to marry him while he’s sleeping around. The rock represented everything I wanted from this life. The fame, the huge wedding, the money. I don’t want that anymore. Not at the price of being one of those women. The women who put up with their husband’s infidelity because they want the nice things in life. I’m better than that.
“Take it.” I hold it out, but Barrett doesn’t move.
“No, you’ll change your mind. You always do. This is what we do, Ginger. We break up then we get back together.”
Unable to argue any longer, I slip it safely on my right hand. On that hand, it’s just some useless decoration.
“Goodbye, Barrett.” I climb into my black Range Rover and start it. I’m shivering, cold, and wet with chattering teeth and a runny nose. The heater should warm me up in a minute. I use an old sweater in the backseat to dry my face. I just broke up with my fiancé, I should be heartbroken. Instead, I am numb, but when that ends . . . how will I feel then? I have my own rituals for dealing with pain and disappointment. That’s why I need to get home.
“Go away!” I yell, when Barrett begins knocking on my window. The tapping doesn’t stop so I put the engine in drive and speed away leaving my troubles in my rearview mirror.
My house is located smack dab on the top of the Hollywood Hills. I bought it last year after seeing the view of the city lights below from the back porch; I knew I had to have it. If there was ever an earthquake, I would surely die, but I would do it in style. My cousin, Quinn, lived with me for about six months, but now I live alone. Good thing I never took the plunge and moved in with Barrett. Maybe a part of me always knew it would end this way.
When I get home, I stumble across the darkness toward the kitchen. The burning in my throat, the ache in my head, I know exactly what I need. It’s what I do at the end of a shitty day. Don’t hold it against me. I’m sure all twenty-two year old girls love to drink. Inside the cabinet, next to my fridge, is a brand new bottle of cupcake vodka. My favorite. I hold the opening of the bottle up to my lips like a hello kiss, and let the liquid flow straight down my throat.
Hello, sweetie. I’ve missed you.
In ten minutes, I won’t feel a thing. In twenty minutes, I won’t remember a thing. What to do, what to do. I tap the marble counter with the tips of my fingernails and try to think of something to pull me out of this mood. I need to have some fun.
There’s only one friend of mine that’s even remotely fun these days. Jo Gillian. Jo is an old co-star, turned reality TV star. If anyone knows how to have a good time, she does. I scroll to her number in my contacts and press send.
“It’s me,” I say when she answers. “Come get me. We’re going out tonight.”
She’s already out at a party, and there’s music and yelling in the background.
“What? I can hardly hear you!” she says.
“Just come get me.”
I set the phone down on the counter and slip my ruined cocktail dress down over my slender hips before waltzing up the stairs into my changing room.
“Barrett is going to regret ever letting me go!” I yell as I stagger through the room looking for the sluttiest thing I own. I’ll show him exactly what he’s missing. I give a villainous laugh as I pull on a tight red dress. And then the world becomes a blur . . .
*********
A pain in the right side of my head radiates down through my neck and body. Where am I? What happened? I crack one eye open slightly and immediately shut it. Ugh, the pain.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I mumble as I roll over to puke on the floor. My Italian silk sheets are worth a hefty one grand, and even though that’s mere pennies to my bank account, I won’t ruin them. They were my first big splurge after I bought this house.
“Here.” I recognize Quinn’s voice and am thankful as a bucket appears at my bedside. My stomach empties into it, and I roll back, quite certain that most of it missed the bucket. Whatever, the maid will get it tomorrow. I wrack my brain for memories of the night before. Absolutely nothing. I remember breaking up with Barrett then going home and drinking an entire bottle of Vodka.
“Oh dear God, what happened?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I have the worst taste in my mouth which makes me gag.
“Let’s see, you got wasted last night, and we had to come over to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself.” I can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s not happy. She has every right to be mad. She should be at home resting and getting ready for the new baby, not taking care of me. I sit up sluggishly and lean against my headboard. She’s an awesome cousin.
“I’m sorry.” I reach out to rub her huge stomach. I miss and end up patting the air instead. I laugh; I’m possibly a little drunk still.
“You should be,” her boyfriend and baby daddy, Chase, says. He appears in my doorway with an unhappy scowl drawn across his face. “I can’t believe you—”
“Chase, let me handle this, please.” Quinn’s voice takes on a firm motherly tone. She holds one hand out to hush him.
Chase shuts his mouth, but continues to glare at me from his spot with his hands crossed in front of his body. I glare back. I love him. He’s done so much for Quinn, but we still have our tense moments.
“Can you both just . . . shhhh . . . it down a bit.” I hold out my hand to shut them up and smack my numb lips together. Yep, I’m tipsy all right.
“Ginger, I feel terrible. I should have seen this from the beginning. I mean, from the instant I moved in, it was apparent you loved to drink. But this.” She gestures toward me while tugging at her long brown hair. “This is becoming too much of a regular thing. You need help. I—we think you may have a problem.”
“Yeah, I got a problem all right. My fiancé is a sex addict, and he can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“Not that type of problem, a drinking problem.”
I give out a dry laugh. “Ha, ha. An alcoholic? You think I’m an alcoholic?” Deep inside, I already know I have a problem, but if I admit it, that means I’ll have to quit. Drinking helps me; it’s a medicine that I’m not ready to give up just yet. Is this an intervention? Seriously? Next thing I know they’re going to be asking me to go to celebrity rehab.
“I think it’s a disease that runs in the family,” she says. There’s a tense moment as we glare at each other. She can’t talk about that with Chase in the room. I don’t want people to find out about my family history. “I think you know what an alcoholic is and does. I think you’re behaving recklessly. So yes, I do believe you are an alcoholic or on the fast track to becoming one.”
“If I didn’t have such a killer headache, I would roll my eyes at you.”
“I don’t think it’s gotten that bad yet, but you can stop this. You can do it, Ginger. You’re better than this. You really scared me last night.”
I let out a long dramatic sigh. I’ll agree with her, if only to calm her down. For the record, I don’t have a drinking problem.
“Fine . . . no more drinking. Besides, I just woke up; do we have to do this now? Can’t the intervention wait for a more convenient time?”
“No better time than when you are feeling the wrath of your actions,” Chase shoots from the doorway. He’s leaning against the wood with a smug look on his face.
“Oh shut up, Chase. You drink all the time too. How many nights have you spent at the club getting wasted with Barrett?” I wrinkle my nose at him and stick out my tongue which is followed by a burning sensation shooting up through my sinuses.
“What the—” I reach up to my sore nose and feel a small stud on the top of my right nostril.
“Oh yeah . . .” Quinn says. “Apparently you and Jo got a bit wild last night.”
&
nbsp; I delicately move my fingers around the small stud. Body jewelry? I would never do that! It’s so tacky. Another feeling of dread washes over me. “Were the cameras with her?”
“I think so,” Chase tells me. “But it’s okay. I bet your publicist can get the footage destroyed or something.”
“Thank God.” I breathe out slowly and feel around on my body. I’ve been on Jo’s show more times than I can count, and each time it stirs up some sort of controversy in the media. What else happened last night? All my body parts are still intact. I don’t feel violated in all my intimate areas. Thank God!
“You changed a few other things as well . . .” Quinn grabs a lock of my hair and covers a smirk with her hand.
I grab a handheld mirror off my nightstand and hold it up to my face. Besides the diamond stud in my nose, my naturally copper hair is now a fire engine red.
“Oh shit. My beautiful hair!” I cry out as I twist the tendrils around my finger. At least it doesn’t make me look that bad, then again, nothing could.
“I like it,” Quinn says, putting a hand on my shoulder to calm me. “It’s different, bolder. “
“I look like a circus freak! Can you fix it?” Quinn went to beauty school, maybe she can lighten it back up.
“Your hair is already red, this is just a . . . new you.”
“Did I get any tattoos?” I begin to examine the most obvious places. My shoulders and lower back.
“Thank you, Jesus!” I cry out while lifting my face to the sky. No tramp stamps here. I immediately regret raising my voice and press on my head to dull the ache.
Quinn stands up and walks over to Chase. She gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m gonna go get Ginger some aspirin.”
Clarity Page 24
