(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5)

by Michelle Mankin

  “There’s no right or wrong thing to say. Only your truth that he’ll be held accountable for.”

  “Can I have more water, please?”

  Hart glanced meaningfully at an assistant, and she scurried away to draw another one from the cooler.

  “Can we start again?” he asked softly after I’d drained the cup dry.

  “Yes.” Nodding, I crushed the paper cone in my grip.

  “So, the night of the eleventh, after midnight.”

  “After one a.m.,” I said to correct him.

  “Why were you up at that time?”

  “I wasn’t. I heard a crash.”

  “And that crash was?”

  I closed my eyes as it all came back to me in a rush.

  The panic. The revulsion. The fear . . .

  • • •

  “Daddy?” Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I’d stood in the doorway to the library, taking in the scene. The smashed glass. The fireplace poker in his hand as he’d turned toward me.

  “Not your daddy.”

  “What?” I whispered, my attention not on him but on the portrait of my mother.

  It should have been hanging over the fireplace, but it was lying on the floor. Her beautiful face was ripped in half, shards of glass strewn all around it. Playbills from a shadow box were also scattered on the floor. Pictures from family photo albums crinkled to black inside the fireplace, letting off acrid fumes as the protective plastic burned inside the roaring fire.

  “You’re drunk,” I said, noting the empty crystal decanter on his desk. Tears pricked my eyes and a shard of glass cut my foot as I crossed the room. “Why did you do this? These are irreplaceable. How could you?”

  I dropped to my knees and began gathering the scattered mementos into a pile.

  “They’re lies. I should have destroyed them years ago.”

  I ignored him. My father spat out bitter nonsense like this when he’d been drinking, and he drank to excess almost every night after my mother died.

  “You look like her.” His shadow fell over me. “More and more every day.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re a better actress than she was, and in the end, I discovered she was really rather good.”

  “Why don’t you go to bed, Daddy.” I could smell the whiskey on him. “I’ll clean this up.”

  “There’s no cleaning up the damage. So many lies.” He didn’t seem to be listening to me. It was like he was speaking to himself. “So many years of them. How did I not see she wasn’t mine?”

  Glass crunched under his shoes as he moved away from me and popped the cork on a new bottle. I let out a sigh and stood awkwardly with the gathered things in my arms, as much as I could carry. I’d take them to my room and come back for the rest.

  “Where are you going?” he snapped, and I turned my head to glance back at him. His eyes were unfocused, his expression dark.

  “I’m going upstairs to put these things away.”

  “Put your suitcase away. You’re not leaving me.”

  “I’m not . . .” I swallowed hard. He thought I was my mom. She’d had her suitcase packed the night she died. The police had brought it from the boat to the house. “It’s me. Hollie.”

  “She’s not my daughter. She’s not his either. Not in any way that matters.” My father crossed to me so swiftly, I didn’t have time to react. “You stay.”

  He shook me so hard my teeth rattled. I bit my tongue, and the things I’d rescued fell to the floor.

  “Let me go,” I cried as his fingers bit into my flesh. “You’re hurting me.”

  “You’ve hurt me worse. Lied. Made me love you. Never loved me back.”

  “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered. But did my love matter to him? Did he even understand what love was? It seemed all he wanted to do was control me.

  His eyes cleared as he looked down at me. “You look like her.”

  He released my shoulders, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

  “I know. You already said that.” I glanced down at the pictures and papers, lost hope and abandoned dreams. I felt cold, like a marble statue, a barely breathing monument among the rejected relics of the past. “You really should go to bed. I’ll straighten up.” Everything needed to go to my room for safekeeping.

  Afterward, it would probably be better to stay in my room until morning. With my mother gone and Fanny out on her own, there was no one to buffer me from him when he got like this. Usually, I avoided him, remaining in my room with my door locked, but I couldn’t let him destroy all the pictures. They were all we had left of her.

  “Wait.” He grabbed me by the arm, whirled me around, and dragged me toward his desk. “I have some documents I need you to sign.”

  “What documents?”

  “Legal stuff. Extending my guardianship. Management stuff for your career.”

  “Not tonight.”

  Ernie had mentioned some things my accountant had told him that didn’t add up in my personal bank accounts. Worrisome improprieties, nearly as worrisome as Samuel’s deteriorating behavior. Disturbingly, he had grown more critical since my mother’s death. He said inappropriate things I shouldn’t ignore, treating me less like a daughter and more like one of the women he had under his thumb.

  “Yes, tonight.” My father squeezed my arm so tightly, I cried out.

  “No.” My eyes burned. My foot was bleeding. My arms hurt. I’d have bruises on my skin in the morning, dark ones.

  I managed to disengage and tried to skirt around him. He’d never hurt me physically before. I was less appalled than I would have imagined. It seemed almost a predictable progression, every criticism and harsh word over the years leading us here.

  “You need to learn your place.” He moved in front of me, blocking my path to the door, and dipped his gaze to my chest. The way he looked at me made my skin crawl.

  “You’re my father,” I reminded him. “And you’re scaring me, acting like this.”

  “The funny thing is . . . I’m actually not.” He glared at me. “Your mother was pregnant with you before I fucked her.” His shocking, hateful words made my heart start to hammer in my chest. “Shouldn’t have fucked her, but like you, she had those amazing tits.”

  His arms flashed out without warning. He grabbed fistfuls of my cotton top and ripped it apart. My chest exposed, buttons scattered, pinging as they hit the hardwood floor.

  My eyes wide and heart pounding, I bolted for the door. He grabbed me, hooked a leg under my knees, and I fell. I didn’t even have time to brace. The force of my body hitting the floor knocked the air out of my lungs.

  He followed me down. His body was heavy on top of me. I bucked, but I couldn’t get him off me. Couldn’t breathe.

  “Sexed-up whore curves, just like hers. I’ll see if you fuck like her too.”

  Mortified tears slid hot down my cold cheeks as he ground his erection against me.

  “Don’t,” I whimpered, banging my fists on his shoulders. “Please don’t.”

  Ignoring me, his face a mask of ugliness, he lowered his head and fastened his mouth to mine. He speared his wet tongue between my dry lips, gagging me.

  Bile rose to the back of my throat. I was going to throw up and choke to death on my own vomit before he raped me. Knowing that was a very real possibility, I bit down on his tongue.

  Howling, he ripped his mouth from me. The blood on his chin made the sneer on his face even more terrifying as he reared back and slapped me.

  My cheek flared with fire.

  “Let me go. Please. Please let go of me . . .”

  • • •

  “It’s okay, Miss Wood. Let me have that.”

  As I refocused on the present, Hart gently took the mangled paper cup from my fingers.

  “It’s over. It’s in the past. The past can’t hurt you anymore.”

  He was wrong. So wrong. The past was a rip current. Just dipping my thoughts into it had swept me into nearly inescapable, treacherous depths. I shook m
y head, realizing only then that my cheeks were wet from my tears.

  “Joslyn.” He turned his head to the assistant. “Can you get Mr. Cash in here? I think Miss Wood has had quite enough for today.”

  Chapter Fifty

  * * *

  The ball of poison that I’d shoved way down deep inside to deal with someday (never, actually) infected everything after the deposition. Nature or nurture, the process that had brought me to this point in my life didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the evil that lurked inside Samuel Lesowski was now inside me, and I didn’t know how to get rid of it.

  The past most certainly wasn’t over.

  “Baby, wake up.” Max’s gentle voice lured me from the darkness.

  “Max.” I pried open my eyes to see him staring down at me. The lamp behind him added additional shadows to those already on his concerned face.

  “Yeah, shug. I’m right here. Not going anywhere, just like I promised.” He continued to softly skim his fingertips up and down my arm.

  My heart rate slowing, I glanced around the unfamiliar dark room, trying to get my bearings. “Where—”

  “Chicago. The windy city. The Rafaello Hotel. As Good as It Ever Was. The indie romantic comedy. Second week of full production. Awake enough to remember now?” His eyes narrowed as mine cleared, and it all came back to me. “You were thrashing about again. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

  “Thank you.” I sat up, and his hand slid away. “Thanks for helping me get my brain back on track. I’m fully awake now. I’m okay.”

  Max’s expression darkened. He knew it was a lie, and so did I. But the obvious solution involved acknowledgment of the past and its hold on me. I wasn’t ready for that. I was too busy trying to run away from it.

  “Was it the same nightmare?” he asked.

  “Yes, with a few minor variations.”

  A man whose face I felt like I should know on the photographs scattered on the floor. My mother standing at the far end of the library, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Fanny appearing then, shaking her head disappointedly at me and walking away, even though I yelled and yelled for her to help me. I’d been having the same recurring nightmare every night in the weeks since the deposition.

  The only saving grace?

  Max had stopped asking me to talk about it.

  Talking didn’t help. Talking about it with the lawyers had gotten me here in this continuous cycle, forced to relive one of the most horrible moments of my life whenever I slept.

  “What time is it?” I swiped the sheet across my tearstained cheeks when he turned to look at the clock on his nightstand.

  “Two hours until you have to be on set.”

  “I should just go ahead and get up.” Yet I yawned. Weeks of inconsistent rest had exhausted me.

  “You can usually get a little nap after a nightmare.”

  “I’m . . .” I licked my dry lips, afraid to go back to sleep. “I need to practice my lines anyway.”

  “I’ll help you.” He threw back his covers as I did.

  “No, that’s all right. At least one of us should get some sleep.”

  He frowned. “Don’t shut me out.”

  “I’m not.”

  But I was. More and more since the deposition.

  Max was the one who had insisted on me doing it. I would have put it off longer if I’d had my way. It had been one of the few things he’d put his foot down about.

  Maybe subconsciously I blamed him. Maybe he knew it. Mostly, he let me steer the ship now, and I didn’t want to analyze too deeply why.

  I felt like there were a lot of loose ends between us. But I somehow knew if I started picking at the individual threads, everything between us would unravel.

  • • •

  “You’re so beautiful, Maureen.”

  “You’re the beautiful one, Ronnie.” I responded to my costar’s line with mine as scripted, then ran my tongue along the tendon on his thick neck, and he groaned.

  We were in bed together for this scene. The lovemaking stuff had to appear as real as it could be.

  “Do that again.” Reginald Dupree, the actor who played my much older love interest in the film, let out another husky groan before lifting my head and cradling my face in his large hands.

  I faked a moan as his lips touched mine.

  The full production staff, I ignored. The shuffling of the cameraman’s feet on the studio flooring, I tuned out. Perry McNaught, the director, circled his hands for a tighter close-up. But one thing kept bumping me out of the moment.

  One person.

  Max.

  Arms crossed over his chest, he wore his stony expression and his work suit. He was in bodyguard mode, and that was the only reason he was allowed on the closed set. But this was another lovemaking scene, and those bothered him. No matter how stoic his expression, I could feel the displeasure rolling off him.

  “Stop,” Perry called, his hand making a slicing motion. “You’re too stiff again, Hollie.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll fix that.”

  Perry clapped his hands. “Let’s take five, everyone.”

  I climbed out of the bed, threading my arms into the silk robe the wardrobe tech held out for me. I was adjusting the hem to cover the nude bikini bottom I wore when he called me again.

  “Miss Wood.”

  “Yes?” I turned to find the director beckoning me.

  “Could you come in my office a minute? I need to have a word with you.”

  Oh no. I nodded and followed him, avoiding Max’s gaze as I padded by him.

  “Could you shut the door please?” Perry asked, taking a seat behind a cluttered desk.

  “Absolutely.” I closed the glass-paned door carefully.

  Everything in the formerly abandoned studio was old and nearly falling apart. The cameras were rented. The techs were doing double duty. The hours were long. But there was a buzz of creativity. An energy. A spirit of cooperation among us all that was contagious.

  Part of it was the script. It was snappy and whimsical, a throwback to another era, a lot like the man across from me. He adjusted the thick frames of his horn-rimmed glasses and focused on me through the lenses as I took a seat on a folding chair opposite him.

  “You’re doing better than I expected, in a lot of ways.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  Perry nodded and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his plaid tie. “But in a lot of ways, you’re doing much worse.”

  “I’ll fix whatever needs fixing.”

  “Your energy level is low. You need to get more rest, whatever it takes.”

  “I’ll double my workouts.” Maybe then I’d be so exhausted, I’d sleep without dreaming.

  “You’ve lost a noticeable amount of weight since we started filming. I’d suggest something less strenuous. A form of meditation, perhaps.”

  “I do yoga.”

  “Maybe do more?”

  I hadn’t done any. I’d completely neglected it. “I’ll start doing it tonight.”

  “That would be good.”

  I started to rise.

  “One more thing,” he said, and I froze in midmotion.

  “I’m kicking your bodyguard off set.”

  Surprised, I dropped back into my seat hard, my eyes wide. “Okay, I guess.”

  “No guessing about it. He hinders you. He’s overprotective, intimidates the staff. You bump out of character in your intimate scenes because you keep glancing over at him. I can’t get a decent close-up. So, he’s gone. Today. I’ll send him in here, and you’ll tell him. Are we clear?”

  “Yes. Crystal.” Folding my hands tightly together, I nodded once.

  “Good.” Perry stood. The storyboard sketches on the brick wall behind him framed his squat body. He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and slid them up and down reflectively. “I always add a good with the bad, and the good is your comic timing. You’re a natural. You’re stealing the scenes from the other
actors with your deadpanning. I’m very excited to see more of what you can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The door rattled as he departed, then rattled again only a few short moments later as Max entered. I stood to face him.

  “What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed as they searched mine.

  “Perry doesn’t want you on the set anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t focus properly with you around.”

  “What a load of crap.”

  “It’s true.”

  Every muscle in Max’s body seemed to tense. “Don’t do this. Go talk to him. Explain to him. It’s not safe for you to be unprotected.”

  “Samuel hasn’t bothered me since the Firelight premiere.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s not planning anything.”

  “I don’t want you being my bodyguard anymore. It’s too awkward.” Things that I’d been bottling up inside spilled out. “I just want you to be my boyfriend. Boyfriends don’t come to their girlfriend’s work.”

  “All right.” The crease in Max’s brow deepened. “But I’ll need to find other employment. I’m not the type of guy to sit around and do nothing.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “I’ll have to go back to LA.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking troubled.

  “Can’t you job hunt from here?” I needed him. I might avoid sharing the broken parts of me, but I didn’t want to be alone with them without him as a buffer.

  “No. Word will get back that I’m not working for you. I’ll need to, um, strike while the iron’s hot. Interview in person with interested parties right away. That kind of thing.”

  Another job. Max could end up working 24/7 for someone else like he had for me.

  I didn’t see the knife’s edge to our relationship coming. But it hadn’t just come. It was already here. The ties that bound us were poised to be cut.

  “I’ll be careful.” I was so scared, my pulse was thrumming beneath my skin. But I couldn’t keep him by clinging, otherwise I might as well end everything right now. “I’ll use the car service to get around.”