by Tara Leigh
His flustered apology was a pin, popping the indignant bubble that was the only thing keeping me afloat. “Dax,” I interrupted, a salty tear slipping into the corner of my mouth as my shoulders sagged.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and come back.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dax
I’m not sure what I expected when I arrived at Verity’s home, but it definitely wasn’t to find her standing in the middle of the road before I even turned into her driveway. Illuminated by my headlights, Verity’s pale skin looked almost ghostly in the mist, her red hair a mane of fire. I slammed on the brakes, and she ran around to the side of my car, flinging a duffel bag into the back and fumbling with her seatbelt, the metal clanking as she locked it in place with visibly shaking hands. “What’s going on?”
She lifted wet, red-rimmed eyes to mine, the tip of her nose pink. “Just drive.” Her voice was a throaty rasp. “Please.”
Verity appeared to be a breath away from a breakdown. Despite the questions crowding my skull, I took my foot off the brake and pulled out of her street, making the trip back to the Pacific Palisades in silence.
I eased into my garage, resisting the urge to tug Verity against me as I held open the door to my home. She looked like a fragile doll in her ratty jeans and oversized sweatshirt, her tear-streaked face evidence of real pain.
“Do you want to go right to bed, or would you rather a mug of something warm first?”
There was the barest twitch at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t think I could sleep yet. Something warm sounds perfect.”
I grabbed a blanket from a basket by the sliding glass door to the deck. “Take this and go sit. I’ll be right out.”
I watched Verity arrange herself in one of the lounge chairs and then returned to the kitchen. I’d picked up a container of apple cider on a whim earlier in the week, and now I was glad I had. Heating it on the stove, I added a few spices and a liberal pour of whiskey.
“Is this what I think it is?” Verity asked as I held out a steaming mug to her.
“Mulled cider was the pick-me-up drink of choice in my house growing up. I made us the spiked version.”
Verity gave an audible sigh as she took a sip. “Thank you. I could definitely use a pick-me-up right about now.”
“Care to talk about it?”
Her strangled laugh rippled through the quiet night air. “You sure you’re ready for a ride on the Verity Moore crazy train?”
“I think I can handle it.” I settled myself in the chair beside her. “Tell me something true.”
A long moment passed, and as Verity alternated between sipping her cider and worrying at her lower lip, I wasn’t sure whether she would decide to open up to me. Eventually, she said, “The CliffsNotes version is that my mother is having a temper tantrum because I signed with Travis and am no longer her docile little daughter, playing by her rules. Everything I’ve ever earned is in her name, so she’s trying to bully me into submission.” Verity glanced over at me, her eyes blazing with defiance. “But it’s not going to work.”
Right now, Verity was a study in contrasts. Clean-faced and dwarfed by her oversized sweatshirt, she looked like a stubborn child. But an inner strength was shining through, glimmers of hard-won wisdom earned by being forced to grow up too fast.
“I tried to talk to her again before I left, hoping we could somehow salvage whatever was left of our relationship. I even told her something true,” her voice broke on the word and she paused, swallowing heavily. “But she didn’t believe me. So, I think I finally have to face facts. We’ve never had anything.”
Verity pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess. God, no wonder why you ran away from me tonight.”
I got up out of my chair, taking Verity’s mug from her hands and placing it beside mine on the table. Then I lifted her and took her place, settling her in my lap. “You’ve had a really shitty night, and I’m sorry for playing a part in it. A bad part.”
Verity made some sort of sniffling laugh. “Not all bad. Some of it was good.”
I ran my fingers through her hair, kissing her forehead. “And how is this? Is this good?”
A long sigh trembled from her chest. “Yeah. This is really good.”
* * *
I got out of bed as the first strains of light crept over the horizon. Normally I would be wrestling into my wetsuit by now, but the surf wasn’t calling to me this morning.
There was no way in hell I was leaving the sleeping girl I’d carried to bed just a few hours ago. It had been painful enough to slip her beneath the covers of a bed that wasn’t mine, to go to sleep—or try, anyway—knowing there was a closed door and a plaster wall between us.
I was on my second cup of coffee when I spotted her coming down the stairs. “Good morning.”
Verity gave me a wary glance, as if she wasn’t sure who she would get this morning. The asshole who ran out on her, or the man who had let her fall asleep on his chest as they looked for constellations in the night sky. “If you say so.” She put her cell phone on the island and folded herself into a barstool opposite me.
“No cider this morning,” I said. “Coffee?”
She nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”
I filled a mug and put it in front of her. “There’s milk and—”
She cut me off with a shake of her head. “Black is perfect.”
A ribbon of pleasure swooshed across the back of my neck. Such a small, irrelevant thing, but I liked that Verity didn’t make a fuss over her coffee. The few times a woman had spent the night, I was met with disbelief that I didn’t have almond milk or coconut creamer, stevia or agave. Verity took her coffee black, like me.
Cupping the porcelain with both hands, she took a few sips, her gaze bouncing around my messy kitchen. “Please tell me you’re expecting to feed half the neighborhood, too.”
I surveyed the tower of pancakes, the skillet full of eggs, the bowl of berries, the bread on the counter waiting to be sliced. “They’re coming by later. For now it’s just us.” My words hung on the air, sounding almost too intimate for the early hour.
Verity was the first to break eye contact, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear and staring down into her coffee. She made a cute, throat-clearing noise as I set about plating our breakfast.
I could have carried them outside, or over to the table, but instead I pushed her plate across the island and ate mine from where I was standing. There was so much we weren’t saying, keeping five feet of stone and wood between us seemed appropriate.
“I called Travis this morning. Filled him in on what’s happening with my mom. I should be out of your hair soon.”
My chest squeezed, my heart giving a reluctant thud. Despite the veins of tension running between us, I was in no hurry for Verity to leave. “I’ll bet Travis is frothing at the mouth. He lives for shit like this.”
Verity grinned. “Yeah, he seemed pretty pumped when I filled him in. He said he would send Piper over this morning to take me car shopping. I might stay in one of his places until my house situation is sorted out.”
I sympathized with Verity’s family drama. My own parents had basically washed their hands of me once I left New York. But they had never tried to claim my fame as their own. They lived their lives, and I lived mine. Thinking about my parents, I realized I should probably check in with my sister. Make sure she was behaving herself in New York.
Verity’s phone chirped. She picked it up, frowning at the screen. “Scratch that. Piper has a sonogram today and won’t be available.”
“I am.” The words were out before I’d even considered them.
“What?” She put her phone down and picked up her fork, glancing at me again.
Choose happy. “I’m free today. I can take you.” I want to take you.
Verity blinked a few times, her fork hovering in the air. “Don’t worry about it, Dax. I’m sure you have much better things to do
with your time.”
What I really wanted was spend the entire day with Verity—in bed—making up for the dick move I pulled last night. But because of that dick move, I hardly expected her to feel the same. I’d settle for car shopping. “Nope. I’m all yours.”
Might have been the most honest sentence I’d ever spoken.
Verity
I helped Dax clean the kitchen, then returned to his guest room. It had been a shock to wake up in a strange bed this morning. More than shocking, actually. Terrifying.
Laying there, barely able to breathe, I struggled to piece together my memories. The last thing I recalled was falling asleep in the lounge chair. No—not the lounge chair. In Dax’s lap.
My mind had raced, heedless of logic. Oh my god—was the mulled cider laced? Had Dax…?
The weight of my past pressed heavily on my chest, my rib cage feeling like it would crack from the strain. Had another man I trusted taken advantage of a situation I—
Until I realized that, except for my shoes, I was still fully dressed. And I was alone, the other side of the queen-sized bed still perfectly made. Talking to Dax about my mom last night, fresh from our most recent confrontation…I must have crashed hard and he’d carried me to bed.
I had exhaled a choked breath, blinking back yet another onslaught of tears, forcing my tense muscles to relax one by one. I was safe. Dax hadn’t hurt me.
I was safe.
Now, with a fresh dose of caffeine running through my veins, I turned my attention to pulling together an outfit from the paltry selection of clothes I’d brought with me. Travis had offered to loan me one of his cars, or send a driver to take me wherever I wanted to go. But that was the thing—there was no place I needed to be. Because of the party last night, I didn’t have any public appearances scheduled for today, no meetings to take or interviews to give.
But I did need a car. In all the years I’d had my license, I’d never once picked out my own ride. Poor little rich girl problems, I know. My mother could keep the Range Rover she bought for me…with my money.
I wanted to go car shopping.
I wanted to go house—no, apartment—shopping. A rental was fine for now.
I wanted to build my own damn life, filled with things I’d chosen myself. A life filled with more than things. Friends. People that weren’t paid to pretend they cared about me.
I was swiping gloss over my lips when my phone pinged with an incoming e-mail. I didn’t recognize the sender, but the subject was a line from “Bombshell Rebel.” Long time ago, someone picked me…
It was the text contained in the message that had my stomach plummeting. Make it clear that “someone” isn’t the man who gave you your big break, or I’ll be forced to show the world how you earned it.
I sat down on the floor, scooting myself into a corner of the room. The attached video took a few seconds to load, just long enough for my breakfast to become a gnarled lump, twisting and churning in the pit of my stomach.
Drawing my feet inward, I balanced my phone on my knees as my face filled the screen. I was holding a piece of paper with my name, age, and date, wearing a simple white dress, my hair long and straight. I looked so young. So nervous. Desperation shined from my overly bright smile, from the flutter of the paper in my trembling hands, from every rapid nod I directed at the camera, from my rehearsed answers that didn’t quite match up with the questions being asked.
I remembered that day so clearly. I remembered not eating breakfast because my mom had only enough money for a pack of cigarettes. I remembered going to the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills and being embarrassed because my stomach was growling so loudly I worried Jack Lester would notice. And I remembered my mother telling me that if I didn’t get this role, she was washing her hands of me entirely. You’re eighteen now. You can take care of yourself.
Upstairs, Lester told me there would be a scene in The Show where the lead role wore a bikini, and that I should take off my dress…if I wanted the part.
So I did.
He said there would be scenes in The Show where the lead role would kiss boys, and that I should kiss him…if I wanted the part.
So I did.
Neither of those requests were anything new. I’d undressed for him before. I’d kissed him before. I’d done things to him with my hands and mouth before.
Things I still wished I could forget.
But then he said there was a scene in The Show where the lead role lost her virginity, and that I should have sex with him…if I wanted the part.
So I did.
And I got the part. The lead.
My mother was thrilled.
I wasn’t anything, really. I was numb.
As we entered production, everything Jack Lester told me was true. I wore a bikini for at least one scene practically every episode. My character kissed a boy by the end of the first season. And in the third season, my character lost her virginity.
What happened next was a surprise to everyone.
Parents were so incensed that they organized a boycott of the advertisers and petitioned the network to cancel the show.
My character was labeled a whore.
The Show was canceled.
Overnight I went from Hot to Not.
I couldn’t get an audition, let alone a featured role on a popular show.
I was the girl who had brought down The Show. A ratings juggernaut. An advertiser’s dream. The number one show for teens in the country.
No one would touch me. At least, not in Hollywood. Vegas, with its soft-core porn industry, was definitely interested.
I flew to New York, hoping to get swept up in the crowded city. To let the uproar die down while I enjoyed a well-earned break from five a.m. on-set calls and the endless publicity machine required to feed The Show’s fans just enough of me to ensure they’d be hungry for more.
And now, my back against the wall of Dax’s guest bedroom, I watched myself swallow a scream of pain as Lester tore into me, saw the sparkle of tears turn my lashes into wet spikes, even as I tried to pretend the overweight man more than twice my age was my teenaged boyfriend.
I heard the guttural grunts of my…What exactly was he? Was he a rapist? I never said no.
Never said the word.
Never even thought it.
I saw him whisper into my ear, remembering what he’d said accompanied by a wave of nausea. Be a good girl, Verity. Show me what a good actress you are.
I had forced the muscles in my face and neck to relax, twisted my lips into a wondrous smile. Let my eyes drift shut as my mouth opened on a sigh. It looked like I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
There’s my girl. You want this.
Inside I’d been screaming.
The knock on the door had me scrambling to stop the video, darken the screen. Dax poked his head through the door, his eyes sweeping the room until they fell on me. “Hey, you okay?”
“No.” Saying the word felt so good, I wanted to yell it.
It didn’t matter that it was to a different question, to a different man. I wiped my eyes and stood. “But I will be.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dax
You think you’re a real badass now, don’t you?”
Verity plucked the sunglasses perched on her head and slid them over her eyes, her mouth wearing a saucy grin. “Hell, yeah.”
After making the rounds of half a dozen dealerships, we were waiting for a salesman to complete the paperwork on Verity’s new Audi. It had been surprisingly fun watching Verity shopping for a car. She was like a kid, bouncing up and down in the leather seats, pressing every button, asking a million questions, honking the horn of cars on display.
But once she made up her mind, she was done. No doubts, no hesitation.
A far cry from the defeated woman who appeared outside my car with a canvas bag and a tear-stained face last night. Or the determined one from this morning who seemed to think that if she acted like nothing was wrong, I would actually belie
ve her.
Twenty minutes and a few signatures later, Verity was waving the key to her new silver R8 in front of my face. “My ass might even be as bad as yours, Dax.”
It was impossible not to laugh at her. She joined in, and the salesman backed away, looking at us strangely. Verity’s phone, sitting on the hood of her new car, chirped. She broke off to look down at the message on the lock screen. “Piper wants to know what I decided on.”
I outstretched my hand. “Lemme take a picture of you and your new ride.”
Her face, if it was possible, got even brighter. “Great idea.” She handed it to me…a split second before my ears were assaulted by the unmistakable sound of sex—harsh grunting and skin slapping skin.
The screen, already facing me, came to life, and the sight will forever be burned in my corneas. A much younger Verity, cinnamon eyelashes resting on her cheekbones, pink lips parted, red hair strewn across a white pillow. The rest of her was obscured by a wide hairy back. The kind of back that belonged in a retirement community in Boca, not on top of Verity.
She snatched her phone from my grip, but there was no denying what I’d seen. What I’d heard. But my brain wasn’t able to process it. “What the fuck was that?” I growled, keeping my tone low.
She silenced her phone, tossing it into her bag. “Nothing.”
I grabbed her arm as she was turning away to get into the front seat. “That wasn’t nothing. I don’t know what that—” I cut myself off. “Wrong. So fucking wrong.” There were probably other words for it, too. But they were for Verity to say.
She pulled away, surprising me with her vehemence. Without thinking, I rounded the hood and slid in the passenger seat. “Verity.” For someone whose name meant truth, she had a hell of a time telling it.
“I have a meeting with Travis. Get out.”
Leaving her right now wasn’t a possibility. Instead I pulled the sunglasses off her face and laid my palm along her cheek, shifting her toward me. Her eyes were a riot of pain and shame, the emotions so toxic they glowed almost neon. “Tell me something true,” I said softly.
