Hitman's Hookup: A Bad Boy Romance (52 page)

“I’m sorry, Livvy,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’m just so, so proud of you. You really can’t know. I’ve kept this to myself; every time you mentioned the movie I felt like you weren’t really interested in talking about it. So I tried not to bring it up because you sounded like you were in pain.”

I blinked at her and gaped. I’d had no idea my mom’s lack of interest in the film had been out of protection for me. I had written it off as more of her trademark flakiness and self-centered tendencies. But I was touched by this news.

“I had no idea, Mom. I thought you just were off doing your own thing. As…as usual.” The words hung in the air between us.

My mom’s face softened and she reached out to stroke my hair this time. I closed my eyes and relaxed as she did it.

“Livvy, I know I’ve been a terrible mother. And I’m not saying that for you to disagree just to make me feel better. I
know
that I have been. And I’m so very sorry for that. I’m trying to be better, and I know it will never make up for the past.”

It was my turn to cry. I couldn’t believe I had any tears left after being with Lydia earlier that day. She had driven me to the airport, insisting that I put a cold face mask over my eyes during the flight to counteract the salty, bloodshot puffiness for the red carpet the next day. I’d followed her instructions, mostly because it meant I could pretend to be asleep and avoid the stares of the wealthy old woman seated next to me in first class.

I sat there with my mother, tears streaming down my face.

And then I confessed to everything.

To having sex with Wilder in college. To him betraying me. To Hailey blackmailing Wilder into being fake-engaged. To me kissing Wilder in the gym, to my being cast, to our weekend in Italy together, to Wilder ghosting on me with no warning. I told the whole story, feeling like poison was pouring out of my body as I did so.

I felt thirty pounds lighter when I finished my tale.

And I’d finally stopped crying.

My mom looked at me and put her hands on my cheek, turning my face to hers. “Livvy. Are you happy?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not,” I replied in a clear voice.

She nodded. “Do you love him?”

I paused. But there was no sense in lying now. “Yes. I do.”

My mom pulled me into an embrace and whispered in my ear. “It gets better. I promise it does.” Then she pulled away, holding me by the shoulders. “You don’t have to walk with him down the aisle at the courthouse if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do
anything
you don’t want to do.” She bit her lip and looked off into the distance for a moment as if she were trying to decide on something. “You don’t even have to come to the wedding. I’ll understand.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No, no. It will be fine. Tomorrow-“ I looked at the clock on my phone. It was almost two in the morning. “I mean
today
; I have to see him anyway. At the premiere. So it’s fine, honestly. It will be a dry run.”

My mother nodded. “Okay. But if at any moment you feel uncomfortable, you let me know, alright? You’re in control of this.”

I smiled at the memory of Fox telling me almost exactly the same thing in Italy. It was nice to have people on my team.

“Thank you, Mom.” I felt my eyes fill up again.

She reached out and squeezed my wrist. “Oh, Livvy. You don’t owe me any thank you.”

My mom helped me into the shower and sat on the tub, talking to me happily about her wedding dress that her own friend had designed out of fabric Garrett and my mom had dyed together. I washed my hair and let the hot water pound my back.

I was grateful for her talking; she had no expectations for me to respond. It was just what I needed. She moved onto describing Garrett’s warehouse loft in an artist community with such passion and joy I started to think that this relationship was actually going to last. I’d never seen my mother like this.

She handed me a towel as I stepped out of the shower; between the crying and the cleansing water, I felt reborn. I sat down at her feet and she combed my wet hair slowly. I tried not to think of Wilder doing something similar. It was too painful.

But there was also joy in that memory.

Even if things had ended horribly, nobody could take away the time and experiences we’d had together.

My mom took a breath at the end of yet another story about Garrett doting on her; apparently he left a single-stem rose on her pillow every single morning. Each fresh bud came from the plants he grew in buckets on his rusted fire escape.

I took her pause as an opportunity to talk. “Mom,” I said.

“Yes, Livvy?” she asked, moving the comb up into my scalp.

“Are you happy?”

My mom pulled my head back so I could see her face upside down. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Do you love him?”

She beamed. “Yes. I do.”

It didn’t take much to convince my mom to spend the night. We shared the king bed and I fell asleep with her tickling my back, the distant sound of sirens and car honks fading into the distance as I fell into the deepest sleep of my life.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

WILDER

As miserable as the flight over had been - Hailey’s assistant Cat Guy having to run around the jet herding the felines, Hailey holding court with several of her supermodel friends - my luck turned once we made it to the Times Square hotel.

“I think I’m just motion sick from the plane,” Hailey whined from the nest Cat Guy had made for her in the king-sized bed.

She had a metal trash can next to her on the floor into which she’d been gagging and heaving. Her friends were perched around her with concerned looks on their faces. To me, Hailey looked like a barely-ailing sixteenth-century queen. 

“Go to Amy and Josh’s without me, Wilde,” she insisted.

I put on a display of annoyance at the change of plans. “Seriously? They were looking forward to seeing you!”

Hailey sighed dramatically and leaned over the bed into the can, making gagging sounds. Her friends grimaced and looked the other way. Secretly I was thrilled; I knew Josh and Amy certainly wouldn’t miss her. When Hailey finished, she grabbed a tissue and dabbed dramatically at her mouth. Her lipstick wasn’t even smudged.

“If you insist, babe,” I said, walking over and kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll send your love.”

“Wait, you’re leaving
now
? We aren’t supposed to be there for another hour and a half!”

I shrugged. “I’m walking. I need the exercise after that flight. I’ll be fine.”

I was nearly to the escape hatch when I tripped over Cat Guy, who was flat on his stomach and peering under the sofa. “Ouch!” he yelled.

“Dude, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there!”

Cat Guy sat up. He looked far more annoyed than I’d ever seen him. I had begun to think that he actually didn’t mind being abused by Hailey at every opportunity; the look on his face now, however, told me otherwise.

He sighed. “One of the goddamn cats won’t come out from under this sofa. I think it’s stuck.”

I raised my eyebrows in shock and tried to keep myself from laughing. I looked back into the master bedroom but saw that Hailey was focused on telling some extravagant story. She wasn’t looking over here. I walked over and shut the door.

“I’ll help you get it out,” I said.

Cat Guy looked shocked. “Really? Are you sure? Oh,
thank you
,” he gushed with relief. “Normally it’s just me wrangling these beasts.”

I laughed. “Okay, count of three and we will tilt the couch back. One, two, three!” The couch was an enormous, modern leather sectional. We managed to tilt it at a forty-five-degree angle and the grey cat, whose name I still didn’t know, shot out into one of the extra bedrooms.

“Mission accomplished,” I said, leaning the couch back down.

Cat Guy nodded with relief. “Thanks, Mr. Wilder,” he said.

“Call me Nick,” I said.

The shocked look returned. “Nick. Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling. It was a real smile, too, not the pasted-on ones I saw him dole out to Hailey with regularity. “I’m Robert. I don’t think you actually know that.”

I felt a moment of shame. So he
had
noticed that I had never bothered to learn who the fuck he was. “Robert. Sorry about never asking for your name, man.”

He shrugged. “You helped with the cat. Let’s call it even.” He held out his hand and I shook it.

“I’ve got to hit the road; meeting my friends for dinner at their place,” I said. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow morning. Sleep well!”

Robert walked me to the door, opening it for me. He looked like he wanted to say something.

“Something else?” I asked him, stepping into the carpeted hallway.

He opened his mouth and closed it several times. “Later,” he said. “I’ll tell you later.”

I shrugged. “Alright. Good night!”

“Night,” he replied, shutting the door.

I’d forgotten about the interaction by the time I stepped into the elevator.

Ninety minutes of walking through late-evening New York later and I was at Amy and Josh’s apartment. They owned a loft in Battery Park that Amy had renovated into a glass-and-steel modern paradise. The doorman let me into the building and I walked to the elevator, enjoying the quiet ride upstairs.

I stepped out into their hallway and rang the doorbell of the corner loft. I didn’t have to wait long.

Amy yanked the door open and yelled “WILDE!” with her arms flung wide open.

I hugged her as hard as I could. “How are you?”

“Not freezing my ass off anymore, thankfully,” Amy replied, shutting the door behind me.

We walked through the hallway that was plastered in sleek-framed photographs of Josh and Amy. My face had made it into a few, which I considered an honor.

“It smells amazing in here, Amy.”

She beamed. “Josh hard at work as usual, you know how it is.”

We turned the corner into the open-concept living room and kitchen and I was greeted with the view I always missed when I wasn’t here: the Statue of Liberty lit up at night.

“Fucking Christ, I never get tired of this,” I announced to Josh who was covered in an apron.

Amy smiled, her hands on her hips. “We honestly don’t either.”

I walked over to Josh. “I’d give you a hug, man, but I’m covered in pot sticker sauce,” he replied.

I laughed and settled myself onto the barstool.

“I’ll settle for some fucking conversation that doesn’t involve talking about photographers, world tour plans, and who gets to wear the eight-million-dollar, diamond-encrusted bra at the Victoria’s Secret holiday fashion show,” I sighed.

“You want wine?” Amy asked, pulling out a bottle from their under-counter wine fridge.

“Nah, I’m fine,” I replied.

Josh and Amy exchanged looks. “Vodka? Whiskey?”

“Water is fine, honestly,” I insisted.

Amy raised an eyebrow and leaned across the counter, placing the back of her hand on my forehead as if checking for a fever. “Are you sick?”

I laughed. “Seriously, assholes. I’m just not drinking right now. I felt my liver crying out for relief awhile back and thought I’d listen.”

Josh went back to stirring and Amy grabbed a crystal glass from the cabinet, filling it with water from the tap. She pushed it across the counter. I took it gratefully.

“So, no Hailey?” Josh asked.

“No Hailey,” I confirmed, drinking from the glass. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

Amy laughed. “Right, okay. So she didn’t want to see
me
, then, I’m guessing.”

I nodded. “Dead on correct. Not that she would admit that to me. You know how much she hates honest women.”

Josh guffawed. “That’s a kind way of saying that Amy ‘takes no bullshit.’”

“Well, that too,” I replied. “You need help setting the table?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she said, handing me the plates, bowls, flatware, and chopsticks.

I stood up and walked to the enormous dining table. It had charcoal-metal fabricated legs and a smooth, dark wooden top covered in reflective lacquer. I set the plates down, carefully laying out the flatware.

Josh came over with a huge pot of soup and a platter of pot stickers with dark brown sauce in a tiny bowl nested in the middle. I pulled out a chair and sat down. Amy joined me, bringing me my water glass and settling in.

“How’s the baby?” Amy asked.

“Fine, all fine,” I replied.

Amy and Josh exchanged significant looks. “You’ve checked to make sure there
is
a baby, right?” Josh quipped, taking off his apron and draping it over the back of his chair before sitting down.

“Yeah. I took care of that first thing,” I replied, spooning out a helping of soup into a bowl.

Amy cleared her throat. “And you know it’s yours?”

I set my spoon down and sighed. “As far as I know.” Suddenly I realized that apart from both of them wanting to see me,
this
had been the reason they’d invited me over. Amy was sharp. She knew that Hailey wouldn’t want to come. “Look. It’s complicated.”

“You’re going to get a DNA test, right?” Amy asked bluntly.

I pushed my bowl away, soup untouched. “Can this not wait until later? The grilling and the endless questions?”

“Look, man. You texted me saying that you and Olivia were together. Then you texted me saying you’d fucked up. Then you texted me
again
saying that you were together. And then two days later I go on TMZ and you and Hailey are holding hands through the concourse coming out of LAX. Then I get a Google alert saying you’re going to be a dad. And I’ve barely heard from you since then. That was, what? Four months ago?”

Amy was staring at me in the insightful, piercing way she had. “She’s got something on you, doesn’t she?”

I laughed nervously. “What makes you say that?”

Amy sipped from her wine glass and smiled, setting it down with a
clunk
. “Because I seem to remember a night in Palm Springs where you swore in front of all of us that if Hailey ever claimed to be pregnant with your baby, you’d get a DNA test. That’s how little you trusted her. And now you’re hemming and hawing at my dinner table.
That’s
what makes me say that.”