Power Play (23 page)

Eric paused. “I think we should tell Theresa to tell the press it was mutual.”

“Fuck you, Eric.”

His mouth fell open in indignation. “You think I'm gonna let you say you dumped me? No way.”

Monica shrugged like she didn't care. “Lie. I mean, you do it so well. Tell the press you dumped me. And I'll counter and say I dumped you. And the press will just lap it up, won't they? Lots of headlines, the kind we both love, saying the split is acrimonious. Who really dumped whom? they'll speculate. Was one of them having an affair? Can we get one of them to talk? Eric the puck-passing stud, on the loose again. Who'll be his next conquest?”

“Monica—”

“Good-bye, Eric. When your hockey career ends, you should seriously consider becoming an actor. Your powers of pretending are amazing.”

She pushed through the glass doors of the lobby. Cabs were lined up at the curb outside the hotel. Monica hopped into the nearest one, pulling the door closed with a slam as she gave the cabbie her address. She'd never wept in the back of a cab, and she wasn't about to start now. She distracted herself by talking to the driver, who told her all about his father's failing mango farm in Bangalore and how he was saving up money to bring his whole family to the States. He'd had to leave his wife behind, and he missed her terribly. Monica wished the cabbie's tale put her own problems—so inane in comparison—in perspective, but it didn't. By the time she got home, she had a headache from clenching her jaw to hold back her tears. The headache was a blessing; she took two Valium, put on her favorite silk pajamas, and collapsed into bed, grateful for the rapidity with which her mind plummeted into darkness.

“Eric! What happened?”

Delilah was staring at him in utter and complete shock as she handed over a slice of pepperoni pizza. For two days, news of his split from Monica was all over the media, though it was deliberately vague, as Theresa had advised. She'd issued a statement saying the split was mutual, and that he and Monica wished each other all the best. Eric had been “no commenting” his head off. Monica was doing the same. It was all very polite and civilized.

His brother was staring at him across the kitchen table like he'd never seen anyone so pathetic, which Eric didn't appreciate. “What's your problem?” Eric asked sharply.

“You know what my problem is. You blew it, didn't you? All this ‘The split was mutual' crap all over the press? It's bull, isn't it? You cut her loose, didn't you?”

Eric bit into his pizza, taking his time answering. He could still see himself standing in the lobby at the Four Seasons, shocked by how quickly Monica had pulled the plug and walked away. Well, what the hell else was she supposed to do? He'd expected to feel relief as she drove away in the cab, but he didn't. Instead, he felt hollow. It was just the shock of how they parted, he told himself. He squelched the feeling and went back to his teammates, raising a champagne toast to the return of Eric Mitchell, horn dog supreme.

“Well?” Jason pushed.

“Jason,” Delilah chastised quietly. “Give him a chance.”

“I dumped her,” said Eric matter-of-factly.

“But why?” Delilah asked, frowning at her husband as he slipped a piece of pizza under the table to his Newf, Stanley. “You guys seemed so perfect together. And you seemed so happy.”

“That's why he dumped her,” Jason jeered. “Because things were getting too
real
.”

Eric lowered his slice from his mouth. “What is with all this hostility?”

“Monica was great,” said Jason.

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“Let me finish,” said Jason with a glare.

Eric frowned. “Fine.”

“And one of the reasons she was great was because she humanized you. She brought out your good side—the side very few people know exists, the one that isn't a womanizing dick.”

Delilah looked uncomfortable. “That's a bit harsh, honey.”

“You know it's true,” Jason said. He looked at Eric contemptuously. “I guess you're going to go back to your studly ways, huh?”

Eric shrugged.

“You are one sad bastard.”

“I want you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say, and if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I
will
kill you,” Eric said in a controlled voice, tired of being abused. “My and Monica's relationship? The whole thing was an act.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jason scoffed.

“The whole team was upset about losing Guy. No one was thrilled about my taking his place, as you may recall. I put my foot in my mouth by acting like a smug asshole on day one. I was sucking at practice. Meanwhile, the soap press was buzzing about that new actress on
W and F
unseating Monica.”

“That blonde chick that sucks?”

“Yeah. Monica was panicking, so she went to Theresa Dante. After Monica told her we'd met on the set, Theresa suggested she raise her public profile by dating me. Remember all those articles at the beginning of the season about me being the hot new bachelor in town? And of course, the
People
magazine list—”

“Cut to the chase,” Jason grumbled.

“So Theresa approached me, pointing out how mutually beneficial this would be to both of us. I knew the guys all loved Monica, and it would impress them if I were dating her, so I agreed. And that's all it's been: a fake relationship to keep both of us in the public eye.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

Jason was shaking his head vehemently. “
No way.
What about at Mom and Dad's, with you guys in the same bed?”

“We made a barrier of pillows between us.”

“Really?” Delilah asked, looking crestfallen.

Jason still wasn't buying it. “You're full of it. There's no way someone in a fake relationship could look at you the way she looked at you. The way she touched you.”

“She's an
actress
, you idiot, remember? Sadly for her, though, she did come to develop feelings for me.”

Jason looked scornful. “Oh, and I suppose you didn't develop any for her?”

“Nope,” Eric garbled through a mouthful of pizza. “Total acting job on my part.”

“God, you are so full of shit. You can't act.”

“Yes, he can,” Delilah pointed out quietly. “Remember when he posed as you and charmed my mother? He did a great job.”

“Well, there's no way he could keep up an acting job like this for months,” Jason insisted.

“Obviously, I'm more talented than you know,” Eric replied cockily.

“Okay, so tell me this,” said Jason, reaching down to give another piece of pizza to Stanley, but Delilah snatched it from his fingers before it reached the dog's jaws. “If this act was working out so well for you two, why end it?”

“I told you: she was beginning to get emotionally attached to me. You
know
me, Jace: I don't like to be tied down.”

“Did you
ever
sleep with her?”

Eric grinned. “Hell, yeah.”

“Doesn't make sense,” Jason said more insistently than before. “Why would you be having sex if the whole romance wasn't real?”

“Ever hear the expression ‘Friend with benefits'?”

Jason crossed his arms across his chest. “Bullshit, Eric. I'm your fucking twin. I know you like I know myself. It might have started as an act, but you cared for her.”

“I agree,” Delilah piped up. “You have feelings for her, and it's just like Jason said: you were getting nervous because it was getting ‘real.' ”

“Getting real for
her
,” Eric maintained angrily. “I didn't want her to fall more deeply in love with me. I like her. I didn't want to hurt her.”

“You're lying.” Delilah picked a slice of pepperoni off her pizza and popped it in her mouth. “You two spent a lot of time here with us. You were not acting.”

“Yes, I was,” Eric maintained through gritted teeth.

“I'm never going to believe that,” Delilah said stubbornly.

“That's your choice. But it's the truth.”

“I'm with Delilah,” said Jason. “You might be able to bullshit everyone else in the world, but you can't bullshit me.”

Eric chuckled. “You know what I don't get about this, Jace? You were the one who, in the beginning, said you couldn't believe someone like Monica Geary would fall for a jackass like me. Now I'm here telling you the whole thing was bullshit, and you refuse to believe it. What's the deal?”

“She brought out the best in you, Eric.” Jason turned serious. “I love you, Bro, and it bothers me you haven't found someone. It just seems sad.”

“Maybe I think
your
fuckin' life is sad,” Eric shot back. He quickly turned to Delilah. “I don't mean that. I'm just . . . I don't know.” He stared at his brother. “Different people want different things.”

“Whatever.” Jason reached for another piece of pizza. “So, you going out tomorrow night with Ulf and Thad to pick up some bimbos?”

“Maybe.”

“Same old Eric,” Jason sneered.

“Leave him alone, Jason,” said Delilah. She looked sad as she finished off her slice. “You know what's best for you,” she said to Eric. “We love you. And we're here for you. But I'm really going to miss Monica.”

SEVENTEEN

“Cut!”

Monica got up from behind the couch with a sigh, her eyes glancing up at the control booth to catch Jimmy's. He was frowning. He was always frowning these days. After all these months, Chesty still had the acting ability of a rock. Monica had heard through the grapevine that she was getting private coaching, but it didn't seem to be helping. Oh, well. If the popularity polls in
Soap World
were any indication, it wasn't Monica's problem.

“OMG, Monica. I can't believe you and Eric Mitchell are splitsville!”

When Sartre wrote, “Hell is other people,” he wasn't kidding,
Monica thought to herself as Chesty cornered her on the set. News of her and Eric's “amicable split” was being reported everywhere, with speculation running high as to why this “golden couple had called it quits,” as the
Sentinel
so unimaginatively put it. Because of Eric's high profile as an athlete, they were even generating some chat on ESPN. The guys on
PTI
were debating whether Eric had been unable to change his womanizing ways. Months ago Monica would have been thrilled at the response. Now she just wanted the buzz to die down so she could get on with her life.

She'd allowed herself a one-day pity party of weeping, moping in her pajamas, and eating junk food. The next morning she resolved not to waste any more time and emotion on an asshole like Eric Mitchell. Instead of putting her heart-break into exile, she'd channel it into work. It would come in handy now, especially since Roxie had just gotten the earth-shattering news that Paige was pregnant with Grayson's baby.

Chesty seemed to be holding her breath, anticipating, perhaps even longing for, some kind of emotional outburst from Monica.
You can hold your breath till your face turns blue,
thought Monica.
The day I let you see I'm upset is the day Burt Reynolds stops getting plastic surgery.

“The split? No big deal,” Monica said with a big yawn. “It happens.”

“Yeah, but you guys seemed so—so in love,” Chesty continued, as if she were really, truly stunned by Monica and Eric's split. Unfortunately, her breathless shock was about as real as her breasts.

“It happens,” Monica repeated. If Chesty didn't catch on at this point that Monica wasn't going to discuss it with her, then she really was a dimwit.

“Was it because of the age difference?”

Scratch
dimwit
; fill in the word
bitch
instead. Monica rolled her eyes. “I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to reply, ‘What age difference?' and you make a surprised face and say cattily, ‘I thought you were older than him,' right?”

Chesty looked caught. “I was just making a joke,” she insisted.

“Ha-ha,” Monica deadpanned.

“So, um,” Chesty began twirling a piece of hair around her finger coyly, “this is kind of awkward, but since you seem so, well, over Eric, would it bother you if I got in touch with him?”

Monica felt steam beginning to build in her veins. By the time it reached her head, it would come hissing out her ears. She knew
hate
was a strong word, but she really, truly hated Chesty.

Monica gave a devil-may-care shrug. “No skin off my nose.”