Tidal (31 page)

I typed until I couldn’t see anymore

and when I hit send, I pushed my laptop

aside. Then I rushed to the bathroom to

vomit up the remnants of the vodka I’d

drunk the night before.

***

with my eyes closed and drying tears

burning the corners and making the sides

of my face feel as if it was cracking into a

million pieces.

Just like the girl herself
, I thought.

I heard him stumble across the room

and felt his body sink down next to me on

the cold tile. His heart sounded like it was

in his throat as he said over and over,

“Wills. Willow. Wills.”

“I’m not high,” I whispered in a voice

rubbed completely raw from the crying.

He sighed, falling back hard against

something. My eyelashes were sticky as I

pulled them apart to squint over at him. He

was by the tub, his expression tight as he

worked his fingers against his temples.

“But I wanted to be,” I said.

“But you’re not,” he told me, cupping

my face between his hands. He kissed me

hard and desperately. “You’re alright.”

I cried out and he pulled back.

“Cooper, I’m fucked up.”

“Jessica screwed you over. Just

because you wanted to—”

I pushed him away from me, scooted

back to the wall and hugged my knees. For

a long time, our breathing was the only

sound in the bathroom. “Wills?” he

whispered at last, hesitantly.

I dug into my pocket, pulling the bag of

Roxies out and tossing them across to him.

“My birthday present.”

He looked at the bag like it would rot

his hand off if he touched it before he

dragged his hands over his face. “Rick?”

It took me a moment to figure out who

he was talking about and then I realized it

was Eric’s dad, the pill-dealer. I shook

my head. “I’ve never even met the guy.

Jessica brought those for me last night as a

belated birthday gift and left them.”

He clenched his hands, his features,

but he didn’t ask me about Jessica, he

simply said, “What do we do now?”

“I wrote an email to Leah’s blog a

little while ago.” When he groaned and

started to say something, I shook my head

fiercely, cutting him off. “They’ve already

put out everything that could hurt me.

Everything that could hurt you and your da

—Dickson. What else can they do besides

mock my grammar?”

“Wills . . .”

When I cut him off again, I looked

away so I wouldn’t have to see his face

when I asked him my question. “If I go

away—if I go to be fixed—will you still

be here?”

He was quiet for a long time, and I

knew it was over. That he was going to

rip me apart like Tyler, but wouldn’t

leave a single bit of me to salvage. I

wouldn’t cry. I’d already wept so much

that even if Cooper told me to fuck off, I

didn’t think it was possible for me to shed

another tear. I would not cry. I would not.

And suddenly, he was coming over to

me, wrapping his arms around me, and

burying his face into my hair.

“Don’t ever doubt me again, Willow.

The whole time you’ve been here I’ve told

you two things until I was blue in the face

—that I’ll look after you and that I’m not

wishy-washy. If you’ve got to go fix

yourself, nothing I feel for you changes. I

won’t stop loving you.”

I was wrong. There were still tears

left in me.

Dickson sent a car, and an extra

bodyguard, half an hour later and we met

him at a secluded beach house he said

belonged to a friend. The three of us were

tense, as we talked about what would

happen next. When my producer assured

me that he had enough footage of me to

make the movie work, my head popped

up.

“I’m not going to bail on you,

Dickson,” I said. Dickson shook his head

and touched my shoulder.

“You’re not. We’ll give Justin a few

extra scenes if we have to—that kid will

love that. What I want you to do is go get

yourself help, Willow.” Not once did

Dickson look at me angrily, even though

his name was being smeared too, and I

caught Cooper giving him an appreciative

nod when he added, “I know of a good

place in L.A. and I’ll gladly foot the bill.”

That night, once Cooper went to bed

and the cameras outside of his place

finally died down, I slunk away to the

hallway that led out to the deck so I could

call my parents. It was two in the morning

in Los Angeles, but my mom answered

almost as soon as I hit the call button, her

voice anxious.

“Where have you been all day? We’ve

been worried sick. Your dad and I’ve

scheduled a morning flight to come to

Hawaii and—”

“Don’t,” I said, pacing, my bare feet

tapping softly on the cold floor.

“Don’t? Please don’t push us away

this time—” She paused and I heard my

dad say something to her. I heard the

sound of her hand scratching against the

receiver and a second later, my father

came on the line.

“Willow, don’t be difficult,” Dad

said.

Don’t be difficult. Don’t. Be. Fucking.

Difficult.

I bit the inside of my cheek before

telling him, “I wrote a letter to Leah’s

blog.”

Dad sucked in a breath of air. “I’m

aware.” I paused, shaking my head

incredulously. There was no doubt in my

mind that it had been published on the site

almost as soon as I sent it.

“I’m going back to rehab, Dad.

Dickson says he’s gotten everything out of

me that he needs to make this film a

success.”

“Willow—”

“Just listen to me for once!” I snapped,

and then I heard nothing but silence on the

other line. “Cooper’s flying me home

tomorrow or the next day—hell, I don’t

know—but the point is, I’m coming back

to do what I should have done eight

months ago. And hopefully, the next time I

see you, I’ll be okay. I’ll be . . . right.”

Dad murmured something to my

mother and I heard her make a strangled

noise. “What about your career? What

about your acting?”

“Hollywood has survived twice

without me before. I don’t think the

industry will shut down if I disappear.”

“Do you need—”

“I don’t need money,” I said and then I

sat down on the floor across from the

laundry room door and told him about

Dickson finding me a rehab and paying for

it. When I was finished, I sighed. “I’ll

call you. Or write you. And Dad?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” he asked, his voice

heavy with emotion.

“For once, it would be nice if you

didn’t have something planned when I

come out. If you could just let me ease

back into regular life. If you could give

me that respect..”

When I placed the phone down on its

screen a moment later, a sound from the

end of the hallway startled me, and I

looked up to see Cooper leaned against

the wall, looking so much like he did that

first night a couple months ago when he’d

kissed me senseless in the doorway at my

rental.

I smiled sadly as I got to my feet and

gravitated to him. Our bodies were flush,

and he threaded his fingertips into the hair

near my temples.

And then, he kissed me again, like it

was the last time we’d say goodbye.

Chapter Twenty-Two

My new home for the next sixty days

was called Seaside, even though it wasn’t

anywhere near the sea. The rehab Dickson

had paid for was nowhere near as

luxurious as the first one I’d been to, nor

was it as plain as Serenity Hills. The

Monday after
Leah Dishes Hollywood

first broke the story about me and Tyler,

and Dickson and Cooper, Cooper helped

me check in. After I filled out a packet of

paperwork that was a good two inches

thick, we stood in front of the staff station

because he wasn’t allowed beyond that

point.

“A couple months ago I never thought

I’d say this,” he said in a low voice, his

fingertips skimming the sides of my face,

“but I’m actually going to miss you,

Wills.” He was grinning, but it didn’t

reach his eyes, and I knew he was just

trying to make me smile.

This will be hard.

I refused to say that aloud. So I forced

the corners of my lips up into a smile and

dragged in a deep breath between my teeth

to keep from crumpling. I didn’t want to

be here. Two months ago I’d sworn to

myself that I’d never go back to rehab and

now here I was again checking myself in.

All I knew was that I needed help—I

didn’t want to feel like I needed to drown

my sorrows every time I read about

myself online or whenever I had a bad

dream. I could do this. It was only sixty

days.

People had been separated for so

much longer.

A desperate exhale slipped from my

lips as I pulled his mouth down to cover

mine. The kiss was entirely too short and I

shivered when our mouths broke apart. A

member of the staff called my name and

Cooper cast a grim look in his direction,

tightening his grip on my fingertips.

“I feel like—” he started and then

dragged his free hand through his blonde

hair.

“Like what?”

The corners of his lips quirked up for

a moment into a painful grimace. “Like

I’ve failed you, Wills.”

He hadn’t. He’d done just the opposite

and I shook my head from side to side.

“This will be worth it,” I said. Then,

reluctantly, I pulled away from Cooper

and went in the direction of the man saying

my name.

“I can do this,” I said under my breath.

“I’ll be fine.”

I quickly discovered that I wasn’t a

celebrity at Seaside. The staff didn’t treat

me like I was a god or like an idiot

assigned to them by a judge or like

anything other than a patient. My room had

a window and my roommate, Nora, wasn’t

famous—she was a hairdresser whose

wealthy grandparents were paying for her

to be here. When I introduced myself to

her she’d cocked an eyebrow and bit her

bottom lip before reaching out to take my

hand.

“I’d hoped I wouldn’t get a roomie,”

she’d said.

I’d smiled. “Sorry. You can pretend I

don’t exist if you want,” I replied. She’d

winked and stopped chewing her lip long

enough to give me a half-smile.

“I was already planning on it.”

When I was given phone privileges

two weeks after I arrived, and I called

Cooper, I told him that Seaside was the

baby bear of rehabs.

“I don’t get it, Wills,” he said, but I

could tell he was smiling.

I slid down on one of the floral-

printed couches in the empty common

room. “They don’t have fables in

Australia?” I teased, squeezing my eyes

shut as I listened to the sound of his

breathing. He’d sent letters—everyday—

but parting with a voice I’d heard every

day for months had been difficult.

He cleared his throat. “I was pretty

sure the bear one was a fairytale.”

“Same difference,” I choked out.

His voice grew serious. “How are you

holding up?”

So I told him, as fast as my fifteen

minutes would allow. I told him about

Nora. I didn’t add that she’d been in and

out of rehab for the last 16years—since

she was 18—or that she had a family who

never wrote her. I’d started getting letters

from my parents a week ago and I hid

them under my pillowcase because I

didn’t want to see the hurt look on her

face.

“She’s good to you?”

“One of the sweetest people I’ve ever

met,” I said honestly.

I heard noises in the background and

then Paige’s voice came on the line. “I

miss you, Avery!”

Swallowing hard, I said, “I miss you

too. And Eric. Your piece of shit Grand

Caravan still holding up?”

She made a noise that sounded like a

hybrid of a laugh and a hiss. “You shut

your dirty mouth.” Then she said.

“Cooper’s flailing—and no I’m not even

kidding—for the phone. We love you,

Willow. Me and Eric and the boy with

the coconut shampoo.”

I wasn’t used to friends telling me they

loved me when we weren’t drunk, so

when I said it back to her, it sounded

awkward. “Love you too, Paige.”

It was the truth, so that was all that

mattered.

I had three minutes left when I heard

Cooper’s voice return to the line. We

spent all of it talking about his surfing

competition in October, the one he’d told

me about earlier in the summer. As he

gave me the dates, I felt something sink in

the pit of my stomach.

He’d be in the Canary Islands from the