Tidal (4 page)

“My name is Willow,” I snapped

through clenched teeth. He smirked.

“I’m pretty sure I read on Wikipedia

that it’s Brittany,” he said, and I cringed.

The only person who
ever
called me by

my actual first name was the guy who’d

ripped me to shreds three years ago.

Cooper didn’t seem to notice the change in

my expression when he asked in a sincere

voice, “So, Wills, why don’t we just start

over?”

“Whatever.”

He bent far over in his seat and

stretched his hand toward me. “I’m

Cooper Taylor. I’m a Scorpio. I enjoy

women, long walks on the beach, and my

roommate says I use girly shampoo. Oh,

and I generally hate anyone in the film

industry because they’re total assholes.

Guess you could say I’m your Pai Mei.”

It was a string of jokes and another

insult to my profession, but for some

reason, this time the tease in his voice

made me smile. Maybe it was the lack of

sleep. Or the fact he'd mentioned
Kill Bill
, a movie I could watch every day without

getting bored. I slipped my hand in his.

“Willow Avery. Actress, Cancer, and

according to my team, on my last leg

before porn.”

The moment the words jumbled from

my lips, I realized they were a mistake. I

glanced down at a scar on my right knee,

but I could feel Miller’s curious stare

burning into the side of my face and

Cooper’s unreadable one directed at the

top of my head. Cooper cleared his throat

and I braced myself for a screwed up

comment.

I swallowed hard because as much as

I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter what

people thought of me, it did. The choice I

made a few years ago was evidence

enough of that.

“I’ve seen your movies,” Cooper said

gently. When I lifted my head, he gave me

an unashamed look. “Guess you can say I

like to study up on my clients.”

He’d gone through the trouble of

finding my whole name on Wikipedia and

seeing my films—I’d say he was the most

thorough, and unnervingly sexy, surf coach

who ever existed.

“Let me guess—inhuman?” I asked

roughly.

He moved the pad of his thumb over

my skin, stroking the spot between my

thumb and index finger, and I pulled a rush

of air through my nose. “No, insanely

talented. Light up the fucking screen

talented, Wills.”

When I saw a flash, I snatched my

hand back to myself. Our heads—Cooper

and mine—turned toward the camera

wielder, and Miller was already on his

feet, standing in front of me with his arms

crossed over his chest. When I peeked

around him, I was expecting to see

paparazzo, but it was a kid, probably

twelve or thirteen, with her parents. I

heard the loud squalls of a baby and

dropped my eyes to the covered stroller

her dad was pushing. For a second, the

blood drained from my face, from my

body, but I quickly composed myself,

forcing my attention back to the girl. She

was bouncing on the balls of her feet

excitedly and saying something to her

father. He gave me an apologetic look as

she dashed forward.

Miller glanced over his shoulder at

me. “You want to take this one?” I bobbed

my head, even though the sudden pitch in

my stomach told me I shouldn’t. Miller

stepped aside.

“Oh my god, I loved
Sleepless
!” she

gushed. The sound of her voice

intermingled with the squealing of the

baby, and I just wanted to cover my ears.

When I didn’t immediately respond, the

girl backtracked a few steps. “Wait, you

are Willow Avery, right?”

As if on cue, my face moved into a

tight smile. I swallowed hard to push back

the nausea. “Yes! So stoked to hear you

love
Sleepless
—it was my favorite to

make. What’s your name?” My voice

sounded sweet and chipper, but inside—

inside, I was a mess. I sounded

mechanical, just like Cooper had pointed

out not even ten minutes ago.

“Lizzie,” she said. She held up a wide,

thin phone, jiggling it around. “Will you . .

.”

A few feet away from me the baby

squealed. Again and again.

I answered too quickly, too happily.

“I’d love to!” Though I was staring right at

Lizzie, I saw Cooper’s mouth turn

downward, into a frown. I would ignore

him. I would ignore him and the baby and

get this over with. Hastily, I took the

phone from Lizzie and jutted it out at

Miller. He took it in his giant hand, and I

flicked my eyes up to him pleadingly.

“Can you take it?” I begged.
So they

can go away. Please?

Miller gave me a gruff nod. He stood

beside where Cooper sat, holding the

phone in front of him. Lizzie threw her thin

arm around my shoulders and grinned

from ear to ear. “This is so awesome,”

she said, casting a beam over to her

parents. Through the haze in my head—the

one that was still there because of the

conversation I’d had with Cooper only

moments before—I wondered how they

felt about this. If they were disappointed

their daughter idolized someone like me.

Lizzie turned her face to mine. “What

should we say?” she asked.

“How about
Sleepless
?” Cooper

suggested in a tight tone.

“Yes,
Sleepless
,” I murmured.

It took Miller a few times to get the

picture right—his giant fingers kept

exiting out of the camera app or showing

up in the photo itself—but finally he

snapped a few good photos. I sat on the

edge of my seat as Lizzie talked excitedly

about my movies for a few more minutes.

Then, finally she left, humming happily,

with her mom and dad and the baby in

tow.

I sighed in relief as our flight was

called to board. When Cooper stepped

past me, avoiding my eyes, he said, “Nice

going, Wills.” His voice was hard and

unreadable.

I didn’t have the balls or the heart to

tell Cooper that being so close to Lizzie’s

family had did me in.

That it reminded me of what I’d given

up three years before.

Chapter Three

Although we immediately learned our

seats were booked side by side—Cooper

in the window seat, me beside him, and

Miller across the aisle, on my right—any

headway I thought I’d gained with him

inside the airport seemed to evaporate the

moment we boarded the flight to

Honolulu. Now, as I followed him down

the coffee-scented, narrow aisle toward

our seats, all that remained was the

bittersweet smell of “what if.” I was more

than used to getting my face smooshed into

“could’ve been” and “what if”, but for

some reason, this time felt so much worse

than usual. I wasn’t naïve enough to

pretend I didn’t know why.

Plus, I wasn’t high to the point of not

noticing.

The first and only other time I left

rehab, nearly two years ago when I spent

ninety days at a luxury program that was

like the Four Seasons for addicts, I’d

lasted approximately six hours before I

caved and bought enough Roxies to last

three months. At least, it should have

lasted me that long. My best friend Jessica

and I had gone through them in a week—

seven days I still couldn’t remember.

“Excuse me,” Cooper said in a coarse

voice, interrupting my thoughts. He

wanted to talk, thank God. I looked up at

him expectantly to find him staring over

the top of my head, at the overhead

compartment. “I’ve got to put my bag up.”

Okay, so he didn’t have anything to

say to me.

“Sure,” I said. As he reached up to

store his duffle bag, I slid down into my

seat and crossed my arms over my chest.

When he sat next to me a moment later, he

immediately pulled a magazine

—
SURFING
, go freaking figure—from his

back pocket and began studying it.

Something sharp expanded in my throat,

the same constriction I always felt right

before I bawled my eyes out, and I

slouched down.

You know what, Cooper? I don’t give

a shit what you think.

Of course that was a big fat lie. I

cared—God, I probably cared too much

what people thought of me; no matter how

much I tried to tell myself I didn’t. So I sat

there, stuck beside Cooper in first class,

utterly miserable because of what had

happened in the airport and the silence

that now hung like stale laundry between

the two of us.

After two hours of being quiet and

avoiding my gaze, Cooper finally sighed

and whispered, “You don’t look so good.”

Startled, I looked over at him. His

eyes were directed at the window, gazing

out into hazy white nothingness. He’d

spent the last hour dividing his attention

between the window and his magazine,

unlike Miller who’d fallen asleep and

hadn’t moved an inch, not even when a

stewardess bumped a drink cart into the

side of his seat.

“Are you going to be okay?” Cooper

asked.

“And he speaks,” I said. “Get tired of

pretending I don’t exist?”

“Don’t throw up on me, Wills,” he

warned, placing his palm flat on the cold

glass, and making no effort to

acknowledge what I’d said. Ugh, I was

glad I hadn’t apologized to him.

I squeezed my eyes closed and

counted to three. “I don’t like flying over

water,” I said, and Cooper released a low

groan and a curse.

“Please tell me you’re not afraid of

water.”

If we were on the ground, and if there

weren’t still a razor sharp tension cutting

through us, I might have said yes. It would

have been worth getting a rise out of him.

Instead, I shook my head to each side and

whispered, “No . . . just being forty

thousand feet over it.”

It was the truth. Somewhat. Flying

over water had been number three on my

list of biggest fears when my rehab

counselor had told me to write them out a

few months ago. Silence had topped that

list, but it was really second—I’d been

too afraid to put down number one. Today,

I’d faced three of the things that always

seemed to shake me apart into a million

pieces, and I’d done so un-medicated.

I could do this.

Maybe . . . maybe I wasn’t as weak as

I believed.

“Get some rest,” Cooper said, his

voice low, his warm breath fanning my

ear, the side of my face. Instinctively, I

shivered, my neck cricking to the side

where I felt him. I hadn’t realized he’d

moved away from the window.

“Why?” I said.

“Because you’ll need it when we hit

the beach tomorrow.” This time when his

lips came close to my skin, I didn’t show

a reaction, though I felt it—a deep burn

that started in the center of my stomach,

unfurling until it completely took me over.

“I’ve worked on a lot less sleep,” I

replied, opening my eyes.

“Not with me, Wills. I’m not going to

let you fail.”

I snorted. “You get paid regardless of

how stupid I look doing this.”

“Who said it has anything to do with

money?” he asked. Then, he shifted in his

seat—moved away from me—and was

quiet again.

***

three hours later, at 7:15 p.m. As we

walked to the baggage claim together,

with Miller a few steps away, I said

jokingly to Cooper, “What? No lei?”

He gave me a look that radiated

cockiness. “You’ve got no clue how much

I wish there were, Wills.”

I’d walked my ass right into that one.

Feeling my face light up in mortification, I

glanced down at the slick, polished floor

to gather my bearings, as he added,

“You’ve got to pay for leis.” I looked up

in time to see him pointing at a man

holding an armful of flowers and a
SALE

sign.

“So much for the welcome in the

movies, huh?”

“If you want, I’ll give you a lay.”

“I’m sure you will,” I muttered,

slowing my stride so that he could walk

ahead of me. I fell in beside Miller. He

was all business—stony expression and

hulking muscles—and glancing his dark

eyes around cautiously, though it didn’t

seem like anyone was paying us any

attention.

We collected our bags without a

single camera or phone coming out, much

to my relief. Miller went off to a rental car

kiosk to pick up the keys for our car, so I

followed Cooper out a set of sliding

doors, toward the rental car garage. A

blast of warm, muggy air hit my face,

moistening my skin, and I coughed. Next to

me, Cooper pulled out his phone, punching