Total Trainwreck (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Funny thing. It didn’t make me puke this time. I needed something. Anything. And a cigarette was all I could find. I fired it up as fast as my fingers would fly and haven’t had the first wave of nausea. Maybe this situation is starting to realize who’s in charge around here.

I’m sitting at a custom-built stone table in my fabulous backyard. Before me sits an imitation silver pot—the cheap kind you’d find in a flea market. I can’t take my eyes off it. It looks like a hotel ice bucket. According to Mr. Brown, who happens to be my father’s attorney, who happened to be conveniently waiting outside Jules’s office, the gray stuff inside is my dad.

Last Christmas, I thought Mom divorcing him was the best thing I’d ever heard. Now I know how stupid I was. Without a wife, I became Dad’s next of kin. So I get all the fun things like the letters of debt and a bag of belongings from his dead man’s pockets. Hell, I even got him.
Hoo-fucking-ray
.

What am I going to do with this thing? It sure as hell isn’t going to sit around decorating my mantel or even a dusty bookcase shelf. But at the same time, giving it to Mom isn’t that appealing either. And I don’t know why, other than pure petty spite on my part.

I sweep the urn off the table and tuck in under my arm. Inside, I start opening cabinets. But, you can’t put a dead man in a kitchen cabinet even if he is a pile of dust. That’s gross.

I walk to the den, feeling proud of myself for finally knowing my way around my own house. There are plenty of cabinets in the built-ins in here. One contains the main control panel for the house speaker system. Music sounds good right now. I turn a few dials and Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games”
emerges from ceiling speakers. It’s appropriately solemn. Another cabinet houses the control panel to a security system that is so complicated I can’t even work it. There must be fifteen mini screens all fixed on black-and-white views all over the house. The clarity is amazing and Maria says it’s top of the line. All Wi-Fi with an infinite range.

Dad’s still tucked under my arm. I opt for one of the empty cabinets beside where a TV should be mounted. I sit back on the lone couch and imagine what the room will look like once the decorators finish. TV there, couches over here, maybe a reading nook by the fireplace. It’ll be awesome. Try as I may to distract myself, my eyes keep straying to the cabinet that hides my father. Nope. That won’t work. I’ll spend way too much time in this room and I’ll know he’s there whether I can see him or not. I retrieve him from the shelf, tuck him back under my arm and go looking for a better place.

The house is huge. It’ll cost a fortune to decorate it, and I’m not even sure how long I’ll live here. If Mr. Moretti delivers like I think he will, it’s only a matter of time before Heather is eighty-sixed and Devon and I come clean about our love and move in together. This house is great for a starlet on the rise, but nothing for a Hollywood mega star. I wander into a vast shell that’s probably the dining room. On the far wall sits a built-in bar and butler’s pantry.

I open the bar’s front door. It smells of oiled wood mixed with lingering liquor stench. God I love that smell. Know who else loved that smell? Yep. Dear old Dad. I slide him onto the shelf. It’s the perfect place. I’ll never come in here and even if I do, he looks like an ice bucket anyway. It’d be easy to forget what’s really inside. I’m pretty proud of myself, and decide to sit on the bare floor to admire my fancy, empty dining room.

There’s a knock on the door. Jane went to pick up an insane amount of Chinese food to feed my situation and quell this horrible mood. She must’ve forgotten her key. I pull myself off the floor and make my way to a distressed-brick walled foyer. I don’t even bother to look through the peep hole. I swing the door wide, and he’s standing there.

A hoodie pulled low over his face so no one can see. I almost don’t recognize him until I see a familiar black Tahoe parked in the driveway. Only, Tiny isn’t here. He must’ve driven himself. Devon Hayes driving? That’s insane.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he says from the shadows of his hoodie looking all Robin Hood Prince of Thieves hot. I bite at a smile, then grab his shirtfront and pull him safely inside before planting my lips all over his. He pulls away from me.

“You’ve been smoking,” he says with a frown.

“Don’t even.” I hold up a hand and turn my head away. A cigarette is the least of my worries today, but he wouldn’t know that. “You have no idea the shit storm...no, the shit tsunami...that is raining on my life right now.” I huff and walk into the kitchen, leaving him to trail behind me.

“Please, don’t let her get to you. I’ve had India prepare statements that deny the engagement rumors.”

“Surprisingly, it’s not Heather who’s fucking up my world today.” I take two glasses and fill them with water, placing one on the island in front of him.

“What’s going on?”

“My dad’s back.” My face feels pinched and awkward when I say this. His brow wrinkles and he must be wondering if my situation has made me crack.

“Your dad’s dead.”

“Yeah. But he’s found a way to fuck things up from the grave.” I jerk my head to the side, silently asking him to follow, and lead him through the house into the dining room.

“I like this house,” he says somewhere along the way.

“Yeah, it’s cool.” We enter into the room, our footsteps echoing against the bare nothingness. I walk over to the bar, bend down and swing the doors open wide. Devon peers in and then looks to me.

“An ice bucket?”

I laugh and take a drink of water. “It’s so fitting.”

“What?” Devon asks warily.

“That my dad’s urn would look like a cheap motel ice bucket.” I stare at the damned thing a second longer, biting my lip, and then push it to the very back of the shelf with a toe.

“Oh.” Devon sighs. He doesn’t need to say any more. He gets it.

“What’s more?” I ask with a sideways look. “He swore out a statement to the DA. Blabbed every fucking thing that monster did to me. He thought he was ‘fixing things.’” I put finger quotations around
fixing things
because all his dumb ass did with that statement of his was break things even further. And now he’s gone and I can’t even yell at him if I want to. My words echo in the room, causing my body to pop goose bumps so big they push tears into my eyes. Then I go numb.

“That’s what he was doing at the court house when he...” His voice trails off and he pauses to think about things. Yeah. I already put that together. All these weeks, I’ve thought he was there for a probation visit, but oh no. Not my dad. He had to go and make his dying act a final
fuck you
to his daughter. Put one more hurdle in my life that’s impossible to pass.

“Oh, Sunshine,” Devon says soft and low. He places his water on the bar top. Takes the glass from my hand and does the same with it. He folds me into the nook of his chest and quietly rocks me back and forth. Feeling him, smelling him, knowing he’s here and how much he cares is enough to break me. I hate being so tough all the time. I hate having to deal with this shit. I’m exhausted. I’m so tired of everything. But his arms—oh, his arms!—they bring a total-body kind of peace I can’t find anywhere else. Not drugs. Not booze. Nothing but him. I relax into his solid strength and let tears slide silently over my cheeks.

Devon doesn’t push me. And he doesn’t try to rush in to fix things either. He knows what I’m dealing with. He knows how deep my hurt runs and he knows that I have to deal with it in my own way.

“What did you tell them?” he asks softly when my sobs subside.

“I denied everything.” I drag in a raspy breath to calm my tears.

“Are they dropping it?”

I shake my head against his chest. “Apparently California takes crimes against children very seriously. No matter who you are.” I push as much snark as I can into my voice, sounding just like Jules Moriarty.

A breath hisses from Devon, but he doesn’t flinch. “You know, Carly, this coming to light might not be such a bad thing.”

Again I shake my head. “Are you insane?”

“There isn’t a soul alive that would blame you for what they did. The truth of your past excuses every awful headline you’ve ever made. Think about it. Everybody wants justice for a victim.”

I shrug in a noncommittal way. Maybe he’s right. But he’s still crazy if he thinks I’m healed to the point of admission. Not yet. Not with all the other ticking time bombs in my life.

“What did Mr. Moretti find?” I ask, switching to a topic I’d rather talk about. Devon looks away, a frown pinching his face before he can hide it. My stomach plummets to my toes.

“Nothing concrete. Yet.” His voice is tight. Clipped.

“You said he needed a week.” My pulse spikes, sending any patience I had right out the window. “Why the hell did he need a meeting to tell you he had nothing?”

“He’s got leads. There’s some question around Angel’s paternity, but I don’t think it’s enough. She was livid after seeing you last night. We’ve got to have her dead to rights on something or she’s not going anywhere.”

This is news I simply cannot handle right now. Mr. Moretti was supposed to be our answer and now he’s not? I’m shaking in a hot rage, barely able to contain myself. I know it’s not Devon’s fault, but this day is turning out to be such an epic fail, I wish I’d stayed in Siberia.

I back away from him, trembling, grinding my teeth, clenching my fists, needing so badly to release the anger flowing through me. How the hell are we supposed to find our happily-ever-after now? Where the hell is Jane? I need to hit something. Devon won’t do. He’d just stand there and let me swing. I need something that’s going to fight back.

Dad’s urn glinting in the cabinet catches my eye. I haul off and kick the door shut. Only, I hit it so hard it flies back open. So I kick it again. And again. I kick until the poor door cracks and hangs from loose hinges. So what? I’m redecorating anyway. I’m heaving when I stop, shoulders rocking, lungs burning. Devon stares at me like I’m a woman possessed. I probably am, because without Moretti’s help I no longer see a way forward.

At that moment, the front door opens and Jane bursts in, loaded with bags of food.

I rip my eyes away from Devon because I don’t want to involve Jane in our argument. He breathes a sigh of relief. He’d damned sure better. I follow Jane into the kitchen and load a plate with fried rice and egg rolls. Devon follows my lead, warily eyeing me while I eat, waiting for me to cool off.

“Did you go to the doctor today?” he asks while I shovel in food. I shake my head, my mouth too full to answer. “Why don’t you let me set up a private appointment with my doctor? He’s total concierge medicine. We can do it in in your bedroom. Then I can be there.” He says this last part lower than the rest, testing the waters, waiting to see how I’ll react.

I freeze midbite, swallowing hard at a mouthful of unchewed food. Devon assumes my appointment with Dr. Goldberg is a typical prenatal visit. He doesn’t know that my plans still include fixing this situation my way. It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission in this case.

I place the greasy egg roll on my plate and wipe my hand with a tissue-paper takeout napkin. My blood pressure spikes. All I can hear is blood pulsing through my ears. I close my eyes and try to calm myself but it’s useless.

“Tell you what. You can schedule that appointment the day you get rid of Heather.” My voice rises louder than it should. Sensing the fight brewing between us, Jane takes her plate and disappears like a good assistant should.

“That’s not fair,” Devon says.

“No—” I wave a hand in the air “—I’ll tell you what’s not fair. You expecting me to deal with this situation your way.” I point to my growing belly. “I have nothing but a handful of fucking promises from you. I could shit in the other hand and have more to hold onto.” I slap my open palm against the island. It smarts like hell but it feels good. I don’t know where these hormonal mood swings come from. I can hear how awful I sound, but I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “I don’t want this.” Again I point to my belly. “I’ve never wanted this. You are forcing me to do this when you don’t even know if you’ll be around next week. Let alone nine months from now.” We stare at each other with empty eyes.

Well, there. I did it. I verbal-vomited my true feelings all over him. He’s shocked still and stunned silent, standing in my kitchen with a glass of water raised halfway to his lips. People don’t talk to Devon Hayes like this. His world is colored with rainbows and butterflies even on its stormiest days. Well guess what? My life is real and dark enough for the both of us. And I need more from him than I’m getting.

I grab my half-eaten egg roll and turn on my heel, fleeing the kitchen to the comfort of my room. He doesn’t follow me. I don’t know or care where he goes. All I know is that I can’t be around him right now or I will say some seriously regrettable stuff. I’m enraged, but it’s not really at Devon. He’s just a convenient outlet. I’m furious about the situation we’re in. It sucks big fat hairy donkey balls, but I can’t blame him. He’s trying. I know that. I also know
her
.

Last night, it took a single look into her dead-fish eyes to tell me everything. Maybe Devon hasn’t admitted it to himself yet, but without the proof I’d hoped Mr. Moretti would have for us, she’s not going anywhere. At least not without a push. And now, on top of everything else, it looks like I’ll be the one to push.

I curl into a ball on my bed, finishing the last bite of egg roll and wiping my greasy hand on a sheet. What a fucking day. And it’s still daylight outside.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I don’t know how long I sleep. When I wake, it’s dark in the room and there’s a body curled around me. I stir and cuddle into it.

“Devon?” I whisper in the darkness.

“Hmm...” he answers sleepily.

“I’m sorry.” I snuggle into him, placing my lips against his neck.

“It’s okay. You’re right.” He holds me tightly and I can tell he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s just been holding me. Holding us.

“No, I’m not. I’m confused and hormonal. My life is falling apart and I can’t find anything to hold onto to keep from falling with it.” I sob into his neck.

“Me,” he breathes into my hair. “Hold onto me.” His words are hot and insistent. He laces our fingers together and clasps my hand tightly in his. Painfully tight. I whimper, and the exhale takes the worry and stress of the day with it. I squeeze back, digging my nails into the back of his hand and grasping him so tightly my muscles and bones protest. But it feels right. It feels good. He feels like the only thing I will ever need.

He rolls me over, gingerly laying the soothing weight of his body along the side of mine, taking the focus off my fucked-up life and placing it squarely on the place where our bodies meet. Pressing me into the mattress, he lays a hard kiss over my lips. A kiss that tells me how strong his love for me is. A kiss that tells me he is the rock I can hold onto. God, I love this man. As much as I hate our situation, there is nothing that could ever make me stop loving him.

Our kiss softens. His lips slide open, and his tongue finds mine. Refusing to release his hand, I slide my other one up into his hair, pulling the back of his neck closer to me. Needing to feel all of him. Needing to feel all of me.

His hand slides over the thin T-shirt I slept in, down to my equally flimsy panties. He grips my hip and pulls it into him. I shift my weight so we face each other, and throw a leg over his waist. With my crotch now exposed to the rough seam of his zipper, he begins to slowly grind against me. I pull against his belt loops, pulling him closer.

“Are you sure?” he whispers against my lips. “What about the...” His words trail off.

“Fuck me,” I breathe into the silence. “I need to feel you.” At this moment, I don’t care about anything other than us. And feeling him inside me is the best
us
there is. With our hands still clasped, we work together to free him from behind his zipper. The vast length of his cock springs free. He slides my cotton panties down my legs and tosses them aside.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He trails shaky kisses down my neck, his pent-up desire for me getting the best of him.

“Go slow.” I take him in my hand and guide him to my center. It’s warmer than usual. A little softer and a lot wetter for him than ever before. I move against him so the very tip slips inside. We both still, exhaling with the bliss of doing this after waiting too long. He licks his lips and bites down hard, either to restrain himself or to savor the moment. “It’s okay,” I encourage him, moving again so he slips deeper.

He puts a hand to either side of my head and lifts his body so that his weight is nowhere near me. Slowly, painfully slowly, he enters me. The pleasure of it all curls my back off the mattress and a groan rips from my throat. I’m in a complete back bend by the time he reaches the top of me. I pause because it’s a new sensation. There’s a depth to our love that’s never been there before. A depth that our need for each other put there. We both recognize it.

I release myself to the mattress and our eyes find each other. Without a word we acknowledge what it is we’re feeling. I slide my free hand up his back and pull him to me. Slowly, he lowers onto me, still shifting his weight to the side.

“Are you okay?”

I nod and lean up for his lips. Slowly, he moves out of me. Pauses. Then slides gently in again. His rhythm is soft and easy, unlike any love we’ve ever made.

It’s real. It’s tender. It’s us.

* * *

An hour later, I’m lying in his arms still sated in orgasm bliss. It’s a quiet kind of moment we never get to have. Absently, I trace my fingers along his arm, staring out the window at nothing.

“How is it you’re still here?” I ask, realizing how odd it is that he’s spent the entire afternoon and evening with me.

“The house is a zoo with birthday party prep. I couldn’t handle it.”

“You realize we’re back at square one, right?” I nuzzle into his chest because I can and because I still can’t believe what a raging, hormonal bitch I was earlier.

“Not necessarily. Moretti said he still had a few leads to chase. I’m not giving up on this. We will find a way.” He grabs our diamond bracelet and spins it around my wrist, reminding me why he put it there. He’s trying to stay positive. I gave up on that the moment it was clear how little Moretti had. I love hearing him say it, but I’m a realist. We need more. I prop my torso on an elbow.

“We need a backup plan,” I say, staring him dead in the eye so he knows how serious I am.

“Like what?”

“You aren’t the bad guy here. Heather’s got a secret. I know she does. We just haven’t found it. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.” He looks away, then back, not following where I’m going. “Think about it. You said yourself you never go up there.” Understanding breaks over his face.

He groans. “She’s not dumb enough to leave anything I could use against her in the house.”

I shake my head. “She’s so arrogant she probably would. In her mind, she’s already won.”

“It’s pointless.”

“Do you have another solution?”

He shakes his head and runs a finger over his lips.

“Okay then. I’m coming to Angel’s party tomorrow. You keep her occupied while I slip away. Ten minutes max. I’ll find something. I know I will.”