738 Days: A Novel (30 page)

“I’ll talk to the manager here and our security on location. But I’m sure it’s just bullshit. I haven’t heard anything about it,” I say. Except who would tell me now that Elise isn’t speaking to me?

Elise. Fuck.

This has her written all over it. She did warn me that she had a backup plan, one I wouldn’t like. And she has the contacts to do it: plant a few unsubstantiated stories with the right people and off it goes. It keeps the Chase/Amanda story going, which benefits her, and it doesn’t destroy her rep. Just makes our lives more difficult. Amanda’s, in particular. She lived with violence for so long, I can’t imagine what the potential threat of its return is doing to her.

A shudder runs through her, one I feel through our joined hands.

I’ve got to talk to Elise, get her to call this off. Amanda is too—

Amanda stops dead in the middle of the lobby, her breath catching in her throat.

I move to stand in front of her, so she’ll see me, see the truth in what I’m saying. “They create rumors to get reaction photos from us, to keep people clicking through to their websites—that’s all this is.”

But she’s not listening, her alarmed gaze zeroing in on something over my shoulder.

Confused, I turn to see what’s caught her attention.

“Oh, crap.”

21

Amanda

I drop Chase’s hand and make a beeline for the overstuffed chairs in front of the lobby’s stone fireplace.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

Mia looks up from the open snack-sized bag of chips in her lap. “Finally.” She stretches her arms over her head and then flips her bright red hair over the back of the chair. “I’ve been here, like, half the night,” she says through an exaggerated yawn.

I spin away from her, my gaze bouncing past the cautiously approaching Chase, to search the lobby for the rest of my family. My mother racing toward me, Liza’s folded-arms avoidance, my dad hovering in the distance like a storm cloud on an already overcast day.

But …

“They’re not here,” Mia says. “Just me.” She points a chip at Chase, who’s keeping a few feet back, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re welcome for that, b-t-dubs.” She pops the chip in her mouth.

I glance at him, and Chase, eyes wide with surprise, holds up his hands in an “I’m innocent” gesture.

As she crunches away, Mia wrinkles her nose and tilts her head toward the ceiling in consideration. “‘BTW’? I feel like maybe ‘b-t-dubs’ has become one of those, like, cliché things to—”

“Mia!” I say through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”
By yourself, in a lobby surrounded by strangers, in an unfamiliar town?

It’s hard to explain, but when she was at home, theoretically under the watchful eyes of my parents, I could relax a little. I couldn’t control anything that happened there, so I couldn’t make a mistake or miss something that might come to harm her.

But with Mia here, suddenly everything’s a threat that requires vigilant attention on my part. Otherwise, if I mess up, she might be hurt or taken. Because that’s how the universe works, or something.

It’s ridiculous, I know, but that’s the way it feels. And maybe it’s not so ridiculous if there are actual threats against us.

The pinch of worry in my stomach grips harder.

Mia heaves a sigh, as if my question is such an imposition, or perhaps I’m an idiot to be asking it.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” she says flatly, squishing the chip bag into a crinkly ball.

It doesn’t take me long to connect the pieces: the disastrous phone call last night, my parents’ fears about Chase, their knowledge of my compulsive need to protect Mia.

“Did they send you here?” I ask in disbelief. Surely even my parents wouldn’t go that far. My younger sister as babysitter and bait? It made a terrible kind of sense: her very presence—and my worries for her safety—would keep me preoccupied and therefore less involved with Chase.

Mia gives me a look that is much wearier and older than it should be. I can see the dark circles under her eyes, the downward turn of her mouth, the tangles in her normally smooth hair, the wrinkles in her sweater, and the baggy knees in her leggings.

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there,” she says, examining the edge of her thumbnail, where the cuticle has given way to blood.

By calling them, she means. Which, if I do, just gives them another opportunity to work on me, to make me feel bad, to tell me not just that I should come home, but that I should bring Mia with me.

Suddenly it seems very possible that my parents orchestrated this. I feel sick.

“Amanda?” Chase asks hesitantly.

I turn.

“I’m sorry,” he says with regret in his voice, “but I’m going to be late if I don’t…” He gestures toward the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, no, you should go.” I nod so rapidly I feel like my head might pop off and roll across the floor. I hate that he’s witnessing this, yet more of my family’s dysfunction, from the front row, in full Technicolor and surround sound.

Trying to ignore the humiliation burrowing its way beneath my skin, I take a breath and strive for calm. “I’ll catch up with you upstairs,” I say to Chase.

I have the distinct feeling that if I go along with this bid to control my actions, by letting Mia into my room, it’ll be that much harder for me to send her home or deny my parents’ wishes to bring her there.

But Chase doesn’t move, his gaze shifting from me to Mia and then back in obvious discomfort.

“I, uh, just brought the one key card,” he says quietly.

Before I can say anything, I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Mia bolts upright in her chair, her face the dictionary definition of stunned, the balled-up chip bag rolling out of her limp grasp.

“Holy shit, you guys are really sleeping together?” she asks at full Mia-volume, which is like ten times that of a normal human being. It actually echoes in the high-ceilinged space.

Chase winces.

The rest of the lobby falls silent. Anyone who wasn’t watching us before is watching us now. I hear the distinct hiss-click of cell phone cameras taking photos.

Damnit, Mia.
I snag her arm and pull. “Up, now. Let’s go,” I say through my teeth. My face is hot enough to start a forest fire in rainy season.

Mia grabs her purse from the floor as she stumbles to her feet under my force. “What? What’s wrong?” she asks as the three of us hastily make our way toward the elevator. “You know that’s what everyone’s talking about anyway.” Then she, in typical brazen Mia fashion, waves at the people who are staring. “It’s why Mom and Dad are losing their shit.”

Thankfully the elevator doors open right away when Chase pushes the call button, and we have the car to ourselves.

“Not that I have a problem with it,” Mia says, yanking her arm free from me once we’re inside. “It’s good; you’re finally moving on. You deserve a little fun.” She pats my shoulder in the manner of someone comforting a wounded puppy.

If it were possible to make the elevator plummet to the basement and kill us all, I might have taken that option. Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of power. And we’re on the first floor.

“Shut up, Mia, please,” I mutter.

Chase leans closer, his jacket brushing against my shoulder, and I have a vivid memory of sliding my arms beneath it to wrap around his warm body. Well, that’s probably history.

But then he murmurs, “At least somebody in your family doesn’t hate me.” Amusement curls the edges of his words.

I look up at him sharply. “Not funny.”

But Mia laughs. “True!” she says to him. Then she tilts her head, eyeing him with a considering look. “But I’m not the only one. Liza still has a raging crush on you.”

“Mia!” I snap.

“What? It’s not like it’s not completely obvious,” she says with an offended huff.

Then she turns that calculating gaze on me. “And seems like Liza might not be the only one,” she says in a singsong voice, pointing at me with both fingers in succession, like she’s jabbing buttons on a vending machine.

I want to die, even though it’s nothing Chase doesn’t know already. It’s just how she’s saying it. Mia is an expert at manipulating volume and dramatic gestures for maximum attention and effect.

Chase, though, doesn’t apparently feel the same way.

He gives a smothered laugh, and I glare at him. “Don’t encourage her, please.”

Mia ignores me. “That means you’ve got three-fifths of the Grace clan on your side,” she says to Chase with a shrug. “Not bad. We’re a tough crowd. Especially this one.” She elbows me. “She’s got trust issues,” she says in a loud stage whisper.

I shut my eyes, praying for the doors to just please open.

When they do, Mia is blissfully quiet for a few moments, preoccupied by taking in her surroundings.

“No penthouse?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

I cringe. Saying her name in a scolding voice hasn’t had any effect so far, and I’m betting that’s not about to change, so I don’t waste the breath.

“Not this time,” Chase says, seemingly undisturbed as he leads the way to our rooms.

“Huh,” she says with that calculating look I’ve learned to dread.

“Mia—” I begin.

“So, is your agent here?” she asks Chase, ignoring me.

“Stop,” I hiss at her. “It’s not a talk show. You can’t just pelt people with questions that are none of your business.”

“More like a job interview than a talk show, I think,” Chase says to me dryly. “And no, he’s not,” he says in answer to Mia. “He and I haven’t exactly been on great terms lately.” His mouth tightens.

Mia makes a speculative noise.

“But you can do better than him, anyway,” Chase says, startling me.

That’s what she’s after? Wait, never mind. Of course that’s what she wants—an agent, connections to the Hollywood life she feels is inevitably in her future.

Mia raises her eyebrows, surprised. “Really?”

Chase grins at her. “He didn’t even get me the penthouse this time.”

She nods thoughtfully, then gives him a finger-gun gesture. “Good point.”

He opens the door to his room and steps in to hold it for us.

Mia starts forward, but I push past her to go first and drag her along behind me, straight to my room.

Left unattended for half a second, she’d probably be rummaging through Chase’s suitcase, asking him about his underwear or commenting on his brand of toothpaste.

Once I get her into my room—“Oh, you’re not sharing with him? I’m disappointed in you, Amma.”—I glance back at Chase, who is shrugging out of his jacket.

“I’m sorry about everything,” I say, with a wince. That word seems to encapsulate not only Mia’s surprise arrival but also every word out of her mouth since.

Chase shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m just going to hit the shower quick.” He starts to turn away, his hands pulling at the collar of his T-shirt.

I hesitate then follow, taking an extra step to touch his arm. “Thank you for this morning. It was perfect.” Somehow I feel more self-conscious now. It’s like Mia’s arrival has reminded me of who I was before, and every action now feels new and absurd.

A slow smile spreads across Chase’s face, one of genuine pleasure, and a spark of that energy returns. “Yeah?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He’s pleased at having pleased me.

“Yeah.” I grin back at him like an idiot, feeling the perpetual tightness in my chest ease in the glow.

He tilts his chin up in mock consideration. “Even though it was, what did you call it, oh-God-thirty?”

“You brought caffeine and put up with my grumpiness until it kicked in. You pass,” I say. “Also, you brought bagels. Bagels make everything better. Even ridiculously early mornings.”

“Good to know,” he says. “I’ll keep it in mind for future reference.” His gaze is warm on me and I think he’s maybe imagining other early mornings, and suddenly, I really, really want one of those. Even though I know it’ll probably never happen, just the thought of waking up beside him makes me want to hug him because it tells me that this is working—the crazy plan that everyone was against is actually making a difference.

“I won’t be able to answer my phone, but I’m going to leave the cast and crew directory here.” Chase points to a sheaf of bent and slightly crumpled pages on the coffee table, propped up on the tissue box. “Call Emily if you want a ride to set later.”

“Oh, she’ll love that,” I mutter.

“Probably,” he agrees with no lack of cheer. “But I hope you’ll do it anyway.” He offers me an uncertain smile. “I’d rather have you there.”

It dawns on me then that this is the first time we’ve been apart since leaving my house on Sunday, other than sleeping, and even then it’s just been a door and twenty feet of empty space separating us.

And I don’t like it, this impending separation. Not because I’m afraid of being alone or being away from him, but just because … I like it better when he’s around. So much of my life for the last two years has been spent trying to adjust my behavior to other people’s expectations or concerns, trying to keep up a happy, stable front or prove that I’m okay. It’s exhausting. But the last two days have shown me that Chase isn’t like that. He doesn’t require that of me.

With him, I can just be myself. And because of that, I like
me
better when he’s around.

The realization stops me short. What does that even mean? Worse yet, what does it mean after all of this is over? There’s no question that this is—that
we
are—temporary, only happening while we’re here. No strings—that’s what I said.

But I just nod. It doesn’t matter. This, right now, is enough. It has to be. I won’t think about anything else. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of us.

Chase leans in and, with a gentleness that makes my eyes sting, he tucks my hair behind my ear, touching my cheek with his thumb. Then he kisses me, light and soft, his mouth warm and lingering until I’m clutching hard at his shoulders.

Then he steps back, taking a deep breath just like the one I’m struggling to catch. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yes,” I say, like the promise I want it to be.