Celeb Crush (43 page)

“Did he send you here to dump me?”

“What?  No.  Come on, Andi.”  Nate squirms uncomfortably, appearing alarmed by my shaking tone.  “You guys will work things out.  Luke’s just…I don’t know.  He’s fucking gutted right now.  Just give him some time.”

“Time?”  A strangled laugh escapes me.  “What for?  He walked away from me.  He lost faith in
me
.  Do you know how many times he asked me to trust him—and he can’t return the favor?!  Fuck him!”

Nate’s blue eyes widen in panic.  “Whoa, wait a minute—let’s not be hasty here.  I get that you’re upset right now, so don’t go making rash decisions.  This—this is nothing, kid.  A little misunderstanding—it’s barely even a thing.  You guys will get through this.  Just…don’t give up on him, alright?”

I turn my head sharply away, letting my hair fall around me to hide my anguished face.  “He gave up on me,” I say bitterly.

“Andi, come on.  Shit, I think I’m making this worse,” Nate mutters half to himself.  He jumps off the bench and crouches down in front of me.  “If you leave Luke, it will break him.  Look, let me—I’ll call him, okay?  And you can—”

“Go away, Nate.”  My voice is low and trembling as I keep my head averted.

“No, I don’t—”

“I said go the fuck away!”

My violent outburst makes Nate fall back on his ass, and a wandering group of ducks is startled into flight.  I’m past the point of caring that I’m making a spectacle of myself.  I simply erupt like a repressed volcano, ugly emotions spewing in every direction.  I don’t care who gets burned by them.

“Leave!” I scream, and Nate, holding his hands up in surrender, goes.

In case anyone is wondering, this is the part where I cry.

I’m not gonna lie—it wasn’t long before my thoughts turned to revenge and destruction.  I started to mentally compile a list of targets:  Romey’s garage, Kat’s apartment…Jessica’s office. I’m halfway to Jessica’s before I stop myself.  It takes several minutes of deep breathing and loudly scolding myself to get my sensible side back in the driver’s seat.

I haven’t done anything (really) criminal in a long time.  I still have the impulses, but I’ve been able to keep it on a leash so far.  It’s not as easy as I’m making it sound.  Maybe Luke is right.  Maybe I am crazy. 

I have to go.  Before I do something really stupid again.   I’m so fucking angry.

I've had that out of control fury before.  But never accompanied by this horrible bone-deep misery.  I don’t know how to cope with such indescribable pain.  It’s weird; I’ve been alone many times, but this is the first time I feel lonely.  This is why all the girls who’ve been dumped by their boyfriends used to binge-watch Netflix and come to school looking like zombies. 

I want to hurt someone as bad as I’m hurt.  Really want to.  I’m not going to, though.  This time, I’m just going to leave.  If I don’t think about him, I’ll be okay.  To hell with him.  I don’t need my heart to beat.  It never did before him, anyway.

My body is sluggish while my thoughts are racing around a million miles a minute, too quick to catch.  I go back to the hotel to get my stuff.  Luckily, I don’t have much there that I want to keep; the rest goes in the trash—including Mr. Jones.  He smells too much like Luke’s soap and fabric softener, and I just can’t.  I dump him in the trash along with anything I’ve ever gotten from him—which is everything expensive in my possession.  Not that I ever asked him to buy me any of it.  Who the hell needs a phone with pink diamonds on it, anyway?  Not me, though secretly I am a pink diamond kind of girl.  No one knew that about me, except for Luke

Before I head over to my apartment to grab my cash stash, I make a pit stop at the Addison hotel.  There’s something I need to do before I go.

I camp out in the fancy lobby, ignoring the suspicious looks the staff keep throwing me.  No one seems to recognize me, which is a good thing for them.  A couple of paps caught me leaving yesterday, and I screamed at them in the devil's voice.  Then they kind of sidled away from me.  They can print whatever they want about that encounter, I don’t care.

This must be my lucky day.   After about an hour's wait, the special elevators doors open up to reveal Amber Lynn, dressed to kill in a poppy red wrap dress.  She looks young and happy.   That's about to change.

Her long-legged show horse gait comes to an abrupt stop when I step in front of her.  I can tell she instantly recognizes me by the instant fear and loathing in her pretty brown eyes.

"What do you want?" she asks, nervously glancing around.

I gesture for her to follow me to a hallway where the restrooms are located.  She trails after me, crossing her arms over her stomach.  I make sure we’re away from the prying eyes of the hotel staff before thrusting the manila folder at her.  I don’t say anything because we all know a picture is worth a thousand words.  I have nine of them for her enjoyment.

She cautiously opens up the folder like it’s going to explode on her.  Her face goes from confused to ashen in a matter of milliseconds as she looks through the contents.  “Where did you get these?” she says on a gasp, bringing her horrified gaze back up to me.

“Private investigator,” I say shortly.  “You’re not very discreet, are you?  If you have to have sex with a minor, you shouldn’t do it in a parking lot, midday—and you sure as hell shouldn’t do it on school grounds. 
And
if you’re going to provide drugs and alcohol to said minor and his friends, you shouldn’t do it in an Arby’s.  That should at least be against store policy.”

Amber Lynn quickly closes the file, holding it like she can barely stand to touch it.  She runs a shaking hand through her hair.  “What do you want?” she asks again.  “You gonna blackmail me now?”

“I don’t like that term,” I inform her frostily.

I pause when a couple of older women walk by on their way to the ladies’ room.  They give us curious looks as they pass, probably because Amber Lynn has this look on her face like I’m about to beat her.  You’d think I’d lord my power over her, but I only feel tired.  I just want to get this done and go.

“Well?”  She tries to sound tough, but fails miserably.  “What do you want?  Money, or something?”

“The only thing I want from you is your cooperation.” I regard her scornfully.  “Clean yourself up.  Go to rehab; see a shrink.  Go on a meditative journey to find your self-worth.  Also, get a job—something where you don't work with teenage dreams.  If you can't be the kind of mother Luke deserves then get the hell out of his life.  And if you even think about divulging family secrets—or doing anything that will hurt him and cast a negative light on his career, I'll know.  And you'd better hope they lock your ass behind bars because I swear to god I'll come after you."

I let her have a minute for my threat sink in.  Amber Lynn’s wide mouth trembles wildly before she compresses it in a tight line.  She looks down at the file for a few seconds, then back at me with her Bambi eyes.

"Why do you care?" she, finally asks.  "Jessica told me y’all broke up.  What do you get out of this?"

My answer is simple.  "If you knew your son at all, you wouldn't have to ask me that."

I pluck the folder from her slack hands and walk away.

Chapter 36

Sometimes I am just so angry, I could combust.  Mostly, though, I’m hollow.  How can emptiness be so painful?  If I had known how much it would hurt to care, I would have walked away from him that first night we met—and I never would have looked back.  Call me a coward, but nothing is worth this wretched ache.  God, nothing.  My lungs ache like I need him breathe.  And every morning I wake up, the pain of it hits me like a drowning tidal wave.  Dramatic, yes—but just ‘cause it’s dramatic doesn’t make it not true.

I’m at Grandma and Grandpa Chinn’s house in Oldtown, Utah.  It’s the last place anyone would think to look for me.  I just showed up at the door of their double wide—and because it’s been years since they last saw me, they thought I was a solicitor.  They do
not
like solicitors.

My grandparents had my mom later in life, so they’re quite a bit older than you’d think.  They don’t talk much, but then neither do I.  We get along okay.  Grandma likes to brush and braid my hair every night.  It’s very painful, but I take it like a man.  We look through photo album after photo album, all featuring my mom in hideous dresses.  I strangely feel no connection to the girl in the pictures, but Grandma sighs and cries over them as she gives a little background on each page.

Grandpa doesn’t talk at all, but he whistles a lot.  He’s got this stainless steel cane that he occasionally swats at me with.  I’ve decided this is how he shows affection.  I think it’s kind of cool that we share the same nose.

It’s incredibly difficult trying not to think of
him
, and wonder what he’s up to.  It’s pure hell knowing that all I have to do is go on the internet, turn on the television, or flip open the latest gossip mag to find out.  I constantly check my new phone for messages from him—which is stupid since I know he doesn’t have this number.  Even if he did, would he call?  I obsessively wonder about this.

Is he as destroyed as I am?  It kills me to think he’s somewhere out there, going about his glamorous movie star life completely unaffected, and maybe happier than ever.  He can’t hurt as bad as I do.  He’s out there shooting his movie, smiling for the public.  And here I lie—on a surprisingly comfortable army cot from the thrift store, broken and bleeding—where another day seems too big to face on my own.

You think I don’t know I’m pathetic?   Like I’m some Victorian-era maiden slowly wasting away because she lost her man.  I know, and I don’t care.  Being with Luke was like the best kind of dream.  Losing him is like waking up to a colorless reality.  I wish I had never known how good it could be.  If I had never known, then I wouldn’t have to feel the absence of it every second of every day.

Whoever said that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all is a damn liar.

I wait until the party’s almost over before I make an appearance.  Talon is excited over the shitload of camping gear I got for him, but can’t stop talking about the top-of-the-line electric drifter go-karts—two of them—that Luke sent him.  He harasses me with questions about his hero and when can we go camping again, until I’m forced to run away.  Fortunately, he’s too enthralled with his new German Shepherd puppy to give chase. 

I paste a smile on my face and go through the motions of niceties with everyone, but what I really want to do is talk to Megan.  Bran won’t leave her side for even a second, though.  Finally, I snatch the cap off his head and throw it out the door so he has to go after it.  I guess I could have just asked him to give us some privacy.  Oh, well.

Megan takes me up to what’s going to be the nursery—also known as my old room.  There’s new beige carpet, and the walls have been painted a garish pink.  The beautiful crib that Bran made is against one wall, a vibrantly colored flowered quilt draped over the rail.  There’s not much else: an overstuffed armchair next to the crib and a cream-cushioned glider and ottoman in one corner.  I’m surprised as I would have thought Megan would have it fully furnished by now.  I glance out the window at the backyard.  Aunt Susan’s garden is a riot of color, having been restored to its former glory.  A shock of grief flashes through me, and I quickly turn away.

Megan looks really good with what even I have to admit is an adorable little baby bump.  Her hair and skin glow with health, but the sparkle in her hazel eyes is gone, and she seems a lot more…self-contained.

I watch her carefully lower herself into the glider chair while I lean against the wall.  “How are you?” I ask cautiously.

“Good.  I’m good,” Megan replies softly.  She tucks a loose lock of hair behind one ear and laughs a little as she glances around.  “I still think of this as your room.  Every time I come in here, I keep expecting to trip over your umbrellas.”

Oh, yes.  Who could forget about my umbrella collecting phase?  I nod awkwardly, staring down at my shoes.  “Yeah.  Um…I like the quilt.  Where’d you get it from?”

“Mom made it,” Megan tries to say casually, but the catch in her voice gives her away.  She takes a few seconds to pull herself together before managing a watery smile. 

“I miss her so much.  Sometimes it seems like she’s been gone forever, and other times…it’s like a horrible nightmare.  A lot of times I forget, and I think, like, ‘oh, I can’t wait to tell her how much the baby moved today.’  Or I’ll be at the store, and I’ll be wondering what I should get her for Christmas.  Then it hits me—she’s not here, and she never will be.”

Oh, damn it.  I can’t do this right now.  A long silence falls as I try to think of something comforting to say.

“She’s still here,” I blurt out.  I gesture vaguely.  “You know—in the air, and stuff.  Like, the dust motes that sparkle in the sunlight.  That’s her.”  What?

Megan looks thoroughly confused, but then relents with a smile.  “I get what you mean.  And, you know—I know I’m lucky because I got a chance to prepare and to cherish my time with her.  I got to say goodbye, and I’m so grateful for that.”  She blows out a breath and looks up at me.  “You never got that chance with your parents.  To lose them the way you did was so…awful.  I don’t know if I ever told you how sorry I am that you had to go through that.”