Damaged In-Law (19 page)

“Yesterday was February,” he corrects me, “Today is March
first! Spring is in the air. It’s all romantic and shit.”

“We
’
ll still freeze our asses off on
the boardwalk,” I remind him.

“Come on Cal,” he replies, “You know I
’
d
never suggest anything that would endanger that fantastic ass of yours. It
’
ll be fun!”

“You are
nuts
,” I inform him.

“And
you
need to loosen up,” he shoots back, “Bundle
up and let
’
s go. It
’
ll be great—you
’
ll see.”

“You owe me a whole bunch of oral if it
’
s
not,” I warn him, going to put on some extra layers of clothing.

“You can count on that regardless,” he grins back at me.

“Keep talking like that and we
’
ll never
make it out of this room,” I laugh, my thighs clenching together as a pulse of
desire throbs between my legs.

“Just want to give you something to look forward to at the
end of the day,” he winks, “Now go on. Suit up. We’ve got a long afternoon
ahead of us.”

To my amazement, our makeshift disguises actually work.
Buried under huge coats, scarves, hats, and sunglasses, Jack and I are able to
sneak out of The Rogue and onto the subway. We figure that the last place
anyone will be looking for a couple of big time movie stars is on public
transportation, and we seem to be right. The F train ride out to Coney Island
takes a while, but soon enough we
’
re taking in the crisp
winter air from New York City
’
s most iconic boardwalk. The
place is pretty deserted, given the chilly temperatures. I
’
ve
got to hand it to Jack, he
’
s got a knack for romantic
gestures.

We grab ourselves some classic Coney Island hotdogs and
stroll down the long stretch, ducking into the aquarium when we need a respite from
the cold. As the afternoon passes, I find myself forgetting about the fact that
the entire world is probably talking about us right now. We
’
re
just two people, enjoying a Saturday afternoon date and some junk food to
boot...or so I try to convince myself. But I can
’
t
entirely let go of the dread I feel whenever I think about checking in with the
real world again.

“What
’
s with the face?” Jack asks as we
lean against the boardwalk railing, looking out across the deserted beach.

“Huh?” I ask, snapping back to the present.

“You
’
re scowling,” he points out, “Are
you upset that the amusement park is closed? I promise I
’
ll
bring you back when it’s
actually
spring. I
’
ll even
throw in a little cotton candy if you like.”

“What a charmer,” I smile, “But no, today is awesome. I was
just thinking...”

“Yeah?” Jack prompts, giving me a playful nudge.

“It
’
s just...kind of a shame, in a way.
That we missed out on being together before the whole world knew who we were,”
I say, a bit sadly. “I almost wish I could go back to the night of my parents
’
party, when I ran away. Not the shitty part with Daryl. The
part where we kissed for the first time. Maybe if I
’
d
stayed just a little while longer, tried to work things out, we could have been
together this whole time. We could have known what it was like to be together
as nobodies—just a couple of aspiring actors living in a crappy apartment,
saving up pennies for a beer or two. Maybe all those years in between then and
now didn
’
t have been so lonely.”

Jack looks out across the expanse of sand and sea, taking in
what I
’ve said.

“It killed me to see you go that night,” he finally says,
leaning his elbows on the icy railing, “And I spent so much time wishing it had
happened differently. Wishing you had stayed with me. But you know something? I
think that was wrong of me. You
had
to get out of that house, Cal. Just
as much as I had to get out of mine. We had to destroy everything we had,
everything we were, so that we could become the people we wanted to be. It was
hell, not having you in my life. But I needed that time to become my own
person. And I think you needed it too. And I mean shit, we
’
re
twenty-six, Callie. Not exactly knocking at death
’
s door,
am I right? There’s still plenty of time for us.”

“I guess so,” I laugh softly.

“There
’
s nothing we can do to change
the past,” Jack goes on, slipping his arm around my waist, “Why even bother
thinking about it at all?”

“I guess sometimes it feels impossible to shake off,” I
shrug, “With everything our families put us through...how do you just forgive
and forget?”

“I
’
ll let you know when I figure the
forgiving part
out
. But as for forgetting, well…it’s
pretty hard not to forget the entire rest of the world exists with you standing
in front of me,” he smiles, kissing the top of my wind-blown hair, “Come on.
Let’s keep walking before we freeze to death out here.”

We lace our fingers together and set off down the boardwalk
once again. Though I certainly want to get out of the cold, I
’
m
reluctant to let this moment end. There
’
s only so long we
can ignore the media frenzy building around us. Sooner or later, it
’
s going to rise like the swelling tide and try to swallow us
whole.

Better enjoy these last few moments on dry land while we
can, I guess.

Chapter Fifteen

And it turns out, a few final moments is all we get after
all.

Our good luck with avoiding the media has run out by the
time we make it back to the hotel. A surging pack of reporters and
photographers have The Rogue surrounded by the time we arrive, blocking all
entrances and exits. Jack and I have no choice but to hold our heads high and
try to barrel through the mob as best—and as fast—as we can. We keep our hands
firmly clasped as we approach the hotel, unwilling to hide our brand new
coupledom. There
’
s nothing for us to be ashamed of, after
all. Nothing.

“There they are!” we hear a reporter shout from somewhere
within the herd.

“They
’
re back!”

“That
’
s them!”

I feel the breath rush out of my lungs as the mob begins to
close in all around us. Jack puts a protective arm around my shoulders and
attempts to lead me through the thick crowd. Flashbulbs spark all around us as
reporters clamor and shout in our direction. I can
’
t make
out what any one person is saying, but I catch enough snippets to get the gist.

“How long have you two...?”

“Are you sleeping together...?”

“How is he in the sack, Callie...?”

It
’
s an obnoxious line of questioning,
and a total invasion of privacy, but I manage to grit my teeth and keep my eyes
straight ahead, just like I was coached in media training.

“Never give them anything they can use,” Jack counseled me
on the subway ride home. “It
’
s like when you
’
re
being arrested. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

We
’
re just about to clear the pack of
reporters, the hotel doors are just a few paces away. But as I prepare to break
into a dead sprint and launch myself through those very doors, someone stops dead
in my path. Jack and I skid to a halt before the brazen individual standing
between us and The Rogue.

I recognize the man at once with a sinking sensation in my
gut. His shock of dyed-silver hair and orange spray tanned face are
unmistakable. I
’
ve never met him in person before, but I
’
ve seen his face on a million magazine covers and trashy TV
shows. His name is Garland Hayes, the most vicious celebrity “reporter” in the
business. He goes out of his way to eviscerate his subjects in the name of gossip.
Nothing is too personal or too sensitive for Garland Hayes to use as
ammunition.

And right now, it seems that he has his sight trained on us.

“Jackson Cole, as I live and breathe!” Garland grins, his
blindingly white teeth gleaming.

“Move, Garland,” Jack growls, placing his body between me
and the mudslinger. But his efforts only pique the interest of the notorious
Mr. Hayes.

“And you must be Callie Benson,” he gushes, reaching a
manicured hand toward me, “I was such a big fan of your sister. Never a dull
moment with that one, right. Too bad about the whole overdose thing!”

“
Overdose thing?
” I snarl. “You mean my sister’s
untimely and tragic—”

“I told you to get out of our way, Hayes,” Jack says again,
cutting me off.

“Yeah, I heard you.
I just don’
t really
feel like it,” Garland says, giving us a wink. “Not until you spill about this
little scandal of yours.”

“There
’
s no scandal,” Jack says,
stepping around the petty man.

“You don
’
t think so?” Garland replies,
his eyes wide with mock innocence. “Avery Benson ‘accidentally’ offs herself,
and you take up with her twin sister not a month later? That sounds like a
scandal to me. Or anyway, it sounds mighty convenient for the two of you.”

I spin around to face Garland Hayes, unable to contain my
anger any longer. “You call losing a sister
convenient?
” I spit.

“
Callie, don’
t,” Jack insists, trying
to pull me away.

“If it lands you a movie deal and a hunk like Jackson Cole,
then
absolutely
I call it convenient,” Garland grins back at me,
producing a cell phone from his pocket. He trains the camera on me, video
taping my reaction. “Word on the street is, you two have been going at it for a
long while. The whole time Jack and Avery were engaged, to hear some people
tell it. The poor dear was so heartbroken that she decided to end it all. What
a shame.”

“That
’
s ridiculous,”
Jack
snaps,
“Take your soap opera bullshit and shove it up your—”

“So you two
don
’
t
have a
history?” Garland cuts him off, looking back and forth between us with an evil
glint in his eye. “There isn
’
t some sort of longstanding,
romantic entanglement between Jackson Cole and the lovely Benson twins? Because
I have sources—”

“
We don’
t have to listen to this,” Jack
mutters, pulling me toward the doors.

“Is it true you knew about Avery Benson’s drug habit and
didn’t do anything to stop it?” Garland shouts.

I feel Jack
’
s body go stock still
beside me, paralyzed with rage. Slowly, he turns to face Garland Hayes, his
broad shoulders squared.

“What did you just ask me?” Jack snarls, his scruffy jaw pulsing
tensely.

“Jack,” I murmur, “Calm down...”

“
Hey, don’
t shoot the messenger!”
Garland chuckles, as the rest of the media pack watches with bated breath,
their camera phones raised. “I
’
m just telling you what the
rumor mill is churning out, Jack. You were done with the one twin, and wanted
to make room for the other, so you let Avery pump herself full of vodka and
pills, figured you’d let her just go quietly into the—HEY!”

“
No!
”
I scream,
as Jack hurls
himself at the metallic-haired bastard.

Garland Hayes lets out a shrill shriek as Jack grabs him by
the front of his lemon yellow button down, hoisting him up off the ground.

“I could fucking kill you, idiot,” Jack roars, as Garland
claws at his vice of a grip.

“Jack, you have to let him go,” I cry, grabbing onto his
corded arm. “There are cameras everywhere.
Please
.”

“It was all you fuckers who drove Avery to that shit,” Jack
goes on, giving Garland a good jostling shake, “You just couldn
’
t
let her be. Filthy parasitic scumbags.”

“That
’
s right, let me have it,” Garland
squeaks, his face going from orange to red, “This footage is going to be
great
for my blog.”

Jack
’
s blue eyes
flick past Hayes
’
face, out across the sea of
reporters and photographers. I watch him realize the gravity of this faux pas.
He
’
s broken his own cardinal rule into a million pieces,
given the media all the fodder it needs to destroy everything he
’
s
worked so hard for. They could turn him into a demon overnight, with one shot
of him throttling Garland Hayes into a pulp.

And chances are, that
’
s exactly what
they
’
ll do.

With a firm shove, Jack drops Garland and tosses him away
toward the crowd. The ghastly attention whore makes a big show of losing his
balance and falling onto the icy pavement, a theatrically pained look on his
face.

“You should think about taking some acting classes,” I spit
at him as Jack marches into the hotel, “
Your technique is
terrible.
”

I turn on my heel and race into The Rogue after Jack, a
cacophony of clicking shutters and excited murmurs swelling behind me. He doesn
’
t even hold the elevator for me, he
’
s so
consumed by his rage. I dart into the car just as the door as swishing closed,
and we begin our rise to the penthouse.

“Jack...” I whisper, reaching to lay a hand on his shoulder,
“Talk to me, babe.”

But he won
’
t. He stares straight ahead,
his blue eyes churning with frustrated contempt. He doesn
’
t
even move a muscle until we
’
ve reached our floor, and then
he just storms off again. He practically rips the penthouse door right off its
hinges.

For a moment, I wonder if I should even follow him inside. I
haven
’
t seen him this angry since the night Daryl Hellman
corned Avery and I at my parents
’
party. But then, he was
just a kid. A strong kid, but not really dangerous. But now? He
’
s
built like a tank, with god knows how much force coiled up in those sculpted
muscles of his.

Don
’
t be ridiculous,
I
chide myself
, It
’
s Jack in there. He’d never
hurt you. And he needs you now.

But as much as I try to reassure myself, I can still feel my
knees begin to tremble as I step into the penthouse after Jack and close the
door behind me. I look across the cavernous space and see his form backlit
against the New York City skyline. He stands with this arms folded firmly
across his chest, his eyes trained on the largest of the flat screen TVs. As I
follow his gaze to the muted program playing there, that sinking feeling in my
gut transforms into roiling nausea.

There we are onscreen, headlining some trashy entertainment
“news” show. We’re standing on the steps of The Ingenue last night. My hair is
unmistakably sex-tousled, my skirt barely concealing my ass, and Jack
’
s neck is covered with my shade of lipstick. It
’
s
shaky video footage, clearly captured on someone
’
s smart phone.
As I look on, Jack raises the volume, letting the unseen hosts
’
commentary
ring out through the penthouse.

“Unless you
’
ve spent the last 24 hours
under a rock, you
’
ve heard by now about the scandalous
romance taking the country by storm,” a syrupy female voice says, “Up until
yesterday, the world knew Jackson Cole and Callie Benson simply as costars on
the new film
City in Red
. The very same film in which the late Avery
Benson—a relatively unknown actress and Callie
’
s twin
sister—was to star before her tragic accidental overdose...Or was it an
accident? Stay with us as we investigate.”

“You may as well go ahead and check your phone,” Jack says
in a monotone rasp. “There’s no shutting out the world now.”

With my heart in my throat, I rush across the room and
gingerly pick up my smartphone. Wincing, I peer down at the glowing screen. I
have about a thousand missed calls and emails from Penelope, hundreds more from
my mother, and even a few from my landlady Bernadette. There are dozens upon
dozens of emails in my inbox, and as I read through the subject lines, I feel
the blood rush to my head.

Subject: Dear Whore, I
hope you rot in hell.

Subject: You are the worst
person I
’
ve ever heard of in my entire life.

Subject: Re: You and
Jackson Cole—Fuck you, slut.

I sink down onto one of the stools and let the phone clatter
against the counter.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. “Why is this happening?

“The world has spoken,” Jack growls, “And they
’
re
calling for a double execution.”

Dread pools in my very core as the phone begins to vibrate.
As I turn it over to see who
’
s calling, that dread erupts
into panic.

“Miriam Blake is requesting a video call,” I tell Jack, my
voice hollow.

“
Well,
” Jack laughs roughly, clapping
his hands together, “This should be
fun
.”

“What do I do?!” I breathe, staring down at Miriam
’
s name on the screen.

“Might as well answer,” Jack replies, snapping off the TV,
“Let
’
s see what the old bitch has to say.”

I glance up at him, surprised by his language. “Old bitch?”
I echo, “Since when do you talk about women like some asshole bro?”

“Don
’
t start,” he snaps, strutting
across the room and grabbing the phone out of my hand.

“Hey,” I reply firmly, grabbing the phone right back, “I
know this is a shitty situation, but you can
’
t start taking
it out on me, alright? We need to be a united front in this.”

“Whatever,” he growls through gritted teeth, “Can our first
act as a united front be answering the goddamn phone then?”