The Fragile Line: Part One (The Fine Line #2) (7 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

~Chloe~

Present Day

I spent the rest of my shift avoiding my sister, passing the VIP room off to Steph so I wouldn’t have to go back in there.  When Brynn tried to approach me, I impulsively ran the other way and hid in the back office.  My tips were shit, considering I made the evasion of my sister more of a priority than my tables, but I was willing to take that hit since it hurt much less than facing her would’ve. 

I welcomed the relief that washed over me when I saw Ryan and Brynn leave the restaurant, but I wasn’t expecting the extreme emptiness that came with it.  As much as I despised my sister for what she had done, and as determined as I was to never let her or anyone else cause me that kind of pain again, I desperately missed the relationship we used to have—prior to Ryan, a relationship that I now know wasn’t what it seemed.

When my shift ended at 11:00 p.m., and I had a moment to think about what happened, a familiar restless energy flooded through me, putting me intensely on edge.  Anxiety was something I’d dealt with since my parents’ deaths, but Brynn always had a way of bringing me down from it.  After she betrayed me and I left home, however, it took on a whole new life, becoming especially active when faced with triggers like the one tonight.  The only things I’d found to ease the agitation during the times it became too overwhelming were alcohol and sex. 

Two things I needed in a major way at the moment. 

After starting my car and cranking the heat, I began texting friends to find out where the action would be tonight.  And I use the term “friends” lightly.  More than anything else, the people I associated with were acquaintances who liked to go out to party as much as I did, but when it came to any sort of real relationship or obligation to another person, that simply didn’t exist in my world.  The people I associated with had my back just as meagerly as I had theirs, which may sound harsh and undesirable to most, but it was exactly what I needed.  My non-relationships worked for me.  They gave me the exact level of comfort I required.  No more, no less. 

Just when I thought I wouldn’t be able to reach anyone, Emily responded to my text with a call. 

“Hey, girl.  Where you at?” she asked, her teeth chattering. 

“Just got off work,” I responded.  “Are you outside?” 

“Yes!  We’ve been waiting to get into Rain for almost an hour!”

We had been to the nightclub together several times following its launch over the summer.  “Damn, Em! It’s freezing tonight!  What is so important at Rain that you’re subjecting yourself to that?”

“I’m waiting to see my boyfriend.”

“Since when do you have a boyfriend?” 

“Marc Davis is making an announcement here tonight!  I love him!”

She said it like I knew the guy, but at first I had no clue who she was talking about.  After racking my brain for a moment, I remembered how her social media pages were constantly draped in sexy photos of the famous TV reality star.  

“Hey,” she continued, “don’t you know one of the bouncers here?” 

Bingo.
  That’s why she responded to me when nobody else had.  She wanted “in” to the club to see her crush and needed me to help.  I had no qualms about it.  I’d get her in, and she’d give me an entourage for appearance's sake.  I’ll admit I’ve done many things to indulge my needs before, but walking into a bar or club alone was never one of them. 

“Yeah, I can get you in, Em.  How many people are with you?”

“Oh my God, Chloe, thank you!  It’s just me and Elle.”

“Alright, I’ll make some calls, and I’ll be there in ten.”   

Hopefully, Matt was working tonight.  If not, I’d have to come up with a plan B. 

After texting him and finding out that he was, in fact, at Rain, and that he’d make sure we got into the club, a tiny bit of my restlessness disappeared.  But it wasn’t because my plan to get into the club would work; it was the thought of seeing
him
that calmed my nerves.  Just knowing that fact filled a small piece of the emptiness inside.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

~ Chloe ~

Age 14

I should’ve been happier than this.  Being asked to my first high school dance by the cutest boy in the freshman class should’ve had me jumping for joy.  I had fantasized about this day since I was a young girl, ever since tagging along with my mom and Brynn to shop for dresses, watching as the salon ladies primped my sister’s hair and nails in preparation for her Homecoming and Prom. 

Now that it was my turn to do all those things, I couldn’t seem to get excited about it.  Life had changed since then.  We couldn’t afford expensive dresses or have our hair and makeup done like we were some sort of celebrities anymore.

But I was okay with it because my sister made my own preparation better than I could’ve dreamed.  She styled my hair, painted my nails, applied my makeup, and up until this point, I’d been having the time of my life getting ready with her.  But now, as I stood in front of my bedroom door’s full-length mirror, and the reflection of a sad girl in an evolving body stared back at me, cloaked in her sister’s hand-me-down Prom dress, I felt nothing but loss.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the dress.  I’ll never forget the magical moment that my sister came out of her room with this dress on all those years ago while my mother and I waited in anticipation.  In a matter of minutes, the dress had changed her from looking like a girl to looking like a woman. 

My wearing it now made me feel like I could be just like her someday.  I traced my fingers along the tight, strapless neckline of the silvery grey top, admiring the way it contrasted with the white, mid-thigh length, flowing bottom of the dress.  I was thankful that my sister was so similar in body shape and size when she was my age that we didn’t have to worry about spending any money on a fitting. 

  “Chloe, are you okay in there?” Brynn asked through the closed door.  I wondered if she heard me sniffling. 

I dabbed the corners of my eyes with the tissue from my nightstand, irritated with myself for letting my tears smudge the makeup my sister had worked so hard on. 

I opened the door, determined to tell her I was fine, but lost all reasoning when I saw the empathy in her eyes.

“They should be here for this,” I confessed, barely able to hold myself together.

“Oh, sweetie,” she enveloped me in her arms. “I know.  I’m so sorry.”

I sighed, breathing in the strength that radiated from her, afraid that if I spoke again, I’d break. 

“This is a big day for you, Chlo.  It’s a milestone—your first Homecoming dance—and I know how hard these events are for us.  You need to be strong, though, okay?  Remember what I told you.”

“I know.  It’s our new normal.”

She nodded, “And just because our normal is different from everyone else’s, doesn’t mean it’s any better or worse than theirs.  I’m so proud of you for thinking of Mom and Dad today.  Remembering them at times like this is what helps us to keep them in our hearts.  And it’s okay to grieve the loss of how we thought our lives would be, but don’t you dare use them as an excuse not to have the best damn time of your life tonight.  They wouldn’t want it that way.  Okay?”

There she went trying to fix things again.  I smiled at the thought that Mom and Dad were here watching us.  They would be so proud of her.  I hoped they would be proud of the woman I was becoming too. 

“Okay,” I replied, trying my best to shake it off.  “Does that mean I won’t have a curfew tonight?”

“Nice try.” 

“C’mon, Brynn. I’m in high school now.  And this is a special event.  You said it yourself, it’s a milestone.  I can handle it.” 

She laughed, “Not gonna happen.  Nothing good comes from teenagers staying out after midnight.” 

I rolled my eyes and playfully rebutted, “Says the twenty-year-old.  There is no way you will convince me that you don’t remember what it’s like to be a teenager because—you know—you
were
one six months ago.” 

“You’re fourteen, Chloe.  That’s a little different than nineteen.” She gave me the look that said she’d had enough of this conversation.

“Got it, boss.” 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I almost forgot!  Wait here.”  She hurried out of my room and down the hall to our parents’ room. 

I fixed my smudged makeup as I waited for her.  When she returned, she had her hands behind her back and a radiant smile on her face. 

“Turn around and hold up your hair,” she instructed. 

I did as she said.  She weaved her way through my arms and clasped a necklace around my neck.  When done, she turned me around so that we both faced the mirror.  Other than being a little taller, a bit more developed, and having a few extra years of age on her, she looked almost exactly like me.  We both had our mother’s platinum hair and petite build and our father’s ice blue eyes.

She was the one getting emotional now, bringing her fingers to her lips, tears pooling in her eyes.  “Do you know what this is?”

I laced the strand of white pearls in my fingers, remembering, and nodded, “Yeah.  Didn’t you wear them to your Senior Prom?”

“I did.  Mom let me borrow them.  It was Dad’s wedding gift to Mom.  She wore it when they got married.  I think you should wear them tonight.”

I smiled, beyond grateful to have Brynn in my life.  Without her, who knows where I’d be.  “They’re perfect, Brynn.  Thank you so much.” 

The doorbell rang, breaking our train of thought, and we squealed in excited delight.  My date had arrived. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

~Matt~

Present Day

I had never seen Rain this packed before.  I’d done security at this nightclub for special events, but none ever had this kind of turn out.  The stars of
American Muscle
, the hottest muscle car reality show in the country, gathered in our private loft bar, closed off from the club below by a glass wall, while their audience packed the front of the house and dance floor, not-so-patiently awaiting the special announcement planned for midnight tonight. 

I had seen their show a few times, and each episode followed the same premise.  The show’s stars buy a decrepit classic car and custom-rebuild it in their Las Vegas shop, selling it for thousands in profit at auction.  The show started out attracting only guys like me who dug classic cars, but it gained a truly significant following a few seasons later, when the father/son shop owners stopped seeing eye-to-eye following rumors of the son’s drug habit and a verified sex video that was released to the press by one of his many groupies. After that, the show began to focus more on their relationship than the cars. 

Apparently, the wholesome dad didn’t enjoy that kind of publicity.  Ratings have been skyrocketing ever since, though, with the son, Marc Davis, becoming one of reality TV’s hottest stars.  It was the only show of its kind that had just as large of a female following as it did a male.  In addition to the family drama, Marc’s movie star looks and bad-boy persona were largely to thank for that.

The show’s stars brought their own “security team” for the event, which basically included a couple of Marc’s gym rat friends.  Because of my military background, I had been assigned to work directly with their crew to ensure a smooth evening for everyone—the client and us—at the venue.  The entire day consisted of threat assessments, security planning, and personnel training, which should’ve made it an easy, routine day, but because of their lack of knowledge for security procedures, the day sucked ass, the prep-work took hours longer than expected, and as a result, I was in no mood for shit to be thrown in my direction.

I almost wished I was simply on door-man duty tonight.  Would’ve been a hell of a lot easier.  The line of people waiting to get in had extended almost two blocks, which meant the door guy would have hecklers and troublemakers, but I’d prefer that to dealing with Marc’s cocky attitude. 

At the moment, our private loft encompassed an exclusive party of the show’s producers, stars, a few friends, and some random women who all fought for the attention of Mr. Marc Davis, despite his derogatory remarks.  I had no clue how women could be interested in someone like him, but hey, money, fame, and looks tend to have an effect on some people.  

“Hey, you!” As I checked my incoming text, I vaguely heard an intoxicated Marc shout to someone over the muffled bass of the club’s music stemming from beyond the glass, “You!  Meathead!  Go fetch me some more women!”

I caught heads turn toward me out of my peripheral and when I glanced up to see that douchebag diva staring directly at me, I damn near jumped him on the spot.

Had I been in a better mood, I’d probably laugh at the half-witted remark, but tension had been building inside me ever since the day I spent with Chloe.  Each day that passed without her contacting me put me in a shittier and shittier mood.  I had put the ball in her playing field by leaving that message on her mirror, and not only did her
not
reaching out to me put me in funk, but the fact that I was so damn eager for her to contact me annoyed the hell out of me. 

And it wasn’t just the irresistible image of her in that tight white t-shirt that had me thinking about her either, although that’s what I chalked it up to at first.  The more she lingered in my thoughts, the more I realized it was more than her sweet, tempting body that I was fixated on.  The underlying level of comfort between us, her funny-as-hell dry humor, the intriguing way her eyes spoke to me—the way they screamed that she needed my help even when she couldn’t say it—all of it had me fascinated, wanting to know more about her and why she put up such an impenetrable façade.  

Fuck.

I shouldn’t give a flying shit whether she called or not.  Hell, because of her history with Logan, anything more than friendship was off limits as far as I was concerned.  But I couldn’t get a grip on my feelings.  Unwanted feelings that stirred like wicked little devils under the surface of my skin.  Feelings that I hadn’t felt in years.  And the fact that I was even thinking so much about my fucking feelings for her, like a damn love-sick fairy-princess, pissed me off even more. 

Mix all that with the frustration of today’s security planning and Marc’s holier-than-thou attitude, and you’ve got one pissed off asshole, damn near close to the brink of losing his shit. 

Brushing my murderous thoughts aside, I calmly walked toward Marc, the expression on his drunk-ass face turning from humor to fear in zero-point-two seconds.  The change was subtle.  But I noticed it.

The blonde sitting on his lap, and the brunette on the arm of his red leather chair casually excused themselves when they saw me walk toward him.  Good girls.  Leaning my fist on the arm of his chair, I brought my face within inches of his and responded with a higher degree of patience in my voice than I actually felt as I attempted to calm my boiling blood.  Regardless of this dickhead's behavior, I couldn’t forget that had a professional reputation to uphold.

“We don’t know each other very well, Mr. Davis,” I said with an undertone of hostility, “which means I’m going to let that comment slide.  We clearly have a small misunderstanding, so let me explain my role here tonight.  As the head of your security team at this venue, my duty is to keep you safe from outside threats.  Not get you women.  Not permit condescending remarks.  I strongly suggest you don’t confuse my role with that of your personal assistant or underestimate the fact that I have no problem putting you in your goddamn place if need be.  That being said, it would be in your best interest to treat your security team, including myself, with the same respect we give to you.  Is that understood?”  

“Hey, man.  Take it easy. I’m not trying to start anything here.” He shrugged me off with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, the nervous look in his eye quickly covered by his attempt to uphold the illusion of his self-affirmed authority.  “It was just a joke.” 

I sighed, “Whatever, man.  Just take a second to think before you speak next time.” 

He nodded.

This guy wasn’t worth my time.  I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, walking away.  When I saw that Chloe finally texted me, my mood instantly lightened.  And when I knew she’d be coming to the club tonight, Marc’s idiocy didn’t seem so important anymore.

On my way to leave the loft to tell the doorman to put her and her friends on the list, Marc’s father intercepted me.  He’d been within listening distance of my confrontation with his son, and I briefly resumed my on-guard persona, unsure if he had taken offense to it. I dropped my guard when I noticed the genuinely compassionate smile on his face. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met yet,” he extended his hand. “I’m Dalton Davis.” 

I shook it, “Matt Langston.” 

I hope this guy didn’t expect me to apologize.  If so, he’d be disappointed. 

“Pleasure, Matt.  You’ll have to excuse my son.  That kid’s head is too far up his own ass to know what he’s saying.” 

“No problem, sir,” I responded, stifling my laughter at the unexpected comment.

He walked toward the bar as he continued the conversation, clearly expecting me to follow.  I hesitated, knowing I only had a few minutes before Chloe would get here, but then I remembered I didn’t owe her anything and that my balls were still firmly attached to my own damn body.  She could wait.

“Had I known he’d end up like this,” Dalton persisted, “I never would’ve pushed him to do the show.”

“Don’t worry about it.  Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

We arrived at the bar, and Dalton flagged the bartender. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

“No thanks.  I don’t drink when I’m on duty.” 

“Understood,” he nodded.  He ordered his Jack and Coke, and once he got it, leaned his elbow on the bar, looking over the room and taking a sip. 

“I saw you busting ass during prep today.  I can tell you take pride in your work, Matt.  You’re a natural-born leader.  You know how to take charge of a situation.  That’s something I have yet to see in my boy.” 

I remained quiet on the topic of his son.  Anything I’d say about that jerkoff would most likely be taken the wrong way.  Or worse yet, taken exactly how I mean it.  I wondered why Dalton felt compelled to talk about his son with me.

“Thank you for the compliment, sir.  The military trained me well, but there’s always room for improvement.” 

“See?  Now that’s what I’m talking about.  That’s exactly what
he
needs.  A little bit of modesty like that goes a long way.  His mom and I made a mistake in handing him everything he’s ever had.  We shoulda made him work for what he’s got like I did.  That boy has a sense of entitlement like I’ve never seen.”

As annoying as Marc was, the way his father spoke of him to me, a complete stranger, made me pity the guy.  “We all need a little tough love sometimes, I guess.”

“There’s a lot of things I never expected when I signed with the network to do the show.” He mumbled under his breath, “There’s a lot I would’ve done differently.” 

“Seems to me like the show’s doing alright.” 

“Yeah, the show’s doing just fine.”  He forced a chuckle and tipped his head toward his son who currently had his face in some girl’s neck and a hand on her ass.  “Real life is another story.” 

“I take it fame comes with its challenges?” 

“Ha!  That’s the understatement of the year,” he laughed. 

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad.”  I pointed toward the club below. “From the looks of it, you’ve got quite the following.  Success like that has got to feel pretty good.  Marc’s young.  What is he, twenty-one?  Twenty-two?  He’s enjoying himself.” 

“Enjoying yourself is one thing.  Self-destructive indulgence is another.” 

I knew all about self-destruction.  I remembered my high school years and how, despite my supportive family, I did everything I could to rebel against everything normal.  I was the guy who got stoned in his basement with a few close friends while everyone else was at the Friday night football game.  The guy who boycotted Homecoming and Prom because I’d vowed to never be part of something so cliché.  The guy who pranked the Varsity quarterback, just for shits and giggles, by putting a dead fish under the driver’s seat of his car. 

One thing led to another back then, and before long, my rebellion became more extreme.  It became part of who I was.  I found myself in the midst of dropping grades, low school attendance, and in detention more often than not.  And it wasn’t because my parents abused me or I had been through some horrible trauma in my childhood.  My parents treated me well. 

I did it because I despised the ordinary.  I sought out adventure and wanted to take a new road.  Something different than what my parents had planned for me—college, a traditional job, marriage, and grandbabies—what they called “a better life.”  But school had never been for me.  I did fine with grades, but sitting bored in a class all day made me damn near psychotic. 

My family struggled financially, which meant work kept them away from home and unable to keep track of me, thankfully giving me free rein to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it.  

Mostly, my rebellion was about making a statement that I wouldn’t be controlled.  By anyone or anything.  Until Maya.  She changed my world.  Made me want to better myself.  She was the reason I wanted to straighten my life out so that I could provide her with everything she deserved.  So, I looked for a way to give her a good life.  I even considered college before I realized how expensive it was.  After weighing my options, I found the Army to be my answer. 

If it hadn’t been for her, I’d probably still be in my parents’ basement getting drunk or high.  Even though I didn’t end up with her, at least she made me see how I was throwing my life away.  And even when I tried to get her back and failed, the Army had given me the confidence to never go back to sabotaging myself or my life.

Maybe that’s what Marc was doing.  Rebelling.  Maybe he just needed to find his way on his own terms. 

“I’m not one to judge,” I acknowledged, discerning the fact that had I been in the same position, I could’ve ended up just like Marc. “I raised hell in my day too.”

He sighed, “Well, I hope he grows out of this phase soon.  We started filming right after he graduated high school, you know, and he clearly wasn’t ready for somethin’ like this.  Having the public analyze his every move was more pressure than he could handle.  He went through girls in high school, but his caravan of women took on a whole new intensity after the show started.  Having groupies dropping at his feet the way they do?  I shoulda known it would happen like this.  The kid’s got an addictive personality.  Sports consumed him in high school, and his addiction to winning kept him focused on something positive.  But when high school ended and the show started, he got stuck on the only thing that was right in front of him…girls.  Then drugs.  I thought involving him in the show would give his life the direction it needed.  Thought involving him in the family business would keep him grounded.  Unfortunately, his heart was never in the shop.  Including him in the show was the worst thing I could’ve done.”