Whisper (New Adult Romance) (7 page)

He stared at me, like he was wondering if I was being genuine or if I was taking a page from the book of people who asked how you were doing but didn’t really care enough to stick around for the answer. Satisfied, he gave me a small nod, but that wasn’t enough. I reached for his hand. He was surprised by the gesture, but he didn’t pull away, interlocking his fingers with mine.

His eyes searched mine. Seeing me. Out of everyone, choosing me. There was nowhere to hide. I didn’t want to hide anymore.

“I’m not okay,” I whispered. For one terrifying moment, I prayed he hadn’t heard me. Even though I was in a hospital gown looking like shit proved that I was screwed up, I didn’t want the first guy that really made my heart race to see me as something broken. A work in progress. I wanted him to see me the way I wanted to be. Accomplished and passionate about the works on my IMDB profile. Capable of dealing with crises without turning to a pill bottle or worse. I wanted to be the me that shined in his big green eyes. A girl worth fighting for.

The tears were relentless, running down my cheeks as sobs rocked through me and spilled from my mouth. He took me in his arms, his smell like woodsy, comforting musk. Like those days I played with Jenna and the world was filled with magic and promise. Beautiful memories...that only made me cry harder, clutching him like I was terrified he’d go away, like all good things in my life did.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mia.” His voice was low and soothing. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I rested my forehead on his shoulder, wiping my nose. “I want to believe that. But how can I when the one person in the world who created me was so ready to toss me to a fucking rapist or replace me without a second glance?”

He fondled a lock of my hair, his eyes intent. “You’re talking about your mother?”

I couldn’t even confirm it without feeling like a knife was sinking into my chest. “She’s always been intense, willing to do anything or take out anyone who threatens me. I’ve been in some dicey situations...” I tapered off, remembering my shoot with Maury Richardson, a skeevy older man who had a hard-on the entire time he shot me for a spread in Vogue. I was sixteen, so they juxtaposed childlike imagery like oversized mouse ears and head-sized lollipops with lingerie. Mom had always been in my line of sight, giving him the dirty eye whenever his touch lingered. She’d even cussed him out when he told me to come back in two years without my mother. She protected me, one of the few times she almost walked away from a check because I said I was uncomfortable.

There was a knot lodged in my throat that wouldn’t go away. Was it the truth stuck there, refusing to go down? Even though I’d seen and experienced her abandonment at Solomon’s Cole’s office, I still didn’t want to believe it.

“It was always us against the world.” I pulled back, needing to break contact if I was going to finish and not get lost in him. It would be easy to plug my ears and shut all the bad out. “And then there was Sol. I only went because I never imagined...I never thought—” I bit down on my bottom lip to keep the sob inside. There was no use trying to hold in the tears. They wouldn’t stop coming, racing down my cheeks in hot, angry lashes. “And it’s my fault. Because I always bowed to her. I had to be a triple threat even though acting was my real love, the only thing that made everything else worth it. I powered through every audition. I grinned. I tolerated the verbal abuse. And that’s why she thought it was okay to leave me alone.” I dropped my head in my hands. “I did this.”

His grip was fierce and immediate. He took my face, holding it steady until I surrendered and looked at him.

“I want you to listen to me, Mia. What happened in Sol’s office was not your fault. Do you hear me? Solomon Cole is a worthless piece of shit, and your mother?” He let out a growl, like if she were in the room he might’ve ripped out her throat. “I believe in karma...and they’ll get theirs. They’ll pay for what they’ve done.” His thumb caressed my cheek. “You’re talented, beautiful, and strong. It won’t be easy, but you’ll find your way. I know you will.”

I made a skeptical sound. “How are you so sure?”

“Because I believe in you,” he answered. “And I’ll be here waiting for you, rooting for you, and ready to give you a swift kick in the ass if you don’t get help. Especially if I ever see ‘Mia Kent rushed to the ER’ on my news roundup again and it’s by your own hand.”

“Are we at the threatening bodily injuries phase of our relationship?” I smirked.

“Now’s a good a time as any,” he winked. “I understand that you need an escape, but there are other less destructive ways.”

“I’m all ears.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth and warmth rushed through me. Want, lust, and...another word I refused to say aloud. Our lips met and he was right. The kiss made everything else fade to nothing.

It was the most beautiful escape.

I
regretted the ceasefire with my mother the minute I saw her face. It was more than the fact that her face was coated with an obscene amount of makeup, her pretty features dulled by foundation, heavy-handed blush, and fierce strokes of eyeliner. It was more than the disconcerting realization that she had on a very similar outfit to the one she wore when we went to Cole Productions. It was the way her Ronald McDonald colored lips spread into a toothy grin when I approached our table at Verve Cafe. I said ‘our’, because for years, we met every Sunday at the trendy restaurant for mimosas and ‘girl talk’. And even though I had almost ignored her pleading text, I missed her – and stupidly believed she’d be waiting, eager to give me an explanation about the Sol incident.

But I knew that smile. That was her ‘water under the bridge’ smile. It was the smile she flashed after losing her shit on the producers and was a hop, skip, and cuss word away from being banned from the set. She’d whip out the molars and charm and all would be forgiven.

I knew she was playing them like a fiddle, but did she really think it would work on me? Unbelievable.

Her arms were outstretched, and they stayed that way as I ignored her and dropped unceremoniously into my seat. The waiter let out a nervous little chuckle.

“Anything to drink?” he asked me with a smile as big as my mother’s.

“She’ll have some water.”

“Actually, I’ll take a Sprite, a mocha with extra whipped cream, and a glass of your most expensive pinot noir.”

He hustled away, probably sensing my mother was dangerously close to vetoing most of it.

I snapped my napkin open and dropped it in my lap. When I raised my eyes to meet my mother’s, I smirked. Not out of amusement – there was nothing amusing about this – I smirked because I knew the tiny gesture drove her crazy. For all her tantrums and hijinks, the one thing she wanted most was respect. And as far as she was concerned, I was fresh out.

“Wine?” she said with a frown of distaste. “It’s barely noon, dear.”

“I took a taxi,” I answered simply, then smiled widely on the inside. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do today.”

She pursed her tomato-colored lips. “And whose fault is that?”

Anger clawed at me, its talons shredding me to bits. “Mine, of course.” I sighed dramatically. “If only I’d let Solomon Cole bend me over his desk and fuck me.”

The stars aligned and all the conversations around us seemed to lull just in time for me to drop the F bomb. Mom glanced around us nervously. It would have been hilarious if it didn’t hurt so freaking bad. Even now, with the truth out in the open, she cared more about what other people were thinking than the damage she had done. If the waiter hadn’t come back with our drinks, I had no doubt that she would have made the rounds, telling each one of them that I was rehearsing a script under a lot of stress. Career first, being a human coming in second. I brought my wine glass to my lips. I wasn’t even sure being a mother was on the list.

She took a sip of her latte, sighing with pleasure even though the thing was so nonfat and sugar free that it was impossible for it to taste that good. When she lowered the cup, all evidence of her panic was erased. “So, your sister’s spread in Maxim has led to an audition! It’s a comedy, and they think Jenna is perfect for...”

“How is Jenna?” I cut in. I knew the answer. Bulimic, and desperately trying to gain my mother’s approval. If she answered my calls, I could have told her it was a losing battle.

Mom raised an overplucked eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You know, how is she?” My voice was tight. Painfully high – and it was painfully obvious that I was no good at pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t. I wasn’t my mother.

Mom gave me a strange look. “She’s fine, of course. Mia, you’re shaking.”

“Shaking?” I repeated. I glanced down. I wouldn’t have even noticed the tremor if the burgundy liquid wasn’t trembling. There was an earthquake inside me, a natural disaster years in the making. And the cause was sitting right in front of me.

“How do you sleep at night?” Her eyes immediately shot to the table beside ours, but I slammed my wine glass down, sloshing the dark liquid all over the pristine ivory tablecloth. “Don’t look at them. Look at
me
.”

She huffed, raising her chin. “Just who do you think you’re—”

“Talking to?” I finished, chewing every word and spitting it out. “To be honest, I have no idea. You’re not a mother. A mother would never have taken her daughter to a known asshole and left her alone with him. A mother wouldn’t let her troubled, underage daughter pose in lingerie. A mother would see that her daughter is so fucked up that she can’t handle stress without pills and when things fall apart? She needs even more pills and alcohol.” I pushed my chair back from the table. If I didn’t move, run away from her, I’d really explode. There were too many sharp objects, too much hate boiling in my veins. “Jenna is
not
fine.
I
am not fine. And you...you’re a monster!”

I was out of the cafe, tears of anger hot and boiling as I hailed a cab. My phone was in my hand, and my finger lingered on Scott’s name, but I remembered Liam and scrolled back up to his letter of the alphabet.

It only rang twice before he answered.

“Hey you.”

Just the sound of his voice made me feel better.

“Hi,” I bit my lip. “Can I see you? My mother...I...I need an escape.”

T
he question was obvious, hanging unspoken in the air between us, but Liam didn’t push. I went up to his apartment, a tiny one bedroom apartment over a Laundromat. Apparently my timing was perfect. He was wearing the last few pieces of his clean clothing, a chocolate shirt and a pair of black slacks that made me think dirty thoughts. When I realized he was going commando and I could make out everything he was working with down south, my mother was already a distant memory. When he caught me ogling him, I covered up the offense by offering to help him with his laundry.

After stepping into the sweltering Laundromat, I had second thoughts about my (mostly) selfless gesture. I placed the basket on the table and followed him with my eyes. He dug a fistful of quarters from his pocket and slipped them into the vending machine. He came back with two sodas, holding one out for me.

I took it gingerly. “Thanks,” I mumbled, cradling the cool drink. “I can’t remember the last time I actually drank a soda. I mean, I ordered one at lunch, but that’s because I knew it would drive my mother insane.” I answered the silent question he asked with his eyes. “Empty calories. ‘Your body’s your temple’, she always said.”

What she really meant was my body is a commodity. If I didn’t stay thin and perfect, what would my fans aspire to? The temple stuff and the health BS was just a cover. The only temple she cared about was the Temple of Wealth, and her god was the almighty dollar.

“Your mom’s...quite something.” His wording was cryptic, but his face was anything but. He found her disgusting.

You and me both
, I thought bitterly. Discussing just how hard my mom sucked seemed like a cathartic exercise, but the thought of talking about her gave me an itch for the very thing I called him up to avoid. I almost wished he’d take the edge off and ask me the question that raced across his face and stalled on his tongue before he started separating his clothes.

Wait – he separated his clothes? I knew that was the proper way to do laundry and it lowered the chances of colors bleeding, but the few memories I had of doing laundry consisted of just stuffing clothes in the tub every which way and hoping for the best. It was so cliché, but watching a muscled, tattooed guy being all domesticated was bringing needs inside me to life.

After he separated the last two items, he glanced up, his eyebrow a dark question mark. “What?”

I almost told him that watching him separate laundry was making me want to hump him then and there, but I toned it down. “I just realized that I barely know you even though I’ve already seen your underwear. I actually want to know more.” I exhaled when it was all out, the shackles I put around my heart slackening. Just a little bit. There was no harm in telling him I liked him. And when his eyes sparked with confirmation that he liked me too and his lips teased into a lazy smile, I realized just how much I liked him...and just how devastated I’d be when things inevitably went south.

He lined up his remaining quarters. “You know the highlights. My name, the tragic story of my short-lived fame—”

“Morbid fascination with washed out former child stars,” I finished for him. I’d meant it as a joke, but my voice was dark and bitter.

“Don’t do that.” The timer was going on the machine and he hadn’t even loaded it, but he held my gaze steady like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t cheat yourself. You’re not washed up, you’re
growing
up. People might think that they watched you grow, but there’s no such thing when you’re in the public eye. You’re not allowed to screw up and make mistakes because you’re publicly flogged if you show any sign that you’re too human to live up to the standards fame puts on you. You’re not washed up, Mia. You’re beautifully flawed, just like the rest of us.”