“What was your plan? Huh? Pass me along for a finder’s fee when you were done?”
“Rachel, I would never.” God, it hurts that she believes this shit. I get that she’s angry.Does she really think I’d do such a thing?
My brows pull together and I shake off her allegations. The sting of her disbelief in our love hurts most of all.
“At least tell me you negotiated a good deal. That I’m worth a few grand to you.”
A few grand?My face heats; the anger inside simmers to a boil, begging to be let out. How do I argue with her? How do we have a discussion when she’s already made up her mind? I’m the villain. A sinner with no hope of salvation. The silence between us builds, thick with anger and ready to snap.A few fucking grand?
From inside my condo, my cell rings with an incoming call.
“Just answer it.” She flicks her gaze to the sound.
“No.” I don’t give a fuck who’s calling. Not when the most important person in my life is standing here. “We’re not done.”
Her chin quivers, and her spine straightens as she picks up the dropped bag. “I think we are.” She stifles a sob. My phone rings again. “Answer it.” Her words are a taunt. Baiting. “You know you want to.”
I swallow thickly around the realization that no matter how I play this, I lose. “Not as much as I want to understand what happened to change this.” I motion at the space between our bodies. “Us.”
“I wish I believed you.”
“Rachel.” Now I am begging. My eyes fill with tears. I’m losing her.
“Answer it.”
“No. Not if you’re leaving.” I shake my head. “I refuse for this to be it.” The end. I can barely think the words, let alone speak them.
“I’m leaving anyway.” She smiles, but it’s the kind that breaks my heart. Sad. Hurt. Disappointed. A mask for something deeper, because I’ve lost the privilege to her thoughts and feelings. As she turns and steps into the waiting elevator, fear grips my chest. This is it. She’s walking. Tears fall freely as I watch her leave. My love wasn’t enough to keep her, and I don’t know that I’ll ever recover. Not when she leaves with my heart.
48
Rachel
Three weeks later
“You’re making the face again.” De’Shaun rolls his eyes, stepping ahead of me to climb the steps to Cora Bentley’s trailer.
“What? No, I’m not,” I say defensively.
He rolls his eyes. “Channel your inner BJ.” BJ. Before Jude. It’s a term my brother coined, and De’Shaun uses it often. Mostly because he enjoys the strange looks we get. Anytime I space out or get sad, he reminds me to pretend like Jude never happened. Impossible.
“I can’t help it.” I’ve tried to forget Jude. I really have. But the reminders of him are everywhere. I get in my car. I think of him. Driving reminds me of all the conversations we shared. I go to work and it starts again. He pulled a few of his social connections to get me this job, but I can’t quit. First of all, I love it. It’s my dream gig and the pay is fantastic. Not only do I make a livable wage, but for the first time in a year, my savings account has the start of a nest egg. Besides, there’s no way I could leave De’Shaun. He’s basically the best co-worker ever.
Once I filled him in on my living situation, he pretty much insisted I stay with him. I didn’t want to impose, but after staying at the hotel my brother paid for, I agreed to give it a try. Turns out, De’Shaun comes from a wealthy family and part of his trust fund includes a two-bedroom bungalow. The spare room is comfortable, and off the clock we get along better than either of us imagined. Plus, it’s Los Angeles. I won’t find insanely affordable rent anywhere else.
Cora’s on her phone, picking at her breakfast, and flipping through a script when we enter the trailer. Her gaze lifts to ours with a smile, and she holds up one finger. “Uh huh. Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Have them send it over by this weekend, otherwise it’s a no for me.” The actress is one of the hardest working people I’ve come to know on set. She’s different from the way the tabloids paint her—though I suspect that’s the same for most celebrities. She’s down-to-earth and treats everyone with respect, from the sound guys to the craft table attendants. Getting her ready for a day of filming is one of my favorite parts of this job.
Though we keep it mostly professional, De’Shaun and I talk freely with her as if she’s one of our best friends. I secretly think she loves us more than anyone else on set—and not just because we hold the power to make her look good.
“Have you talked to him?” De’Shaun says quietly and lifts his brow with a pointed stare as he plugs in a curling wand.
I busy myself laying out the brushes I’ll need. Doubt resurfaces, stronger than a rolling tide, and for the hundredth time since I left Jude’s condo, I question whether I did the right thing. Should I have given him a chance to explain? Or would I have just bought more of his lies? I can’t hide or pretend I don’t know what De’Shaun means. He was there. “You know I haven’t.” Defensiveness prickles up my spine. My gaze darts over to Cora, but she’s still on the phone.
“Well, you know what I think, sis.” De’Shaun studies his reflection in the mirror of our work station. He thinks I need closure. That I won’t be able to move on until I talk things out with Jude, this time when I’m not raw and reactive. De’Shaun pulls out a pick and works through his hair, messing with it even though he already looks good.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough. Not yet.” It’s the truth. In my mind, I’ve gone over every conversation and everything we did, searching for a sign. Something I missed. Some warning signal that Jude was only pretending to be someone else with me. But each time, I come up short. I don’t think anyone’s that good of a liar. What we shared felt real. I let my guard down, sharing myself with him in the most authentic way because he was doing the same. Or so I thought. I might still think about Jude too much, but I’m in a solid place right now. I work. I eat. I smile and laugh. I only cry when watching old episodes ofGrey’s. I’m scared inviting Jude back into my life, even for a conversation, will unravel all of that.
“Don’t give me your excuses.” De’Shaun rolls his eyes at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s your life. Do what you want. But don’t waste it hung up on someone you won’t even talk to. There comes a time when you gotta make a choice. A crossroads. Go right or left. Take the red pill or the blue. It does no good sitting your ass down in some self-induced purgatory, punishing yourself for what? Trusting? Loving? You deserve to have more good in your life. You’re too beautiful. Too smart. Too good of a human. Don’t let this experience brand your heart in such a way that you just give up. There’s a lotta love to show this world, honey. You aren’t done yet.”
