Chapter Twenty-Nine
MY PRIVATE JET lands at the Miami airport, and a car service is waiting to take me to the Four Seasons where Eva is staying in one of their suites. I’m wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a lightweight jacket that’s too much for the Miami heat. At Eva’s door, I check my phone and tuck it into the inside top pocket, then mentally brace myself.
Like willingly walking into a cyclone.
I knock.
“Come in, Zach.”
She sounds cheerful. Unbothered. I grit my teeth and open the door.
The suite is a big one, with a living area in front of a kitchenette. Eva is there, unloading groceries onto the counter. She wears tight-fitting athletic pants and a sports bra—coming from or going to a workout. My gaze goes to her flat and toned midsection, as if I could glean a clue about my future. Her high ponytail bounces with her around the kitchen, as she hums and unloads heads of lettuce, bottles of sparkling water, and a jar of pasta sauce from a gourmet grocery store.
“You actually showed up. What an honor,” Eva says as I shut the door behind me. She pulls out a carton of strawberries from the bag and sets it on the counter. “So. You sold the house.”
I stand with my arms crossed. “I did.”
“I want half,” she states. “We made Godsent together and Godsent is what bought the house.”
Technically, What You Left Behind , the movie I did at the end of season five, is what bought the house, but she’s right. Godsent is why I have a career and Eva was half of that show. She was half of my life, but now it feels like I imagined it all—a dream come true that slowly became my worst nightmare.
“Fine.” I move to sit in a plush chair facing the kitchenette and rest my forearms on my knees.
“That’s it?” Eva’s smile is bright, but her eyes are cold. “You caved faster than I thought you would.”
She’s itching for a fight. I won’t give it to her; I let the remark bounce off me. “You could’ve gotten this from my lawyer.”
“Yet here you are,” she says with a triumphant smirk.
“As if I had a choice.” I pin her with a hard look. “The Instagram post. Is it real?”
I brace myself for the answer, but Eva looks away and busies herself putting things in the fridge.
“How is what’s-her-face? Making a name for herself in the costume world? I heard she had quite the meltdown.”
My jaw clenches, but I force myself to remain calm. “Did your good buddy, Laurent, tell you that? Did he mention he stole Rowan’s designs and passed them off as his own?”
Eva rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t be so na?ve. The business is cutthroat. Everything in Hollywood is cutthroat. If your little girlfriend can’t handle the pressure, she should get out.”
“There’s pressure and then there’s watching your work get stolen out from under you.” My voice turns low. “Did you put him up to it?”
“Be serious, Zach. All I know is she freaked out and quit the production.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“What do I care? Laurent has been borrowing from his underlings for years. So what? Everyone does stuff like that because they have to.”
“It’s theft.”
“It’s surviving . You know the score. Even in our business, agents take great ideas from the slush pile and give them to big name writers. It’s just how the game is played.”
“So, he’s done this before?”
Eva narrows her eyes at me from across the counter. “Don’t tell me you came all this way to defend your new nobody of a girlfriend. You’re wasting your breath. And if she thinks about squealing, she’s wasting hers. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
I nod and mentally prepare for round two.
“You’re right, that’s not why I’m here.” I lean back in the chair. “Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?”
Eva makes a face I can’t read. “Not for lack of trying.”
“What does that mean? You tried?”
Before she can answer, a red-hot fountain of rage rises in my blood, filled with every instant of pain, shock, and violence from the past few years. It pulls me to my feet with such force, the chair tips over.
“You tried ? What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout. “Fuck that! What happened to you, Eva? Did something happen? Did someone hurt you or—?”
“Yes, someone hurt me!” she cries back, slamming down a carton of skim milk so that its edges bend and leak all over the counter. “You! You hurt me, Zach! In the worst way!”
“What did I do? Please, for the love of God, once and for all, tell me what the fuck I did wrong, Eva. For years you’ve acted like you hate me. Why?”
“You left me behind, that’s why! All those offers you were getting at the end of Godsent . All those projects you shot between seasons when I got nothing . You could barely make it to set for our show, and it meant everything to me! And then you canceled it. You just shut the whole thing down.”
“The hell…? I didn’t shut anything down. We talked about it. The show was getting stale and old.”
“To you, maybe,” she says tearfully. “But it was all I had.”
“Eva…” I run a hand through my hair. “We had that meeting with Rob, and he agreed it was time to move on. You were there—”
“What was I supposed to say?” she demands, furiously wiping up the spilled milk. “Keep it going for me, pretty please? You were supposed to stand up for me. You were supposed to tell Rob, because he would have done a hundred seasons if the great Zachary Butler asked him.”
“Eva, I can’t read your mind. And by that time, you and I had been falling apart for years . We weren’t talking, and you were just so fucking angry all the time—”
“Oh sure, I was angry all the time.” She hurls the milk carton into the trash. “Yes, everything was always my fault. My career was circling the drain, while yours kept skyrocketing up, and you never did one goddamn thing to help.”
“Why would I? You were fucking abusive, Eva. You were—”
“Abusive? Give me a fucking break, Zachary. I was not abusive .”
“No? Slapping, throwing shit at me, clawing at my face, and then there’s you trying to fuck me while I’m drunk out of my mind.”
She crosses her arms. “So?”
“ So ?”
“ Why am I always the bad guy ?” she shrieks suddenly. “You’re America’s sweetheart, and I’m the bitch. It’s not fair. You’re the one who kicked me out of the house after Oscar night.”
I scrub my face and set my jaw, trying to regain my composure. “What happened? Tell me everything.”
She scoffs. “There’s nothing to tell. You were pathetically drunk. I thought you’d passed out, but then suddenly you’re lurching for the stairs, to our bedroom where I was staying.”
“Probably because that’s what I’d done a thousand times.”
She continues as if she hadn’t heard me. “I helped you up the stairs and all the while you’re talking about her. Rowan. Whining about how sorry you were. To her , not me. And that was so unfair. I’d put in the work, for six years, and some random production assistant reaps the rewards?”
I clench my jaw. “What did you do, Eva?”
“Oh my God, what is the big deal? We’ve had sex a million times. What’s one more? And I wanted to rekindle us. We’re so good on the red carpet and you know it. That’s why you took me to the Oscars, isn’t it? You know we’re a real Hollywood couple, not like you and that Rowan—”
“Are you insane? I took you because you showed up in Alaska, crying about your career. I did it as a favor to you.”
“I don’t need your pity—”
“No, but you needed some leverage, is that it? So, you…what? Tried to get me to have sex with you?”
“Oh, calm down. Nothing happened. You couldn’t get it up.” She reads my face and snorts. “Don’t act all shocked. You’re a guy. Guys always want sex.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, do you hear yourself? And let’s pretend for a second that’s even remotely true. You and I had been fighting. You attacked me. You threw shit at my head and scratched up my face. What part of that little exchange made you think I wanted to sleep with you?”
“God, Zachary, you are so dramatic,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “First of all, I did not scratch up your face. I gave you a couple of nicks. No big deal.”
No big deal. She said that a lot after our fights, I realize now, and I adopted it as my fucking motto.
“Secondly,” she continues, “you were going to toss me to the curb as soon as the sun was up. I got scared, okay? Scared of being on my own since you obviously weren’t going to take care of me. But Rob is doing the spinoff so it’s fine. I’m good now.”
“ You’re good now,” I repeat, my voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “What does that mean? So, you’re not pregnant? Give me a straight fucking answer.”
She makes a face as if I were crazy. “I never said I was pregnant. I was shopping for my friend’s baby shower when I made that Instagram post.”
“Bullshit. You knew for a goddamn fact what everyone would take that post to mean. What I would take it to mean…”
She gives a maddeningly little smug tilt of her lips and a shrug. “Oops.”
I stare at her for a moment. A million emotions are at war, but none of them win. I’m just numb. I right the chair I knocked over and sink into it, hold my head in my hands.
“Jesus, Eva. You made me think I was going to be a dad in the most fucked up way.”
“Oh, Zach…”
I hear her come from around the counter to kneel in front of me, her hands on my thighs.
“I’m sorry it went down like that. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snarl, brushing her hands away, my eyes glassy. “You didn’t mean…what? Tell me exactly what you’re sorry about, Eva.”
Her face crumples and she begins to cry. “You’re so angry with me. Like you hate me. And I’m sorry that things got so bad between us. But it’s only because I felt like I was being abandoned by Hollywood. And you. We were both in the spotlight and it was so warm there, you know? I was popular and in demand, and then it all started to go away. Do you know what that’s like? To have a taste of that fame and then watch it wither and die? It made me crazy.”
I sit back in the chair, hands clutching the arm rests, staring, unmoving.
“But you and I, we’re good together. You know that,” she says through tears. “I want you back.”
Tentatively she takes one of my hands. I snatch it away.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“You know we’re a better fit than some poor girl off the street. No one understands the stresses of our business like me. No one understands you like I do. No one can ever love you like I do.”
I shake my head slowly. “You don’t love me, Eva. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it’s fucking sick. I think you’re sick and you need help.”
I pull away from her grasping hands and head for the door.
“ I need help?” she shrieks in a sudden fury. “How dare you! You’re the one who needs help, Zach. You’re the one who’s terminally pathetic. You have everyone fooled. Hollywood’s golden boy when actually, you’re a pussy who can’t get it up.”
I ignore her and keep going. I got what I came for.
“If you leave like this,” she seethes, “I’ll make it so much worse. You know I can.”
I turn.
Eva’s beside the counter, arms crossed, trembling with rage. “I’m sure The Scandal Sheet would love to hear all about how the magnificent Zachary Butler’s new girlfriend is a thief.”
Calmly, quietly, I pull my phone from my top jacket pocket. I turn it to face her, so she can see that Voice Memo is still recording, then I hit stop.
“I have you on here, admitting to physical abuse and attempted assault. Admitting that Laurent has stolen before. That he’s stolen from Rowan. If you or he even think about publicly accusing her of anything, I’ll ruin both your careers.”
The color drains from Eva’s face.
“You’re also going to clear up the rumor about the pregnancy,” I continue. “You’re going to tell everyone about your friend’s ‘baby shower.’ If you don’t, I’ll send a copy of this memo to The Scandal Sheet, Inside Edition, Perez Hilton… Hell, I’ll take out an ad in Variety and post the transcript. But before I do any of that, Eva, I’m going to take this straight to Rob and hit play.”
“You’re pitiful, Zach,” she breathes, jaw quavering. “You’re going to share with the world how a big strong guy like you got slapped by little ole me? You’re going to accuse me of sexual assault ? Who is going to care? Or believe you? You’re six-two…and I’m…but you couldn’t stop it?”
“I was fucking drunk, Eva. If the situation were reversed, would it be okay? If I screamed at you all night, slapped you around, then fucked you while you were passed out, would we be having this conversation?”
“It’s not the same for a man…”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I say, stuffing the phone in my jacket pocket. “Set the record straight about the pregnancy and clear Rowan’s name. I’m not fucking around. You have twenty-four hours.”
I turn to go.
“Give me that phone, Zach,” she says, and there’s real fear in her voice for the first time.
“Goodbye, Eva.”
“Fuck you, Zachary,” she says, rushing to me, grabbing at my arm. “Give me the phone.”
I turn and she lunges, but I’m ready. I grab her wrists and hold her back—like a writhing cat—as she screams.
“ Give me that phone! ”
I shove her back, hard enough that she hits the ground.
“You want to talk about abuse?” she cries. “What was that?”
“That’s self-defense,” I say. “And this is the last time I ever want to see your face. It’s over, do you hear me? It’s fucking over. ”
I reach for the door again, grab the handle, and there’s an explosion of glass and water against it at head level.
“Jesus, Eva…”
I turn just in time to see the blur of something a split second before pain blasts my cheekbone, beneath my right eye. A jar of sauce tumbles down and shatters on the floor. I stagger back, raising my arm just in time—another bottle of mineral water strikes my elbow, then hits the floor with a clunk.
“Give me that phone, you fucking coward.” Eva is sobbing now, clutching the edge of the counter. But she’s out of weapons; she hurls the head of lettuce, and it explodes harmlessly at my feet.
“Well?” she shrieks. “Don’t just stand there! Fight back!”
“I’m not fighting you, Eva,” I say in a low, controlled tone. “I never wanted to fight you.”
For a moment, there’re only the sounds of her cries. Blood trickles down my throbbing cheek. Then a hard knock comes at the door.
“Police. Open up.”
Eva’s head shoots up and she pushes tendrils of hair off her face. “Oh no. No, don’t…”
I open the door and sag against the wall as two uniformed cops—hands resting on their pistols—step inside.
“Watch your step,” I mutter, indicating the puddles of water and sauce, glittering with broken glass.
“Got a noise complaint about a woman screaming,” one officer says. “You all right, ma’am?”
The other officer is eyeing me. “Hold up, what happened to your face?” He turns to Eva. “Did you do this?”
“He’s trying to blackmail me,” she cries. “He’s got a recording… And he pushed me. He shoved me to the ground.”
The first officer steps over the mess. He turns to me. “What happened here?”
“I was trying to leave,” I say. “She didn’t like it.”
“Fuck you, Zach! You goddamn liar!”
“Now, let’s all calm down. Ma’am, did you do that to him?”
Eva stares at me helplessly, her jaw working. The right side of my face is screaming, and blood stains the front of my shirt. Years of her rage and the sudden, shocking flurries of violence that broke us are all at the forefront of my mind, running alongside every time I tried to put it all back together. Because I once loved her. I can’t remember the feeling, but I know I did. Like a shadow of an echo of a memory. And so it still hurts, what’s coming next.
“All right, ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me.” The second officer crosses to her, pulling handcuffs from his belt.
“What? No!”
She’s pleading with me. Begging.
I’m sorry, Eva.
“Please Zach. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’ll never happen again.”
“You’re right,” I say. “It won’t.”