Chapter 27
The production staff had rearranged the shooting schedule so that Sienna could have the maximum number of days off after her father’s death. She only had to go back on set next week. She was still staying at her mom’s house because not only was she grieving the loss of her father, but her burgeoning relationship with Justine had also come to an abrupt end. After Justine had left the house during the reception, in a fit of rage, Sienna had blocked her number. She hadn’t found it in her to unblock it yet. The rage hadn’t subsided sufficiently, even though Sienna was self-aware enough to realize that her anger wasn’t just aimed at Justine.
She was angry at Bobby for owning a motorcycle in the first place—for being the quintessential guy in his sixties who believed he was indestructible.
She was angry at herself for being so annoyed at her dad when he’d visited the Gimme Shelter set—the last time she had seen him. For believing that she saw right through him and his motives while, in hindsight, maybe all he truly wanted was to spend some time with her and see his daughter in her element.
She was angry at Taissa, who seemed to have picked her life back up as though not much had happened—as though their father hadn’t unexpectedly died.
She was angry at all the gossip sites that kept rehashing Bobby’s accident as if talking about it non-stop could possibly undo it.
Mostly, she was furious because she couldn’t think of or do anything that would bring her father back. Bobby was gone and it was all just so terribly infuriating.
Sienna was also angry at herself for being so angry at Justine for simply being who she was. For being every inch the kind of person—which was really just an incredibly caring, kind human being with a few personal boundary issues—she’d always said she’d been. The kind of person Rochelle had warned her about. Because, of course, Justine would have rushed to Ashleigh’s bedside as soon as she’d got the call about her suicide attempt. Every cell in Justine’s body would have been utterly and completely convinced that she was doing the right thing, despite it preventing her from going to Sienna’s father’s funeral. And where did that leave Sienna? It told her a harsh truth: nothing and nobody came before the shelter in Justine Blackburn’s life. Not if you wanted to put yourself before someone like Ashleigh, who had been so depressed and desperate she’d actually tried to take her own life.
Rochelle had stopped by the house a few days ago to explain to Sienna where Justine had been last Saturday and Sienna understood—of course, she understood—but that didn’t mean she had to accept it. In the state she was in, still so full of pain and rage, she couldn’t possibly accept it, even if that made her the most selfish person on the planet. For that reason as well, she was very angry at herself. At the whole fucking world. Because it was all so goddamn unfair.
“I had Dion work his reservation magic,” Sienna’s mom said as she walked into the living room. “He got us a table at that Korean place you can’t shut up about for tomorrow evening.”
Sienna had been flicking through the channels. She switched off the TV and put the remote away. “Min-ji’s?” she asked.
“Yep.” Her mother all but batted her lashes.
“I’m impressed.”
“This is LA, where name-dropping still works like a charm, no matter what anyone says.” Her mother’s assistant, Dion, was a legend at talking his boss into a table at the most coveted restaurants in town on short notice.
“It’ll just be the three of us girls. It will do us good.” Her mother sat next to Sienna.
“Thanks, Mom.” In need of human contact, Sienna instinctively sank against her mom’s side. Her mom put an arm around her. What Sienna had missed most of all, were Justine’s hugs. Especially now, when she was in such need of a pair of loving arms around her.
They were startled by the sound of the bell.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Sienna’s mom asked.
Sienna shook her head.
“I’ll go see who it is.” Unhurried, her mother pressed a kiss on the crown of Sienna’s head before walking off. “It’s Justine,” she shouted from the room next to the kitchen where the security video was fed into a screen.
Sienna huffed out a deep breath. “I’m not here,” she yelled back. Tell her to fuck off, she thought. Sienna might miss Justine’s arms around her, but Justine had lost the right to do that when she’d failed to show up at Bobby’s funeral. As soon as Sienna heard her mom say Justine’s name, that fist of steel clenched harder around her heart. As if Justine had come to stand for all the pain that coursed through Sienna so mercilessly after her dad dying.
Sienna sank back into the couch and waited for her mother to return. When she didn’t, Sienna switched the television back on. An image of her father looked back at her from the big screen.
There was no other way for Justine to show how sorry she was than to turn up at Maxine Brewster’s house. She knew from Rochelle that Sienna was staying at her mother’s. Maxine had spoken to her through the intercom when Justine had rung the bell, and asked her to wait outside because she wanted to have a word.
Maxine Brewster was by all means a formidable woman—a true force of nature who had single-handedly changed the status of Black women in Hollywood, according to Rochelle—and she was another hurdle for Justine to negotiate while trying to regain access to Sienna. While trying to get some face time with her. To just catch a glimpse of her face, to erase the memory of Sienna’s wounded expression when Justine had seen her last.
Maxine appeared and closed the security gates behind her.
“You have a lot of nerve,” Maxine started as soon as she was close enough to Justine to be heard. “To come here.” She pointed at the massive mansion behind her. “After you sat across from me, in my own kitchen, and promised me that you’d be there for my daughter.”
“I get that you’re upset, Maxine.” Justine knew how to keep calm in situations like this, even though Maxine’s accusation wasn’t entirely justified. Not in Justine’s book anyway, although she might be the only person who felt that way about it. “But if I could just talk to Sienna. Just for a few minutes.”
“She doesn’t want to see you and I don’t blame her.” Maxine crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Does she—” Justine tried to say, but Maxine cut her off.
“I think it would be best if you left Sienna alone.” Justine had dealt with far more menacing people than Maxine Brewster, yet she was intimidated by her. She was like a mama bear protecting her cub—like the mother Justine never had, and she could only respect that. “She doesn’t need another person in her life who she can’t rely on. Like the one who just died.”
It was a bit rich to compare Justine to Sienna’s absent father, but she guessed Maxine was hurting as well—if only by seeing her children grieve—and lashing out at Justine was easy enough. Apparently, it was the best way for all the Brewsters and the Brights to blow off steam, although Justine could only wish that Sienna would at least hurl some accusations at her face-to-face instead of shutting her out completely.
It was obvious this mama bear wasn’t going to let Justine anywhere near her child. To have a mother like that, someone who came out swinging and fought your battles for you, who was willing to take that first, biting sting of pain for you. Poor Ashleigh, in her hospital bed, now battling even more guilt and shame, could only dream of a parent like that.
“Okay.” Justine held up her hands in supplication. “I’ll go.” She looked Maxine straight in the eye. “Please, tell her…” Justine didn’t finish her sentence, just shook her head. It wasn’t as though she didn’t understand all this hardness, all this posturing and putting up a shield. She was an expert at it. All she could hope was that, unlike with some of the scars on her own heart, a touch of softening would occur before it was too late. Before the scar tissue became permanent.
She turned around and trudged back to her car. More patience and time would be required.