Chapter 9 Jane
JANE
At the end of the hallway the bedroom door snicks closed, and some of the tension pinching at the back of my neck and shoulders scatters. Roman and Monty together, in the same room, isn’t a good thing. My nerves can’t take it, let alone my heart.
I run a hand through my tousled hair and face my ex. “How did you find me?”
He slumps against the wall, hands clutching the sides of his head as if to hold himself together. “I’m not stupid.”
He’s been drinking and may be in pain. The loss of the championship—the Flashes killed it this season, and I so wanted them to win—is a huge hit. Monty had a lot riding on tonight, and despite how he’s hurt me, empathy pinches at my heart.
Not wanting to dignify his words with a response, I choose kindness. What anyone would deserve when a dream has been dashed or they’ve suffered a setback. “I’m sorry about tonight. The game.”
Exhaling, he drops his hands and looks up at me with his puppy dog eyes. “You watched it?”
I nod and swallow, not wanting to give him an inch to worm his way into my heart again. It isn’t going to work. Not this time. “Yeah. Monty, tell me, how did you know I was here?”
Straightening, he squares his shoulders and tightens his jaw. “After you told me you had a crush on that actor, that he was your hall pass, I set up an alert on him.”
His eyes shut and I stare, watching him breathe. He breathes so deeply and for so long, I wonder if he’s going to continue or what he’s doing.
With a blink, his gaze slices to me, pointed.
“I’d get shit on him all the time, and I barely looked at it before.
Deleted it as it came in. I mean, what were the chances of you two…
” He scoffs and curls his upper lip at the irony.
“Then this afternoon, I don’t know why, but something made me click on the article…
maybe because of the headline. Maybe because you were gone and it reminded me of you or made me feel connected to you. ”
Another grunt as he shakes his head ruefully. “Fuck. When I saw that picture of you in a bathrobe with him…”
How is this even possible? Of all things. A lump forms in my throat, and though difficult to swallow or even talk, I have to know.
“You saw that? What makes you think it was me?”
He throws me the side-eye. “Jane, I’d know you anywhere, but the hair clip erased any doubt that it was anyone else but you.”
The hair clip. The one I’d handmade during one of my mom’s workshops for the tourists back in the summer between sixth and seventh grade.
She and I used to collect local items like seashells, flowers, leaves, even frayed rope, anything really. We’d prime and prep them for a kind of arts and crafts class she would offer to the tourists.
Create a keepsake to remember your stay. Make new memories of this special trip. My mom’s voice rings loud and clear in my head as if she’s here right now, trying to get people to sign up for the class.
The hairclip was my favorite, more because I’d made it with Mom than for any other reason, and I never went anywhere without it. My hair was up in the picture and for the massage.
Monty had been paying attention, even though more than half the time he didn’t act like it. I’m not surprised he recognized the clip but more that he was attempting to keep tabs on Roman.
Until this weekend, I’d have laughed in his face and maybe even called him a little unhinged for online stalking my celebrity crush. Never in a million years would I have imagined I’d actually sleep with Roman Kingsley.
But realizing this about my ex doesn’t change anything.
So what if he was more aware than I thought?
The real concern is if Monty knowing the truth could ruin all the work done by Hilary Montrose, Roman, and Palmira?
Shit.
Yeah, he could if he knew it was important, and soon enough, if he reads the news, he’ll realize we’ve covered up the fact that it was me.
I’ve got to get him to keep his mouth shut.
“It was a hotel mix-up and they double-booked this room. The place is fully booked and since it’s big, there’s enough room for both of us to stay here. But you can’t tell anyone I was here. Got that?”
I hate having to spell this out for him and wish I could act like this isn’t a big deal. But I can’t. Monty has a big mouth.
He loves to hear himself talk, and this story, even if it makes him look like a jackass, isn’t one he’d ever pass on sharing. Although, he’d most probably change the details to make me look like the cheater and him, brokenhearted and faithful.
“If nothing happened and you’re just sharing a room, what’s the big deal? Why, because he’s a celebrity?” His mocking tone on the word celebrity grates on my nerves, and I want to rant and rave, make him understand how important this is.
“Yes.” I decide to appeal to his supposed love for me. “But it’s more about me than him or anything else. Imagine the media frenzy even if this is a room mix-up. You know me; I don’t like it when the reporters follow us.”
Monty loves the attention, and anytime a reporter sticks a mic in his face, the boy’s in his element. Not me.
“You’ve fucked him, haven’t you?”
My heart lurches, and I narrow my eyes on him, incensed at how crass and disrespectful he is.
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Christ, you have.” His fingers grab at his hair and he bangs the back of his head against the wall. “Jane, you are my business. You’re going to be my wife.”
“Uh-uh. The engagement’s off. We’re over. I left the ring in the room in case you missed it.”
He pulls the damn thing out of his pocket as if the sight of it will change my mind. And as if the ring wasn’t enough to remind me what a cheating bastard he is, I haven’t missed the smeared lipstick on his neck, or that in addition to the stench of booze and cigarettes, he reeks of sex.
“How did you find me? Even if you saw the photo and figured out the hotel.” I hold my tongue, though I want to add, “and that’s a big leap for you,” but my sarcasm and lowly jab isn’t going to help right now. “How did you know I was in this room?”
And there it is.
His complexion pales, eyes flying around the suite to look at anything but me. That’s all the confirmation I need.
“Oh, I see. You whipped out the Monty charm, didn’t you?” My word choice is deliberate, conjuring a sexual image because, in all likelihood, that’s what we’re talking about here. He had sex with someone to get the room information.
“Who was it? A woman at the front desk? No, wait…” I prance around the foyer, a finger tapping on my lips like I’m in deep contemplation, but I already have it all figured out. “You picked someone cleaning a room, right? Or was it room service? Did you sleep with her?”
“Shit, Jane. I didn’t sleep with her. I may have flirted, but it was only to get the info I needed. I needed to find you. And baby, if this bothers you, let’s face it, you’re jealous, and that tells me you still care about me. We still have something.”
“Oh, no.” I chuckle and shake my head. “I’m not jealous. I just couldn’t figure out how you found me. This makes sense.”
It irks me to think how easily someone violated my privacy and Roman’s for what? A make-out session or sex with Monty Fisher.
“Jane, none of that matters. I don’t care if you’ve had sex with him, baby. I deserve it. I’ve been a shit, and I just want you back.”
Baby. Ick.
Even now, he insists on calling me that stupid, childish nickname. From day one, I told him I didn’t like it, but my opinion didn’t count. He said I was too sensitive and it was his way of showing me how he felt about me.
I wasn’t a fucking baby, and know what? If I was, then who the hell was he? My daddy? Fuck that.
There were so many signs from early on in our relationship that we weren’t a good match.
That Monty was a jerk. And little ol’ Jane ignored it all.
I was just so happy that a popular boy, a jock even, noticed me.
I blew past all the warning signals telling me to get the hell away from Montgomery Fisher.
His insensitive words sever my rambling thoughts. “Maybe one day, like you, I’ll get lucky with my hall pass. Who knew it was a thing?” He chortles, obtuse to how off-putting and heartless his comment is.
My stomach turns.
I’d rather have a root canal than touch him again, let alone marry him.
“We’re over, and I’m not arguing with you about this. It’s my life, and I’m done with you.” I cross my arms over my chest and square my shoulders. “I’m going home tomorrow and clearing out my things. I’m taking an earlier flight than the one you’re on.”
He opens his mouth to say something, likely to protest, but I keep going. I’m calling the shots.
“While I’m going to be quick and take as much as I can—I only want my clothes and the things I brought with me from Marathon—you might get there before I’m done. I’d appreciate it if you stayed away for maybe an hour after your flight gets in.”
“Fuck, Jane, why are you doing this? I messed up. I’m not perfect, but I’m not letting you go after all we’ve been through. You’re the love of my life. I’m sorry, baby.”
He starts toward me, arms outstretched, but my bark of laughter stops him in his tracks.
“You see, the thing is, Monty, this isn’t your first time.
Back in high school, some of my friends tried to tell me they’d seen you with other girls.
I didn’t wanna believe it, even though deep down, I knew it was true.
And the time when you went off to spring training and I called you…
remember that? There were women in the background, and I knew then, too. I may be foolish, but I am not stupid.”
I shake my head, more in disgust with my naivete and how much time I wasted on this man than anything else.
“You did me a solid by not being able to keep your dick in your pants. I had to see it with my own eyes, so in some ways, I should thank you for it. But I won’t because you don’t deserve it.”
His cheeks turn red and his fingers curl into fists. “Jane. Really? After all the years together, you’re just going to end it. How am I going to explain this to the media? Or did you forget about that?”
He’s talking about his very public proposal. Who does that? Especially with a partner that hates the spotlight. Thanks a lot, jerk-off.
Suddenly, I find myself in crisis mode, thinking the way I did earlier, when Roman was faced with the dilemma of the pictures and his father.
“You don’t have to say anything right away. I won’t talk to the media, and I won’t tell anyone that the engagement’s off. When you’re ready, you can say it was your decision. I’d appreciate you telling me when and what you’re going to say, but it’s totally up to you. I promise to go along.”
“You’d do that?” There’s now a twinkle of hope in his bloodshot eyes, and I don’t like it.
He’s missing the point. This is another lie, not a chance at a reconciliation, and I need to make that very clear.
“Yes, I will. But you have to keep your mouth shut about this weekend. About me staying in this room. I mean it. If you so much as utter a word to anyone, I’ll spill everything.
I’m not just talking about reporters, but your team, our friends, anyone.
I have people willing to talk about how much of a shit you are. A cheater and all.”
I don’t have anyone lined up at this moment but now I plan to. Two of the restaurant staff helped me get out of there unseen after I ran into the threesome in the bathroom.
His nostrils flare and his usually relaxed features pinch and sharpen. He opens his mouth, but once again, I don’t give him a chance.
“And before you even think you can spin this so I’m the cheater, the people I’m talking about aren’t friends from back home that you can easily throw doubt on.
You don’t think people saw you in the restaurant the other night?
Or what about tonight? What you did to get the room number.
I’m willing to bet your fangirl will be just as easily lured by a payout, maybe more so than your dick because it’ll be a big payout.
” He chokes on my words but I’m not done.
“Your image as the all-around American golden boy will be ruined. I’ll make sure of it. ”
He clutches at his chest, features ashen. “Shit, Jane. That’s harsh. I never thought you were like that.”
“Yeah, well, once upon a time, I’d never have believed that you’d turn out to be such an asshole.”