Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DOMINIC
Closing my hand around my phone, I pull it close to my face, my eyes blurry from lack of sleep. After checking the number flashing on the screen, I let out another gruff curse and hit the answer button. “Hold on a damn minute.”
A soft sigh exhales beside me as Angel rests tangled in a cocoon of sheets. After the nightmare she had, I don’t want to wake her, but I can’t resist brushing a hand over the strands of dark hair spilling across the pillow beside me.
Hearing her sharp intake of breath, I freeze, waiting motionless for her breathing to return to normal. Still lost in her dreams, she rolls forward, the sheet falling to the tops of her thighs.
I fought this. I tried to deny it, but it was inevitable. I knew she’d be the one to get in. What’s worse is that she knew it, too.
“You love me, Dominic McCallum, why don’t you just admit it?”
I would’ve picked up the salad fork and stabbed myself in the eye before validating that statement. Angel was supposed to be a paycheck. But now the thought of never touching her again clutches at my chest like a vice. Being with her feels natural, and that’s dangerous.
The woman has fucked up my perfectly heartless world.
Which brings with it complications. Not counting Rosten and the shit storm a public affair will cause, there’s also Luciano.
My blood still boils at the insinuation he threw out the last time we spoke. I played it off, but inside, my brain was an eighteen car-pile up. There’s no way he could know about Phoenix. If he did, I would’ve been six feet under a long time ago.
So what angle is he playing?
I cast a quick glance back at Angel, her dark lashes fanned over her pale cheeks.
And what game is she playing?
Letting out a frustrated growl, I roll off the side of the bed and pull on my boxers. After closing my fingers around a pack of cigarettes and lighter, I close the door behind me and step out of the back door into the quietness of the dawn.
Shaking a cigarette from the pack, I pinch it between my lips and flick the lighter. Inhaling deeply, I blow a haze of cloudy smoke into the air before lifting the phone back to my ear. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything, you jerk off. I called to give you an update.”
I rub the back of my hand against my temples. “What more could there be?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Fine. Make it quick, I don’t have all day.”
“Watch it, McCallum,” he growls. “You don’t pay me enough to listen to your bullshit. How about I hang up, and you can figure it out for yourself? ”
“Fine, what’s so important you need to call me so damn early?”
“There’s been a situation.”
This conversation is starting to piss me off. “I don’t like situations.”
“And I don’t like shit being out of my control, but we don’t always get what we want.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Anger swells in my chest, and I throw my cigarette down, stepping on it with my bare foot and crushing it into the cement.
Last one. I swear.
I listen as his voice filters through the line, my chest getting tighter. A distant roar swells in my ears with every confession and every truth I don’t want to hear.
By the time we hang up, I’m numb.
Sometimes things happen in your life you never plan for. Decisions are made in the midst of chaos that you bury in the past. You never question right or wrong or outcome or consequence. You put those decisions in a box and set it aside. Because what happened yesterday is over. All that matters is today.
Until yesterday becomes today.
I don’t know how much time has passed, but the dark mist of dawn has disappeared, and the bright light of a new day burns my eyes. One that comes with a choice.
Opening the patio door, I walk down the hall, Angel’s incoherent nightmare-infused words ringing in my ears.
“Are you God?”
My eyes focus on the bedroom door, a sense of dread resting in the pit of my stomach. For a moment, I consider getting in my car and getting the hell out. But I can’t do that to her.
Because I made a promise once.
And pinkie promises are binding.
Lies are fascinating things. They’re like a grain of sand in between your toes, rough and uncomfortable, but the more you walk around, the less you notice it. It becomes normal, and before long, you don’t remember a time when it wasn’t there.
Tell a lie long enough, and just like sand, you won’t remember the truth. Wear a mask long enough and no one knows your real face.
Three weeks, one day, and four hours. That’s how long I’ve lived a lie since that night at Amalia.
Sitting on the third floor balcony, I look out over the grounds and remember the words I discounted so long ago.
“Fate always finds a way.”
Resting my arms over the thick rails, I inhale and let it out slowly without a wheeze or a cough. Smirking, I tip the neck of my beer bottle back and take a long drink.
It’s also been three weeks, one day, and four hours since my last cigarette. My lungs thank me, but my nerves are pissed as hell.
Especially since I still haven’t told Angel about Luciano. To be fair, she hasn’t asked. If she brings it up, I’ll tell her enough to satisfy her while holding enough back to keep her off the Vitoli radar.
Since that night in his office, Luciano has remained quiet. Too quiet . Which means he’s watching and waiting, analyzing my every move and following my every step.
Our tentative truce is shaky at best.
The scales are balanced for now, but it’d take only one miscalculation to bathe these walls in blood for the second time.
There’s a rattle of glass behind me followed by the click-clack of high heels. “I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.”
Angel nestles in beside me, leaning her head against my shoulder. “About what?”
“Time.” Or lack thereof. Staring out at the darkening sky, I tip my beer back again. Angel stands quietly as I lean over the railing, rolling the nearly empty bottle between my palms. “How did filming go today?”
Her shoulders shrug lightly against me. “Same as always. Rosten tried to do everyone’s job and made a bunch of homophobic remarks. By the fourth one, a production assistant had to escort Brent off the set.”
My grip tightens around the bottle. For three weeks, I’ve bit my tongue. A studio executive’s purpose is to fund projects. They make sure everything runs smoothly then get the hell out.
Not Greg Rosten. Not this project.
According to Angel, he’s on set every day, pushing people around and playing director, especially during sex scenes. No surprise, I was banned from the set before filming even started. It’s probably for the best. If I saw him get off on seeing her naked, I’d end up in jail.
Which is why I have an unlikely ally in Braddock’s boyfriend. He has been on set every day, keeping an eye on things and reporting back to me. The guy hates Rosten almost as much as I do and promised to look after Angel.
He’s a good guy, and his boyfriend’s becoming tolerable, too.
Okay, fine. Braddock isn’t so bad. I kind of like him now. Since coming out, his popularity has tripled, if that’s even possible.
Hollywood, man. Fickle as fuck, but they’ll take up a cause like a bad habit .
“Did he at least get one good swing in?”
“Unfortunately, not. Which I guess is a good thing. He doesn’t have a former actress-slash-cocktail waitress to conspire with to pay off the debt.” Tipping her chin up, she bumps her hip against my leg and grins.
I wince. Not just because two weeks ago, I came clean to Angel about the lawsuit, which —fuck you Milly —she already knew about, but because the more time we spend together, the harder this weight presses on my chest.
I wish I looked at her the same now. I wish I looked at her and saw my Angel, but I don’t. I don’t think I ever will again. All I see is penance.
I wish I could let her go, but I’m in too deep to turn back now. Not only for my own selfish reasons, but for her protection. At the least, I owe it to her to make sure her world doesn’t become as tainted as mine.
Cupping her cheek, I trace those full lips with my thumb. As if commanded, they part, and her eyes flutter closed. Lowering my hand, I grit my teeth and turn away. With a groan, I set the beer bottle on a side table and drop onto the chaise lounge.
Angel watches me, her fingers twisting by her side before taking a few tentative steps. “Hey, are you all right?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve just seemed off lately.” She looks down, her cheeks flushing blood red. “If this is about what happened last night, I—”
“It’s not.”
Angel flinches at my tone. Admittedly, it’s sharper than I intended, but I’m in no mood for this conversation. Things are fucked up enough without analyzing why my girlfriend flipped out in the middle of sex, crawled into a corner, and cried for two hours.
“I don’t know what happened. It wasn’t you. It’s me. The dreams are getting worse and more real.” Hugging her arms around her chest, she whispers, “Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m even dreaming anymore.”
I stiffen, blood roaring in my ears as previous misfired connections start lining up. I want her to stop talking. I don’t want to know anymore. Whoever said ignorance is bliss was a smart motherfucker. Knowledge only makes a man choose between right and wrong. The shitty thing is that both end with someone losing everything.
Before I can stop her, Angel swings her leg over the chaise lounge and straddles me. I try to turn away, but she captures my face between her hands, forcing me to look at her. “Dominic, I want to be with you, but what you said—”
“Look, I get it,” I say, dislodging her hold. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I do,” she argues, her protests coming out in frantic rasps as she fists my shirt. “Because you’re all I have. And if I don’t talk about it and get it out, then it stays inside. It builds and builds and soon it’ll be so crowded there won’t be room for me anymore.”
It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. The anger that has been building inside me all day stills, and I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Tell me.”
That small action seems to center her, and she lets out a soft breath, her fingers unclenching my shirt. “Being with you wasn’t the problem. It’s just that you’ve never said those words, and I’ve never felt like that before. It’s like…” Her eyes darken. “It’s like it wasn’t you saying them.”
I almost don’t ask because I’m afraid of the answer. “Has another man ever called you that?”
She shakes her head. “No. But that feeling.” A shiver ripples down her spine. “I’ve had bad dreams all my life. So bad I’d wake up screaming.” She inhales a labored breath. “I thought I got them under control. But then you came into my life, and I moved in here, and they came back. This scratching in the back of my head started again. But none of it’s the same, Dominic. Everything’s different. More vivid. More real. I’m seeing things and hearing things. Things that make no sense.”
“Rook, your life was upended. All that stress has to come out somehow. Not to mention the pressure you’re under with the movie and the constant press. It’s enough to drive anyone—”
“Crazy?” she finishes with a sad smile.
“You’re not crazy.”
“No? Then why did I lose my shit when you called me your ‘special girl’? Why did your face turn into zigzags, and why did I hear a woman laughing? If I’m not crazy then why do I keep counting in my head, but only make it to five before my throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls? Answer me that.”
God, I wish there was a way I could.
Emotion claws up my throat as I trail my thumb down her cheek, catching the tears as they fall. I can’t give her answers, only a vow. “I will never let anyone hurt you.”
Not even you.
“Promise?” Tears fall harder as she collapses against me, her lips seeking a confirmation she won’t find. Instead of offering hollow words, I seal my vow with the only honest thing between us. I push her skirt up as she frantically undoes my belt. The minute I sink into her, she throws her head back, her cries drowning out my curses.
Curses because everything’s unraveling.
Curses because I’m not sure she knows whether her tears are from coming undone or coming unglued.
And curses because I won’t make her a promise I can’t keep.