Chapter 2
two
. . .
Jordana
I re-entered the theater to find the party in full swing, its reach expanding past the loading dock and into the backstage area and wings. The floor throbbed beneath my feet as “Blinding Lights” played over the sound system.
Corey stood at the center of the action with his arm around Eden, who was pink-cheeked and laughing as he loudly called her “my wife.”
Against the back wall stood my would-be savior, towering over Rachel and the faculty. Hands in his pockets, he scanned the dock, his dark brows knitted. Those brows perked up when he noticed me.
My cheeks turned hot, anticipating disapproval. Instead, his sharp stare softened. He turned away before I could mouth thank you.
Rachel took his arm, talking animatedly. I retreated to the edge of the loading dock. That intense gaze had stripped me down until I couldn’t avoid the truth.
The truth that Corey cared nothing for me.
The truth that I wanted something better.
The truth of the texts my father sent me this morning.
Jorie: I have unfortunate news to share with you.
Against all reason, I loved my father. His quirks were adorable, especially putting a colon after my name in texts, like he was sending a business letter and I was his client receiving billable hours.
Jake Green: media and entertainment lawyer, always in work mode.
But his punctuation couldn’t make me smile right now.
The “unfortunate news” sat in the pit of my stomach, and I didn’t even have the cold comfort of sex with Corey to dull the pain. I could thank Lights Guy for that.
Your mother and I are getting a divorce. It’s a mutual agreement. After twenty-two years together, it’s time to go our separate ways. She will be provided for, although not in the manner she’s accustomed to.
I pressed my lips together to fight the bitterness inside me. I hated to call my mother a trophy wife, but the term was accurate.
Marrying my father was Jillian Green’s ticket to the life she’d always dreamed of, where her job was to be beautiful, wear expensive clothes, host graciously, and arouse envy.
Before they met, she’d modeled for local advertisements in her small Ohio hometown, worked as a restaurant hostess, and competed in beauty pageants while she squirreled away her savings.
“Your father rescued me from all that,” she’d often say.
She’d be a mess over this. I had no doubt that the divorce was really my father’s idea. He’d probably triggered a nervous breakdown in my mom, and I’d be the one dealing with the fallout.
Of course, you will be provided for as well. Nothing will change for you, Jorie.
Everything was going to change.
You understand my expectations for your future. Do your college fund justice. I know you’re capable of impressive accomplishments.
By “impressive accomplishments,” my father meant, “apply to law school, become a lawyer like me, and forget this foolish acting nonsense.” Meanwhile, my mother’s career guidance amounted to “marry a rich husband.”
At the sound of Corey’s voice, I pocketed my phone.
“What do you think, baby?” he asked Eden as they sauntered past. “Should we make things official?”
“You’re too much,” Eden said, laughing.
“Come on.” Corey dipped her back, her long hair flying out, catching her by the waist. “Let’s not deny our chemistry.”
Everyone whooped and cheered. “Do the tango!” someone yelled.
Corey pulled this ruse all the time. Flirting with other girls in front of me, hooking up with them at parties, making sure I noticed every move.
Treating them like beauties and goddesses, often right before or after he’d degraded me with his cock.
In public, he beamed the sun of his attention on everyone but me.
Usually, it hurt like hell, and I both hated and embraced the pain.
But right now, Corey only had a sliver of my attention. Most of it went to the texts from my dad, and the rest was focused on my rescuer.
He stood beside Rachel, who was a tiny dynamo, gesturing excitedly to the faculty, her curls bouncing. In contrast, he was silent, detached, his head tilted toward the tango-dancing spectacle, his ink-scrawled arms folded across his hard chest.
He was probably dismissing us as idiotic college kids, counting the minutes until he could leave.
Corey tugged Eden toward the group by the back wall.
“What do you think, Rachel?” he called out. “You’re the matchmaker behind our union. Wanna officiate our wedding?”
“You better graduate first,” Rachel retorted, earning a round of laughter.
“My adoring husband,” Eden teased, adding quickly to Rachel, “We’re not dating, by the way. Our youthful indiscretion is miles behind us.”
Lights Guy watched them with narrowed eyes. When he glanced at me, I thrust my hands into my pockets. A trickle of sweat inched down my neck.
Theater communities could be incestuous, and Hawthorne’s was no exception. Last year, Eden and Corey had a grand love affair. I’d stayed away from him while they were together. But he kept texting me, upping the ante when I didn’t reply.
I need you, Jorie
You give me what she can’t
What no one else can
You promised to come when I call you
Each text was a tentacle, yanking me toward Corey.
I deleted them immediately; I didn’t go to him.
For Eden, I had the strength to do that.
I considered showing her the texts so she’d see who her boyfriend really was, but I was too embarrassed by my history with Corey.
I functioned better when I pretended there was nothing between us.
And I wanted to protect Eden, who believed the best of everyone.
From the moment two years ago when we bonded over both playing Laurey in Oklahoma!
in high school, to the months that followed when I dragged her on a spree through Hawthorne’s frats and house parties while she insisted on making sure I was safe, we stuck together.
I loved her kindness, her belief that the world was good.
I didn’t want to shatter her rose-colored glasses.
Rachel raised a red plastic cup, her voice cutting through the pounding music. “Can we all take a minute to thank our eleventh-hour angel for rescuing our lighting design? He and I go way back.” She squeezed Lights Guy’s shoulder.
Everyone turned to stare. Was there something between them? Rachel was touchy with everyone; her personality was huge and physical.
“When he’s not doing stage lighting, Gavin is a very talented photographer,” Rachel continued. “Gavin, say something to these fine people.”
Gavin.
What an attractive name. What an appealing profession. What a—
I sucked in a breath, because Gavin the talented photographer, rescuer of lost watches and damsels in distress, looked like the last thing he wanted was to say something to these fine people.
His shoulders stiffened, and he shot Rachel a side-eye.
If it had a caption, it would have read: You KNOW I hate doing this.
Running a hand through his tousled dark hair, he glanced around the crowded dock.
“Hi. I’m Gavin. Just moved here from New York.”
“And?” someone called out.
“That’s it.”
Rachel gave him an exasperated look. “We’re hoping Gavin will join the faculty next semester. We’re lucky he’s helping us out, and I know he’s happy to be here.”
Gavin offered a slight smile, not the ray of sunlight he’d shown me earlier.
“Welcome, Gavin!” Corey stepped forward to fill the awkward silence, starting a round of applause.
What the actual fuck?
“We’re all happy to be here,” he added, beaming at Rachel and the faculty. “This department’s the best of the best because of our incredible professors. We couldn’t do this without you. Right, guys?”
Everyone jumped in to thank the faculty.
Looking relieved to be out of the spotlight, Gavin leaned down to speak to Rachel and loped away.
Pulling my cheetah coat around me, I hurried after his retreating figure. He couldn’t go, not before I’d thanked him for finding my watch.
I caught up to him by the drinks table.
“So, you’re Gavin?” I asked with a big smile. “I’m Jordana.”
I held out my hand. He didn’t take it.
Right. Why would he shake the hand of a girl he’d just witnessed in such a pathetic state? He probably thought I was untouchable.
Before I could pull my hand back, his fingers closed around my palm. His hand was big and warm, his grasp strong.
“Jordana,” he repeated, a spark brightening his eyes.
For once, as Gavin looked at me, I didn’t want to be someone else. I didn’t want to be nothing. I wanted to be myself.
My mouth moved to fill the silence. “Nice to actually meet you.”
There it was. The tug at the corner of his lips, laugh lines deepening, his mouth widening in a real smile.
It was gone just as quickly as the last one.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” he said.
Heat bloomed through my body. We were still gripping hands. The pleasure was mine too, and my blush made it clear.
“You can call me Jorie,” I added hastily. “Everyone does.”
“Do I have to?” His brow furrowed, his head tipping to the side, his face so serious that I suddenly realized he was playing with me.
“No,” I managed. “Jordana’s fine. It’s great, actually.”
Corey’s voice carried toward us. “I’ve dreamed of playing Stanley Kowalski since I was thirteen and saw Brando in the film,” he told Rachel. “I watched it over and over — can’t tell you how many times. That movie was the reason I started acting. Rachel, you made my dreams come true.”
As Gavin let my hand go, I shifted my balance and stumbled slightly — someone had dropped a cup on the ground. His grip tightened, steadying me. My heart fluttered like a trapped bird.
Deliberately, he released me and put his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks again for finding my watch. Where was it?”
“On the floor by the restrooms. It’s no trouble at all. I know it’s hard to lose what you love.”
Encouraged by his talkativeness, I asked, “You just moved here?”
“Ten days ago. It’s a quaint little town.”