Chapter 4 Nova
Nova
(The Past . . . )
I let out an exhausted sigh as I pack the clean clothes into the closet. After a super long day at work where I had to wrestle the biggest dog I’ve ever seen so we could groom him, every muscle in my body aches.
The Great Dane even managed to drag me halfway down a hallway, and I think I sprained my wrist when I clung to his leash.
God, I wish I could crawl into bed and sleep for a week.
That’s not a possibility, though. I still need to vacuum the living room, make dinner, and clean the kitchen.
Letting out a sigh, I head to the living room, and after making sure the worn carpet is spotless, I rush to the kitchen.
My eyes fly to the clock on the wall, and realizing it’s already past seven, apprehension twists my stomach into an anxious ball.
Please let Trent stay out late tonight.
He hasn’t worked for over two years and spends most of his time hanging out with his friends. For the better part of our relationship, I’ve felt like nothing more than his glorified slave, but leaving him is easier said than done.
After putting some mac and cheese on the stove, I pour myself a glass of water. I’ve only taken a few sips when I hear the front door open.
Instantly, fear tightens my muscles, and the glass slips from my hand, landing with a crash in the sink.
Crap!
I quickly gather all the shards, but as I turn toward the trash can, Trent grabs hold of my arm. “That fucking glass cost money we don’t have.”
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
He leans down until his menacing face is inches from mine, and smelling the beer on his breath, my heart sinks, and dread freezes me to the spot.
“I can have any woman in town, but I’m fucking stuck with your pathetic ass,” he complains. “You can’t even have dinner ready in time.”
I lower my submissive gaze to the shards of glass in my palm, trying to brace for whatever pain Trent chooses to unleash on me tonight.
Even though it’s happened so many times before, I’m still startled when the flat of his hand connects with the side of my head. “Show some fucking life, bitch!”
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from crying.
I want to fight back, but I know it will only anger Trent more, and because I’m much smaller, I’m no match for him.
He grabs hold of my sprained wrist, and when he yanks me toward him, a painful cry escapes me while the broken pieces of glass fall to the floor.
“Finally, some kind of reaction,” he sneers before twisting my wrist. The intense pain forces me down to my knees, another cry ripping from me.
Suddenly, he lets go of my hand, but before I can think to move, he plants his boot on my shoulder and shoves me backward.
The pain from the first kick blends with the second and third, and I’m barely able to curl into a small ball as a world of hurt is unleashed on me.
(The Present . . . )
Sitting on the side of the bed, one of many memories shudders through me while I grip my cell phone tightly.
After an awful night filled with nightmares and restless sleep, I feel drained and broken.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I unlock my phone’s screen. For a moment, I stare at all of the notifications before I open the messages.
Trent: Where are you?
Trent: You better get your ass home!
Fear seizes my heart in a merciless grip, and I can’t help but start to panic about what Trent will do if we ever come face-to-face again.
Trent: What the fuck!
Trent: Okay, fine. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.
It always happens again.
Trent: In all fairness, it’s not my fault. You know not to push my buttons and that I always go out for beers with the guys on Wednesday nights. How fucking hard is it to make sure I have a clean shirt laid out on the bed when I get home?
How many times have I heard something like that from him?
Too many to count.
Trent: Come on. Don’t be like this.
Trent: Fine, be like that. But send money so I can pay the rent. Mr. Hicks is breathing down my neck, and you know how I hate it.
I spent half the rent money on gas to get to LA. I don’t have enough to send him.
Wait. I left Trent. I don’t have to pay for anything. The rent is his problem now.
Trent: I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass home, you’ll regret it.
My heartbeat speeds up, and my panic and fear spike rapidly again.
I can’t help it. Trent has beaten me so many times my immediate reaction to his anger and threats is to be terrified.
You’re safe in LA. Trent can’t get to you here.
Deep breaths.
Trent: I’m sorry. I’m just so worried about you. Where are you, darling? I’ll come get you.
Trent: I’m done being the nice guy.
Trent: I will find you.
I stare at the messages for a little while longer as I try to build up the courage, then, sucking in a deep breath that makes my ribs ache, I type out a reply with trembling fingers.
Nova: I’m done with you hurting me. We’re over, and I’m never coming back.
Letting out a shaky sigh, I press send and set the phone down on the bedside table.
It’s done. Trent doesn’t know where I am, so he can’t find me.
I’m safe here with Rachel.
I have to calm down and get ready for the day ahead. I have to be strong for Rachel.
After putting on a dress and ballet flats, I grab the same light sweater from yesterday and shrug it on so my bruises won’t be visible.
I walk to the door, and sneaking out of the bedroom, I do my best not to make a sound so I won’t wake Rachel and Lainey. As I make my way down the stairs, I take my time to look at each of the photos on the wall.
Easton, Rachel, and Lainey look so happy, and I can feel how much they love each other.
I learned what love was from watching Rachel and her family, and she’s the only person who’s ever truly loved me.
She’s the only one who’s never hurt me.
I don’t know who my dad is, and I was very young when my mother left me with my grandfather. I can barely remember her, but I know she had ginger hair like me, and I think she was loud and bubbly.
My grandfather is a mean recluse who never cared about me.
And now I’m going to lose Rachel.
I lift my hand to cover my quivering mouth while I fight not to burst out in tears.
When I reach the first floor, I glance around the open space, taking in the luxurious living room with the massive TV before turning my attention to the kitchen.
Feeling completely out of place, I walk into the kitchen and take a mug from the cupboard. Thankfully, Rachel showed me last night how the coffee machine works. I pick a flavor from the dozens, and putting the pod into the machine, I watch as the coffee pours into the mug.
Rachel’s dying.
Instead of knocking the wind from me like it did yesterday, the thought only makes the pit of fear and hopelessness grow in my chest.
Last night, she went to bed early. I had a good cry in my bedroom before deciding not to take a single second for granted and to cherish the time I still have with her. I’ll keep my breakdowns for late at night when I’m alone so she doesn’t see them.
When the machine is done, I remove the pod and throw it into the trash before grabbing coffee creamer from the fully stocked fridge.
God, I’ve never seen so much food.
Slowly, I shut the door and head back to the counter. I add the creamer before returning it to the fridge, and after stirring the beverage, I pick up the cup, taking a much-needed sip.
Soooo good.
While I drink my coffee, I take a seat at the island and glance around the big open space again. I’m used to small homes, and I don’t think I’ll ever grow accustomed to all this luxury and the sheer size of Easton’s house.
My thoughts return to Rachel, and I think back to when we were kids. She’s always been my ride or die. Together, we learned how to shave our legs and put on makeup.
God, we experienced everything together. She’s in every happy memory.
My throat strains, and I swallow hard on the lump before taking a deep breath.
How am I going to make things easier for her? Can I even help?
My heart squeezes painfully, and my eyes burn with unshed tears.
How will I survive without her?
I can’t picture a world without Rachel.
Suddenly, I hear the front door open, then a woman says, “Take care of whatever the problem is so we can get back to New Zealand. Tim is already breathing down my neck. They’re losing money every day you’re not on set.”
The next moment, Easton stalks into the space between the living room and kitchen, and my heart all but stops.
He glances over his shoulder at the woman who’s following after him and mutters, “I know. Go home, Sylvia. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve dealt with the problem.”
Sylvia seems to be in her late forties, and there are tired lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Okay,” she replies.
My gaze flicks back to Easton while my heart starts to thunder in my chest. For a moment, I’m too stunned to comprehend that Easton Rowe is actually standing in the same room as me.
God, he’s even more attractive than when I saw him in his last movie, The Elimination Project.
With the coffee forgotten in my hand, I sit frozen at the island, too nervous to move a muscle. I take in the sight of his unruly dark-brown hair, chiseled jaw, and tall, muscular body. He’s even taller than I remember, probably close to six foot five.
The jeans, T-shirt, and boots Easton’s wearing look so freaking hot on him. Even though the clothes are ripped in places, I can tell they must’ve cost an arm and a leg.
Sylvia turns away from Easton and heads to the front door while saying, “We need to be back on the plane by tonight.”
Easton only shakes his head before he walks toward the stairs.
Once I’m alone in the kitchen again, I gasp for air and slap a hand over my racing heart. I set the mug down and focus on bringing my rapid breaths under control.
Holy crap, I just saw Easton.
I remain sitting at the island while I process seeing my first and only love turned famous actor, and once I’m able to think straight, I realize I need to get my shit together.