Chapter 8 Melanie
MELANIE
We rode in silence, the hum of the tires on pavement the only sound between us.
Nick’s jaw was clenched, eyes locked ahead like he was afraid to look at me—afraid the words he wanted to say might come spilling out.
I didn’t want them. I couldn’t handle them.
My brain was already splintering under the weight of three words: You have diabetes.
It felt like a death sentence I hadn’t seen coming.
Chronic. Lifelong. Unforgiving. I was barely keeping my head above water as it was—how the hell was I supposed to manage this?
I didn’t even know how I’d afford the medication.
My life suddenly felt like it had been thrown off a cliff, and I was tumbling, limbs flailing, no ground in sight.
The only way out I could see was backward—calling my mom, crawling home with my pride shattered, begging for help.
My stomach twisted at the thought. I’d worked so hard to break away, to build something of my own.
But now? Now I was just scared. A little girl again, hoping someone would tell her everything would be okay.
But even that comfort felt uncertain. My parents were self-employed and didn’t believe in doctors unless something was broken or bleeding.
I didn’t even know if they had insurance.
I knew they’d pay for the insulin, no matter what it cost. They’d find a way.
They always had. I never got sick much as a kid, but when I did, Olga would be there before my fever spiked—cool cloth in hand, whispering comfort into my hair. She always knew when I needed her.
And like clockwork, she’d called earlier. Probably felt the shift in the air. Olga’s intuition scared me sometimes, as if she had a direct line to my soul. More than my mother ever did.
Nick’s voice pulled me out of the spiral. “You want me to stop at the pharmacy before I take you back to your car?”
I blinked, dragging my gaze from the blur of pine trees flashing past the window. His voice had cut through the chaos in my mind like a knife through fog. “No,” I said quietly. “Just take me to my car.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. You’ve done enough.”
He turned to look at me then, brows pulling together like I’d hurt him.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead. “It’s just—today has been hell, and I’m barely holding it together. I need to be alone. I need to call my mom to figure out if we have insurance. I’ve only got cash, and I’m not sure it’ll cover what I need.”
“Okay.”
Just that. Soft, understanding. No sarcasm, no jab. His voice had this strange tenderness to it that made me glance at him again, half wondering if he was the one who needed a doctor. It wasn’t like him to be this gentle. And maybe that’s what scared me most—that I needed it.
When we rounded the corner into the restaurant parking lot, the man standing in front of my car immediately caught my eye.
“What the fuck?” I whispered
“Is that your car?” He asks
“Yes, pull over here.” I’m practically out of the car before Nick stops.
“Hey,” I shout at the guy. “That’s my car, and I work here. I’m not parked in the other business parking lot.”
“That’s not why we are towing it, ma’am.”
“Okay… care to enlighten me why?” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at the dude.
Even though I was acting tough, deep down, I wanted a bed to crash on.
I was so exhausted that I could feel my legs about to give out.
This was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
Within seconds, I felt Nick’s presence behind me; surprisingly, it brought me confidence.
“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Nick stands next to me, and a sense of security presents itself. I try to ignore it.
“Miss Barbie’s daily payments have been bouncing due to insufficient funds for over a week now. So I’m just doing my job and taking care of business.”
“Damn it,” I say, running a hand through my hair.
“What’s wrong?” Nick turns to face me.
“I forgot that it was on my parents’ credit card.”
“Do you not have your own credit card?”
“It is my credit card, but I’m on their account. They make the payments, but my mom canceled my card.”
“So, you don’t have a debit card or anything?”
“How? I’ve never had a job, and my parents paid for everything. That’s why they gave me a credit card. Besides, my mom preferred it that way because she said they receive points.”
Nick is staring at me like he’d just seen the president get shot.
“What?” I say in annoyance.
“You really are a princess.”
“Oh, shut up.” I shove at his chest, but he doesn't budge.
We watch as the guy rallies my rental car onto the tow truck.
“I’m surprised you don’t have your own car.” He asked.
“I did until I crashed it, hence why I'm being punished.”
“So on top of being irresponsible, you’re a bad driver.” He says it as a statement, not a question.
“No, I crashed it on purpose.”
Nick jolted his gaze to face me. His neck moved so fast I was afraid he pulled a muscle from whiplash.
“Why the hell would you do that?”
I look over at him. He has no clue what I’ve been through. He thinks because I’m rich, I didn’t have to learn how to survive in this fucked up world. He’s wrong; I’ve been surviving since I was born.
“Because the car had bad mojo, and I couldn’t stand to be in it anymore.”
Crazy. That’s probably what’s running through Nick's mind right now: I’m crazy, and maybe I am.
Heading to the pharmacy, Nick told his mom what was happening and promised her he’d be back soon to help her after he dropped me off at the lakehouse.
“So, how are you feeling?” Nick asked out of the blue.
“What? Is that your way of saying I look like shit again?”
“No, you had a rough day, so I wondered if you were hungry. Aren’t you supposed to be regulating your blood sugar?”
I nearly died from shock at his thoughtfulness. Was this his way of showing his concern? With food? I ignore the little peak of excitement that flutters in my stomach.
“Duh, why do you think I’m getting the insulin? It’s supposed to come with some pricker thing to help me know how much medicine I need and when I need it.”
“For someone who just got diagnosed with diabetes and had their car towed, you seem oddly calm.”
“Shit happens.” I plopped my feet up on the dashboard. “You mind if I call my mom?” I say as I pull out my phone.
“No, go ahead, princess.”
My mom answered on the third ring. “Hello,” she breathed, her voice fragile and quivering, like it had been dragged through tears.
“Mom, are you all right?” I sat up straighter, the comfort of my slouched posture gone in an instant.
“ Yes-no-I don’t know,” she stammered, every syllable drenched in panic.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
“Richard.” Just his name, hanging in the air like smoke. She hesitated. My pulse kicked up, pounding hard behind my ribs. Did she know? Had the whole truth finally clawed its way out of the dark?
“He’s in some trouble, I think.”
“Why do you think that?” My hands were suddenly slick with sweat. I gripped my phone tighter, like it might slip from my grasp and shatter everything.
“I don’t know exactly. He wasn’t here when I got home. I called him—nothing. Then he sent this weird text, saying he’d call me back and that he loves me.”
Love. That word scraped against my ears like glass. What a fucking joke.
“But then—an hour ago—this detective or sheriff, whatever, someone with a badge showed up asking questions. About the parties we’ve thrown. About the cameras. He was asking things I didn’t have answers to—and honestly, things I didn’t want to answer without Richard or a lawyer present.”
I yanked my feet off the dashboard, heartbeat thudding like war drums. “I’m coming home right now.”
“No,” she snapped, sharper than I’d expected. Then, a beat later, her voice softened. “No. Until I know what’s going on, I don’t want you dragged into this. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Richard… I’m sure he has an explanation.”
“Mom, I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m not. Security’s here. Janet might stay the night. And hearing your voice—well, it’s already helping.”
Her words sank into my chest, spreading warmth like honey through a cracked glass. Too little, too late.
“Tell me, how’s everything going? Have you found a job? I’ve been meaning to call but…” her voice drifted, lost in the storm.
“It’s fine. Yeah, I did. Abigail’s fiancé has a friend who owns an Italian place. I’m working there for now.”
There was a silence that said more than words ever could.
“You’re a waitress?” she asked finally, like it physically hurt her to say the word.
“Yeah,” I laughed, the sound brittle.
“Wow. You’re really staying strong, sweetie. I’m so proud of you. Has staying at your friend’s rehab helped? Have you… stopped drinking and staying drug-free?”
I cringed so hard it felt like my insides twisted.
I wanted to scream the truth—I had to stop now.
Not by choice, but because my pancreas had quit on me.
Because diabetes didn’t give second chances.
Because I might not live long enough to fall apart again.
But how could I drop that on her now, in the middle of her own unraveling?
“I’ve slowed down, that’s for sure.”
I heard the smile in her voice when she replied, “That’s wonderful news.
Just what I needed to hear. It’s all about baby steps.
And I know you think I’m being harsh about the credit card, but you scared the living crap out of me when you crashed the car your father gave you. He loved that car. He loves you.”
If she only knew.
“That’s why this was his whole idea,” she added.
Of course, it was.
“What kind of mother would I be if I kept giving you everything without consequences?”
The kind you’ve been for the past ten years—blinded by diamonds and designer labels, by whatever shiny distractions Richard shoved in front of your face.
“Besides, until I know what’s going on with your father, we might need to cut back. His last two movies bombed. I don’t even know how we’ve been paying our bills, but Richard’s always been the money man. I let him handle it.”
Because control was his currency, just like how he ripped college out of my hands the second I found joy in it, afraid I might meet someone who would love me without breaking me. Someone who wasn’t a goddamn psychopath.
“Well, no worries over here,” I said, forcing levity into my voice. “Abigail’s letting me stay at her lakehouse until I get back on my feet.”
“I like this, Abigail. She’s the one marrying the NFL player, right?”
I could hear the glint in her tone, like her mouth was watering at the idea of proximity to wealth. If there was anything my mother loved more than her reflection, it was a man with a fat bank account.
“Yup,” I exhaled.
“She’s cute. I’ve seen her online. Her curls are wild—makes yours look tame.”
She laughed. And I did what I always did—I played along. That was the thing about acting. It wasn’t a skill. It was survival. I could bury my real feelings deeper than anyone. I would’ve made it in that world if Richard hadn’t poisoned it for me.
“She’s a great friend,” I said. “They’re having a baby.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Maybe she can introduce you to one of his friends,” she added, teasing—but not really.
“Really, Mom?” I rolled my eyes hard enough to see the back of my skull. Thank God she couldn’t see me.
“What? It couldn’t hurt.”
“I’m just happy to help her out,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back. “Toxic Wishes blew up, and she’s been doing everything—running the rehab house, managing Colt’s business, planning a baby and a wedding.”
“You’re beautiful, honey. You could be doing the same thing. I’m sure Colt has some single NFL friends. And let’s be real—rich men love ‘em young.”
“Mom.” I cut her off just as we pulled up to Walgreens. My stomach flipped.
“I need to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie. Call me later, honey.”
“I will.”
The second the line went dead, Nick glanced at me. “Everything alright?”
I stared straight ahead, throat tight, fury and helplessness boiling beneath the surface.
Everything alright? I had a chronic illness I couldn’t afford to treat.
A family unraveling at the seams. A bank account that couldn’t even cover dinner, let alone insulin.
I was drowning. And no one could see it.
“Yeah,” I snapped. “Just another day in princess paradise.” Sarcasm dripped like venom from my lips, and before he could toss some witty comeback my way, I shoved the door open and slammed it behind me like punctuation.