Between the Lines

He makes a sound of irritation. “God, I knew it. Why would you tell him. Why?”

She throws the tube of lip gloss back into the bag and turns to face him. “Graham was in the movie I had to break contract on because I was pregnant. When you didn’t give a shit and my parents and my agent were pressuring me about ‘the right thing to do,’ he knocked on my trailer door and found me sobbing. So I told him. And he told me to do what was best for me. He was the only person I knew, and I barely knew him at all, who cared about what I needed.”

My blood is pumping so furiously that I can barely hear.

“No one forced you to have that baby, Brooke.”

“‘That baby,’” she says, her voice breaking, “was your baby, you ass**le. When I told you, I thought—” she stops. “Well. No one cares what I thought. All that matters are the facts. You wanted nothing from me but sex. You said whatever you had to say to get it. I was a naïve little girl, and I got stuck with the consequences.”

I’m not breathing, and it’s just as well because it feels as though there’s no air left in the room. “You have no idea what I wanted,” he says, so quietly I could barely hear him. “If you’d had an abortion like your parents wanted you to, there wouldn’t have been consequences. It was your choice. Your choice to derail your career, your choice to f**k up both of our lives if the public ever finds out.”

She stares at him. “How dare you act like it was oh-so-simple. Flip a coin. Throw a dart. It wasn’t that goddamned easy. You know what, Reid? My decision did sidetrack up my career, but I made the right f**king decision for me. And I’ll take my life over your miserable egocentric I am God existence any day.”

“Miserable? Hardly. Egocentric? Okay. I can live with that.”

“Get. Out.”

“Going. No problem.” The bathroom door wooshes open and shut behind him.

I can’t move.

“He’s gone,” she says, and I unwind my legs and open the door.

“I don’t know what to say.”

She shrugs, blotting excess gloss from her lips. “Join the club. What is there to say, anyway.”

“When did it happen?”

“Three years ago. I was sixteen. Three years ago today, in fact, which was also the last time I saw him.” She grabs a paper towel and presses it into the corner of each eye. “Reid doesn’t even know his birth date. He never asked. God dammit. I was fine all day. I thought I could handle it this year. Guess that was wrong.”

Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I think of how young she is, how much more so she was three years ago. How scared she must have been. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just ask Bob to get me a car? I just want to get out of here. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Sure. No problem.” I start for the door.

“Emma…” I stop, turn with my hand on the door handle. “Don’t go in blind. Whatever he’s saying to you, he’s saying to get what he wants. If that’s all you want, too, then more power to you. Just don’t fall in love with him.”

I find Bob, who assures me he’ll get Brooke back to the hotel. Her request accomplished, my head is crammed with impulses and empty of solutions. Sneaking along the wall, I merge into the crowd, reluctant to confront Reid, who absolved himself of responsibility or even emotion over getting someone pregnant.

I want Emily. My eyes fill with tears and I head for the exit, missing her, needing her advice, the way she centers me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve thought of her as permanent, but she wasn’t. She’s detached herself from me, and she’s gone, just like everyone else I’ve ever loved.

Chapter 38

REID

I can’t f**king believe this night.

First, the text from John—the rumors online concerning Emma, Graham and myself. Since I don’t usually do exclusive relationships, the speculation about Emma has been crazed since it became apparent that I was more interested in her than my usual catch-and-release pattern. If the tabloids can’t get confirmation of a relationship, they invent it. And then they try to dig up any evidence of infidelity they can find.

I do not let this shit get to me. I don’t. But this is the first time since Brooke that I’ve been in this position—in a relationship of sorts with someone who might be screwing around.

I’d just danced with Emma and turned her over to Tadd, who’s in better shape to dance at the moment. Chatting distractedly with some of the minor characters and a few of the extras who found out where we were going tonight, I watched her dance, the way she moved, the way she looked over every few minutes to see if I was still watching her. Her shy smile when she saw that I was. Everything was on track for this night to be mind-blowing.

Brooke was a bit wasted, sitting at the bar a few feet away, with Graham. I ignored her. Until.

“Excuse me—Mr. Alexander?” the bartender said behind me.

I turned. “Yeah?” He handed me a screwdriver, which I definitely hadn’t ordered. “What’s this?”

He pointed at Brooke, who blew me a kiss. Undeniably wasted. I picked up the drink, walked the few steps to her. “Um, thanks? But I think you’d enjoy this more than I would.”

Her expression turned almost pouty. “You liked them at one time.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering at her game. Graham sat silently on the other side of her, staring into his drink, his lips pursed. “Oh? When was that?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t remember.”