The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(43)
Author: Alice Clayton

sixteen

So here’s the thing, Jack. I’ve tried to be understanding. I’ve tried to back off. I’ve tried to ignore what’s going on, tried to not be a nagging girlfriend.”

I walked in a circle around him, keeping my anger in check as best I could. To his credit, he let me circle.

“I’ve been up at night worrying about where you were and what you were doing. I’ve let you change the subject. I’ve pretended things were fine and dandy. I’ve even f**ked you when I should have been talking to you.” I stopped in front of him and looked him square in the eye. “But no more, Jack. You know I love you more than anything on this entire planet, but this shit ends now. You either talk to me, tell me what the hell is going on—”

“Or what?” he challenged, speaking for the first time.

And I raged.

“Why are you making this so difficult? Why can’t you talk to me? And what the hell, Jack? Not signing on for the Time sequel? Why didn’t you talk to me? I had no idea that—”

“Why does everything have to be such a big deal? Christ, Grace, I know you’re pissed. I know you’re disappointed. You think I don’t know everyone’s talking about me right now? That you and Holly are doing nothing but trying to figure out how to get me back in line, back in step, back to doing what a movie star is supposed to do? Well, f**k that. I’m not a puppet everyone can just play with!” Finally some spark came back in his eyes, which were now spitting fire.

“Is that what you think we’re doing? We’re worried! All your friends are worried—”

“Oh, sure. They’re worried. Let me tell you what they’re worried about. Lane’s worried about his next job, Holly’s worried about losing her paycheck, and you’re too busy worrying about me to notice that being connected to me is just—”

“Wait a minute. Wait a goddamned minute! You think Holly is only worried about a paycheck? She has never done anything but help you and think about your career. She’s making sure you have one and don’t blow the whole thing like that idiot Adam Kasen! And where do you get off telling me what I should be worried about?” I yelled, the anger and frustration and concern that had been percolating for months now bubbling over and landing all over the patio.

Jack seethed, his entire body tense, his jaw clenched. “If you could see this clearly you would see that—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I see. I can’t believe you would—”

“Stop. Fucking. Interrupting. Me,” he managed, his voice quietly dangerous. “I can’t go anywhere without being recognized. I can’t go to the grocery store without a clerk telling The National Enquirer what kind of frozen pizza I like. I’m scared to death to put the top down and drive around town because I might get f**king run off the road by vultures who care more about getting a picture of me with my is she or isn’t she my girlfriend than they do about safety, and I can’t have a f**king drink after a long day of dealing with all of that bullshit without everyone telling me they’re worried about how I’m handling things! This is it, Grace. This is my reality, and this is how I’m dealing with it, okay?” He was well and truly yelling now too.

“Jack, love, if that was it, I could understand.” I crossed the distance between us and put my hands on his shoulders, but he shrugged me off. “But you aren’t dealing with this. That’s why I’m so concerned.”

“You have no idea,” he spat, his eyes going black again, reminding me of when he’d come in earlier.

“Drinks at the end of the day, my ass. What the hell were you on today?” I saw the shame cross his features for just a moment, and I had my answer. “I won’t watch you do this,” I whispered, my voice shaking, and I watched as his eyes hardened, even to me.

“You don’t have to,” he replied, leaving me on the patio. I watched in stunned silence through the window as he threw his things into his duffel bag, then came back outside. My show continued to play this entire time, providing a surreal soundtrack to some very real drama.

“I’m heading back to the desert.” He stood in the doorway with his bag over his shoulder, looking impossibly young. “I’ll call you when I can.”

When he can? Wait, what’s happening here?

“What do you mean? Wait, Jack. Don’t go. Let’s talk about this.”

“This is clearly not a place I can be right now. Besides, I gotta go make a movie.”

The anger in his voice was so thick it broke my heart. I flashed back to a night not so long ago, a different backyard, but still Jack and me. And a great space between us. But this wasn’t something I could help him with. He was making it clear he didn’t want me right now. He didn’t need anyone. My throat lumped. “I love you, Jack.”

He nodded and smiled a small smile. “I’ll call you.”

And then he left. And I had to let him go.

As I sat in my love seat, with my ever-loving show still playing in the background, I realized that was the first time he didn’t say he loved me back.

Reviews came in all night, and by the time I woke up the next morning, the show was literally an overnight success. And when I say woke up the next morning, I mean I crawled out of bed after not sleeping a damn wink. I sobbed, I cried, I threw some things, I punched my pillow, and then I sobbed some more. But then I focused on me.

My phone was filled with texts from everyone I knew, with the exception of the Brit I very much wanted to hear from. Holly let me know in no less than fourteen texts that every reviewer she was worried about was raving, and that I was the talk of the town today. She also let me know if I didn’t call her soon, she was coming over.

Michael let me know in only four texts that he had already heard from the network, which was asking about ideas he had for the next season—the next season? Hadn’t been officially picked up, but the fact that the executives were already wondering what he might have up his North Face sleeve was very encouraging.

Lane texted me to tell me he was sorry he picked a fight with my idiot boyfriend on my big night, but that he’d recorded it, watched it later, and loved it. And to tell Jack to call him whenever but that the next time he threw a glass he’d lay him out.

My Google alerts were off the charts. The blogs that liked me now really liked me. The blogs that hated me for my connection to Jack were rabid in their continued hatred. But the headline that most caught my eye was from CelebWatch, an online site known for their topical discussions about Hollywood and the standard of beauty.