they want something.” Well, except Leila. I knew she cared because any other publicist would have cut ties with a runaway train before they were smashed like a pancake. But any weakness in my logic would give him an in. “So, what do you want, Liam?”
“I want to hear you say you’re not okay.”
Confusion and surprise raced over me as I stared at him. “What?”
“Well, most people would awkwardly say they came here to see if you were okay.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. I generally liked my guys clean shaven, but there was something sexy about the shadow. It was comfortable and easy, like pulling on my fleece leggings in the winter. Or curling up with my Kindle and a cup of hot tea. Being around him felt real. No pretenses, no ulterior motives. It felt effortless.
“This is the second time in two months that you’ve been rushed to the ER,” he continued. “You look like you’re coming down from one hell of a bender. You’re not okay...and the first step to being okay is admitting that.”
“What do you know about it?” I said brusquely.
“My best friend overdosed to the point that there was nothing left to save.” Liam raked his hand through his dark hair, pain creasing the lines around his eyes. “He’s still breathing, but he died a long time ago. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
I tugged at my stringy brown hair, not sure what to say. Guilt simmered in my chest. I doubted my mother cared other than what its impact on my career would be, but there was Dad and Jenna. Leila. My fans. Every time I took a handful of pills, dying for an escape, they were the ones that had to pick up the pieces. I stopped avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
He stared at me, like he was wondering if I was being genuine or if I was taking a page from the book of people who asked how you were doing but didn’t really care enough to stick around for the answer. Satisfied, he gave me a small nod, but that wasn’t enough. I reached for his hand. He was surprised by the gesture, but he didn’t pull away, interlocking his fingers with mine.
His eyes searched mine. Seeing me. Out of everyone, choosing me. There was nowhere to hide. I didn’t want to hide anymore.
“I’m not okay,” I whispered. For one terrifying moment, I prayed he hadn’t heard me. Even though I was in a hospital gown looking like shit proved that I was screwed up, I didn’t want the first guy that really made my heart race to see me as something broken. A work in progress. I wanted him to see me the way I wanted to be. Accomplished and passionate about the works on my IMDB profile. Capable of dealing with crises without turning to a pill bottle or worse. I wanted to be the me that shined in his big green eyes. A girl worth fighting for.
The tears were relentless, running down my cheeks as sobs rocked through me and spilled from my mouth. He took me in his arms, his smell like woodsy, comforting musk. Like those days I played with Jenna and the world was filled with magic and promise. Beautiful memories...that only made me cry harder, clutching him like I was terrified he’d go away, like all good things in my life did.
“It’s gonna be okay, Mia.” His voice was low and soothing. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I rested my forehead on his shoulder, wiping my nose. “I want to believe that. But how can I when the one person in the world who created me was so ready to toss me to a fucking rapist or replace me without a second glance?”
He fondled a lock of my hair, his eyes intent. “You’re talking about your mother?”
I couldn’t even confirm it without feeling like a knife was sinking into my chest. “She’s always been intense, willing to do anything or take out anyone who threatens me. I’ve been in some dicey situations...” I tapered off, remembering my shoot with Maury Richardson, a skeevy older man who had a hard-on the entire time he shot me for a spread in Vogue.
“I want to hear you say you’re not okay.”
Confusion and surprise raced over me as I stared at him. “What?”
“Well, most people would awkwardly say they came here to see if you were okay.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. I generally liked my guys clean shaven, but there was something sexy about the shadow. It was comfortable and easy, like pulling on my fleece leggings in the winter. Or curling up with my Kindle and a cup of hot tea. Being around him felt real. No pretenses, no ulterior motives. It felt effortless.
“This is the second time in two months that you’ve been rushed to the ER,” he continued. “You look like you’re coming down from one hell of a bender. You’re not okay...and the first step to being okay is admitting that.”
“What do you know about it?” I said brusquely.
“My best friend overdosed to the point that there was nothing left to save.” Liam raked his hand through his dark hair, pain creasing the lines around his eyes. “He’s still breathing, but he died a long time ago. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
I tugged at my stringy brown hair, not sure what to say. Guilt simmered in my chest. I doubted my mother cared other than what its impact on my career would be, but there was Dad and Jenna. Leila. My fans. Every time I took a handful of pills, dying for an escape, they were the ones that had to pick up the pieces. I stopped avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
He stared at me, like he was wondering if I was being genuine or if I was taking a page from the book of people who asked how you were doing but didn’t really care enough to stick around for the answer. Satisfied, he gave me a small nod, but that wasn’t enough. I reached for his hand. He was surprised by the gesture, but he didn’t pull away, interlocking his fingers with mine.
His eyes searched mine. Seeing me. Out of everyone, choosing me. There was nowhere to hide. I didn’t want to hide anymore.
“I’m not okay,” I whispered. For one terrifying moment, I prayed he hadn’t heard me. Even though I was in a hospital gown looking like shit proved that I was screwed up, I didn’t want the first guy that really made my heart race to see me as something broken. A work in progress. I wanted him to see me the way I wanted to be. Accomplished and passionate about the works on my IMDB profile. Capable of dealing with crises without turning to a pill bottle or worse. I wanted to be the me that shined in his big green eyes. A girl worth fighting for.
The tears were relentless, running down my cheeks as sobs rocked through me and spilled from my mouth. He took me in his arms, his smell like woodsy, comforting musk. Like those days I played with Jenna and the world was filled with magic and promise. Beautiful memories...that only made me cry harder, clutching him like I was terrified he’d go away, like all good things in my life did.
“It’s gonna be okay, Mia.” His voice was low and soothing. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I rested my forehead on his shoulder, wiping my nose. “I want to believe that. But how can I when the one person in the world who created me was so ready to toss me to a fucking rapist or replace me without a second glance?”
He fondled a lock of my hair, his eyes intent. “You’re talking about your mother?”
I couldn’t even confirm it without feeling like a knife was sinking into my chest. “She’s always been intense, willing to do anything or take out anyone who threatens me. I’ve been in some dicey situations...” I tapered off, remembering my shoot with Maury Richardson, a skeevy older man who had a hard-on the entire time he shot me for a spread in Vogue.
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