“All true.”
“I can’t always be there when she wants or needs me. I can’t ignore other responsibilities because she’s upset about something.”
“No, you can’t.”
Silence fell between them. Whitney took a sip from her mug. More silence.
He crossed his arms, but it did little to create counterpressure to the pain inside him. “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say I told you so?”
“No. This is where I ask you if what you see as the problem is, in fact, the problem.” She stared down into her mug. “Because Rubi doesn’t strike me as clingy, needy, demanding, or even unreasonable.”
She wasn’t any of those things, Wes agreed. “So why the hell are we hitting this wall?” he asked himself more than Whitney.
His sister pushed to her feet. “It seems to me that she recognizes the importance of your family to you. She’s gone out of her way to accommodate that, even though she’s the first to admit—as she did to Mom the moment they met—that she’s not good with family.”
Whitney held her empty mug out to Wes, and he took it automatically, without even knowing why.
“Unless you’re ready for serious therapy, which would include baring your darkest secrets to your sister”—she winced as if the thought caused her as much pain as it would him—“I’d suggest thinking about what’s really important to Rubi, and finding a way to convince her it’s just as important to you.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Now, I’ve got to go give some equally vague advice to clients who actually pay me for it.”
Thirty
Rubi’s phone rang while she had a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle of Xanax in the other. She lifted her gaze from the warning label on the prescription and glanced around the chaos she’d created in her bedroom. Rodie, curled into a ball on the bed’s only clear spot, glanced around just as Rubi did.
Where the hell was her phone? If she weren’t so desperate to take a break from packing, get out of the house, and gain some human companionship, she would have let it ring. But she was hoping Lexi was calling to tell her a client had canceled their dinner plans.
She pushed to her feet, dodged the boxes scattered through the room, and dug beneath the hangers and hangers of clothes she’d thrown on her bed. When she dug it out, she glanced at the display.
Her heart fell when she read: Desiree.
But she answered, “Hi.”
“I’ve found The One.” Excitement bubbled through her voice. “It’s nine million. A slight cliff, but you can still see the beach from the outdoor seating area, with two paths down to the beach—a stairway going straight down and a ramp on the other end of the property. The landscaping is stunning, lots of room for Rodie. An infinity pool and twelve-person hot tub overlooking the yard and the ocean.”
Desiree barely took a breath, and before Rubi could respond, continued. “Millions of arched windows, matching doors, and room transitions. Light wood, plaster-white walls, cathedral ceilings. Four bedrooms, four baths, an office, four-thousand square feet—not too big, and it’s only a couple of years old. Really, Rubi, I know this is it.”
Rubi downed the rest of her wine. “Thanks D, but I’m…” Royally fucked up? Yes, I am. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I want anymore.”
Desiree hesitated, then proceeded with a slow, confused “What…do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m just…confused. And I’m tired of looking and being disappointed. I just can’t look at anything else right now. I’ve got to get this junk into storage, and I haven’t convinced any decent hotel to take Rodie yet. I’m really inundated right now.” She pressed a hand to the ache overtaking her forehead and closed her eyes. Tears pushed over her lashes and ran down her cheeks. But that happened so often now, they didn’t even faze her. “Can you give me a few days?”
“Rubi, honey, I know you’re stressed, but I promise you this one is magical. It just went on the market an hour ago. A girlfriend working in the Realtor’s office knew I was looking for you and called to tell me—”
“I understand, D. I do. I’ll get back to you.”
She disconnected with so much turmoil whipping through her, she pitched the phone across the room. It hit a mirror—the only fucking mirror in the whole goddamned thousand-foot suite—and shattered. The mirror and the phone.
Nothing in her life made sense anymore. She didn’t know what she was doing or why. All she wanted was Wes. And she’d screwed that to hell and back. Just as she’d realized going to Missouri had been a mistake once the plane had reached thirty-thousand feet, she’d known leaving had been an even bigger mistake at the same point on the flight home.
He’d been home from his parents for over a week now and hadn’t contacted her. And she didn’t blame him. She’d clearly demonstrated that she wasn’t wired for forever. The concept short-circuited her synapses and made her do stupid, uncharacteristic things. Made her hurt Wes. And he didn’t deserve that.
Rubi picked up the landline on the nightstand and dialed Lexi’s cell.
On the third ring, Lexi picked up with a hushed “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you never call me when I’m with a client, even if I tell you to.”
“I was just checking to see if she canceled. You were so sure she would.”
“I was.” Lexi’s tone took on a disgusted edge. “But then the fiancé found out that Jax Chamberlin, stuntman, and Bentley Chamberlin, movie star, were one and the same. Then insisted they keep the appointment. Believe me, this is not a business dinner. It’s an I-love-Bentley dinner. Jax has been kicking me under the table for half an hour.”
Rubi forced a chuckle at the secret sign Jax had developed for letting Lexi know it was time to leave one of the many dinners, cocktail parties, brunches, and business meetings they attended. “Ah well. You two have fun with that. I’ll catch you tomorrow maybe.”
She disconnected and set the old-fashioned phone in its cradle. Picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up.
“Fuck.” And slammed it down.
When she turned back to the boxes, anxiety gushed through her system. Overwhelmed. She was simply overwhelmed. Her mind overtaxed with stress and confusion. Her body overtaxed with pain and loneliness. All her own fault. Which only led her to her recent discovery that she hated who she was. Hated who she’d let herself become.
She needed a release valve before she exploded.
Rubi poured another glass of wine but slammed the bottle on the nightstand. She didn’t want any more wine. She wanted out. Out of her body. Out of her head. Out of her heart.
Rubi finished dressing and applying makeup by avoiding direct eye contact with herself in the mirror in the bathroom. Made it through the drive to the club by hammering the latest club mixes through the Aston’s incredible speakers. Even managed to get from her car to Stilettos’ front doors by responding to the friendly, even excited welcome from acquaintances outside the club.
But once she’d slipped in the door, she was swallowed by the darkness, buffers and support gone. Rubi stepped aside and surveyed the space. Everything was the same. Exactly the same. The people, the dress, the music, the furniture, the bars. All the same. Yet the zing of adrenaline she’d always experienced simply stepping in the door was absent. Her desire to mingle and chat, nonexistent. She searched for familiar faces, someone comfortable to ease her back into the scene, and spotted Roméo working the bar.
Okay, that could work.
So why couldn’t she move toward him? Why wouldn’t her feet move from this spot? And why did she feel like she wanted to puke?
Rubi leaned her shoulder against a wall and crossed her arms. Katy Perry’s “Roar” pounded through the club, but Rubi experienced no desire to move to the beat. No rush of anticipation for the night ahead. Friends waved her over from their seats at the bar, and Roméo flashed her a grin and lifted the liquor bottle from which he’d been pouring, toward her in greeting.
Still, she didn’t move forward.
This wasn’t where she wanted to be. Or who she wanted to be with.
This was all wrong.
Thirty-One
When Wes came out of the Renegades’ bathroom after a quick shower, Courtney Marshall was already waiting for him. He’d never seen her, only spoken with her on the phone, and she wasn’t what he’d expected. She was far younger than he’d guessed from her voice, maybe early twenties. Blonde and pretty, and dressed down in jeans and a light sweater, both of which hugged well-proportioned curves.
She turned from all the attention the other Renegades were showering on her and smiled. “You must be Wes.”
“Uh, yeah.” He ran one hand through his hair and reached to take her extended hand with the other. “Sorry, just cleaning up.”
“Great. Ready to go?”
“Let’s talk outside a second.”
“Hey,” Troy said. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Courtney, the guys,” he said, glaring at Troy. “Guys, Courtney. Let’s go.”
“We know her name, dorkweed,” Keaton threw in. “How about a relation? Friend? Date?” He paused. “Girlfriend?”
Thank God she hadn’t told them why she was here. “None of your business.”
She said her good-byes to the crew, and Wes held the door open for her but didn’t miss the scowl Rachel leveled on him on the way out. He followed Courtney down the steps, calling himself all kinds of stupid for the nerves making him awkward.
With his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, he glanced around, making sure no one was nearby. “So, I’m not real good at this. What’s the plan?”
She grinned and flipped her sleek cut off her forehead. “I take you to lunch, and we talk.” She slipped her arm through his and tugged him toward the parking lot. “We’ll go from there.”
He glanced down at his jeans, frayed threadbare in too many places to be decent. “I didn’t expect you to call this morning, so I’m not exactly prepared for—”
“I was thinking casual,” she said, perky, relaxed. “How does Casey’s sound?”
Rubi parked along the street in front of the Renegades set location for the day—a steel scrapyard in an industrial area of the city. She spotted the Renegades trailer alongside a warehouse where film crews, cameras, and lights had been set up. She also spotted Wes’s truck parked several cars up from hers.
Rubi pulled off her sunglasses and pressed a hand to the tight ache in her chest. She could do this. If he rejected her, he rejected her. She’d know it wasn’t meant to be. But she had to try.
She picked up the present in the passenger’s seat and stood from her car, smoothing her skirt—one of Wes’s favorites. On a deep breath, she started up the sidewalk. A few wolf whistles sounded from the industrial buildings near the site still in use, but she ignored them. She glanced at Wes’s truck as she passed, not sure what she was looking for, but found no real changes. No panties hanging from the rearview. A good sign, right?
