AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We lived together for two years,” he said softly. “Did you think I didn’t notice the scars on your back?”
My body locked up tight, but the tears came fast and hot.
“I can’t… I can’t talk about that.”
“I know. I’ve always respected your privacy. But someday soon, you’ll have to tell someone.”
“Are you an actor or a shrink?” I snapped, wiping the tears off my face, not wanting him to see them at all.
“I’m the son of a therapist, remember? Between that and acting, I’ve been taught to observe.”
I swallowed hard and stared at him. “And what do you see?”
“A man who’s pushed himself to the brink trying to prove his worth. Trying to hide his pain. And someone who’s afraid to let others see the real person behind the persona.”
I shivered. Why was he always spot on?
“Anything else?”
Reed shook his head.
“You, Tate. The only thing I see is you.”
CHAPTER 7
REED
FIVE YEARS AGO
Istood in the entryway of the rehab center in Ojai, waiting for Tate.
Just like I had on the third Sunday of every month for the past three. The months when Tate was finally ready to have visitors. That included me, our agent Henn, and Charlene, our favorite casting director.
When your life implodes, people scatter. And while it can be painful to realize that many of the friends and colleagues you spent so much time with couldn’t care less about you (and sometimes, you about them), it simplified life. Housecleaning, if you will.
Time to let go of people and things that don’t support you and start fresh.
Tate’s timing, despite the difficult year he’d had, was still spot on.
A month after his on-set blackout, Tate cut ties with his agent, Vic. Two months after that, Vic was brought up on charges of harassment and assault. One accusation turned into a major lawsuit as more women were coming forward. Once an agent who managed the biggest players in Hollywood, now Vic had nothing to say. Only his lawyer spoke for him.
There was a major shift happening in Hollywood and for once, it had nothing to do with earthquakes.
But speaking of forces of nature, I watched my favorite one walk down the hallway towards me.
Tate looked healthy and vibrant again. And intense as always.
Just like five years ago, standing in the hallway of that drafty warehouse, my breath caught at the sight of him.
And my heart?
That poor sucker still wanted what he couldn’t have.
My gut clenched with a warning, but my heart overruled it.
It didn’t matter. Any bit of Tate that was mine, I relished.
My mother was right about this need I had to rescue wounded things. And yeah, I knew Tate was hurting inside. Not that he’d ever admit it. He’d come close, and I hoped to hell he’d unburdened himself to his therapist. If Tate endured what I suspected he did, the longer he avoided it, the harder it would be to heal. And trauma always has a way of rising to the surface.
