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23
Rock and Hard Place
The drive home is quiet. Every time Maddox asks me how I am, all I can say is, “Fine,” which is anything but the truth.
I know he knows that, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it. I’m giving my role to Jemma, and the thought plays through my mind on perma-loop. If I talk, I’m going to lose my shit.
When we get to Maddox’s house, I take Farmer outside to get some air. My mind spins, as I’m still trying to grapple with everything that just happened. Nothing is sinking in.
I’m sitting on the patio furniture watching Farmer sniff around when Maddox comes outside and joins me. He has two beers and offers me one.
I take it. “Thanks.” The first swallow goes down like ice-cold comfort.
Maddox sits on the chair facing me before he takes a sip. “Riley, we need to talk about what happened.”
“I can’t.” My tone is clipped, finite.
He whooshes out a pained exhale. “Okay, then. So you going to Scotland?”
I appreciate his topic change. “Yeah. But it should probably be after the Emmys.” I’d told him about Grams leaving the deed to the castle, but it was quick, and we were at work. I haven’t had a chance to ask him if he wants to go with me. And clearly, right now isn’t a good time.
Maddox takes Farmer’s tennis ball off the porch and tosses it. Farmer goes running after it, excited to play his favorite game. “Fall will be beautiful there.” Maddox’s voice is strained.
“You don’t sound okay.”
“How can I be okay with what’s happening to you?”
“You shouldn’t be. But I’ll figure this out.” I nod. “Whatever happens, I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t believe you.” He goes to take my hand, but I move it and take a drink of my beer. When he tries to meet my eyes, I’m staring into the distance. I know I’m a million miles away, but tonight was just too much.
This past month has all been too much. The crack hovering below me has become a crevasse, and I’m free-falling through it. I don’t like to admit this, but what’s been giving me strength is that Maddox has always been unfazed.
And now, he’s not. My rock has crumbled under me.
I can’t believe I used to wonder if there was anything that’d ever rattle him. Thus far, I’ve found three. His mother, anything that threatens his performance, and anything that threatens me. I don’t blame him—this whole situation is rotten. There’s so much I want to say, but everything that comes to mind feels like I’m just reiterating what I’ve already said, and I don’t have any solutions. I want to tell him we don’t have to go through with this, but if Jemma blasts our lie on social media, our careers, not to mention our reputations, are toast. And Maddox signed a contract, so now we have to add legal trouble into the mix.
I just have to think. Maddox and Smith will help me get auditions, and they both have a lot of pull. And Skye always hasideas. She once figured out how to help Sophie with her tanking career by setting us up to spy on a celebrity dog wedding. I’ll call her later.
Maddox says, “Please, Rook. We have to talk about this.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Another long drag of my beer. “We have to give Jemma what she wants. It is what it is, and I have to accept it.”
“But I can’t. I can’t let her do this to you. I won’t.” He throws the tennis ball again, and Farmer goes running again.
“What choice do we have?”
“I’ll convince Smith to give her another role. One that doesn’t oust you.” Maddox finally meets my gaze. “Putting her in your place is not just screwing you over, but the show, too. Jemma’s not a fit for the part. Ratings will tank. Smith will see that.”
Maddox’s words lift my spirits. “Then we have nothing to worry about.”
“Let’s hope so.” His head hangs. “So, Scotland. How long is the trip?”
Now, strangely, I don’t want to talk about Scotland. Maybe because I don’t have an ounce of energy left. All these times, Maddox has been there for me. And he wants to be here for me now, but I’m bone-dead exhausted of leaning on him. He sat with me after the paparazzi attack, and crying on his shoulder again feels like too much.
But I muster the strength to answer. “I’m not sure how long.” I sit silent, contemplating my next words. The time I spent there was going to depend on whether he was coming with me and how long he wanted to stay. But he and I are in a weird place, so I have to step carefully. If I invite him, he might say yes just because he’ll do anything to make me happy right now, and not because it’s something he wants to do. And I don’t want him to go if he doesn’t want to. After formulating my answer, desperatenot to accidentally trap him, I say, “I was hoping to spend a while there. We’ll be done shooting.”
That “we” was intentional.
