AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Back in Wendy’s house, I search for Gabe on social media. He, or more likely his team, has issued a statement saying he was never romantically involved with Kate Van Sandt. They remain close friends. His visit to me was a lapse in judgment and he’ll be spending his free time focusing on his upcoming roles.
When I start to cry, Wendy plucks my phone from my hand. “No internet stalking your ex. You know the rules.”
It doesn’t stop Wendy and Lea from stalking him and gleefully sharing every post tearing him apart for breaking Kate’s heart—and there are a lot of those. The ones questioning what else he’s hiding set my nerves on edge. Does he trust me to keep his past a secret? I’ll never tell anyone, and there’s the NDA, but he must be anxious.
Let him stew, then let him see I’m not the person he thinks I am.
By the end of the week, I feel better. Enough to go home. My heart is still broken, but the pain has dulled to something I can learn to live with.
“Here,” Wendy says, slipping a bound manuscript into my bag. “I finally finished the script. Thank you for the notes. Read it if you need a distraction.”
I hug her tight and promise I will. Her screenplays are hilarious and this one is about a reality TV show gone wrong—it’s the reason she went on the show in the first place, for research. “Thank you for everything. I’m so glad you’re my secret friend.”
Wendy freezes. “Oh, fuck. We’re fixing that. Right now.” Her phone is already out, our faces filling the screen.
“Stop!” I duck away. “I look awful! And what aboutLove on the Line? The Girl Next Door can’t be seen hanging out with the Biggest Bitch of All Time.”
Wendy gives me a gentle push toward the bathroom. “Go fix your face, we’re doing this. And fuckLove on the Line.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, once I’ve fixed myself up, so I look a smidge less like I need a trip to rehab.
“You were there for me,” she says. “I should have been there for you. From the start.”
The pre-show pregnancy tests didn’t catch Wendy’s positive. She didn’t know until morning sickness hit a couple of weeks into filming. She needed to get off the show before anyone else figured it out. She didn’t need public pressure in the face of a private medical decision.
I couldn’t be there for her when she had the abortion, but keeping it out of the public sphere gave her a chance to come back on another season ofLove on the Lineas the girl next door. Or to do whatever she wanted, without it being dredged up on the internet or spilling into her professional life.
The video Wendy posts, calling me her best friend and talking about spending a week together drinking and hanging out and bonding, goes viral.
Lea drives us back to LA and for the first time in days, I turn on my phone.
There are no messages or calls from Gabe. I didn’t realize how much hope I was holding onto until it was crushed.
On the bright side, nothing from my parents.
I answer messages from Jessie and Lauren and scroll through my email. The director Nic introduced me to last week promised to email, but there’s nothing there. I suppose I’m too toxic for the role of Clare. Silly to get those hopes up too.
“What the hell?” Lea’s voice draws my attention from my phone and I look up as she stops as close as she can get to my house.
There’s a gaggle of paparazzi—unsurprising since they haven’t caught me since the scandal broke—but what draws my attention are the police cars. Two of them, parked outside my house.
My stomach sinks when another officer walks out of my front door. My visibly broken front door.
The assholes with cameras press closer as I get out of the car. “This is my house,” I say, barely holding my shit together as I approach the nearest officer, Lea close behind me. “What happened?”
My house was broken into, they tell me. No shit.
They give me a good idea of what I’ll see before I go inside, but I’m still not prepared.
The sofa in my office is slashed. Papers from my desk are shredded. Anything glass is broken. The kitchen and living room on the first floor are just as bad. Everything breakable is smashed or slashed.
My bedroom is the worst. Every drawer is emptied onto the floor and the smell is bad enough I gag.
“What is that?” I ask from behind my hand.
“Bad milk?” Lea guesses, pinching her nose shut.
One of the officers nods. “We think so.”
