Selfie (23 page)

Twelve years ago, it had been a happy child sort of giant, and it would have played with anyone. Eleven years ago, it’d been content to settle down with Vinnie and only play with one person, forever.

Right now, it was eyeballing Noah as the only friend it’d ever wanted, and I wondered how many times I was going to have to take it in hand before our, erm, titans clashed, so to speak.

Because they had to. They just had to. That caress had been a promise. Hell, that
threat
had been a promise, and my body had been betrayed so badly in the last year. I needed those promises kept.

And it wasn’t until I was shaving that I remembered what had prompted that whole episode in the first place.

“Uh, Noah?” I asked while dragging the razor down my cheek. “What was the thing you were going to mention—the catch behind visiting your family?”

He grunted. “Give me the razor,” he ordered, and I did. He turned me toward him and started to shave me, neatly, methodically, and impersonally.

My entire body was blushing with the first stripe down my face.

“Why are you shaving me?” I asked, lips as still as I could keep them.

His eyes went to half-mast and his full lips pulled faintly back. “’Cause it’s sexy as hell,” he said throatily. He rinsed the razor and started again. “Also, because you’re less likely to cut yourself if I’m doing it while I talk to you. So, this family thing—my mom is going to be there.”

I frowned. I’d
pumped
him for information; this statement was several kinds of wrong.

“But I thought she’d—”

“Left. Yes, I know. Me too. And I was totally fine with that. But apparently she wrote Ky a letter—”

“The youngest one? Man, that’s shady.”

“Listen to you, talking all street. Yes, it’s shady. And emotionally manipulative. And generally just not . . . not promising for a reunion. So I’d already asked if you could come, because Gran is teaching the girls how to cook, and I’m one hundred percent for feeding you some more, but then Ky sprang this on everyone—”

“Well, if it’s going to be awk—”

“And I said fuck it,” Noah finished with a hard glance that shut me right up. “If she doesn’t like my friends, then she shouldn’t be there. So, there you have it. Don’t worry—if God is on our side, she won’t show up. If she
does
show up, well, I was planning to take you to all the good spots on our property anyway, and that should keep us out of her hair for the most part.”

He’d finished shaving me and was holding a towel to my face. I captured his hands as they worked on either cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, feeling absurdly hurt. “I . . . I mean, I’m not so solipsistic I wouldn’t want to know.”

He rolled his eyes and tapped my nose gently. “Last night, Connor.
Last night
I asked if you could come.
This morning
Ky sprang her little surprise. So see? You still trump the family drama.”

He swallowed, and we had one of those rare moments in which he seemed to need me for something. “I’d really like you to come.”

I smiled uncertainly, his hands still trapped on my cheeks. “I, uh.” I smiled again. “I used to go over to Vinnie’s house for Christmas. We put all our stuff into his place, and all our Christmas decorations too—it looked all kitschy and fun—mine was the open living space, you know? All comfort, no color. But he’d have his parents to his house and him and me . . .” I blushed against the towel. “We pretended I was just a friend, and the house was full up, so we’d sleep in his bedroom. And we didn’t have sex, because—”

“People in the house is awkward,” Noah said, nodding emphatically.

“Right? But we . . . I got to pretend they were mine,” I told him.

He dropped one of his hands and kissed my cheek. “My dad and gran? They’ll be your family if you want,” he promised, so serious I
had
to love him, just for that. “They . . . they still have Thanksgiving with Sharra’s folks, so they can see the girls grow. They’ll love you.”

Oh, I could almost believe it.

I stepped away from him and grabbed my moisturizer. I applied it while I checked my carefully tousled hair in the mirror to see if it had enough product.

“That’s sweet, Noah,” I said, putting that distance in my voice I’d been so good at maintaining. “It’s sweet, but . . .”

I couldn’t finish that sentence. I turned toward the locker instead so I could put my toiletry kit in my gym bag.

He was at my side in a moment, his hand burning through my sweatshirt. “But what?”

“Man, Noah, I’m . . . I look good on screen, but obviously nobody in real life is going to . . .” Be my family. Love me for real. “I’m not that good a bet,” I finished, and then I slung my bag over my shoulder and stalked out, beating him to the car.

We were both silent during the drive. He took us on a detour to the Stomping Grounds, and made me wait in the car while he got us coffee and sandwiches.

He came out with the cups and the bag, which he handed to me, and once I started drinking, he started talking.

“You have
got
to tell me about your family.”

I swallowed—and dodged. “What about them? Mother, father, four sisters.”

“Wow. I did not even know that. What do they think about your career?”

“They think that it gets them a set amount of money every year to ensure they never open their mouths about why I got kicked out of school.”

Noah drove off the road.

On purpose—I mean, he picked a great place to park on the side—but he literally drove off the road that led to the studio and put the car into park before turning to look me in the eyes.

“And why did you get kicked out of school?” he asked, like I was trying his patience.

I took a sip of coffee and stared idly out the side window. Fog. It was misty today, and the earth smelled of rushes and salt water, and I suddenly wished I were out in that mist and all alone.

“I was the school mascot,” I said. “You know. The drama queer who wore the big stupid outfit?”

“What were you?” he asked, and that was very tricky. I almost met his gaze so I could flash a smile.

“A Trojan,” I said, completely deadpan.

He snickered. “Please tell me that’s the truth.”

“I shit you not. The Cosgrove Trojans—’cause Trojans cum in the grove, get it?”

“I assumed there was a dirty pun in there somewhere,” he said. Wow. His sarcasm really
didn’t
ever turn off.

“Yeah. Well, in this case, the dirty pun was in my mouth—and it belonged to the point guard on the basketball team. And we were behind the bleachers at a game—”

“The big game?” he asked, voice dry.

“Who the hell cared? Lance Quinlan was letting me
blow him—
it was the most glorious night of my life.”

“Until?” It was like he knew where this was going.

“Until the bleachers got moved during the half and the whole school saw him give me a facial.”

Noah laughed like the sound was dragged out of him with a tow chain attached to a garbage scow. “Ho-lee
shit
.”

“Yeah,” I said, finding my humor. Vinnie had laughed at this story until he’d peed. “It was . . . well, spectacular. And so was my father, throwing me out of the house. And none of my friends’ parents would let me sleep on their couches. I literally packed a suitcase, grabbed my wallet—I had about three years’ worth of mowing lawns and babysitting that I’d been planning to use to get me to LA anyway—and jumped in a truck with the first asshole to give me a ride.”

I grunted. And I’d turned my first trick. Because, you know, it’s what whores did.

“Why was he an asshole?” Noah asked quietly.

“God, Noah.” I felt more naked than I had in the changing rooms. “Isn’t it enough? You know my parents take money to not talk to the press. You know Vinnie wasn’t faithful . . . I mean . . . you used to look at me like I was a movie star. It sure would be nice if you could—”

“I see a man,” he said, and I was forced to look at him after all. He reached into the backseat and stroked my cheek with his knuckle. “A really good-looking man.” He smiled kindly. “But a man. And nothing you’ve told me—not about Vinnie, not about your parents, not about being young and broke and hungry—none of it makes me lo . . . li . . . care about you less.”

I opened my mouth to tell him not to do this to himself, when he reminded me of something I’d forgotten.

“Besides,” he said, making sure he had my attention, “you still haven’t told me why you left
Warlock Tea
.”

I broke eye contact with him and stared out into the beckoning fog. “We’re going to be late,” I said, not stubbornly, but he knew.

“Someday,” he said confidently.

And why wouldn’t he be confident? So far, I was proving to be stunningly undedicated to grieving the rest of my life away cold and alone and unloved.

Vinnie, will you forgive me for moving on?

I don’t know, Connor—will you forgive me for being weak?

You weren’t weak.

Lying is a shitty way to forgive someone, Connor.
No
. I don’t forgive you.

Vinnie!

Tell me the fucking truth, asshole, and you can have whatever your little heart needs to be happy.

Shut up.

Gladly. You’re the one who talks to
me,
remember?

I can’t believe I miss you.

I can’t believe you miss me either. I almost ruined your career twice, I was unfaithful, I didn’t have the balls to come out to my family or the press—I can’t believe you loved me at all!

I did. Oh God, Vinnie, don’t say that, baby—I loved you. I loved you so much. Don’t make me talk about—

I’m not answering you right now. The Connor
I
loved had backbone. He fought for roles, he made Jilly take me on as a client. He bullied me into rehab, twice. This guy—he’s tired and sad. How can I love you like this?

Noah loves me.

He’d been trying so hard not to say it, but I hadn’t had the heart to stop him completely.

And Vinnie had no answer to that. I guess there
was
no answer to the fact that Noah loved me weak and Vinnie couldn’t love me enough, even when I was strong.

God, that was a long week. Part of it was that I was looking forward to meeting Noah’s family—and quarreling with ghost-Vinnie about it the whole time. And part of it was work. The writers—who had been in full fighting trim to begin with but now had Hunter Easton and Kevin Hussain totally on board with the new cast additions—decided to sacrifice Swift and Wind so they could be on a spin-off show (where I’d make guest appearances, of course), and
I
got to be the one who killed them.

I looked at my pages that morning after Noah and I arrived on the set and then looked up at Lissa and Brenda. “I rip your throats out?” I practically whimpered. “I have to
rip your throats out
?”

Lissa giggled like the little blonde minx she was. “It’s okay, Connor. See—our throats regenerate. It’s symbolic. You’re joining the Wolf’s Landing pack
,
and since we betrayed you, you have to excise us from
your
pack. Don’t worry. It’ll totally all be CGI—you don’t have to hit us at all for real or anything.”

Brenda patted my shoulder. “Like you’d hit
anybody
,” she laughed. “Oh my God—I mean, you have a rep as a nice guy, Connor, but I don’t know if I’ve
ever
worked with such a
nice guy
.”

I smiled at them both. “You guys have been a riot,” I told them—because they had. The week before, we’d finished this wrought, dramatic scene when I discovered they’d betrayed me with a rival pack from our own timeline. Simon had called “Cut!” and there I’d been, spittle flying out of my mouth, chest heaving, so totally in character I practically needed to hit something. Brenda and Lissa had looked at me in the silence that followed “Cut”—and then looked at each other and started making out.

The entire set had cracked up—including me!—and they’d both jumped on me and hugged me.