Tidal (3 page)

behind him. I shut the door and counted to

ten to calm myself, so I wouldn’t say

anything I’d regret. When it came to Kevin

and my parents, I was infamous for doing

that.

I turned around to face him wearing a

sarcastic smile. “Good morning to you,

too” I said, hugging my chest and pressing

my back against the wall.

Dropping the bag on the center of the

bed, Kevin started, “I’m guessing you—”

When he glanced up at me, taking me in,

he stopped mid-sentence. “Is everything

okay, Willow?”

So he wouldn’t see how much his

surprise to see me still clean stung, I

rolled my eyes dramatically and shoved

myself off the wall with the back of my

foot. “I don’t always have to get high.”

But I’d wanted to
, I silently added,

feeling my body flush with humiliation.

And nobody called me back.
I slid onto

the edge of the bed, curling my toes into

the carpet.

He shook his head approvingly.

“Sober looks good on you.”

I chose not to respond to that. Instead,

I flicked the bag’s silver zippers with the

tip of my thumb. They dangled back and

forth, making a tinkling noise as they

knocked against each other. “What’s this

for?”

“Tiff wanted you to have some of your

clothes to carry along with you. She’s

arranged for everything else you’ll need,

to be sent ahead to your rental house in

Honolulu.”

“Fun. My mom can call you, but can’t

even leave me a voicemail saying she’s

glad I’m out of rehab?” My voice broke

on the last few words.

“Their phone hasn’t been getting half

of their calls.”

It was a shitty excuse, especially for

someone like Kevin who could come up

with a lie without so much as twitching,

but I brushed it off. He’d only try to

maintain the bullshit, and I’d just get

irritated. It was way too soon to start up

our cycle of butting heads.

“What about—” I began.

“They gave you a twenty thousand

dollar advance on the two-fifty you’ll be

paid when filming is complete,” he said,

walking over to the armchair to sit down.

“After I took out my percentage that left

you—”

“Just over 17 grand,” I said. I’d been

doing this for so long that the fifteen

percent math was permanently ingrained

in my mind. “And it’s in my account

already?”

Kevin shook his head. “No, but by the

end of the week.”

I felt my heart sing a little, felt my

body come alive as a thrill raced through

it. Everything would be better once I was

in Hawaii. With Surfer Boy. Sexy and

completely hostile Surfer Boy. I

swallowed hard, hoping that the flicker of

attraction I’d felt yesterday when we

touched was nothing.

I couldn’t let him be an obstacle.

“I see the wheels in your pretty little

head turning. Don’t do anything stupid to

ruin yourself,” Kevin said, whipping me

out of my thoughts. There was a pitying

edge to his voice that matched the look in

his gray eyes. He’d been looking at me

like that for years now, but today when I

was so clear-headed—so raw—it rubbed

me the wrong way. Today, it was

impossible not to vividly imagine the

warning Kevin had given me three years

ago.

“You’re not responsible enough for

this, Willow. Any other choice and you

will
ruin yourself," he had told me.

And yet somehow, even after I’d taken

his advice, I’d done just that anyway.

“Pretty as she drowns and ruined

when she resurfaces,” I whispered under

my breath, remembering a poem I’d read

while in rehab. Kevin cocked an eyebrow,

but I shook my head. “What time does my

flight leave?”

He reached out the folder he was

holding. When I didn’t immediately get up

to take it, he wiggled it back and forth.

Groaning, I skulked over to him and took

it, sifting through the contents as I returned

to my spot on the bed. There was

information about my community service

in Hawaii, the probation officer I’d need

to report to, and the address of a personal

trainer. Even at my smallest—late last

year when I wasn’t eating because I’d

always forgotten to—I was never

Hollywood’s definition of “thin.”

I was tall and C-cupped and wide-

hipped.

“Got to make sure I get rid of the ass

fat. Let me guess—it’s going to be a part

of my final contract?” I asked

sarcastically and Kevin made a strangled

sound in the back of his throat. “No need

to lie to me about this, too. We’ve been

doing this too long.”

Thankfully, Kevin opted to keep his

mouth closed. I flipped the personal

trainer’s information over, reaching the

last document in the folder. I studied my

ticket carefully, silently. In less than four

hours, I would take off from LAX, and I

was nowhere near ready. As if on cue, my

stomach rumbled.

Kevin waved his hand to the suitcase.

“I’ll settle your bill while you get

dressed?”

“Thanks,” I murmured, watching him

as he quietly left the room.

I showered and dressed quickly, in a

pair of tiny denim shorts that constricted

my thighs, a white tank top that was too

tight across my breasts, and an oversized

flannel shirt. As I yanked the brush that I

found in the front pouch of the bag through

my wet, tangled hair, I forced my feet into

a pair of high top black Converse shoes.

For a long time afterward, I stood in front

of the bathroom mirror, studying my

reflection. It was the look I’d always

sprung for before rehab, minus the

baseball cap my mother loathed, but it

didn’t seem so careless anymore.

Now, I felt like I was trying too hard

to be myself.

“Suck it up,” I whispered to the girl in

the mirror with the green eyes that seemed

too big for her face and the pale, drawn

skin. “Everything will be better soon.”

Then, grabbing my bag off the hotel

bed, I left the room and went in search of

Kevin.

***

Junction, Kevin quickly complied. I

wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to

keep me happy or if he just wanted to get

rid of me as easily as possible. He had

driven himself today, in a sleek metallic

Audi sports car that I didn’t remember him

having before. I couldn’t help feeling a

little jealous when he opened the door for

me—I’d lost my license over a year ago,

right before I turned nineteen. Getting my

driving privileges restored didn’t seem to

be anywhere in my near future.

After lunch, which felt rushed, Kevin

and I went to his office so I could sign

paperwork. We were halfway through the

documents when a giant of a man showed

up. As I gazed toward the front of the

office, watching him interact with Kevin’s

assistant, I already knew he was a

bodyguard hired for me. My new

babysitter. When Kevin caught me staring,

he motioned the man back to his office.

“Willow, this guy’s been hired by the

studio. Have to keep the rabid fans off,

you know,” Kevin said.

Which was translation for camera-

happy tabloids.

“Tom Miller. But everyone calls me

Miller,” the man said, and I stared up at

him and muttered a hello.

Towering over me by several inches,

Miller was smooth-faced with a buzz cut,

as orange as the cast of that skull-grating

show about the upper east coast, and

probably steroided out of his mind, with

what Jessica had always called “bear

shoulders.” I was guessing he was in his

late-twenties, but I could never tell with

the gym junkies.

“Willow,” I said at last, half-

expecting Miller to give me Cooper’s

smart ass “everybody knows Willow

Avery” remark. He didn’t, and I was glad

he wasn’t a total jackass.

After I finished signing the paperwork,

Kevin gave me his “behave yourself”

spiel and then volunteered his assistant to

drive Miller and me to the airport. We

were quiet the whole ride over to LAX,

and once I was alone with him, I felt

intimidated. I should have been as used to

strangers being hired to protect me as I

was to paparazzo cameras flashing in my

face, but it was unnerving to sit next to a

stranger who was at least twice my size. It

always would be.

As we waited quietly in the terminal, I

flipped through an old fashion magazine

someone had left in the airport, trying my

best to be inconspicuous. Miller’s phone

rang and he answered, recited a string of

numbers and letters, and hung up in thirty

seconds flat. I glanced over at him

curiously.

“My little sister.” Miller shrugged

sheepishly. “I had to tell her the password

to my bank.” Then, he smiled, showing off

a tiny gap in the front of his top teeth. His

relaxed expression lifted a weight from

my chest. He probably wouldn’t hover

once we reached Hawaii, so long as he

was receiving a steady paycheck.

One down
, I thought. An image of

Cooper flashed in my mind.
One to go.

God, one mocking, confident, asshole-ish

—

“Careful, Wills, overthinking is

dangerous,” someone said from a few feet

away. In that soft voice that sounded like

the sexy love child of a British and a

Southern accent. I inhaled a sharp gasp of

air and every muscle in my body went

taut.

Speak of the blue-eyed devil.

My new bodyguard was on high alert

and came up out of his seat, but I touched

his arm, shaking my head quickly. “He’s .

. . with us,” I mumbled before turning

sideways in my seat to get a better look at

Cooper.

Standing a few feet away, with a black

duffle bag slung over his shoulder, he

looked confident and relaxed in a black t-

shirt that accentuated his tall, toned body

and frayed jeans. And he was smiling—a

heart-stopping, panty-dropping smile. I

was torn between wanting to pop him in

the mouth or kissing him until our lips

were so freaking numb I could get this

damn attraction thing out of the way.

One taste before I decided whether or

not I needed to dull my reality.

I dug my fingers into the wrinkled hem

of my flannel shirt. No, no, no—I didn’t

need to dull anything except my bad

habits. I just needed to get my work done

and get on with my life. I could have the

chaos I craved in my life without getting

fucked up.

Cooper waited for a noisy, groping

couple to pass between us and then he

crept closer, so that he was right next to

my seat. I glared up at him. “You could try

not to be a dick,” I said. He rubbed his

tongue over his teeth, and I felt something

sharp twist in the center of my chest,

between my ribcage.

God, why were all the good-looking

ones complete jerks?

“Why? I think I like you when you’re

all flustered,” Cooper replied, winking.

He glided his palm along the high back of

my chair, and when the heel of his hand

brushed between my shoulder blades, I

shivered. “You’re less inhuman, much

more . . .” His voice drifted off, as if he

couldn’t quite find the right word to

describe me.

Right now, I needed him to say it.

Wanted to know what he really thought of

me. “I’m much more what?”

He cocked his head to one side, sizing

me up. Beside me, Miller snorted, but said

nothing. At last, Cooper bent down and

whispered into my ear, “Beautiful.”

I’d been a performer, a liar who could

mask her emotions, for as long as I could

remember and yet his words made me

burst into flames from head to toe. As he

went to sit across from Miller and me,

slamming his duffle bag on the resin floor,

I gave myself a mental shanking for having

yet another knee-jerk reaction to Cooper.

He is an ass. He is your coach. Slow

the fuck down, dumbass, before you get

in trouble again.

So I decided to focus on the negative

in what he said. “Glad to know I’m not

quite human,” I said in an icy voice.

Cooper’s smile faded into an

apologetic look. “Maybe I worded that

wrong. You don’t seem so . . .

mechanical.”

I released a tiny groan from the back

of my throat. Where had Dickson found

this guy? Narrowing my eyes into tight

slits, I leaned forward, resting my

forearms on my bare thighs. “Maybe you

should just stop using words, period,” I

suggested.

He raked his hand through his floppy

blonde hair. “Ah, Wills . . .”