Damaged In-Law (20 page)

A rush of frustrated anger colors my cheeks red. “We
’
re not done talking about this,”
I inform Jack.

“I
’
m sure we
’
re
not,” he scowls as I finally answer our boss
’
s call.

I swallow hard as Miriam Blake
’
s face
pops onto the screen. Her usual immovable expression has frozen over into a
mask of icy contempt. The severity of her ire takes my breath away. No one
’
s looked at me with this much furious disdain since I
accidentally spilled marinara sauce on my mother
’
s white
carpet, back when I was seven. Still, I try and muster up a jocular smile for
her benefit.

“
Hi Miriam,
” I manage to say, my voice
high and bright. “I simply can
’
t imagine what you
’
re calling us about...”

“Yeah, how
’
s tricks?” Jack adds,
stepping into my camera
’
s frame so Miriam can see us both.
I can practically see the steam pouring out of her ear
’
s at Jack
’
s casual remark.

“Let
’
s cut the bullshit, kids,” Miriam
all but hisses, folding her arms across her small
chest.
“You
two have fucked this up
good
.”

“Whatever happened to all press is good press?” Jack shoots
back.

“You strangling Garland Hayes in front of a thousand cameras
is not press, it
’
s a lawsuit,”
Miriam spits,
“You two are botching this entire thing. I figured you
’
d
start fucking at some point, but sneaking around? Abusing the press? Not giving
anyone a shot of you two looking halfway decent? You
’
re squandering
this entire scandal!”

“Hold on,” I cut in, gaping at the CEO, “So you
’
re not angry about us causing a stir...You
’
re
angry that we
’
re not
capitalizing
on it?!”

“Ding ding ding!” she sneers, rolling her eyes at me. “We
have a winner!”

“
I don’
t understand...
”
I press on, ignoring her insults. “What is it, exactly, that you would have us
do, here?”

“I would have wanted you to milk the dead sister/fiancée
thing for all it was worth,” she says callously, “Do some interviews about
finding solace in each other
’
s arms, all that bullshit.
But you’ve botched that option, haven’t you? It looks like our only option is
to lean into these rumors about Jack setting the girl up to go down in flames.
Tough break, kid, but it’s the only angle left.”

I feel the air go out of the room around me as Jack
’
s nonchalant act explodes into a million pieces, leaving
nothing but raw rage in its place.

“Excuse me?” he snarls to Miriam.

“You
’
re going to have to let the press
run with the story they
’
ve already cooked up,” Miriam says
lightly.

“The story they
’
re telling is that I
’
m responsible for Avery
’
s death,” he
charges on, his every cell vibrating with anger.

“That
’
s not my fault,” she scoffs, “You
’
ve made your own bed, Jack. Now you
’
ve got
to sleep in it. I don
’
t give a rat
’
s ass whether you two keep fucking away in it or not, as long
as you stop muddying my publicity efforts.”

“You want me to let the world believe that Avery died
because I let her?” Jack seethes, “Because it
’
s the best
available
plot twist?
”

“That pretty much sums it up, yes,”
Miriam
shrugs.

“Jack!” I gasp, as he wrenches the phone out of my hand and
brings it up to his furious, bright red face.

“Let
’
s get one thing straight,” Jack
all but roars into the phone, “This isn
’
t some script we
’
re talking about. This isn
’
t a story. This
is my
life
.”

“
Oh, don’
t be so dramatic,” Miriam
shoots back, unperturbed, “Your profile is getting a boost either way. So
people will always suspect you of foul play. So what? It worked out just fine
for Courtney Love.”

“I won
’
t do it,
”
Jack says firmly, “I won
’
t play into your juicy little
narrative. And I won
’
t let the press tear Callie apart,
either. I
’
m doing things my own way.”

“Fine,” Miriam replies briskly, “
Then I
’
ll just have to fire you instead.”

“What?!” I gasp, leaping up from the counter and rushing to
Jack.

“
I don’
t have time for your
ultimatums,” she goes on, “Either you fall in line, or I
’
ll
find someone else who will. Bradley Cooper would be a wonderful Joel Brennan,
don
’
t you think?”

“
You can
’
t replace
me,”
Jack breathes raggedly,
“I
’
ve
been with the project since the very beginning. I busted my ass getting it into
production. It
’
s my goddamn movie.
”

“On the contrary,”
Miriam smiles,
“It
’
s
my
goddamn movie. You
’
re just set
dressing.”

“There has to be something else we can all do,” I put in,
knowing exactly how naive I sound, “We can find a solution—”

“Let me know what you decide by Monday, Jackson,” Miriam
says crisply, “You two enjoy the rest of your weekend. You
’
d
better—”

But we never find out what Miriam Blake thinks we
’
d better do. Jack cocks back his arm and throws my cell phone
hard against the hotel room wall. It snaps into a hundred pieces of plastic and
metal, the screen spider webbed with deep cracks.

“Jack!”
I scream,
“What the hell—? Why
would you—?”

But he can
’
t hear me now. He
’
s too far gone in his all-encompassing rage. Blowing past me,
he marches into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of scotch, pouring himself a
deep glass and knocking it back in two gulps. Usually, Jack takes care to
moderate his drinking, or at least be aware of how much he
’
s
consumed. His father was a raging alcoholic—and a nasty, brutal drunk at that.
Avery used to relay horror stories of Richard Cole
’
s
gin-soaked rampages, and the abuse he would heap on his son during them.

I don’
t even bother checking to see if
my phone is salvageable—there are far more important matters at hand. For
instance, the stranger who
’
s materialized in front of me
where Jack was just a moment ago. I edge toward him as he pours out another
drink, hunched over the counter, alone in his own world of agony.

“Jack,” I begin again, speaking softly as I approach him. I
feel like I
’
m stepping up to an unbroken stallion who
could buck at any instant. “Look, I know this is absolutely terrible. The
studio has put you in an awful position. But could you just talk to me for—”

“There
’
s nothing to talk about,” he
says through gritted teeth. I can smell the booze from where I stand a few
paces away. He drains the second glass and sets it down hard against the
countertop. “I
’
m fucked.”

“Baby, no...” I say, taking a tentative step toward him,
“You
’
re not—”

With a lightning fast jerk of his arm, Jack sends the empty
glass flying across the kitchen. I shield my eyes as it shatters, terror
spiking through my veins. For the first time in our lives, I
’
m
afraid of what he
’
s going to do next. It
’
s
a sensation I never thought I
’
d experience, and it damn
near rips my heart in two.

“You don
’
t know the first thing about
what I
’
m going through,” he snarls, his blazing blue eyes
swinging toward me. I
’
m struck by the size of him, the
power coiled in his muscles. Even in a fit of rage he
’s
beautiful
.
“Don
’
t
tell me that I
’
m not fucked. Don
’
t
‘baby
’
me, Cal.”

“OK. Fine,” I say, holding up my hands before me, “Just tell
me how I can help you. Tell me what you need.”

“Why aren
’
t you listening to me?!” he
roars, launching himself forward. I shrink back as he comes to a stop inches
away from my body, towering over my petite frame. He stares down at me like I
’
m an intruder. Like I
’
m
the enemy.

“I am. I
’
m trying,” I whisper
tearfully, taking a careful step back.

“Christ,” he rasps, shoving a hand through his dark brown
hair. I can see the warring impulses churning in his blue eyes. “Now I
’
ve scared you. How is this all happening...?”

I bite my tongue this time, and watch as he goes to get yet
another drink. My mind leaps to emergency measures. I know I need to stop him,
calm him down, but I have no idea how to reach him. He
’
s
too far gone.

“Whatever you need from me,” I finally manage to say,
keeping my distance, “I just want you to know I
’
m here.”

He pauses, open bottle suspended over a fresh glass. With
slow, deliberate certainty, he locks his eyes on me.

“Well, maybe you fucking shouldn’t be,” he says.

“Wh-what?” I stammer, the wind knocked clean out of my lungs
by his words.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats himself, letting amber
liquid slosh into his glass, “Haven
’
t you heard? I make
the people I love destroy themselves. I
’
m the reason Avery
is dead. I could never have protected her, and she fucking ruined herself
because of it.”

“Jack, no,” I breathe, feeling a hard knot rising in my
throat. “It
’
s not your fault, what happened to her. You
know there were things in her past that—”

“That
’
s bullshit,” he murmurs. I watch
as he
’
s held underwater by wave after wave of crashing
despair. “She could have come through it. But I fucked everything up. I brought
her onto this movie, into all this attention. I was too wrapped up in my own
shit to see that she was drowning. I just couldn’t be bothered...”

“Stop it,” I tell him, louder than I mean to. “I
’
m not going to stand here and watch you wreck yourself over
something you could never control!”

“No, you
’
re not,” he growls, grabbing
his glass and blowing past me into the suite, “You
’
re
leaving. Now. Get out of here, Callie.”

“I can
’
t leave you like this!” I gasp.

“You can, and you will,” he says, not even bothering to look
at me. “
You aren
’
t safe with me.
Haven
’
t you realized it yet? I
’
ll wreck
you, Cal. Just wait and see.”

“You
’
re the only person I
’
ve
ever
felt safe with,” I cry, breaking free of my fear and rushing across
the room to him, “
You can
’
t just
shake me off like—”

He kicks over the wooden coffee table, knocking one of the legs
clear off. I draw myself up as he kicks over a table lamp, sending it crashing
to the floor.

“Go!” he bellows, coming out swinging against anything in
his path, “Just get out of here, Callie.
Go!
”

“This isn
’
t you talking,” I whisper,
backing away slowly, “This is your fucking father, Jack. This is everything we
shook off. You
’
re just not trusting yourself to be
different. But you are. I know you are...”

I may as well be shouting into a gaping abyss for all the
good my words are doing. Jack is far away from me now, rampaging around the
room in a fit of destructive rage. Blinking away my angry, baffled tears, I
turn on my heel and run out of the room at last. I fumble for my key card and
let myself into my own suite, slamming the door firmly behind me.

Finally alone, I let the floodgates open. Deep, ragged sobs
rip out of me as I sink down to the floor, my back pressed against the heavy
front door. I press my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sounds of
crashing and pounding coming from next door. My own mournful wails are drowning
out the rest of the world as I know it.

I have no idea how much time passes before the noise from
Jack
’
s suite dies away. My own sobs quiet at long last,
leaving a pulsing numbness in their wake. I pull myself to standing on shaking
legs and amble into my bedroom. Collapsing among the sheets, I hug my knees to
my chest and roll onto my side. After just one night of sleeping beside Jack,
the empty space he
’
s left behind feels too painful to
bear.

The digital bedside clock blares in the darkness, announcing
that it
’
s three in the morning. Just about the time Jack
and I finally fell asleep last night after our epic, long-awaited lovemaking
marathon. How is that possible? Could it really have been just last night that
we were wrapped up in each other
’
s arms, at peace with the
world, sure and confident in our direction? How could everything have gone so
wrong in just a day—and how, after all these years of sorrow and loneliness, do
Jack and I only deserve a single day in the sun?