Malibu Betrayals (13 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Sam weaved her way back to her desk, feeling relaxed for the first time in the past few days. She and Gage had both been swamped with work, with his time spent on the phone handling strings of interviews and meetings with his agent while she’d been tentatively looking into a few future projects and continuing with rewrites on the film. She had a stack of manuscripts that needed a read through, too, but couldn’t seem to find the time. She didn’t know how couples did it when every day seemed like it was on fast forward.

A swim at her favorite place off the coast on Pepperdine Campus under the ever watchful eye of security helped put things into perspective, gain a little levity. Pulling in a breath, she tossed her bag onto the table and then stopped short. Her bag knocked over a stack of tabloid magazines.
What the hell?

Sam tilted her head to the side and then recoiled in shock. A cover showing photos of Ethan’s suicide in the foreground and the accident in the background with Gage standing by, unkempt and with wild eyes, lay on top. The headline
Cutler Accident Started Ethan Evans’ Suicidal Spiral
screamed at her. She placed a hand over her trembling lips, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. Her stomach twisted as she pushed the top magazine off of the pile with her pencil, only to reveal another of Ethan’s disfigured face.

Cover after cover revealed the horror show she and Ethan had lived. More headlines taunted her,
Ethan Evans: Suicide or Killer Wife?
and
Ethan Evans: Playboy at the Mansion
. Every one reminding her of the pain they went through and mocking her with the truth of Ethan’s actions that had been right in front of her eyes the whole time.

She stared at the picture of Gage and Ethan next to each other, and an overwhelming sense of dread weighed heavy in her stomach. Tension gripped her shoulder blades, and she craned her neck trying to find any clue around the area she worked. The hairs stood on the back of her neck as she stared at the stack of memories she wanted to forget.

Trying to muffle a cry, Sam grabbed the magazines and her bag. She rushed past security and straight to her car.

The security guard called out, “Ms. Dekker, let me drive you.”

“No.” She needed to be alone, no questions, no advice. Without further explanation she ducked into her car and drove the winding roads through vision blurred by tears, security following close behind. Her mind spiraled in dark memories as she made a pit stop at her condo and then made fast work of the traffic, finally pulling into the first set of security passes, leading to Gage’s home. That’s what she wanted right now, the knowledge that no one could get to her.

Once inside, she hauled two bags from her condo into the guest room and dumped them on the ground. Pulling herself together, she informed Anita that she could go for the day and tried to ignore the security guard who set up post in the kitchen. Once she heard the blessed door close and silence followed, she opened a cabernet and then drank it right from the bottle.

A few sips and a few steps brought her back to the bags she’d brought, and she tipped them over with her foot. Tabloids spilled out in a gross waterfall of lies and manipulation, forming a collage of tragedy. She sank to her knees, taking a swig, and picked up the first one. Headlines about how she’d never work in Hollywood again mocked her with misquotes, creating a climate within the screenwriting community she hadn’t been able to weather. How other screenwriters, her friends, would have ever believed what was printed in those stories stunned her, but they had, or at least they thought everyone else did. And that was worse. So they kept their distance, closed their doors. Her chest hurt as the memories tumbled over each other again and again.

Their actions gave credence to all of Ethan’s little digs.
You really don’t believe you matter to any of them, do you, Sam? Come on, you’re a screenwriter. Disposable. Remember that.
His words a not too subtle reminder of where she stood with him as well but delivered with a large dose of saccharine—which everyone knew tasted sweet but left you poisoned. He’d been right, though. People didn’t like drama and pulled away from those surrounded by it. But it wasn’t really her as much as wanting to protect their own agendas. Guilty by association was a strong allegation in Hollywood.

Sam tossed the magazine aside and picked up another. She flipped the tabloid over to the back and then looked at the front again, giving it a high salute with her wine before tipping the bottle back for another drink. After Ethan died, the harassment didn’t stop, but increased in the media’s insatiable thirst for dirt. They just knew she’d been doing something unsavory all along, but when they couldn’t find anything, they’d made it up. Snapping pictures from behind bushes and jumping out at her from behind cars. Anyone would look suspicious with their hands thrown up in front of their face.

Headlines like
Ethan Evans’ Black Widow
splashed the front page, making it look like she’d planned the whole sticky web and would make it her mission to do so again. She threw the magazine down and took another long swallow, trying to keep her tears from surfacing. She’d given Ethan too many already.

The thing was, he’d hidden who he truly was and had made sure he was loved, and she was nothing more than an afterthought. Afterthoughts had a strange way of becoming the main target once the bull’s eye had been hit.

Their marriage and his death had been a tragic situation turned lurid by society’s lust for blood and blame. Coping? Healing? She’d been barely breathing.

…

Gage walked into his kitchen and dropped his bag on the table, relieved to find security on post. When he’d seen Sam’s car, the first thing he thought was that his stubborn woman had snuck off alone.

He took the guard’s hand in a firm shake. “Thanks, man. I’ve got it from here.”

It had been a good day off from the set. He took Sam’s need for distance seriously—just not necessarily with the same outcome in mind—and took advantage of the extra time to help down at the university theater, a perfect fit for an afternoon off from the set. He’d been involving himself more and more with the theater students as a guest speaker time and again. His dad had approached him with the idea, and he’d warmed to it right away.

Acting had saved him, given him purpose, an amount of freedom reality couldn’t achieve. If he could help encourage and inspire a kid like he’d been, help them find direction, an outlet, then he’d jump through the security hoops to do it.

The university kids, full of passion and possibilities, reminded him why he pursued acting so long ago. He enjoyed every conversation, rehearsal, and theory discussion. The students weren’t yet jaded by the reality of Hollywood.

Gee Gee, the department head, and an old friend, had shared her plans for the next stage performance, and a few of the scheduled events in the next coming months. He’d love to attend, but only if he could sneak in without pulling attention from the event itself, which wasn’t likely, so she promised him a recorded viewing.

Gee Gee was an exotic creature, a combination of Louise Brooks and Cleopatra, who loved nothing more than the theater—except her husband, Ian. He and the couple had become fast friends, and he owed them a lot. Sam would love them.

He toed off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and dropped them inside. The cool tiled floor felt good on his feet as he walked to the refrigerator. He opened it and stared at the overflowing shelves inside.

He grabbed the milk and took a chug from the carton. He’d wanted to share more of his help with the theater kids with Sam. She’d love the interaction and with her writing she could add a lot to his visits, but that didn’t mesh with her “fling” approach to their relationship. For now. The last drop of milk hit his tongue, and he crushed the carton in his hand and then tossed it into the trash.

He needed to show Sam being with him didn’t have to be a repeat of her life with Ethan. The paparazzi laid off unless he gave them a reason not to, or the times he purposefully went out very publicly to boost his visibility, but some of it, much of it, could be controlled. If he could just show her.

Fuck, he hated feeling desperate. He was a goddamn man, a Hollywood movie star. Insecurities and yearnings were for the damn characters he played, not him. He shook his head.

He liked a challenge. He dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward onto his knees. Rubbing his face with his hands, he thought of what he’d need to do in order for her to give them a chance. The paparazzi and the lifestyle were two of his biggest obstacles, and he couldn’t blame her. Good decisions in Hollywood seemed as hard to come by as winning an Oscar, but at least he was changing his part of that every day.

A small cry grabbed his attention, and he made his way to the guest room. With a small knock, he pushed the door open to find Sam sitting cross legged on the ground surrounded by tabloids, used tissues, and an empty bottle of wine. Taking the sight of her in, he rubbed his chest. “What happened?”

The magazines were ghastly. What had he just been thinking about control? By the looks of this mess, Ethan had handed it all over. It didn’t look like the man had even tried. Maybe he thought staying on the front page was better than disappearing completely. And of course, he hadn’t given a damn about Sam.

Gage shoved the magazines aside and lowered to the floor, pulling her into his arms. She resisted at first, looking at him in surprise. Tears streaked her face, and her eyes held a world of horrors in their depths. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he tucked her in tight and just held her until she settled with a sigh.

On a hiccup, she wiped her nose with a tissue and pulled slightly away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. Why do you have all of these?”

She tucked her head into his chest. “Ethan had started the collection. They’d tortured him, but in a weird way he seemed to like even this kind of attention. After he died, I kept them to remind myself not to make the same mistakes again. I picked them up from my place today after I received a stack as a little gift at the set.”

“Oh, babe.” He didn’t try to say anything else. There were no words. She needed to finish purging whatever emotions she had before he could expect her to move past the ugliness of it all.

“I’m here for you. I hate you’ve had to go through any of this, and being so grossly reminded is cruel. We’ll find out who’s doing this. I promise.”

She nodded. “It’s a good reminder.”

He lifted her face with a light touch to her chin. “No. This isn’t anything you need to be reminded about. This could have been stopped, Sam. It didn’t need to happen.”

He didn’t need for her to say the words to know she was thinking about her reasons for not getting serious with celebrities, and he wanted to argue immediately and aggressively about how wrong she was. But now was not the time. She needed someone to be gentle with her, someone to simply care. Leaning back against the bed, he pulled her more snuggly between his thighs, with one leg up to support her back and the side of her face against his chest. He brushed his fingers through her hair.

Figuring out exactly what he needed to do to guarantee damage control from the tabloids moving forward would be key. He needed to show her the paparazzi wouldn’t poison their relationship like it did with her marriage. They’d limit their public appearances, tighten security, and he could work with his PR team to have statements on the ready.

Gage sighed. Ethan had done a number on her. He wished he could raise the man from the dead just to punch him in his pretty face. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Gage was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

She pulled in a shaky breath and smiled at him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.

Sliding one finger over his lip, she smiled when he stilled and rewarded him by continuing to caress his lips and his jaw with light strokes as she spoke. “I found the magazines, and they hit so hard I didn’t think much before ending up here. Going through them all again was kind of like flushing out all the old dirt. I’m okay, really I am. I just needed to do this, so I could really be finished. Which is a big change from a year ago. I used to throw each new magazine on top of the growing pile and close the storage door against them. Knowing they were there and what they said only festered, but now I’m done. Whoever left the stack for me actually did me a favor. It was one of those things I really needed to deal with but kept avoiding.”

She held his gaze. “Thank you for being here for me, for not trying to rush me or fix it. For letting me do this on my own time.”

He nodded, she’d never know what doing nothing had cost him, but he’d do it again.

“I don’t know what to say to you when you hold me, how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m just doing my job.”

She peered at him from the corner of her eyes in confusion. “I’m a job?”

“You’re my friend. And it’s my job to be there for you, to support you. Anyone would have done the same.”

A watery laugh escaped from between her lips. “No, they wouldn’t.”

“Then they aren’t really your friend.”

She rested back against him and closed her eyes.

He settled in for the long haul, giving her all the time she needed.

Eyeing his board on the back deck through the bedroom window, he longed for the surf. How long had it been since he’d been out on the waves? One of the main reasons he’d paid the exorbitant prices of his gated beach was so he could surf whenever he wanted—needed.

This was one of those times. If he was going to convince her, he needed a well-strategized plan and nothing could get his brain in the right frame of focus as a good round with the waves. There was something about battling with Mother Nature that opened his brain to all possibilities and rejected limitations—nothing like sweating it out with one woman to figure out exactly how to win over the one you really wanted.

He grinned. Every woman in the universe would banish him for analogies like that.