Dreaming Of Your Love (Hollywood Legends #3) (30 page)

(HOLLYWOOD LEGENDS BOOK ONE)

THE ROOM WAS dark. Too dark for Garrett’s liking. A little
stuffy, a slight antiseptic smell with an overlay of sex. That’s what you got
from a cheap motel and furtive lovemaking. Odors and memories you’d just as
soon forget.

The sounds from behind the closed bathroom door indicated
his partner was trying to remove all traces of their recent activities. It
shouldn’t hurt. This wasn’t the first time, and damn his weak resolve, it
wouldn’t be the last.

If he smoked, he would have something to do with his hands.
Watching his father struggle with lung cancer put the fear of God in him and
his brothers at an early age. All four of them had their vices; smoking wasn’t
one of them.

Get up. Get dressed. For once, be the first to leave
.
Even if he could find the balls to walk out on her, he couldn’t leave her alone
at this time of night. In this part of town.

God, it was like a furnace in here. Despite having the AC
wall unit on high, Garrett knew it must be hotter in here than outside. The
sheet riding low on his hips was too much. Damn modesty. The room was too dark
to see anything; if she didn’t like seeing his naked body, she could turn away.
Garrett whipped off the coarse cotton material at the same moment the bathroom
door opened.

“You don’t have to go,” Garrett said to the shadowed figure.

“Yes, I do.”

She always made sure the light was off. Her silhouette
showed a tall woman, thin. Too thin. Even by L.A. standards. She was gaining
weight — slowly. Garrett could attest to that. He knew it was a struggle. One
she fought every day.

Garrett felt the anger drain from his body — his heart melt.
Her demands were not capricious whims. They weren’t her attempt to gain the
upper hand. Her goal was not to manipulate. She had her reasons. They were
real. Legitimate.

“It’s still early.”

Garrett kept his voice low and even. Shouting didn’t help.
She never fought back. Retreat. That was her coping mechanism. The last time he
blew up it was two weeks before she would take his calls.

“I…” she cleared her voice. “His flight gets in at midnight.”

“Don’t be there.”

“You know how he gets.”

Garrett knew all right. She was devoted to a man who treated
her like crap, forgot her existence ninety percent of the time, yet expected
her to be there when he decided to come home. His fists clenched the mattress.
It was the only thing preventing him from grabbing her, begging her to stay.
For
once, pick me
.

“I don’t know when I can see you again.”

I don’t know if I ever want to see you again
. Garrett
thought the words. He would never verbalize them. She was his drug of choice.
Weeks passed. The need for her grew. Outwardly, his life looked smooth as
glass. Inside, the itch grew.

Garrett became an expert at compartmentalizing. His work
never suffered. His family never suspected. No one had the slightest clue about
what was raging inside of him.
She
knew. Because she shared his
unbreakable habit. Enablers. That’s what they were. It was sick. Sometimes,
like tonight, he hated himself. He wished he could hate her. Then, maybe, he
could walk away.

“I’ll be out of town for the next month.”

Garrett wished he could see her face. Was she sorry he’d be
gone? Relieved? Would she miss him half as much as he was going to miss her?

“Take care.”

Garrett waited a second, letting the motel room door close
behind her. Jumping up, rushing to the window, he pulled back the thin, dingy
curtain. He never walked her to the taxi. Even the minutest chance of them
being seen was too much.

The ritual of watching until she was safely inside the
vehicle, seat belt on, doors locked, was something he never ignored. Nothing
bad would happen to her when he was around. It was when he wasn’t there that
trouble found her. One more frustration. It wasn’t his place to protect her.
Knowing that drove him crazy.

Garrett grabbed his jeans from a nearby chair, pulling them
on. Unlike her, he wouldn’t clean up before he left. He would carry the smell
of her with him — let it fill the interior of his car. Tomorrow he would
pretend it was still there.

Damn it. Enough. He deserved more than this. They both did.
One month. When he got back, one way or another, things were going to change.

DREAMING WITH A BROKEN HEART