Endlessly Beautiful (Beautiful #1.3) (9 page)

I stopped in the middle of the hall, walked a few steps backward until my ass touched the wall, and then slid down to the floor. I perched my elbows on my knees and rested my forehead on my arms. Would it ever end? Would Travis ever be safe?

Two pairs of shoes began walking toward me, stopping just inches from the toes of my Chuck Taylor’s.

“Abby?” a familiar voice finally said. “Are you all right?”

I looked up, into Ricky’s eyes. His cheek was still a light shade of green from Travis’s left hook a few weeks before. “That depends.”

Joel and Ricky traded glances. “On what?” Joel asked, nervous.

“Where are you guys headed?” I asked.

“To … to uh,” Ricky stuttered. “Why?”

I narrowed my eyes, but before I could speak, Joel stiffened. “Are you following us? Why are you following us?”

Ricky snorted, smug. “We caught you. You thought you could sit here in the middle of the hall, and we’d pass by and wouldn’t notice? You know we’re journalists, right? We notice everything.”

I didn’t give away my confusion, I just watched them become more paranoid with every new speculation.

“Travis knows we work from the Star, doesn’t he?” Ricky asked. “He heard we’ve been asking questions?” He swallowed. “What’s he going to do?”

I stood up, allowing the tiniest hint of a smile on my face. “You’ll see,” I said. I turning slowly and walked away. I pushed through the glass doors and jogged down the steps, inwardly panicking. They were doing a story on Travis. They were heading out to ask more people more questions. If they kept digging, someone might crack.

I touched my jacket pocket, feeling for the car keys. My mind was racing, wondering how to head this off; how to stop Ricky and Joel without implicating Travis— without anything short of blackmail, threats, or bribes.

A deep voice said, “Whoa!” Just as I ran head-first into someone’s chest.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I—” My stomach instantly sank.

“Hey, Abs. I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Parker,” I said, accusation in my voice. I took a step to walk around him, but he gently took my arm in his hand.

“C’mon. Don’t be like that.” He released my arm and smiled brightly, as if the last three months hadn’t happened. “Can’t we just … talk?”

“No.”

“Abby. What do you want me to do? Beg? I’ll do it,” he said with his most charming smile. “I’ll do anything. I just want to make things right. What about lunch?” I made a face. “Or just coffee. Can we just discuss over coffee?”

“Coffee?” I asked. He nodded. I looked over my shoulder to the building I’d just left behind. I felt nauseous with just the thought. “Anything?” I asked, returning my gaze to Parker. I swallowed back the bile. I was about to sell my soul to the devil.

“Name it.”

I closed my eyes, already hating myself for what I was about to do.

******

Thank you for reading Episode 8 of Endlessly Beautiful! If you didn’t know, I had to skip last week to give my undivided attention to our baby spawn, who had surgery last Monday. He is doing so great! Barely skipped a beat.

It’s St. Patrick’s Day! Shout out to all my fellow Irish(wo)men out there! And, of course, happy birthday Thomas Maddox!

I’ve just started writing a new novel to be released (hopefully) this summer. I’ll write two more episodes of Endlessly Beautiful, and then take a small break to plug out the new novel. No worries! I will still be working on Endlessly Beautiful in the meantime! I’ll just have to dedicate most of my time to my upcoming work. Stay tuned for the release of my newest title and cover in the next few months!

If you haven’t signed up for my newsletter, now is the time! Newsletter subscribers see everything first! Sign up today to learn the title and see the cover for the novel I’m working on now. Hint: It’s a new Maddox family book, and it will take your breath away!

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There you can also find playlists for each of my books, FAQs about the Beautiful Disaster movie and upcoming works, and yes! I’ll be starting an Endlessly Beautiful playlist soon!

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<3,

Jamie

Twisted

:: Travis ::

I twisted the cold metal of my wedding ring around my finger as I stared into the Iron E gym from the parking lot. Spring was making its presence known, the rain clouds above pissing all over my car, the raindrops bouncing off the pavement in a hundred thousand tiny splashes. I turned off the ignition and grabbed the wheel, pressing my head against the headrest.

Perkins Plaza nearly surrounded me with boutiques, a golf equipment store, a small supermarket, a nail salon, a coffee shop, and in the center, Iron E gym. The thick, gray clouds made it easy to see the people walking around inside under the fluorescent lights. They were lifting, spotting, or running on one of the fifteen treadmills. Brandon was behind the front desk, flirting with the receptionist.

I clenched my teeth.

Eakins had plenty of flexible jobs for college students. The problem was that it was April, and most of the jobs that were still somehow available were only meant to support a weekend partying habit, not a married couple. I had scoured the classifieds. Three dozen people had held my application in their hands and had either told me to come back at the end of the year for the Christmas rush, or that they had already hired several college kids and didn’t need more. The jobs on campus paid nine dollars an hour or less—nothing that could pay rent and bills with the hours I would work around my classes.

Working for Brandon and letting local cougars paw at me while they pretended to work out was the last thing I wanted to do, but the bills had to get paid somehow. Abby was on her second week of tutoring, but that barely covered the groceries and gas money.

I took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and slammed the door behind me, feeling the pooling rain water slosh under my feet. I knocked on the glass door and waited. There was a code box outside, and each member had their own four digit pin. It had been a long time since I could get in with mine. A man whose neck was twice as big as his head set down his bar bell and, with the telltale stick-up-the-ass-and-arm-swing walk of a weightlifter, he opened the door and greeted me with a nod.

“Brandon,” the meat head called with a gruff voice.

Brandon was mid-nuzzle behind the receptionist’s ear when he looked up. A wide grin spread across his face.

“Maddox!” he exclaimed, holding out his arms. “The fuck, man? What took you so long?” He grabbed my right hand in a tight handshake, and then pulled me in, tapping his shoulder to mine, patting my back with his free hand. The douche bags always went for the bro hug. “Are you filling out an app or what?”

I nodded.

Brandon turned, reaching out toward his receptionist and snapping his fingers. “An application, Steph. Now.”

Steph turned her back to us and bent over, pulling open a filing cabinet and fingering every file.

Brandon back-handed my shoulder, chuckling and nodding toward Steph’s ass like a twelve-year-old. I didn’t smile, or frown; I just concentrated on appearing indifferent.

Steph found what she was looking for, and trotted over to Brandon with pen and paper in hand.

“Found it,” she said, waiting for praise from her boss.

“You’re great,” he said. “Isn’t she great?”

If fucking a married man with a pregnant wife is an admirable accomplishment. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Filing is hard.”

Steph dipped her chin a few times in dramatic nods, appreciative that I understood her plight.

“You wanna fill that out in my office?” Brandon asked.

“You got an office?” I said, only half joking.

Brandon puffed out his chest. “Right this way. Steph,” he said, snapping at her again. “Water.”

She nodded, rushing away to fetch us waters.

As predicted, his walls were covered in posters with ripped, half-naked fitness models. I was hesitant to sit down in the chair opposite his desk, sure he’d jerked off there every night. A corner of my mouth turned up, remembering Abby’s similar disgust over my old couch the first time she’d visited the apartment. I’d come a long, long way since that night.

Steph brought in two glasses, and then nodded when I thanked her. She kept her eye on Brandon as she turned around, as if he didn’t already know she was dying to be bent over his desk. Again.

“Married,” Brandon said, shaking his head, staring at Steph’s ass until she closed the door behind her.

I sat down and placed the application on his desk, clicking one end of the pen with my thumb and filling out the information as quickly as possible.

“What made you do that?” he asked. “She must be hot.”

“How long have you owned this place now?” I asked without looking up. I didn’t want to punch Brandon in the mouth for talking about my wife, so I chose to change the subject.

“Four years,” he said. “Three years with Joan.” His chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “She signed it over to me in the divorce.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. You inherited it.”

“Kids inherit things from their parents, Maddox. Joan opened this place with her ex-husband, but then I fucked her brains out and she gave me anything I wanted. This place was a shit hole—for old bags and fatties. I married that geriatric, made this place into what it is. Now it’s mine. I bring in triple what Joan ever did.”

I scribbled down the little legitimate prior work history I had and then signed my name, sliding the paper toward him. Brandon rambled on forever about the history of the gym, still having to deal with Joan, and how pissed she was that he’d gotten one of his girlfriend’s pregnant. Now Jaci was his wife, and Brandon made her—at seven months pregnant—deal with Joan so he didn’t have to.

He was an all-around piece of shit, and he was now my boss.

I gripped the arms of my chair and listened, trying to think of Abby, the wedding, our new life together, anything that reminded me that having to be in the same room with Brandon every day would be worth it. I glanced at my watch, feeling exhausted just by resisting the urge to snatch his tongue out of his punk mouth. Brandon had been describing how awesome he was for nearly two hours.

Steph knocked on the door and peeked in. “I’ve closed out. I’m going to head home.”

Brandon waved her off. “I’m going to take Travis out for a drink.”

“That sounds fun,” Steph said with a hopeful smile.

I stood. “I hate to cut you off, man, but I’ve gotta get home.”

“Oh right,” Brandon said, his voice thick with condescension. “Married life. When can you start? It won’t take you long to build a clientele.”

“Next week,” I said. “Monday.”

Brandon stood and held out his hand. I took it, feeling like I’d just sold my soul to Satan.

“I’ll start you off with the Betties,” he said.

“The who?”

“Betty Rogan and Betty Lindor. They smell like moth balls and have more wrinkles than a starved elephant, but they pay double so they can work out together and ogle the guys. They’ll love you. Start you off decent money-wise, too. They’ll ask you to lunch your first day. Go with them. They’ll pay your rent for May. Here,” he said, holding out a small booklet and another piece of paper. “This is our policy handbook and the contract. The handbook talks about your pay and commission. Don’t tell me about your tips. I don’t want to know how much you made or how you got them. A perk of working at Iron E.”

So that’s how he keeps his employees. He’s a fucking pimp.

“Thanks,” I said, rolling the papers and stuffing them in my back pocket. “See you Monday.”

I shouldered past Steph and walked across the empty gym, pushing out of the glass door. The sky was dark, and small lakes had formed in the parking lot, reflecting the tall lights that peppered the plaza. The Camry sat in the center of one of the larger pools.

“Fuck,” I said under my breath, pulling my keys out of my pocket. I fished out my phone from the other pocket, and looked at the display. I’d missed eleven calls. “Fuck!” I growled, dialing and holding the phone to my ear.

“Travis?!” Abby said, sounding panicked.

“I’m sorry, Pidge. Brandon talked forever and I couldn’t find a good place to tell him to shut the fuck up, and—”

“Trent’s been in an accident,” she blurted out.

“Another one?” I said, shocked. “Is he okay?”

“They were hit by a drunk driver. They’re in the hospital. Thomas is on a plane home.”

“So it must be bad,” I said.

“He’s in bad shape. Cami’s worse.”

“I’m coming home. I’m coming now.”

“Okay. Be careful. Don’t drive too fast in the rain.”

“I’ll be careful. See you in a sec. I love you.”

I pressed the red End button and ran to the Camry. My hands shook as I twisted the key in the ignition. “Goddammit, Trent,” I said, racing home.

****

Thank you for reading the tenth episode of Endlessly Beautiful! Sorry about the confusion of Cake last week. Hopefully you’ve gone to the Table of Contents to find it! (Hint: it is now episode 8)

Join us next week for the Season One finale! You won’t want to miss it!

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Many people have asked if Endlessly Beautiful will be published as a paperback. YES! It will once it’s completed.

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Have a great week!

Xoxo

Wrecked

::Travis::

The hospital’s emergency room doors swept open with a rush of air, and I squeezed Abby’s hand, pulling her through the threshold. Exhausted mothers holding sick babies were sitting alongside frail old men, and a group of skateboarders sitting around a friend who was holding his wrist against his chest. Moaning, whimpering, babies crying, cell phones ringing, and announcements over the PA system made me want to bail.