Falling Into You (41 page)

Someone managed to get a picture of me with blood on my face after the party, and someone (Marcus, probably) started the rumor that my father’s loss had affected me deeply and I had lost my head. So,
I guess I’ve become a tragic figure, too. Paparazzi are posted outside of the apartment building and the cemetery was crawling with them. I couldn’t help that despite the veritable pantheon of Hollywood talent, they seemed to take a lot of pictures of me.

“Rehearsals start in
a week
,” he whispers, standing close to me. “You going to be ready for that?”

The last few days have been a blur. Diana’s been on the phone with what seems like a thousand people, making plans and talking about caskets
and processions and receptions, while
I’ve been
hidden away in my room,
silentl
y dialing a number on my phone. I
t’s
gone
straight to voicemail each time
and I don’t even both with the messages anymore
.
It gives me a week to find her, to apologize, to try to see if I can make something good out of this whole mess. The entire story had come out to Diana the night before.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,”
she said, her hand on my arm.
“You screwed up. I don’t know if you can fix it. You’ve never been able to forgive him. What makes you think she’ll forgive you?”

Her words sent a dagger into my heart. But it wasn’t like it was the same thing. No, I had never been able to forgive him, because it was ten years of anger built up all inside, crushing me. I made a mistake. She had to forgive me, right?

If she didn’t, I was going to need a distraction, something to keep me from really going off the deep end.

I turn to him. “I’ll be ready.”

Marcus smiles
and put
s
his hand on my shoulder. “Good.
Get your shit together and I’ll see you in LA.” He starts to leave, and then turns back to me, pulling an envelope from his pocket and giving it to me.

“I got this yes
terday. It was addressed to you, and for some reason, my secretary pulled it out from all of the others
.”
He shrugs.

I look at it in my h
ands. There’s no return address
and
the envelope is torn open, so I pull out the card. T
he front cover is a jumble of dark colors. Someone had fing
er
painted a card for me. It’s
grotesque and beautiful all at the same time
and it allows me to hope
.

“Thanks, Marcus.” He gives me a little wave. “One week and I need Chris Jensen back. That’s all the time I can give you.”

I
nod and
hold the card close to me,
dash
ing
off to my room. I open it and there are three words in perfect, neat handwriting.
I’m so sorry.
Below
it are more word
s and they’re haphazardly placed
.
It’s okay to be angry. And it’s okay not to be.

I sit and
stare
at it for a long time. I’m hoping that it’s some sign of forgiveness and then I remember the look on her face that night when I was with
Sophia
. It’s
too much to hope for. The phone r
ings.
I know that area code.

I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

The voice on the other line is gruff and my heart falls back into my stomach.

“Jensen.
” It’s not a question.

“Yeah, this is Chris
Jensen
.”

“She’s at Greenview.”

It must be
Ben
, I realize. What would make him call me? Before I can ask the question, I hear a long sigh on the other end and I don’t say anything else.

“If you do anything to her, I will find you and I will beat you to within an inch of your life.”

I have to know why. If
Sophia
’s right and I’m right (and there’s no mistaking the look on his face when he
was with
her
on that roof
),
he’s in love with her.

“Why?”

He knows what I’m asking and there’s no pause. “Because she’ll always wonder. You’re her fairy tale right now and she’ll never be able to get
you
out of her head if it ends like this.”

He can’t be that selfless.

“You love her.”

“I’ve loved her since
she was
fifteen years old. I will love her until we’re a hundred.”

Confirmation.
If he’s never made a move, there has to be some reason for it.

He continues. “
Y
ou will break her heart, whether it’s next week or next year. I’m guessing closer to next week, but you might surprise me yet. You’re not good enough for her, and you will never be good enough for her. But for some goddamn reason, she still thinks that you’re it
, despite her seeing you fucking her best friend. The only thing that can prove her wrong is you
. But don’t get me wrong—you will
do that. You will prove her wrong. You will
fuck up along the way and I will be there to pick up the pieces.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him.

“I’m not,” he says with absolute certainty. He’s finished with me.

Click.

I couldn’t hurt her again, I think, remembering the look on her face and the way I had broken her. If he’s right, then she’ll give
me another chance. I’ll prove
it t
o her.
Greenview. Atlanta.
I grab my bag
, shove some clothes into it,
and throw it over my shoulder. Diana
glances
at me curiously as I weave through the throngs of people, and then she sees my bag and I think she underst
ands. She holds her hand up in
farewell and I nod back at her.

I will get her back. And I will never let her go.

Chapter 29

HALLIE

Ben stayed for five days. We spent our days playing endless rounds of gin rummy and video games where the zombies are killed by any number of creative weapons systems. We ordered in mountains of junk food and snacked on gummy candy. We spent long hours without talking. And there were long hours where we would laugh hysterically, remembering nights spent in the snow and in the backseats of friends’ cars.

He never asked again about Chris. I never asked again about Susan.

We did, however, talk about the night of my first real high school party and the rape. We even found a support group for me, for women who’d been raped or attacked or whatever they wanted to call it.

I went to one meeting and while it still sort of felt like I was outside of my own body, talking about something that happened a million years ago, it was good to share the story with other people. Ben was waiting when I came out that first time and I cried in his arms before telling him about my new mantra—You can only be a victim if you choose to be. I reminded myself of it every morning. And for the most part, I believed it.

He had offered to stay for a few more days, since my roommate was gone for another week.

“I’m going to be fine,” I had told him, meaning it. “
And t
here’s always Australia
if it gets really rough
.”

“If we wait too long, all the coconuts will be gone,” he had said, wrapping me up in a long hug. “I love you,” I said to him
.

T
he words were true, although not quite in the way that I had once though
.

I did love him
, but I wasn’t in love with him
.
My week with Chris had taught me that, right before he ripped my heart into a million pieces.
I had never wanted to be the kind of girl who needed someone else to make her happy, but it’s too late for that.
There should be
support groups for broken hearts.

It’s the night after
Ben
left
Atlanta.

I look down at the jars of finger
paint
that I still haven’t put away
.
Chris
would probably never get the card. I had sent it to Marcus, half-hoping it would get thrown in the pile of trash with all of the other fan mail.
W
hen I saw the picture of him holding
Diana
in the lobby of his apartment building, still bloodied from
Ben
’s punch
, I couldn’t help myself from reaching out to him.
His face was
devastated—
I
knew his father’s death would catch up with him sooner or later
.
I couldn’t resist
trying to give him some comfort
, even if it was a pitiful attempt.

The picture was the first sign that
Chris Jensen had been discovered
, even though I had known that it was inevitable
. The combination of his father’s death and the interview he had given to one of the television stations while doing some early press for the James Ross movies had turned him into an ov
ernight sensation.

I had seen the interview
the day before while
I was
watching one of the news channels. I had been carefully avoiding all of my usual gossip and entertainment
channels
, hoping that I wouldn’t have to see his beautiful face, but
even the so-called serious news stations
were running excerpts from that interview.

“People think the movies are nothing but gun fights and nonstop action, but James Ross has a
history, you know? Someone loved
him once. He probably loved someone once, too.
And all of that becomes his motivation, becomes the reason that he’s still chasing something, still trying to figure out what it is. And that’s all we’re trying to do on this earth—find someone and something that
helps
us
all
figure out
who we are.”

He looks
wistful, hope
ful, sad.
T
he interviewer
has to take a long moment to catch
her breath
because he’s
ca
ptivated her
.
I know the feeling. He’s so ridiculously beautiful that it takes your breath away.

“What about you? Still trying to find that reason?”

H
is smile is broad and white and gleaming. “Maybe,” he offers, shooting her a devilish look
.

They’re rushing out
A Fairy Tale
to garner better ticket sales and the posters ar
e everywhere. It’s opening in a month or two, but
apparently, advance sales are through the roof. The prognosticators in Hollywood are saying that
Chris Jensen is
the next mega-star, that he has the right combination of youth and charisma and looks to carry movies
for the next several decades. Whether he’s r
eady or n
ot, fame has come to find him
.

Sophia
had called earlier that day. Without even knowing why I was doing it,
I
had
picked up the phone.

“
Hallie
, I’m so sorry.”

There was a long pause
.

“He saw you with
Ben
and
assumed that you were together.
” she admits.
“He started drinking and then I seduced him. It was my fault, really.”

I ignore the second part of the statement, because it was his fault, too, and there’s no way she’s taking all the blame for this, although she certainly deserves a share.
“He thought that
Ben
and I
were together?” I repeated
.

It was a
ridiculous
statement. He couldn’t have actually believed that, not after everything we’d shared with each other. He couldn’t believe that I could be frolicking away with him behind someone else’s back.

“I may have let him get that impression.”

I
remembered
Todd and that ill-fated night,
and thought in my head,
I bet you did more than let him get that impression.
I
t didn’t matter. If he had even tried to speak with me, to clear everything up, we would have been fine. An alternate history plays out in my head—
Ben
and Chris shaking hands, me curling up into Chris’ arms, games of spades and hearts and laughter.