Malibu Betrayals (26 page)

Bel’s brows rose, her eyes wide. She smiled. “I wasn’t talking about Sam. But it’s nice to know you haven’t given up. Not completely.”

Gage narrowed his eyes, confused. “I’m losing my patience.”

“Mom, you idiot. You need to forgive Mom.” Bel squeezed his hand. “She’s broken. I heard about the other night. You never should have approached her. She’s lied to herself so much and for so long, she believes, to the bone, that we held her back.”

He shifted in his seat. His mother’s words were an incessant poison.

“Pity her, feel sorry for her, and then forgive her.” Bel tilted her head to the side. “Don’t you see? She isn’t happy. She threw away the best things that ever happened to her.”

Gage turned his hand over and held his sister’s. “When did you get so smart?”

“Let her go and hold on to me, to Dad, to Sam.”

He put up a hand asking her to stop. She smiled but said no more.

They sat in mutual silence, finishing off their treats. Bel glanced at her watch and pushed back her chair. Gage smiled. “I love you, Bel.”

She punched him in the shoulder, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, too.” When she reached the door, she turned back. “Gage, forgive Mom and then let her go. Forgive Sam and then hold on tight.” She waved, stepped through the door, and disappeared down the sidewalk.

Doubts swirled in his head. He’d pushed Sam away because he was so terrified she’d leave. In the end, she was still gone. Did the pain really hurt any less because it had been his decision? It would take a lot of work, but he’d rather risk it. If she left, she left, but there was also the chance that she’d stay.

He flexed his fingers. Besides, hard work had never bothered him before, so why the hell should he let it now?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gage walked through the outdoor arena where the press conference would take place. Chairs, tables, and microphones in position with the typical back drop. Thank God he arrived before the press and spectators. The whole thing reminded him of the staged local hangings back in the day.

The sun still hung low in the east sky but already radiated its midday heat. He pulled in a deep breath, but the dry stifling air irritated his lungs and made him cough. He tipped his water bottle back for a long swallow to ease his parched throat. Tomorrow couldn’t come too soon.

Weary, his eyes heavy, he ran a hand over his face and gave his cheeks a couple of slaps. Another cup of coffee called to him, but he’d already downed three, leaving him with a jittery, all-consuming exhaustion.

Sam’s visit the other day haunted him day and night. He dreamed of her. Woke frustrated and alone. He’d wanted nothing more than to drag her inside and lose himself in her softness. But he had to stop fooling himself.

He walked up the steps to the stage and looked out over the groomed lawns. The tops of palms trees waved off in the distance. The Pacific rushed ashore, calling to him, from the other side of the man-made wall of homes and buildings. Maybe some time out on the water would center his energies. Just him, his board, and liquid nature.

A few yards off to his left, a car pulled into the designated parking area. His agent, Adam Nicks, emerged from his car accompanied by Martin. The two men met Gage behind the backdrop of the stage.

Martin sent him a salute. “Hanging in there, boy?”

“About as well as anyone can be when publicly accused of the attempted murder of their girlfriend’s ex-husband, and then being abandoned on the spot.” His lips twisted in wry humor.

“Not as bad as all that. The police aren’t trying to re-open the case.” Adam clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank God, or I’d have to murder
you
.”

Gage shot him a narrow-eyed look, then lifted a brow back at Martin. “No, but people do think I’d been shagging his wife under his nose. Which, regardless of the man’s reputation, creates sympathetic support for the asshole.”

From behind the privacy screen, Gage heard the rumbling of cars and the chatter of conversations as people arrived and took their places. “I can’t wait to put this behind me.”

Martin nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Just a formality.”

Adam spoke up. “Look at this as an opportunity to say hello to your public, your fans. Take this on as a PR opportunity and from a place of communication, not guilt. Be forthright and positive. Wish everyone a good morning, and thank them for sharing the beautiful sunrise and all that.”

Gage nodded. “Got it.” He appreciated the support. His friends, family, and fans. He never took any of it for granted. Well, maybe he used to back when he thought he hung the moon and the stars. Maturity helped him drop back to earth and opened his eyes. He understood why celebrities fell victim to over inflated egos. The phenomenon had been hard to avoid when every person in his life jumped to do his bidding, bent over backward to please him, and fulfilled his every whim. The more movies he’d made, the more money he’d pulled in, the more ridiculous his demands. Everyone had answered.

It wasn’t until the right combination came along before he pulled his head out of his ass. Age and a video of him ranting about some stupid thing—he didn’t want to remember what exactly. Watching the evidence filled him with shame because he hadn’t recognized himself. The idea of his dad or Bel seeing it made his stomach turn. His behavior had been way too much like Ms. Lombardi when the person he’d wanted to emulate was Dean Cutler.

But that kind of behavior was a distant memory. He’d started to take the steps to repair his reputation shortly before he’d met Sam.

Sam. Gage exhaled.
Fuck
.

The two men stepped out from the screen to check in with the tech people. Security milled about, assuring order. Gage peered through the space between screens and finished his water while watching the masses collect. Spectators and reporters filled the space.

He caught a glimpse of his mother.
Why is she here?
A sharp pain stabbed him between his brows. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her over-exposed bosom, then peered into a hand-held mirror and applied more lipstick. Tossing her makeup into a clutch, she looked around at all the people and then smoothed her hair again. Again with her top and then pulled out her lipstick. Her restless movements cried desperation and insecurity.

Gage narrowed his eyes and studied his mother further. He saw her. Really saw her. For the first time in his thirty-eight years. She looked old and tired. So self-conscious that every move was an attempt to make sure she looked her best. There was no mistaking the fact that no matter how many adjustments she made, she never settled into her skin. Misery and hate shone in her face. For herself? For everyone else? Probably both.

The sick rolling in his gut that usually showed up when he saw his mom never arrived. Gage straightened on a revelation. In a way, he had his mother to thank for the life he enjoyed, the closeness he shared with Bel and his dad. His pursuit of his dream, regardless of his initial motivation. All he’d learned
not
to do.

A lightness released the tight grip in his shoulders.

He was okay.

He’d survived just fine. Gage shook his head. Why had it taken him so long to see it?

He’d never had a mother to lose.

Martin stuck his head around the corner of the screen. “Five minutes.” His friend studied him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I am.” Gage smiled.

“I hate to bring her up, but is Sam coming?”

“Doubt it.”

Martin sent him a nod. “I’ll be two rows back if you need a focal point.”

Gage acknowledged the comment with a dip of his chin. “I’ll be right out.”

Martin took off toward the front of the stage.

Gage took a few deep breaths. Surfing. Definitely. As soon as the press conference concluded.

The announcer opened the proceedings. Gage stepped around the screen and took the steps at a leisurely pace to his seat. The crowd quieted to a few whispers and rustling of papers and clinks of equipment.

A cup of water waited for him next to his microphone, and he took a sip. He scanned the crowd of onlookers. Some faces he recognized, others were new. People stared back, expectant, predatory, worried. The mix of emotions was somewhat amusing. This was Hollywood, not the U.N., and a career in acting was not brain surgery. The almighty dollar held the only motivation here. Who had the most to gain, the most to lose. Who did his actions—the accusations—impact, and could he successfully manage damage control? The parasitic nature of the masses was painfully on display.

Gage cleared his throat and pulled the corners of his mouth into a wide smile. A few in the crowd returned one in kind. “Good morning. I want to thank you all for joining me for such a spectacular sunrise.” He raised his hand to indicate the colorful sky off to the east. Seagulls called just at that moment, and a few in the crowd giggled.

“As you know, I’m here today to clarify a statement all of us already know to be not only false, but insulting. Samantha Dekker and I never dated while she and Ethan Evans were married. Ethan’s accident was just that. An accident. Unfortunate, yes. Premeditated, no.” He glanced at his agent who nodded discretely.

A hand shot up in the crowd. “How do you explain the pictures then?”

Gage nodded. “We met years ago while both on business.”

“We know all about the business trips of the Hollywood elite, Mr. Cutler.” The snarky comment came from somewhere in the left side of the crowd.

Gage scanned the faces, amused that the speaker refused to identify themselves. Cowards. Every one. “From experience, no doubt.”

A murmur rose amongst the onlookers.

Adam shook his head, so subtle Gage almost missed it. He pressed his lips into a tight line. That’s right. Cater to the people. They could mock, but not be mocked. Fuck that. “As I was saying, Samantha and I had met. We shared conversation and a drink, nothing more. Period.” He paused. “Samantha Dekker is a talented writer. Without her, Hollywood would be less. She doesn’t deserve your censure or judgments.”

Another hand rose. “You’ve had a reputation for fast cars and faster women. Why should we believe you now? Why should we care?”

The frequency of his misdeeds being pushed in his face was a constant reminder of the life he’d chosen. Made him question if it was all worth it. He clenched his hands under the table, his leg bouncing. He kept his face neutral, refusing to show even a glimpse of emotion or reaction. These people were like circling sharks. One hint of blood and it would be a feeding frenzy.

“That’s a good question. Yet you’re all here, so it is obvious you do care. Lessons of our youth. We all grow, mature, see the world in new ways. My past isn’t perfect, I’m well aware. But my past isn’t relevant to today.”

The hammering continued in the same vein. Accusations, indiscretions, no longer about Samantha Dekker or Ethan Evans, but rather the early Hollywood youth of Gage Cutler. Let them. As long as they weren’t focused on Sam. The last thing he’d ever wanted was for her to get harassed because she’d chosen him. He wouldn’t have to worry going forward, because she hadn’t chosen him. The Hollywood scene too large of a concern for her from the get-go. He understood why, but had hoped she’d ignore the hungry, desperate media as he had. However, he’d had a lot of experience. Experience she’d never needed—until him.

He volleyed more questions. Some he refused to answer on principle, others so ridiculous he only laughed.

“How did it feel to be publicly accused of murder by Ethan Evans’ sister and then left on the spot by the one woman who could clear you?”

A hush fell over the crowd. Martin and his agent stood.

Gage blinked and gripped his hands under the table.

…

Enough was enough. Sam’s heart twisted in reaction to the heartless questions and barrage of judgment thrown Gage’s way.
Aren’t you as guilty?
Regret rushed over her.

She stood in the back of the crowd. A crowd so intent on hanging Gage—at least until his next movie—they never noticed her. But why would they? Her face was only recognizable from a few tabloid magazines. The focus was on Gage. The actor. No one really cared about the writer in the first place, unless she provided them access to Gage. Well, she had.
Good job, Sam
.

It hit her then. She’d never been in any real danger from Hollywood. There might be a story or two—some that might even start with her—but the focus would always be on Gage. He would be the one to face the pointing fingers and accusing stares. The judgments and the ridicule. He was the main dish. Sam was nothing more than an accompanying side. She just wished she’d realized it sooner, but now she knew what to do about it.

She studied Gage. She didn’t know if he could ever forgive her, but she had to try. She wanted Gage, she wanted a life and family with him, Hollywood be damned, and now was the ultimate chance to show just that.

She dreamed of a certain kind of life. No one but herself could make that happen. It started here. With Gage.

Pulling in a breath, she straightened and lifted her chin. Making as much noise as possible, she shoved her way through the crowd toward the stage. She didn’t want to tiptoe in.

Let them all look. In fact,
make
them all look.

Gage’s eyes swept the crowd. He couldn’t see her yet. Determination propelled her forward. He would.

Finally, Sam broke through the throng of people. She veered right and then up the stairs to the stage.

Surprise shone on his face, and he pushed his chair back and stood up.

Sam’s heart pounded in her chest. Love for this man gave her strength. He looked beautiful. A word he’d most likely abhor, but it was true.

His eyes, an endless blue, studied her with a questioning look.

She threw him a tentative smile as she approached. Two security personnel rushed forward.

Gage stopped them with an upraised hand.

When she reached where he stood beside the table and the microphone, she stopped. The crowd settled, waiting—expectant.

He leaned over and covered the microphone with his palm. “What are you doing here?” His whispered words for her ears only.

“We’re in this together.” She pulled back her shoulders.

“Sam?” He gave a slight shake of his head.

She strengthened her smile and turned toward the crowd. Leaning forward, she removed his hand and then lifted the microphone. Blank faces stared back at her. People shifted from one foot to the other in the silence. The ocean breeze rustled the palm leaves overhead, loud now that each person held their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Good morning.” Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and tilted her face to the sun for a beat. The rays warmed her, and Gage stood by her side. Stronger, she continued, “My name is Samantha Dekker. I came to relieve Mr. Cutler from this unnecessary, unreasonable barrage of questions.”

Whispers rose as the onlookers glanced around, pointing fingers with a look, as if not a single one had a part in the morning’s progress.

“Mr. Cutler and I met years ago, that is true. But he never once acted in any way but honorably. Mr. Cutler was not responsible for Ethan Evans’ accident or his death.” She straightened and looked at Gage, stepping over just enough for him to reach the microphone, and he stepped next to her, shoulder to shoulder.

His face remained blank, almost shell-shocked. His blue eyes met hers, but told her nothing. Would he ever forgive her? Was it even fair to ask?

She broke his gaze and turned back to the crowd. “Ethan Evans was responsible for his own decisions, just as I’m responsible for mine.” She turned her head and caught his gaze once again. “I love Gage Cutler. I would be proud to stand beside him, because we are better together. And I am deeply sorry for leaving him to face all of the ugly accusations alone.”