This Sky (22 page)

    Landon can’t quite look at me. His lips are pulled into a tight and straight line. “I think,” he says slowly, “that he wants you back. And I’m guessing he’s going to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

    “Well, it’s never going to work,” I choke out.

    “You sure about that? The two of you have a have history together.”

    “Trust me,” I heave as I wipe my drippy nose with the back of my hand. “It’s been a bit of a weird day but one thing I’m certain of is that I am not, under any circumstances, getting back together with the guy who was screwing someone
else while I was sitting in a dining room by myself waiting on a chocolate mousse.” I take a hiccupping breath and continue, “In fact, right now I’m formulating a plan to run away to Mexico.”

    Landon’s forehead creases. “Why Mexico?”

    “Because it’s close enough to make real sense. And I don’t think
Howl
has taken off on the other side of the Rio Grande so they’ll have no idea who the hell Ren is. I’ll get a job serving tacos and tequila at a cantina where they’ll pay me in friendly conversation and goat meat.”

    “Gemma—
” He bends his head.

    “Honestly, Landon, you must think…” I sniffle, my thoughts still scrambled. “Hell, I don’t even know what you think. If it helps, I swear that I’m not actually crazy. I’m just experiencing an acute bout of crazy.”

    “You’re not crazy.”

    I blink and look at him sideways with suspicion. 

   “You’re not,” he insists, his dark brown eyes softening.

    “It sort of feels that way,” I whisper.

     He lifts his hand and brushes his knuckles along my jaw to wipe the tears that have tracked down my face. “I think sometimes going sane just feels like going crazy.”

    I laugh again, but this time it feels more like resignation and less like hysteria.

    “Gemma, aside from hauling ass to Mexico, do you have any plans for this afternoon?” he asks me.

    “Plans?” I press my lips together and blink.

    “Yes, plans.” He jabs my side with his elbow. “Do you have any?”

    I purse my mouth and pretend to think it over for a minute.

    “That busy, huh?”

    “Eh, after being chased by the paparazzi and having a nervous breakdown, I think I’m free.”

    His smile widens. “Good, because I have an idea.”

    “What is it? A psychiatric evaluation?”

    “No.”

    “It’s not a date, is it?” My joke is weak and I know it.

    Landon doesn’t look at me. He puts the car into first gear, makes a right turn out of the parking lot and pushes down on the accelerator. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

Landon

“It’s a waffle place.”

    I turn to face Gemma and cock one eyebrow. “You don’t like waffles?”

     She gives me a withering look. “What am I—a communist? Of course I like waffles. I love waffles.”

     I laug
h. “Then what’s the problem?”

     “There’s no problem over here.” She lifts her shoulders and pushes her hair back. “I was just surprised because it’s not breakfast time.”

     “Who cares? Are you the breakfast police?” I raise my hand in the air to get the attention of the hostess. Leaning in close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her body, I tell her, “The amazing thing about waffles is that you can eat them whenever you want. Dessert, lunch, snack time, or, if you’re feeling wild, even dinner.”

    “Fair point,” she concedes.

    “Plus, waffles in the afternoon seemed less date-ish than say, ice cream, and I know how you are with your strings.”

    She drops her eyes and smiles slowly. “Touché.”

    “Okay then?”

    “Okay.”

    When we’re sitting in a booth and we’ve placed two orders of waffles loaded all the way with berries and whipped cream, I clear my throat and ask her the obvious question, “Do you want to talk about him?”

    Her answer is immediate. “No.”

   
Good,
I think, my head buzzing with relief. I’m not sure I could get through a whole conversation about Ren fucking Parkhurst. I cannot believe that guy, recording a video like that and posting it online. As if Gemma needs to feel more harassed. “Do you want to talk about any of it? What about the photographer and what he said?”

    “Not really.”
She seems to be at a loss and I can’t blame her. “I can’t even think.”

    “Okay,
” I say, shrugging. “Then don’t try.”

    Her eyes crinkle.
A little tersely, she asks, “Don’t try to
what
?”

   “Don’t
try to think about it,” I tell her, my voice gaining strength.

   “Easier said than done.” Her chin falls to her chest. “I don’t know why I thought it would be so easy to get away, but I did. I thought that if I left L.A. and started fresh, that part of my life could be over and done with. But now Ren is making everything an issue again and there are going to be stories. Next come the questions and the speculations. Soon, the celebrity ana
lysts will start weighing in.” She closes her eyes and gives a groan of defeat.

   
“So what?”

   
“So what?”

    “Gemma—” I begin then stop short, glancing down to where my index finger is tracing a circle on the table. “One thing I learned when I surfed in competitions is that you can’t stop the haters from hating you.”

    She nibbles on her bottom lip and looks away. “Logically, I know that. Still, it makes me sick to my stomach to know people are talking about me. It’s like I’m coming apart at the seams, and there’s not a single thing I can do to stop it.”

    “I understand
that. I do,” I emphasize. “But don’t go online. Don’t listen to it. Don’t get sucked into all that bullshit. Because that’s exactly what it is—bullshit
.”

   
She laughs shakily. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

    “Gemma, You can’t stop the tide; but if you don’t stand in the water, it can’t pull you under.”

    “Is that like, if a tree falls in the forest when no one is around to hear it then did it actually fall?”

    I smile at her. “If a fool is gossiping about you and you don’t know about it…”

    “Maybe you’re right.” She bites her lip again and looks down at her hands which are folded over each other on the table between us. “Landon, you wouldn’t understand this but it’s a mortifying and surreal experience to have a bunch of strangers talking about you.”

    But I do understand. More than she knows.

    Just then our waitress stops by the table to refill our coffee cups. She’s got dark hair that’s going grey at the roots. The nametag she’s wearing says her name is Debra. “You’re food’s going to be out shortly,” she tells us.

    “No problem,” I say.

    Before she turns to leave, Debra places her fingers on the edge of the table and leans in like she’s going to tell me a secret. “I’ve got ask you a question. One of the guys on the grill is a big surfer. He wants to know if you’re Landon Young and I told him I’d find out.”

    Alarmed, m
y throat starts to close up. I feel myself go completely still. Across from me, Gemma’s face crumples in confusion.
Fuck!

    “So,
are you?” Debra asks, waiting with a small smile curving her mouth.

    My stomach clenches as
all the blood in my body races to my head. I force myself to nod at least.

    Debra’s smile gets gargantuan. “Ah, he’ll be thrilled! He told me he was a big fan of yours.” Then she taps the table
twice with her knuckles and saunters off.

    As soon as we’re al
one, Gemma leans in and pierces me with a stiff look. “What was that all about?”

    I should have told her the truth weeks ago but I didn’t. I’ve been hedging my bets and dancing around this. And now, at the worst possible mome
nt, I’ve been dragged out of my hiding place.

    “Landon?”

    I look at her. Obviously, I’ve thought of this moment a hundred times. I’ve thought about what she might do or say. But when I was piecing together the script, I didn’t imagine it going like this.

     I swallow and say, “Gemma, I want to show you something but I don’t want you to freak out on me.”

    Her eyes are still narrowed but a small laugh escapes from her lips. “You’re not going to tell me that you secretly love Nickelback, are you?”

     “Maybe?”

    Her brows go up. “For real?”

    “N
ot exactly.” I chuckle nervously and pull my phone from my pocket. Damn, I’m anxious about this. My coordination feels off. When I find what I’m looking for, I pass the phone across the table.

    Gemma glances down then back at me. She’s not smiling anymore. Her eyes are uncertain. “What is this?”

   
Here we go
. “It’s a Google search.”

    “Oh my God,” she says slowly
, finally getting it. She looks between the phone screen and my face like she’s making sure that she’s not seeing things. After a minute, she releases a low whistle. “There are a lot of links here, Landon.”

   
“I know,” I croak.

     Her mouth bunches up. S
he won’t meet my eyes. “So—what does this mean? You’re like, what?”

   
I take an unsteady breath and I tell her the truth, carefully watching her face get increasingly pale. I tell her that I used to be a professional surfer. I tell her that I have fan pages and press and all of the same things she hates about her ex. I finish with, “Gemma, I know this is bad timing. I swear I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

     “Oh, thanks for that,”
she says weakly. When she blinks, tears of betrayal glisten in her eyes, threatening to spill over her cheeks. Seeing them feels like taking a knife blade right in my fucking heart.

     I lower my head. “I know how it seems.”

    “Do you?” she asks. “Because, to me, it seems like a lie.”

    A fresh burst of panic flares inside of me. “It wasn’t a lie,” I whisper.

    Gemma makes a small sound. “It feels like one.”

    She’s right and I know it. I was too much of a chickenshit to be honest with her from the start and now she’s going to walk away.

    My brain starts gurgling. I wade through the excuses and lame apologies desperately searching for something real to grab on to. “I… I told you I surfed competitively.”

    She’s taken aback
by my explanation. Her eyes go wide and she almost laughs. “And that’s your justification?”

    “It’s not a justification. It’s the truth.” I drop my head. Fuck, I’m not getting any of this right.

    “The
truth
? Sure, you told me you surfed competitively, but talk about burying the lead!” She holds the phone up to show me a photo of myself smiling and holding a huge trophy over my head. It’s from the Rip Curl Pro at Bells Beach three years ago. “You said you were fourteen. I was imagining a bunch of scrawny adolescent boys, a megaphone on the beach, and awards made out of bottle caps. Not
this
.”

    By ‘this’ she means the five hundred thousand Google hits that blew up my phone a few minutes ago.

    “I’m sorry,” I pant, a toxic feeling swelling inside of me.

    
And I am sorry. I’m sorry Gemma found out like this. I’m sorry that I’m not who the world wants me to be. I’m sorry I’m a failure. I’m sorry that her ex-boyfriend made that video. I’m sorry that Abby is dealing drugs again. I’m sorry about this whole messed-up situation.

    I say it again. “I’m sorry.”

    Gemma is looking straight at me. Her jaw is tense.

    My hands go up in surrender. “I know I should have told you.”

    “Yeah, you should have.” Two little red spots appear on her cheeks. “And Claudia and Smith… how could they have kept this from me?
God,
how
did
no one
tell me? I’ve been working with you for weeks and no one has said a thing.”

    “That’s because I’ve asked people to leave this part of my life alone. And for the most part, they respect the request.”

    “But why?” she asks, flinging the question across the table like an accusation.

    “Because…” I struggle to find the right words. “I didn’t want you to know
Landon Young.
”

    The color in her cheeks
deepens. She shakes her head, not understanding. “You mean
you
?”

    “No,” I say, rubbi
ng my fingers through my hair. “I didn’t want you to know
that
guy.” With my right hand, I gesture toward the phone. “Because I knew you’d end up disappointed.”

Gemma

When people describe a car accident, they always tell you they had no idea what was happening until it was too late.

    I know it’s probably unfair to compare this day to a car accident, but that’s the closest thing I can think of.

    Grinding metal. Squealing tires. The violent crunch of glass shattering.

    The photographer. Ren’s video. Now, Landon is sitting here trying to explain why he lied to me.

    
He lied to me.

    Everything is moving through me at once. I’m spinning and spinnin
g and spinning. Streaks of hurt and disgust are shooting up my spine. My heart is thrashing in my body like a trapped and dying animal. Electric blood swarms hot and frantic in my veins.

    “I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” Landon says. And there’s something in his voice—something strained and raw—that cleaves through my skin and pierces the fog of anger engulfing my head. With that one sentence, I come to a jarring and sudden stop.

    I’m in a waffle place. That’s where I am.

    I can hear the sizzle of an open griddle over the trickle of conversation and the sound of my heart beating. In front of me is a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, the way I like it. On the wall above the register, the tail of a cat-shaped clock is swinging back and forth, tracking the time.

    And across from me, Landon is waiting. His hands are raised. His eyes are crinkled. He looks like a prisoner about to hear his sentence.

    “God, why would I be disappointed?” I scrape out, my throat aching with the effort.

    Shaking, Landon reaches over the table and picks up his phone. His eyebrows collapse inward as he searches for something. After a terrible moment, he hands the phone back to me.

    
I read the article slowly and as I digest the words, I start to understand. At least I think I do.

   
Drugs. Assault. Rehab.

   
More jagged puzzle pieces fall into place.
Damaged goods.
I glance up and stare at him, and it’s like I’m seeing his face for the very first time.

    “You were this beautiful, brilliant girl and for once it felt like I had something worth holding.” He lowers his head and looks at his hands before contin
uing. “I know it was wrong. I see that now. But I didn’t want you to know about my past. I figured that if you knew the truth, you’d never give me a chance.”