Wicked Heart (14 page)

Three more times it connects to voice mail, but on the fourth try, he answers.

“Liss? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The relief I feel at the sound of his voice is so intense, my knees go weak. “Liam. Hey. Hi. I’m fine. I just needed to talk to you. The real you. And . . . wow. I am.”

I hear him exhale. “I . . . God, Liss. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You, too. Your voice, I mean. I . . . uh . . . I can’t believe I’m speaking to you.” I’m so nervous, my saliva has dried up. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.” I shake my head as I reach the stairs leading down to the fountain. I’ve never felt awkward with him before. Why am I starting now? “How’s everything going?
I haven’t heard from you in a while. I mean, I’ve tried a few times. I wanted you to know how much I loved your last message. I
loved
it. Really. Why didn’t you call me
back?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been crazy busy. Actually, I’ve been meaning to call. I . . . uh, got a movie. Well, a movie franchise,
actually.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?! Seriously? Tell me everything.”

“I auditioned for it when I first got here. They’ve made me do about twenty screen tests since, but a couple of months ago, they told me I got it. Have you heard of
Rageheart?
”

I stop dead in my tracks. “Are you kidding me? I read the script when it was leaked online. Please tell me you’re playing Zan. Oh, God, on second thought, no. He’s already too
sexy. If you were playing him it would be disastrous for women everywhere, and me in particular. Okay, wait.” I take a deep breath. “Break it to me gently.”

He chuckles. “I’m playing Zan.”

I actually squeal and do a little jump. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before, but this is news worth squealing about. “Liam, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for
you! This is it. Your big break to mega-stardom.”

As I come down the stairs, I pause to watch a group of people milling around near the fountain and wonder what’s going on. Knowing New York, someone’s filming here. It’s a
daily occurrence.

Down the phone, I hear Liam sigh. “The whole thing has happened so fast my head is spinning. We’re already rehearsing and doing press.”

“Who’s playing Areal?”

He pauses. “Uh . . . Angel Bell.”

I frown. “Really? I didn’t know she was an actress. I just thought she was a professional famous person.”

“She’s done a few small movies recently, and I guess someone thinks she’s ready for the big leagues.”

“Well, that makes two of you. You’ll look incredible together.

People are going to lose their minds.”

He pauses. “Listen, Liss, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“I have something to talk to you about, too. That’s why I called.”

“Okay.”

“Since I got your last message, I’ve been wanting to tell you . . . Well, I need you to know that . . .” As I get closer to the fountain I see a group of people setting up for
a photo shoot. Over to the side I spy the back of a particularly gorgeous male model. My whole body flushes at the sight of him.

Helloooo, handsome.

I frown. That back is awfully familiar. “Wait, Liam. Where are you?”

“Uh . . . talking to you on the phone.”

“Yes, but where? In L.A.?”

“Actually, no. I’m back in New York for the weekend. I have a photo shoot for some entertainment magazine. So strange.”

“You’re shooting in Central Park?”

He pauses. “Yes. How did you know that?”

I smile. “Turn around and look halfway up the stairs.”

He turns and scans the crowd behind him. When he sees me, his face goes through such a range of emotions, I have trouble deciphering them all. Finally, he gives me the most dazzling smile
I’ve ever seen. He strides toward me, and I head toward him, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I launch myself into his arms. I swear we both stop breathing as we wrap around each
other in the world’s tightest hug.

“Liss.” It not even a word. Just a sigh.

“Hey, you.” I’m so happy I could cry. He feels just as good as I remember. Smells even better.

I dig my fingers into his back as he breathes against my neck, “God, I’ve missed you. A lot. More than I should.”

“Likewise. I can’t believe you’re here. And I’m here.”

He pulls back and shakes his head without looking at me. “Finding each other randomly in the middle of Central Park? Yeah. That sounds about right for us.” He glances over his
shoulder, then back at me. “Listen, we’re about to start shooting, but I . . . I really need to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere? After?”

“Of course. Call me when you’re done. I’ll be around.”

“Okay. Sure.” He shuffles his feet, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to go. I don’t want him to go, either. After our being apart for so long, having him close is
intoxicating. He studies my face, like he’s trying to figure out what to do. I really want him to kiss me, but I understand that he’s working. It can wait until we’re alone.

“Mr. Quinn?” We turn to see a scrawny kid in skinny jeans and Chucks hovering nearby. “We’re almost ready for you.”

“Thanks. Be right there.” The boy disappears, and when Liam turns back to me, his face is drawn.

“Mr. Quinn, huh?”

He gives me a wry smile. “Yep. I hate it.”

“Well, get used to it. It won’t be long before we’re all calling you that.”

I expect him to smile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes my hands and mutters, “I’d better go.”

“Liam, wait. I just need to—” I take a step forward and look up at him. “We can talk about this more when you’re done, but I just want you to know . . .” This
would have been so much easier on the phone. I get all turned around when I’m this close to him and he’s staring at me with those incredible eyes. I glance down at his fingers wrapped
around mine, and I’m hit with the same sense of rightness I always feel when we touch. Our hands look perfect together. They
feel
perfect. Seeing that helps me find my words.
“I know we said we wouldn’t do the long-distance thing, but . . . I can’t stop thinking about your last message, and you need to know that I—”

“Liss, you don’t have to—”

“Wait a sec, just let me say this before I lose my nerve, okay?” I take a breath and look up at him. “I’ve never met anyone like you, and I doubt I ever will. Recently
I’ve come to the conclusion that life’s too short not to spend it with the people we love and . . . I love you.” I laugh and shake my head. “Wow, it feels weird to say that
out loud. But I’m not saying it just because you said it. I promise. I’m saying it because I mean it, and I’ve been dying to tell you. I know that making things work when
we’re so far away from each other will be tough, but . . . I want to try. If you do.”

His jaw tightens, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was on the verge of tears. His hands clench and release around mine, and I search his face as he swallows heavily.

“Liam?”

“Liss, I—”

The production assistant appears again, more nervous than before. “Mr. Quinn. We really need you to come now. Please, sir.”

Liam turns to glare at him. “I’ll be there in a second.” His expression makes the boy scurry away.

When he turns back to me, his face is still hard. “Sorry, I have to go. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

“Okay.” My heart is hammering in my chest. This isn’t how I saw my first declaration of love ending. I thought for sure Liam would say it back and then we’d have
mind-blowing sex, or at least a toe-curling kiss. This is . . . not that.

Liam bends down and gently brushes his lips across my cheek. I close my eyes and shiver.

“I’ll call you later,” he whispers.

I nod, and then he leaves me and heads back over to the fountain. When he gets there, the photographer calls him over, and a beautiful redhead appears on the other side of him.
Ah. Angel
Bell.
Holy wow, she looks like a goddess.

Something unpleasant fires in my stomach. It intensifies when she and Liam take up their positions, and she grabs his arm possessively.

The photographer shoots and calls out instructions, and Liam and Angel move through various intimate poses. When the photographer walks over and talks to them, the poses get a whole lot sexier.
Liam’s shirt is unbuttoned. Angel’s hands are on his chest and abs. He gazes at her like he wants to eat her.

“You know him?”

I turn to see a man with greasy hair and a goatee standing next to me. He’s holding one of the biggest cameras I’ve ever seen.

Geez, dude. Overcompensating, much?

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Liam Quinn. I saw him talking to you. You friends? Family?”

I turn back to watch Liam grab Angel and pull her against him. “Friends.”
For the moment. Very soon, I’m hoping we’ll be a whole lot more.

The man brings up his giant camera and squeezes off a few shots. “Anything you can tell me about him and his costar? When did they start dating? Did they know each other before they got
the movie?”

I look at him sharply. “You a reporter?”

He shrugs. “Sort of.”

“Then you’re misinformed. They’re not dating.”

He laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound. “Haven’t seen your friend for a while, have you? They’re dating, all right. Well, ‘fucking’ would be a better word for
it. Pardon the language.”

My stomach clenches. “Why the hell would you think that? They’re working together. That’s it.”

He smiles, showing nicotine-stained teeth, then glances around, as if to check that no one’s looking. “I shouldn’t be showing you this, but what the hell? Come tomorrow morning
everyone’s going to know anyway. I’ve sold these babies to four national mags and three Web sites. There’s nothing like hot actors screwing each other’s brains out to boost
audience pull.” He fiddles with the controls of his camera. “Friend of mine tipped me off that Quinn was going to be the next big thing in Hollywood, so I started following him a few
weeks ago. Seems like he and his costar have been busy getting to know each other.”

He turns the camera around so I can see the screen, then he scrolls through photos. My face flushes with heat. I feel sick.

There are dozens of pictures of Liam and Angel together. Gazing at each other lovingly. Kissing across a table at lunch. Making out in the doorway of his apartment after obviously spending the
night together.

My head pounds as nausea rolls through me. I look away. The man chuckles and hands me his card. “So, yeah. The story’s about to break about these two, big-time. If you ever have dirt
on him you want to sell, I’ll make it worth your while. He’d never have to know it came from you.”

As he presses the card into my hand, humiliation sinks into my bones.

He said he loved me. That he missed me. That some actors might fall for their leading ladies, but he never would. And I believed him.

I bought every single line he fed me and begged for more. I really am a special breed of idiot.

Part of me is blindsided, but another part is completely unsurprised it’s happened again. Of course it has.

I look back at Liam and Angel, still groping each other for the camera. Liam’s eyes flicker to me, and I see it—the exact moment he realizes I know. His face drops and clouds with
guilt, and then a look of indescribable sadness settles on his features. The photographer barks something at him and Liam glances at him briefly before turning back to me.

As I stare at him, my eyes prickle with hot tears, but I refuse to let them fall. I’m filled with so much rage, I’m shaking. More than anything, I’m angry with myself. I knew
the risks of falling for him, and I let it happen anyway.

I
deserve
this. It’s as much my fault as it is his.

When I can’t bear to look at him anymore, I turn and walk away. I hear him yell my name, but I don’t stop. What would be the point?

Everything hurts as I walk, and I curse myself for wanting to run back and beg him to change his mind.

What the hell is wrong with me? Am I really that unlovable?

Tears well up again, and I tense every muscle to stop the emotion from overwhelming me.

Maybe I’m just supposed to live out my days with Josh and have casual sex with others. Maybe there isn’t a man out there who loves me enough to want my body
and
heart.

I want to deny that I love Liam so it won’t hurt so much, but I can’t. I don’t think I really loved the other guys who dumped me, but him . . . For all my ranting about fate,
it felt like he was meant for me. Why couldn’t the only one I
really wanted
want me back?

I wipe my eyes in frustration. My face is hot with shame and embarrassment, and I’m so weary all I want to do is curl into a ball and close my eyes.

I’m almost to the subway station when my phone buzzes with a message. I stop dead when I see it’s from Liam. I stare at it for a long time.

I expected him to roll out the usual shtick: “It’s not you, it’s me.” Or, “We want different things.” Or my personal favorite: “I think we’re
better as friends.”

The message I’m staring at is none of those things. It simply says, “I’m sorry.”

No denial. No excuses.

I don’t know why those two words crack my self-control, but they do. I break down in the middle of the pavement and cry in a way I’ve never cried before. It’s ugly, and every
sob shoots pain through my chest. And even though I know people are staring, I can’t stop.

Years ago I saw a magazine article that claimed everyone should have their heart broken at least once in order to become a better person. It said that the pain of losing someone you love will
teach you about yourself. Develop your strength and resilience.

Whoever wrote that article can go fuck themselves.

Heartache doesn’t teach you to be resilient. It teaches you to protect your fragility. It teaches you to fear love. And it draws a bright red circle around all the ways you’ve failed
as a person and laughs while you cry.

I don’t know how long I stand there and sob, but after a while, all my tears are gone, and I collapse onto a nearby bench as I try to pull myself together. There’s a deep, angry pain
in my chest, and I wonder how long I’ll have to live with it.