Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,20
just stopped watching.”
“You’ve had a lot of other things to process.”
She tugged her arm free. “I’ve got my head above water.” A beat. “But most of the time it feels like I’m just barely above the surface. Still, I’m there. I’m not drowning.”
Anymore.
No.
Not then. Not now. Not in the future.
“Enjoy the bread,” she said. “And your time away from the press and—” Her lungs froze, the words stoppering up in the back of her throat, and she couldn’t stop herself from spinning to face him again, to stare into those honey eyes she should have instantly recognized. “Your sister.”
His lids closed, slid back open. “Yeah.”
“And the media found out?”
“Because I told them.” Her breath hitched, but he went on, explaining what he’d seen backstage, then about his on-screen meltdown, calling out the morning anchor, the situation with his sister slipping out in the process.
When he stopped talking, Shannon was at a loss for words.
What could she say aside from, “I’m so sorry.”
He sighed. “The invasion of privacy is my burden for wanting to be in the industry. It’s the nature of the business, and my family has never wanted the business, the connections, but they’ve put up with the negatives because they love me and want me to be happy.”
“And you think you ruined that?”
Finn scoffed. “Of course, I ruined that. I was so furious that it happened to my sister, to someone in my family that I made it about me instead of recognizing that my sister needed me not to be angry, but to be there.” A beat. “I wasn’t. And . . . now the world knows something that she wasn’t ready to share.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t—”
His eyes cut to hers, honey hardening to amber. “I fucked up. There’s no way to erase that.”
Shan was silent for a long moment. “Maybe not,” she murmured. “But you can still move forward.”
“Yeah. In time.”
Her lips twisted. “I know all about that.”
He squeezed her arm. “I know you do.”
“I have to”—she gestured at Rylie—“Pepper has been watching her too much lately.”
“Pepper doesn’t seem to mind.”
“No.” Shan smiled. “They’re buds. I’m lucky to have her as a friend.”
Finn nodded.
She lifted her hand. “Well. I’ll just—”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Not an offer. Also, not exactly a command.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about either. All she knew was that it wasn’t horrible having Finn at her side as she strode down the beach.
Especially when he said, “If I look pathetic enough, will you make me peanut butter milk to go with this banana bread?”
In fact, her heart leaped, her stomach fluttered, and she laughed loud and outright and freer than she had in ages. “No need to look pathetic,” she said. “I already promised Ry earlier.”
He fist-pumped.
She grinned.
He brushed a lock of hair out of her face.
Her heart thumped.
And maybe, just maybe, she thought that hope of a brown girl falling for a movie star might not be so far-fetched after all.
“No, Brian,” she said into the phone. “Ann can’t borrow my car. I’m picking up a few of Rylie’s friends after school for a playdate and—”
“Can’t you walk?” he interrupted. “Ann’s car isn’t ready at the shop and she needs to take Billy to his piano lesson.”
Her teeth ground together. “I’m taking the girls to the fair. It’s too far to walk.”
“Do the fair another time.” He sighed, a sharp burst of sound through the speaker. “I don’t have time for this shit. It’s my car. I’ll send someone to pick up the keys. Leave them in the office.”
A year ago, she would have given in.
To keep the peace, so he wouldn’t be mad at her, so . . . no, because she’d been weak and fragile and easily pushed around.
Today?
No.
Hell. No.
“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “The title is in my name”—she made sure of that after the fucking house fiasco—“and Rylie and I have plans—”
“Don’t be such a—”
Her reply was sharp and tipped with ice. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you, Brian Torres.”
Silence.
Then, “What is she supposed to do?”
Shannon sighed. “I don’t know. Call a Lyft, or a friend, or hell, skip piano for today,” she said, tossing up her free hand, even though he couldn’t see her. “Ask the dealership for a loner. Do something. I don’t care, as long as that something doesn’t involve me.”
“I—”
“This isn’t my problem,” she interrupted, her tone incredulous, “and I cannot believe you would actually think it was, or expect me to drop everything for the woman you cheated on me with.”
“That’s