his voice wasn’t quite so modulated. “He called and asked if I’d heard from you. I’m not sure why he’d think you’d call me, but it had me concerned.”
“I can’t tell you how much I’m touched by your concern.” Something twisted inside her heart even as she sneered a little at Roger’s concern. Zach had called Roger? She must really have Zach worried if he was calling a shit like Roger. “Oh, I’m just peachy, Rog. Was there something else?”
Seconds ticked away and then he said, “Rog?”
“I’m sorry. Roger. Was there something else, Roger?”
“Abigale, are you certain you’re well?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I mean, other than the fact that I figured out that I’m in love with my best friend. Then I figured out that he’s in love with me . . . or at least I thought he was. Then I see him kissing that bitch, Keelie? Oh, yeah. I’m just fine.
A near-hysterical laugh rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back down.
“You don’t sound like yourself,” he said, his voice taking on a note of caution.
“Don’t I? I think I sound just like myself, especially when I’m pissed off. But what do you know?” She tapped her fingers on the door, keeping an eye on the speed because the angrier she got, the faster she wanted to drive. “You seem to think you know me when you don’t know jack shit.”
“Abigale, there’s hardly any cause to be rude,” he said. “I was just concerned. I’ll call back when you’re—”
“Don’t bother . . . you know what? I’m actually rather glad you called, because I’ve been meaning to call you. I kept getting distracted but there are things I need to say to you and those things need to be said. You’re a fucking moron, Rog,” she said, smiling at how good it felt to say that. It felt damn good, she realized. Very damn good. “You don’t know anything about the life you think I want . . . a life where I’m up before dawn, where I’d have to starve myself to fit somebody else’s ideal, a life where I’m constantly being judged, where I can’t leave the house without makeup unless I want everybody to think I’m having a personal crisis—”
“Abigale—”
“Shut up,” she snarled. “You think that’s the life I miss? How about the two years I had to spend hours getting my hair dyed because it started getting darker and my mom didn’t approve? I hated it but it didn’t matter. Because I didn’t suit my part and I had to change to fit it. You think I miss that? Trying out for every two-bit part that doesn’t suit me just so I can get my name back out there? I know . . . maybe I should have taken that offer to act in a plus-size porno or I can start doing the Dancing with the Stars thing even though I’m just as likely to break an ankle as anything else.”
“You’re a serious actress, Abigale. That’s where your heart is. I know you have doubts, but I—”
“I’m not done,” she said quietly. She shot another glance at the mirror, checked her speed, and saw that she was edging up on nearly ninety. Letting up on the gas, she sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “I hated that life. I couldn’t get away from it fast enough but you are determined to push me back into it. What in the hell do you know about where my heart lies?”
He didn’t answer right away, but finally, he asked, “Isn’t there anything about it that you miss, darling? Wasn’t there anything about it that made you happy?”
“Don’t call me darling. You gave up that right.”
“You’re avoiding the question. That proves I’m not wrong about this,” he said, triumph coloring his words. “If you’d just stop being so worried, you could go back to it. I’ll be there. I’ll—”
“You will be there? First, you’re so wrong about this, it’s sad. And second? You are no longer part of my life. Even if for some bizarre reason I did go back to that life? My life no longer involves you. As for your question . . .” She didn’t have to think about it. “There’s nothing I miss about it. The things that didn’t piss me off I can have whenever I want them or need them. As to what made me happy . . .”
A face flashed through her mind and pain wracked her as she thought