TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,77
department consists of one sheriff and two officers, I’ve wasted enough of their time today. “But I’m not quite ready to talk about all of it, and I really just need to get out of here.”
“Whoa. It’s so bad that you’re not even ready to talk about it?”
“Yes.”
“Christ.”
“I’m going to head to the airport now, try to get a last-minute flight back to LA, and then, once I get home, I should be ready to tell you the whole sad tale.”
“Your ass better find a way to get a new cell phone so you can text me every minute with updates.”
“I promise I will do my best to keep you updated, even if it’s via email from my laptop. Which, thankfully, should still be in the back of my rental car with the rest of my stuff.”
“My current email.”
A soft chuckle leaves my lips. “Love you, Birdie.”
“Even though you nearly gave me an early death over here, I love you too, you little asshole.”
Once I end the call, I start my journey back to LA.
There is no way I’m going to spend another night in this state.
I don’t care what I have to do, but I will find a flight out of here tonight.
For the first time since I started this trip, it doesn’t matter that I’m headed to the public execution of my career on Monday. I’ll head anywhere if it’ll get me out of Alaska without having to look back.
Good-fucking-bye.
Luca
My life is officially a country song. Just me, my dog, and both our broken hearts.
“C’mon, Bailey,” I call over my shoulder as I open the front door.
But he just lies there, head resting on top of his paws, with the same sad expression he’s had on his face for the past two days.
“C’mon, buddy. Let’s go outside.”
He huffs out a breath and stretches onto his side, his eyes facing in the opposite direction from mine.
“Fine,” I mutter and shut the front door behind me.
If he wants to spend the whole damn day moping around inside, that’s his problem.
I, on the other hand, refuse to sit around thinking about what went down Friday morning.
I refuse to think about her.
Ax in my hands and a whole stack of long logs to chop, I put myself to work.
I chop and I chop and I chop so much fucking wood that my arms start to burn.
Heavy pants escape my lungs and sweat beads at my forehead, but I just keep on chopping.
When visions of green eyes and long blond hair fill my mind, I stop, toss my ax to the ground, and try my hand at clearing out the shed in the back.
I manage to get all the dust swept from the large concrete floor. I even succeed in reorganizing half the shelves near my workbench. But when I start on the other half of the shelves, she’s in my fucking mind again.
Her smile.
Her laugh.
The way she looked two days ago.
I’ve never seen eyes that fucking sad.
Her pretty lips were turned down at the corners, and her shoulders sagged.
Her hands shook at her sides.
And her whole body vibrated with…pain.
My words hurt her.
“Fuck,” I mutter into the quiet of the shed and drop the bin full of nails onto the shelf. Rough hand through my hair, I sigh.
I hurt her. That’s probably what makes me feel the worst. Because if my words were potent enough to cut her so deeply, she had to at least care about me a little bit. There had to be something there—something between us—other than a ticket to the top of her career ladder.
Why did she have to push me so fucking much?
Maybe if she’d backed off, I would have been able to stop myself from spouting a whole bunch of shit I wouldn’t have even muttered had I not reached my breaking point with the Hollywood topic.
I head back into the house and find Bailey in the same place I left him.
Sure, he’s turned over onto his other side. But otherwise, he hasn’t budged an inch from his new moping spot.
He’s been that way for two days straight, ever since Billie left.
A bright ray of sunshine in my otherwise drab world and I basically told her to fuck off.
God, I’m a dick.
I grab my hardly used satellite smartphone from the junk drawer in the kitchen and scroll through my contacts. But it’s pretty much useless because I don’t even have her fucking number.
How goddamn ironic?
The one and only person I want to talk to, and I don’t