“But, Kat, they’re saying Grayson and Helena—”
I grit my teeth. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Know.”
“You’re going to find out eventually. Maybe if we talked about it now, you’d be more prepared to deal with it when—”
I cut her off. “Why do you insist on talking things to death? Can’t you just be a normal human, who avoids discussing your feelings by pushing them deep under an emotional rug until you either explode or self-destruct by drinking your way to the bottom of a bottle of vodka?”
“Because that’s worked outsowell for you in the past, right?” she drawls sarcastically.
I’d laugh, but I don’t think she intended it as a joke.
“Harper. Just let it go, okay?”
She brushes my hair in long strokes, saying nothing, but her lips are twisted in frustration. For weeks, she’s been trying to prod me with information about my co-star and his ex-girlfriend, Helena Putnam — the gorgeous model-turned-actress who was originally supposed to play Violet in the movie, whose role I took over when she self-destructed. Once, I’d mocked her — I couldn’t believe she’d be stupid enough to fall for Grayson and jeopardize her career. Couldn’t believe she’d risk the role of a lifetime over a guy…
Let’s just say, the fall from my high horse hurt like a bitch.
“Harper.”
My best friend glances up at me, mouth pursed, and mutters a terse, “What?”
“You know the tabloids are full of crap. Almost everything they print is pure fiction. And… if Grayson has something to say to me, if he finally wants to offer some kind of explanation for his legendary douchebaggery… Well, he can tell me to my face. I’m not going to read about it in some gossip rag. Can’t you understand that?”
She lets out a slow breath. “Yeah. I guess I can.”
“He’s taken up too much of my time, too much of my heart, too much of my headspace. I’m not going to give him any more pieces of myself — not when he gives nothing back in return except misery and self-doubt.I can’t. I’ve given up too much already.”
She nods, but says nothing. For a long while, we sit in silence and eventually I feel myself relax under her slow, methodical brush strokes. She’s halfway through curling my hair into perfect beachy waves when she finally breaks the quiet.
“I haven’t seen Wyatt in forever. Not since the night of the cast party.”
My pulse kicks into overdrive at just the mention of his name. I say nothing, so Harper keeps talking.
“He hasn’t even come to see your new house, right? Something must be going on with him. Do you think he’s dating someone new?”
A dagger of pain shoots into my heart. Ignoring the ache, I fidget silently in my seat.
Harper sighs. “All I’m saying is, it’s weird. We went from seeing himevery single dayin Hawaii to not seeing him at all. And that manlovesto boss you around. He can’t resist sticking his big, golden-haired head where it doesn’t belong. He has a total savior complex. And yet… he hasn’t been around in…” Her nose scrunches. “What, like, six weeks? It’s weird. I think it’s weird. Don’t you?”
I make a noncommittalmmmmnoise because I can’t seem to form words. My throat is clogged with secrets I cannot voice.
About Wyatt.
About the night we shared.
About the stick I peed on last week.
About the prospect that I’m carrying a child.
About the reality that I’m not even sure who fathered it….
Harper doesn’t know I slept with Wyatt, or about the baby. No one does. Maybe because, if I say it out loud, I’ll be forced to admit that it’s really happening… and forced to make some decisions I’m not yet ready to face.
I’m not the kind of girl who keeps secrets from her best friend — or at least, I didn’t used to be. Typically, I’m an open book. No filter. Over the years, Harper and I have discussed everything from politics to periods, from art to anal sex, and yet… this is different. The thought of telling her what I did… of admitting that I wrecked my relationship with the best man I’ve ever known… my Viking… my protector… my one source of sunlight in the midst of all the shadows I carry around like a cloak…
I can’t do it.
I can barely stomach the memory of what I did, let alone say the words out loud. The shame of it is eating me alive.