Page 12

The word slices through me and I take a step back. “Them?”
He lowers his head shamefully, unable to meet my eyes. “Yeah.”
Rage begins to build again, causing my heart to race. “You want to be with me while you sleep with half of Hollywood? Are you crazy? How many? And how fucking long, Paxton? I’m not going to ask you again.”
“I don’t know.”
I feel like a masochist. I know the answers will only hurt me, and yet I’m desperate for them. I want to know how many and when and how andwhy. “You don’t know how many women you’ve cheated on me with?” The tears are building from deep within but there’s a zero percent chance I’ll let him watch me shed even one.
He shakes his head. “No.”
“That…many?” I shake my head and he forces his hands into his pocket and looks over his shoulder towards Damian, probably a little worried that if my bodyguard hears him, he might actually do him physical harm.
How had he flown under the radar for so long? My God, who knows how many of his team members knew and helped him hide it.Humiliation washes over me that so many of them know and yet constantly smile at me and hug me and tell me how cute Paxton and I are together.He turned me into a fucking joke.
“The whole time?” I ask.
“No. Not the whole time.” He clears his throat. “Last year things just…changed.”
Last year, he’d blown up. More roles, more opportunities, more women probably throwing their panties at him and sliding into his DMs with their phone numbers and explanations as to what their mouths do. His career had changed overnight and evidently, I’m the last to know that it also changed how he saw our relationship. The sound of a cheer from the lounge reminds me that we are not completely alone and I don’t want to delve deeper into this conversation.
I’m not sure if I want to go home or stay and get drunk with my friends but I know for a fact I’m done talking to Paxton.
“Listen to me very carefully.” I take a step closer and although he towers over me, I know I’m the one with all the power. “I don’t care if they want us to smile and pose for pictures and wave for a few months until they release some bullshit press release that we’ve grown apart but we’ll always be friends and wish nothing but the best for each other blah blah blah, fine. I’ll play alongfor nowbecause of what that could mean for my career. Butweare done. Don’t call me. Don’t text me when you’re horny or lonely because those women don’t know shit about you and you can’t be yourself with them. Don’t call me to ask me which pants go better with what shirt or when you can’t figure out what tie matches best. Don’t call me when you need someone to vent about your father and how he doesn’t approve of your lifestyle choices. Don’t call me bitching about your agent or that you feel like you can’t trust anyone in your circle. You could trustme,by the way, but you already knew that.” I shake my head at him. “When we are in public, don’t attempt to kiss me or touch me in any way other than platonically. You and I are through. And I swear on my parents’ graves if you don’t play by my rules on this, you will wish you never met me.”
He lets out a sigh and nods. “Okay. Shay I—”
I hold up a hand. “There’s nothing left for you to say here. I loved you and cared about you and only wanted the best things for you. I was always in your fucking corner. You destroyed us forthis?” I narrow my eyes at him hoping he can see the disdain in them. “I hope it was all worth it.”
I turn on my heel to walk towards the bathroom I know to be tucked back here and push my way into the room and into a stall, grateful that it’s empty. It gives me a second to get myself together. I’m glad I had the oversight to grab my clutch before I left the table because it means I have my phone with me.
I bypass the text from Veronica and one from Jeremy, both asking me if I’m okay, and open the text message thread I have with my parents. My parents were always the first people I told when something happened. Whether it was good or bad, this text thread housed all of my big moments.
Even after five years, for the moment just after I would press send, I can imagine they’re here and I’ll receive their response. My mother would always reply with a bunch of emojis and exclamation marks and my father with a perfectly constructed text with correct punctuation. Both of them excited for me in their own ways.
It has been a while since I texted this thread, as most of my big moments had been going to Paxton or sometimes Veronica. I stare at the last message I sent which was a screenshot of the rumor that I might be nominated for an Emmy this year followed by about twenty exclamation marks because I am truly my mother’s daughter.
Me: Hi.
Me: I wish you were here.
Me: I miss having people I can trust wholeheartedly.
Me: Sometimes, I just feel so alone.
My phone vibrates with one of the alerts I have set up for myself and the picture I’d just taken with Paxton flashes across my screen and then another and another followed by the headlines “Trouble in Paradise?”and some terrible puns about us being a “dreamy couple” as a play on the title of my television show.
The feelings of being betrayed by the man I loved and being betrayed by the universe for taking my parents from me way too soon overwhelm me. Coupled with the alcohol I consumed tonight, the familiar tingle of tears build in my throat, and before I can stop it, one slides down my face.
Fuck.
I try to stop but a second one falls and then a third and soon I’m having the breakdown I’ve been avoiding for the past two weeks in the private bathroom ofRush. I wipe my face just as more form and spill down my cheeks.
Me: I’m ready to go.
Damian: Whenever you’re ready. I’m outside of the restroom.
Me: I can’t stop crying.