Page 127 of Fame & Obsession

The twisting of the necklace becomes fierce, and her neck reddens. I focus on the pendant as she twists it between her fingers. From what I can tell, it has silver wings, maybe pewter.

All I know is that it’s odd.

“I like your necklace,” I lie. “Is that a wing pendant?”

That seems to jar her out of her trance, and she lets go of the necklace as if it burned her. “Yeah.” Sniffling, she turns away. “It’s symbolic. It means a higher evolution of the soul—higher realms of existence and ascension and spiritual mobility.”

“Sounds kind of heavy.”

“It’s for my brother. He was incredibly profound.”

“Was?”

Tanna’s jaw tightens. “He died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

She stuffs her hands into her pockets. “Yeah, well, shit happens.”

That seems like a strange thing to say about your brother’s death, but then again, Tanna’s a strange girl. So, I let it go.

“I’d better get back in there before they think we’ve become friends or something,” she says, attempting what I think is supposed to be a smile. “I’d hate to ruin my reputation as an anti-female bonder.”

“Yeah.” I smile back. “I get it.”

“Don’t let thatBlogospherechick get to you. Women like her are always for sale. She’s probably hacked into every public relations database from here to Hollywood.”

As she goes inside, I chew on her words until they sink in and take root.

Public relations database.

Hollywood.

Hacking.

When the right words add up to the right woman, there’s only one thing left to do.

Call her.

Thirty-Three

Julian

After Phoebe walks out,I have to deal with Zane’s and Ty’s relentless questions about her pregnancy. Zane cringes each time he hears the word “baby” as if my life has ended. Ty just grins like a fucking idiot every time he looks at me.

I end up flipping my middle finger at them as I walk toward the glass door. I watch Phoebe out on the deck with Tanna. Memories from her earlier confession cloud my brain, driving home the reason why we connected on such a fierce level.

I recognized myself in her all along. She’d lost someone in a drunk driving accident too.

My stomach knots remembering her grief. I never cried over Lam. Not even at his funeral. The shock was too much. But watching her go through it sent fresh waves of guilt rushing over me.

I’d put his death on a shelf to be dealt with at a later date—a date that has yet to come.

Phoebe’s pain and the force of my guilt collided at the worst possible moment. I couldn’t tell her in the middle of her breakdown, or I’d be the cause of usbothimploding.

All I could do was hold her in my arms. At that moment, I finally understood Phoebe Ryan.

I can’t imagine being terrorized by your own family. The fact that she’d even come back from something like that is a small miracle.