Page 1 of Hate Wrecked

RILEY

“Fuck, are you Desi Monroe’s daughter?”

The man with the sweaty brow and roving eyes finally approaches me after we’ve landed.

I’ve been dreading this moment the entire flight to the Kona International Airport in Hawaii.

Still, I smile when he arrives at my seat.

Other passengers shoot the middle-aged man dirty looks as they maneuver past him in the aisle, luggage shuffled above their heads or brushing against him as they leave our cramped airplane. He doesn’t seem to care.

All he seems to care about is eyeing my tits.

I put on my best actress smile and nod in reply as I shake his hand. “Yes. That’s me. Riley Williams. I’m here for a movie.” I stand, ducking to make sure I don’t hit my head. The man’s hand is warm and sweaty, and I resist the urge to wipe my palm on my Levis when I pull my hand away.

“Williams!” the man exclaims, snapping his fingers.

“I said your mom’s name because you look just like her!

I loved her in Tease . But your dad is my hero.

I watch Hard to Kill every Christmas with my wife.

Well, ex-wife. I did watch it every Christmas.

” The man bows his head but recovers quickly, eyes once again all over me.

I smile again, watching passengers leave, hoping the man will follow my eyes and move so we can exit, too.

But his attention lies elsewhere. I clear my throat.

“Yeah, they’re great. I have to check in with them both now that I’ve landed.

So overprotective,” I offer, shrugging, looking toward the plane exit again.

The man claps his hands, coming out of his trance. “Oh yeah, yeah! I won’t keep you from them! God, they’re like real people, huh?”

I grip my carry-on tightly and nod as the man leaves, accidentally bumping into a woman.

While he apologizes to her, I speed walk down the aisle, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention.

After exiting the jet bridge, I make my way toward luggage claim and put my headphones on.

I press play on my Walkman, hoping it will be the distraction I need.

It was inevitable—the reminders. From protector, to a shell of herself, that’s what my mother has become. A figment of my imagination. My mind wanders to the past and the famous Desi Monroe’s voice as I navigate the airport signs, guiding me to my destination.

It was a mistake to take this role, playing a younger version of my mother’s character in a movie. But I agreed to it because it’ll be good for my career, good for my future. My past is already scarred; there’s no changing that. But this, this I can control.

And I was assured—multiple times—that my mother would be off-island and back in the States by the time I arrived to film my scenes.

Two planes in the sky, possibly passing in the night—that’s what my mother and I are.

I feel a twinge of guilt over the joy I feel from that thought, but I push it away.

After retrieving my suitcase from the baggage carousel, I walk toward the exit doors where I see various people holding up signs to welcome their parties.

I was informed that someone would pick me up from the airport to take me to the set.

As I approach the group, I am taken aback by the sight of Rowan Finn holding up a sign with my name on it…

Rowan Finn with my name in his hands and a scowl on his face.

I walk toward him, crossing my arms. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

He holds the sign back up and reaches for my luggage, but I pull it out of his reach.

“Picking you up. What does it look like?” After I stare at him for a moment, unmoving, he sighs. “Are you going to give me the bag?”

I take a step back, holding up a hand. “Perhaps I should rephrase that. Why are you here?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” I ask again. The last time I saw this man, he worked for my ex-stepfather. He was heartbroken, barely able to look at me, his voice strained. Kind of like now. Except it isn’t heartbreak in his eyes—it’s resentment. Rightfully earned.

“I work for your mother now,” Rowan says, straightening.

I roll the suitcase behind me, the anger that always sits right below the surface, threatening to rise. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“ You work for my mother.”

Rowan clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

My heart beats fast, thundering in my ears. “Is she here? I was told she wouldn’t be on island when I arrived,” I say through my teeth.

He glances at the ceiling, probably praying for patience. “No, she isn’t here. But she asked me to look after you on the shoot.”

I calm, but only a little. “I didn’t ask her to do that.”

“I’m aware. She’s aware.”

“I don’t need you to do that. Protect me.”

“You need me to drive you, at least.” He looks around me, angling his body to get eyes on the suitcase. “Can you give me that damn thing, Riley, so we can get on with this?”

I move aside, wringing my hands as he grabs the suitcase, nodding toward the exit as he says, “This way.” I follow in a trance.

I don’t keep in touch with my former stepfather. I made a conscious decision to let go of that part of my life—let it fade away from my mind. However, whenever I think of my mother, the resentment I feel toward her ex-husband resurfaces, which happens on a daily basis.

Rowan leads me to a black car, opens the trunk, and places my belongings inside. Then he rushes over as I stand next to the passenger door, still lost in confusion, resentment, and anger.

When Rowan opens the door, I stand there. His impatience is thinly veiled when he speaks. “Are you going to get in?”

I look at the man before me, as if pulled from a dream, pulled from my past—sharp jaw, auburn hair, and the bluest eyes. The way they used to look at me is gone. “I’m just trying to catch up,” I say, adjusting my purse so I can lower myself into the passenger seat.

I watch him as he walks around the car; the slow sway of his arms is still incredibly beautiful. I’ve always loved the way he moves—the sureness in his steps, even when he was unsure of me.

He opens the driver’s door, sits, and slips the key into the ignition. No hesitation. No asking me about my flight or how I’ve been. I am a task he must complete. Pick Riley up. Get Riley to set. Don’t let Riley fuck up my heart and life.

I stare ahead, swallowing loudly in the car. “How long have you been working for my mother?”

“Since about a year after the divorce.”

I calculate. Not long after the incident. Not long after I cut her out of my life. “What made you quit working for Asa?”

“I think you know what made me quit working for him. I never should have went back, but I?—”

He doesn’t say why he went back, but I think I know.

Or maybe I’m still dreaming. It’s not surprising that someone as straight and narrow as Rowan Finn wouldn’t want to work with someone like my ex-stepfather.

Asa is the antithesis of Rowan, who trained for his profession protecting someone he would never want to know in daylight hours, never want to be near in the night.

Someone I loved, thought of as family, and watched tear down our house.

Someone the world favors. The face plastered next to my mother’s on the covers of gossip magazines.

Someone I wish never took my mother’s heart. Never took ours . He didn’t have what it took to build a family. He was a party boy playing dress-up as a husband.

And my mother risked it all—risked us —for him.

I never wanted to think of a man like a drug. Never. I saw her do it. I saw it break her down and destroy everything good in the mother I once loved.

But part of me can understand it, sitting here with Rowan Finn.

I can feel my body reacting to his closeness as he drives us to our destination. I can feel my heart reaching for memories I have long since buried. Memories that make me feel alive and just as quickly make me wish I could cleave myself from this body and all it’s done. Muscle memory.

Memories I need to forget if I aim to survive this week.