Page 2 of Hate Wrecked

ROWAN

You’ll find, in this life, that many people are simply a mess,—a walking cry for help. Unfortunately, I love to help; I was born for it. I revel in it. But sometimes, the constant giving will wear you down, strip you of everything you have inside, leaving you broken and bare.

Years ago, I had to distance myself from Riley Williams. I needed space to breathe and see things clearly.

But it seems the distance I put between us wasn’t enough.

Even after all this time, I still find myself grappling with the aftermath of our relationship.

Maybe, in some twisted way, I believed that, by taking care of Riley’s mother, I was still helping Riley.

That helping someone in need would heal some part of myself.

And that by caring for Riley’s mother, I could help my own mother recover from the trauma inflicted upon her by my father.

I’m beginning to realize that helping others doesn’t always mend my own wounds.

The drive to set is short but seems to stretch on as the silence in the rental car envelopes Riley and me. She fiddles with her hands in her lap and looks out the window. The shadow of Asa and our conversation at the airport lingers.

Seeing me again reminded her of him. I hate that for her—for myself.

“How have you been?” Riley asks, turning to me as we pull into the lot.

I start backing into a parking space, placing my arm on Riley’s seat in the process. A mistake. I can smell her. Fuck. I speak through gritted teeth. “Fine. You?”

“Good. Got out of LA. I spend most of my time in Katonah.”

I pull the key out of the ignition, glancing at her. “You don’t live in LA anymore?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. I’ll always have to keep a place there. It’s where everything happens. But it’s not home.”

“So what is the place in Katonah for?”

“For being happy,” she replies, her voice soft.

I wait for her to elaborate or exit the vehicle, but she doesn’t.

So, I do. I walk to the trunk, hearing Riley’s door shut as I grab her bag.

When she reaches me, I motion with my chin in the direction we need to go.

“Your dressing room is this way. I’ll take you to the hotel after you get settled.

Filming starts tomorrow—” we both say at once.

I nod, motioning for Riley to go ahead so I have her in sight.

* * *

The cast, crew, and director welcome Riley with fervor.

Any mention of her mother is brief and delicate.

It’s no secret that Desi and Riley are estranged.

Desi avoids discussing it in interviews or with the press and is mindful of watchful eyes and ears.

Unlike her mother, Riley is less discreet about their estrangement; her resentment and youth often take center stage.

After casual conversation and business talk, I escort Riley to her mother’s former dressing room. She admires the costumes and makeup, and as the bright mirror lights illuminate her, I allow myself to take in everything I’ve missed.

When Riley discovers the manuscript left by her mother with a red string tied around it and a card attached, I cross my arms, ready for her venom.

She looks over her shoulder after picking it up, her brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Did you know about this?”

I nod.

Her face twists in annoyance as she carelessly drops the manuscript onto a nearby chair.

She quickly grabs the card that was attached to it, tearing it off in a swift motion.

I can see that the card bears Desi’s familiar handwriting, but I don’t know what it says.

Riley takes only a moment to scan the message on the card.

She closes it slowly, taking a deep breath before folding it over once more and slipping it into the back pocket of her faded jeans. Her expression is unreadable.

“Okay. I think I’ve seen all I need to see. Take me to the hotel.”

“Are you going to take that with you?”

Riley glances down at the manuscript, then back up at me. “No.”

“Okay,” I say, opening the door. I won’t push. Not yet.

* * *

The drive to the hotel is quieter than the drive to the set, if that’s even possible. Riley’s dark mood is palpable. And I do everything I can to avoid absorbing it.

Riley Williams has always been a curious and inquisitive person, always asking questions and trying to understand the motivations and thought processes of those around her.

It was one of the things I appreciated about her years ago; she was constantly pushing me to think about things from different perspectives. Always talking, tearing down my walls.

It’s unnerving to see her so quiet and lost in thought. I can feel the tension emanating from her. The silence in the car is palpable, broken only by the sound of the engine and the occasional clearing of my throat.

I steal a quick glance at Riley, hoping to catch her eye and perhaps offer some words of comfort over her relationship with her mother, but she won’t look at me.

Finally, as we pull up to the hotel, Riley briefly glances at me, but her eyes are distant and unfocused.

I take that as my sign to mind my business and exit the vehicle, walking around the front to Riley’s side.

I open the door for her, and she is still for a moment.

My eyes rove over her long legs as I wait for her, and she exits only after I offer her my hand.

I recognize it as a mistake immediately. She’s warm. She was always warm.

But I can’t let myself be warmed by her again.

I clear my throat again and walk to the trunk, grabbing Riley’s luggage. She walks ahead of me into the hotel. She knows the deal. She walks, and I follow. I watch. I protect.

Always her, never myself.

But a lot has changed since she saw me last.

I’ll make sure she knows that while I do this job.

She is quiet now, probably lost in thoughts of her mother. But I know it won’t be long until she is back to her old self.

I’ll be ready for the fight.