Page 3 of Hate Wrecked

RILEY

It’s been challenging for me to be here, living in her world.

For the past week, I’ve put on a brave face and shot my scenes, knowing there’s no one better to play a young Desi Monroe than me.

My sisters resemble our father more, but I’m nearly a spitting image of our mother, with traces of my famous father, although not as dominant.

Growing up, I always felt strange about my looks, and the tabloids didn’t help.

I’m constantly compared to her and always in her larger-than-life shadow.

I never expected the part of her world that would be the hardest to navigate would be her bodyguard’s presence.

After filming a particularly grueling scene, I retreat to the dressing room, with Rowan behind me, checking the perimeter for any threats.

I think it’s excessive, but I don’t say anything.

I’ve made a point of saying very little to him throughout this past week.

Perhaps I’ve felt a sense of betrayal since I saw my mother’s manuscript the day he brought me here a week ago.

Maybe I’m over the charade of him being here.

Is it wise for me to have security? Yes.

But I’m not my mother, and I’m not my father.

Some people don’t even know who I am, especially not here, cut off from the rest of the US.

I feel as if he’s only here to spy on me, to ensure I read her words. But I won’t.

I decide then and there that if I am going to be tortured by his presence here, maybe I can torture him, too.

When Rowan shuts the dressing room door, I slowly remove my dress and pull the zipper down.

I aim to wound him as I turn around, the dress slouching forward, and I almost laugh when he turns away, a look of disdain on his face.

The week of silence has been brutal. Maybe a part of me hoped the mystery of everything left unsaid would make Rowan push for something— anything —between us.

I’d take friendship if he offered it. But he won’t.

So, I decide to try a different tactic. “Not like you haven’t seen it before,” I remark.

Rowan laughs at that. “I was wondering when you’d snap out of it and start acting like your old self again.”

“Miss the old me?” I ask.

He stares at me with cold indifference. “No.”

The sharp reminder that our past feels unfinished is like a cold bucket of water. I shiver, but it’s lost on him. So many things in my life have been done for show, for an audience, and he won’t give me that. Behind closed doors, he stays true to his purpose here.

“What are you doing when you’re finished here?” I ask, pretending as though his words didn’t just pierce my heart.

“Taking a vacation,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder. Then, when he sees I’m in just my panties, he rolls his eyes and turns back around.

“Where to?” I grab my robe, covering my small breasts. “And I’m not naked anymore. You can turn around.”

He waits a second before daring to look back, and when he sees I’m covered, he turns around, crossing his arms and standing straight—like a sentinel. “An island, or rather, an atoll, about seven hours away by boat.”

“What’s there? Nice little resort?” It’s been so long since I’ve seen Rowan relaxed. I miss the smiles he gave me when I wasn’t pissing him off and causing him pain.

“No. Not much is there. I want to look around, camp a couple nights, then I’ll be back.”

I gather my things, watching him in the large mirror before me. “Rough it? Why? What’s so special about this island?” He stares, and I roll my eyes. “Sorry, atoll .”

Rowan clears his throat, and the look in his eyes unsettles me. He looks hurt, as if I should remember something. Finally, he answers. “Double murder.”

I turn around, intrigued. “What?”

He smiles briefly, and I savor it for the moment he allows me to. “Don’t worry about it, Riley. It’s nowhere you’d want to go.” His tone is final.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” I say, desperately wishing I existed in a reality where he would ask me to go with him. I would drop every plan or commitment I have to explore the atoll with him, to see his face light up when he’s excited again, to see any glimmer of the Rowan I once knew.

I don’t deserve it. But I want it.

“When are you leaving?” I ask.

“As soon as I drop you off at the airport. When the job is done.”

I stiffen at his words—the job . I’m a paycheck. I’m the past. Not his future.

I must be staring because Rowan’s stoic face falters slightly, his blue eyes squinting. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Subtlety isn’t going to work. “Maybe it’s somewhere I’d like to go. Take me with you.”

Rowan shakes his head, a wry smile coming over him. “Absolutely not.”

“Double murder, Rowan? Have they made a movie about it? Maybe I could?—”

“They already made a movie about it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so there’s no using that excuse.”

I try again. “They remake movies all the time.”

“Who’s going to help you get it made? Your dad? Desi?”

I flinch. For many reasons. First, my mother wouldn’t help me because I won’t speak to her. Second, I can’t have it made on my own because I have no real power. I am their child. My whims are entertained, riding on their clout.

“Maybe,” I say, though I don’t mean it. Not because my father wouldn’t help me—he would, if he were passionate about the story—but because I don’t like this game anymore. The one where I put my heart on the line, and Rowan stomps on it. It reminds me of all the ways I trampled on his.

“I’m sorry, Riley. But it’s a vacation for me. I want it to be exactly that. A vacation. Not a working trip, not a few days of worrying about your feelings, or any of that. I just want to forget everything.”

“I get it.” I do. I also get that itch. The red button in my head urges me to self-destruct. Be just like her the night you found her on the floor. Let the dark voice inside consume you.

I am my mother’s daughter, and I hate her for it. Hate myself for it.

“Okay. I’m ready to go to the hotel,” I say, gathering my belongings in my hands. Rowan reaches out to take some of my things, but I shake my head, dancing out of his reach. His eyes darken as he turns to the door.

I want so badly to touch him. But I don’t.

I’m not sure I would recover from it.

He is auburn and dark. He is a shadow on my heart in this paradise.

As I walk ahead of him down the hall, I feel his presence shielding me from the world. Once, he sheltered me. But that burden couldn’t be his forever. I had to start protecting myself. And I do, for the most part.

I stave off that voice inside for as long as I can, until it’s too loud.

I can hear it speaking to me now.

I should engage him in conversation so his low voice will drown everything out. But I don’t.

I let it speak to me in slow, even tones, telling me to let it in.

To let it take over.

* * *

That night, I find myself at the hotel bar with the manuscript.

It sits on the mahogany wood next to me as I order two drinks.

One for me and one for my mother’s words.

The bartender cocks his head in response to my request, but gives me what I want.

They always do. They can see her when they look at me.

They see her face, body, fame, and mistakes.

But, when I speak, the spell is broken. I don’t have her husky voice.

I don’t have her cadence, her beautiful words.

I glance at the stack of bound papers containing her life. What is truth, and what is a lie? Will they mix in there? Exist in harmony? Will she tell her life’s tale with honesty and brutality?

I reach into my bag and grab the pills there, slipping two out, downing them with my drink. The burn is delicious and inviting.

I haven’t been reckless in a while, staving off the dark voice inside me. But soon, I’ll be back home, and what happens here will be a fading memory. I’ll leave this island and never see Rowan Finn again.

Unless I choose forgiveness. Because forgiving my mother means facing Rowan again. And I’m not sure I can handle the rejection. Will I ever stop asking him questions with my eyes that his heart will not give into?

Though I crave silence with my drinks and my mother’s words, eventually a man sits next to me. I stare at the liquor bottles lining the wall behind the bar as he eyes my profile. His eyes widen a little as I reach for my drink again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but are you Desi Monroe’s daughter?”

I turn to him, put on my fake smile, and nod. “That’s me.” I offer my hand, and he takes it. It’s warm, and he’s handsome. His skin is tan, and his hair is long. He’s a local—I can tell. So that begs the question: why is he at a hotel bar? He probably comes here to hit on tourists.

I don’t mind. I need the distraction, so I angle my body toward him, and the manuscript is out of sight. I pretend, for a moment, that it doesn’t exist.

The man next to me motions for the bartender. “I’ll have a scotch and one more drink for the lady here. Her mother was the star of many many of my dreams when I was a kid.”

My smile falters just slightly, and I offer a fake laugh. I hope he buys it. “Is that so? What was she doing in those dreams?”

“I don’t think her daughter wants to hear,” the man replies.

“Oh, well—” I raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles.

“Putnam,” he replies, offering his hand. Will I hook up with a guy with a name like Putnam, who jacked off to my mother, in a hotel bar? Yes. If it means the voices stop. If it means the reality of my life gets to bend for a moment.

“Oh, okay, Putnam. So they were that kind of dream. I get it.” I humor him. A shiver moves through me, and when I start to feel the pills kick in, I angle my long legs toward Putnam, my hair falling over my shoulders.

He watches me, a smirk playing there. “What are you on the island for?”

“You’re telling me the woman of your dreams, my mother, was on set on this island a week ago, and you didn’t know?”

He laughs. “Yeah, okay, I knew. But she’s gone. What are you doing here?”

“Wondering if you hit on my mother in this same bar,” I reply, grabbing his arm.

Putnam shakes his head, leaning in. He places his hand on my thigh, and I shiver.

Not in pleasure at his touch, but in a euphoria that the liquor and the pill provide as they begin to take hold of me.

After so long being sober, after so long rebuilding, I’m a lightweight again.

In fact, I feel light enough to float away.

But just as I go to speak again, to dig myself in deeper, I see Rowan at the entrance of the hotel bar. And I feel warm all over again—but for a different reason this time. And even the disgust in his eyes can’t bring me down.