Page 11 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)

“Your PR people are a ton of fucking jokes.”

I sigh at Anya’s words, pacing the living room. “I was told to stay put, that my team would handle everything, but then I remember how they tried turning me into a TikTok boy last year … Do I look like a good dancer to you?”

“All they need to do is turn you into a decent human being, and they’re failing at that. Riv, silence is hurting you more. People are demanding to know why charges haven’t been brought against you. By the way: they still can be .”

“They’d speculate why if they had any brains .”

“You’ve circled that couch a hundred times.”

“Getting my cardio in.”

“Riv …”

I come to a stop at the back of the couch and grip it, posture breaking, as I hang my head. “I’m doing what they told me to do, Anya. My hands are tied. I’m so … tired .”

She sighs from her spot on the coffee table where I’ve propped up my phone, her face filling up the screen. Her face is covered in special green goo her girlfriend told her to use—“ takes ten years off! ” she insisted.

Anya’s voice goes soft. “This River I’m seeing is a far cry from the cocky little shit I was talking to a few days ago. Is reality finally setting in?”

“Try existential dread.”

“Have you spoken to your sponsor? Do you need to?”

“No drink in sight. Not tempted. Not even a tiny bit.”

“Are you convincing me or yourself?”

“I just threw out a bottle of sparkling wine they put in my welcome basket without even opening it. Set it out on the back porch where it was … was swiftly …”

Finn’s face drifts into view in my mind.

His soft, sweet eyes on that back porch when he found the bottle I left out. How he looked like a guardian angel protecting me from it. Then following me down to the rocky shoreline, where his eyes became a shiny cocktail of excitement, fear, and concern for my mental wellbeing.

He had a right to be concerned. I’ve been nothing but unhinged here, letting my real life spin away from me like confetti in the wind while I pretend to be someone else in this town. Someone new. Someone who’s not me.

Then I see his face again, from just earlier today.

At the Fair.

I did one of the most reckless things yet and snuck out of the bungalow in my jacket, shades, and hat, making use of the free pass Welcome Basket Brooke left me.

But let’s face it: I had zero interest in cinnamon sugar pretzels or winning purple plush octopi out of a claw machine.

I had to see Finn. The days were rolling on by and I was losing my fucking mind, suffocating within these walls.

And when I finally found him, I panicked.

What was I doing? Stalking him? What did I plan to do when I found him?

Say hi? Ask him about the weather? Was I totally fucking nuts?

Then he looked my way.

And I bolted.

Made my way straight back to the bungalow.

Threw my hat, shades, and jacket at the floor, crawled under the sheets of my bed, and pretended it didn’t happen.

But it did. And I’m fairly sure he saw me. I’m certain he did— the weirdo baking himself alive inside a hot faux-leather jacket.

“Are you ready to tell me the full story yet?”

Anya’s question brings me back. When I look up, I’m thrown for a second, not recognizing her goo-covered face or the sensitivity in her eyes.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

I look up, my heart racing at once. I leave her gooey face sitting there and move to the front window and poke a finger through the blinds. The knock comes again—and I realize it’s from the back door. I hurry to the kitchen.

Through the door window, there stands Finn.

My guardian angel in a fitted sky-blue button-up shirt with short, bicep-hugging sleeves over khaki shorts.

Is he here to confront me about sneaking around at the Fair like a weirdo? If he’s here just to tell me in person to never do that again, I’ll deserve it. I’ll even thank him and oblige his request, no matter how mortifying it may be.

I open the door. “You’re back.”

He replies: “You’re all over the internet.”

I freeze. Not what I was expecting.

But of course this should happen. It was far too much to expect Finn to stay in the dark forever. He was bound to grow curious at some point, despite his strange aversion to the film industry, and look me up. It was inevitable.

Now he’s one of them. One of the ones who saw the video, read the worst, and drew the easiest conclusion.

Our short-lived connection was too good to be true.

Maybe I would’ve preferred him banishing me for the weird Fair-stalking ordeal earlier.

“There’s a reason, right?”

His question stops me. “What?”

“For what you did? Attacking that guy? It’s bothering me ever since I saw the video.

Can I come in? Thanks.” He slips right past me and enters the kitchen, bewildering me.

I notice a plastic bag hangs from his grip, which he quickly sets on the counter and forgets about, turning back to me.

“The video starts so abruptly. Like, it’s obvious there was a lot that happened before the incident, but you don’t see it in the video.

You see almost nothing except for you shouting at him—can’t even make out the words, too much echo—then throwing the punch and storming off.

That doesn’t tell us anything. And was it recorded by a camera guy?

That’s my guess. Or an intern. Someone pulled out their phone to capture what they could, but they missed how the argument started —the vital piece.

And that’s …” He stops suddenly, as if taking his first breath, then sinks against the counter, looking winded. “… that’s what’s been bothering me.”

His speech slowly hiked my eyebrows up my forehead. I probably look stunned.

I wasn’t expecting so much analysis from Finn.

He’s an overthinker. An intellectual gym bro. Replays everything he experiences in the 4K screen of his mind on loop with surround sound until it makes sense.

I’m suddenly holding back laughter.

Finn notices and frowns. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry.” I sober up. “Really, sorry. Just …” I close the back door and lean against it. “I just didn’t expect this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you’d be …” Suddenly I’m not sure what I thought. “People are saying a lot of things about me.”

“I know.”

“Digging up my past.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“It’s not difficult to draw conclusions.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Finn meets my eyes. “Draw conclusions?”

I look at him. “No.”

“Then I need to know what happened,” he says. “What actually happened. I … I think you owe me that.”

“I owe you that?”

“I need to know if my family and I should be worried. Our business, specifically. Is Hopewell Resorts and Rentals harboring a criminal? Is the reputation of Dreamwood Isle at risk? Or is this whole thing blown out of proportion and you’re actually some kind of …

of hero? Just give it to me straight. No!

” he shouts when I’m about to open my mouth.

“No, no. Not yet. I’m not ready.” He takes a breath. “Okay. Now I’m ready. Tell me.”

I take a breath. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Okay.”

“Technically.”

“Technically?”

“He hasn’t pressed charges. He could, but hasn’t.”

“The director you knocked out?”

“Punched. In his smug jaw. Didn’t quite knock out.”

“And he’s not planning to press charges?”

“Who knows what he’s planning? His only plans are likely just to kick back and eat popcorn while social media devours my career and assassinates my character, despite the efforts of my astoundingly ineffective PR people.”

Finn paces away from the counter, circling the kitchen once before coming to a stop by the table. “No one knows you’re here? No one at all?”

“No one except you has seen me.”

“Is this ‘Cal Mason’ name traceable?”

“Maybe to Sherlock Holmes. Or whatever slightly less dated reference there is.”

“And … why did you punch him?”

Here we go . “To explain … I’ll need to tell you about a lovely young woman named …” I stop suddenly, thinking of Lexi. “Maybe I … shouldn’t say her name.”

“What do you mean?”

“It feels wrong, to say her name, to ‘out’ her.” Now it’s me who’s slowly pacing.

“This isn’t her fault. None of this. I don’t …

I don’t want to imply that even indirectly.

And it’s not for me to identify her. We’re friends,” I explain to him.

“Met at an audition many, many years ago, very first audition I landed after moving to LA. Neither of us were cast. We got lunch after. Laughed it off. Since then, we’ve been like this .

” I cross my fingers. I stop at the other side of the table from Finn.

“Eventually, I got my big ol’ break. Career took off, I guess, and unlike all my other ‘friends’ who turned bitter or downright jealous and mean, she was an angel.

Supportive. Happy for me. Always a text away, no matter how big I got. ”

“Sounds like a great friend.”

“Fast-forward to a month and a half ago. Got a role in this major motion picture. I drop her name, snap, she gets hired on as some sort of assistant’s assistant to the director.

Trent Embers.” I let out a huff after saying the ridiculous name.

“Sounds like a rejected comic book hero concept. If I’ve ever heard a worse stage name … ”

“What did that director do?” asks Finn, picking up on where this is headed.

I underestimated how much saying this out loud would stir up the fire inside me that motivated me to punch Trent in the first place.

“What gets me is how I didn’t even see it.

What was happening behind the scenes. I was so consumed in my role, not paying attention to anything.

Let alone … her, the one I brought in, who I thought I was giving a leg up to.

I imagined doors opening for her. Opportunities.

All the director saw … was …” I’m suddenly unable to say “a piece of ass” about my friend Lexi, my jaw tightening as I grip the edge of the table.

“Someone to take advantage of,” I finish instead.

Finn lets out a sigh of disgust.