Page 8 of Hate Wrecked

“I finally get to go,” I repeat.

I’m stable in my life now. Years of running myself ragged doing this job, having no life, and losing myself in the lives of others. It’s finally paying off. I’m finally the man my father never was. Except Riley’s presence threatens all that.

“I hope it’s everything you want it to be,” Riley says, attempting to stand.

I get to my feet, reaching for her. She’s warm, sweaty, and a little shaky.

“Let me get you to bed,” I say, trying to forget I ever said words like that to her long ago.

THEN

RILEY

There wasno one home but he and I that day—the handsome bodyguard I’d been watching for weeks. The one with the ruddy hair, the sharp jawline. He was too attractive to be on the payroll, and I wondered if my mother noticed me looking at him. But then, I guess she would have had to noticemeback then…and she hadn’t for a while.

I’d been testing my limits with him. Marking where his eyes would go, planning where I wanted them to go next.

He was always watching. Not just me. Everything. It would make him good at his job.

I turned the music down and walked out to the garden, eyes on him as his eyes took in the sea. “Want to join me?” I asked.

Rowan nodded and looked around. Checking the perimeter? Checking to see if he was being watched? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t bother to care.

He followed me, and I pulled my headphones off, wrapping the chords around the Walkman.

“What were you listening to?” Rowan asked when he caught up to me.

I pretended to stumble, bumping into him. He righted me as if it were instinct, natural. Hands on my elbows, eyes on me. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “And I was listening to Nirvana. Do you like them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I like them.”

“What’s the music like back in Scotland?” I asked, heading to the bench in the center of the garden. I was usually the only one there—aside from the landscapers.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there since I was a boy,” he replied, walking past the bench. I sat on the wrought iron structure, leaning back slightly and propping my legs on the arm. If he wasn’t going to join me, I’d take up the whole thing.

“Do you keep up with anything back home?”

He looked back at me, eyes quizzical. “No, not really. Is that weird?”

“Do you consider yourself Scottish or American?”

“Both, I suppose.”

We sat in silence for a moment, eyes connecting, then we both looked away. After a long pause, we both started speaking at the same time, so I let him go first. “I heard you singing the other day. You’re quite good at it.”

I blushed, waving him off, clutching the compliment tight to my chest. I’d never be in someone’s ear, singing melodies. It was just a hobby. A way to pass the time, much like my songwriting. I already knew what I wanted to do with my career. I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to star on screens like my mom and dad. Because if I couldn’t be happy, I could fake it the way they had for years—since before I was born.

It runs in our blood, the ability to put on a show.

“Thank you,” I said, biting my lip and turning away. Rowan cleared his throat, and I wished he would join me on the bench. I wished he knew he could touch me. But then, he could have done whatever he liked with me. I’d been fantasizing about him since the first time he walked through our door. Some picked forbidden fruit. Some liked challenges—some of my parents’ co-stars certainly did.

But something about Rowan Finn told me it would be a challenge. It would be hard to get him to bite the apple.

He was the kind of guy who wanted to woo a woman properly—a forgotten art I watched on screen and saw less and less in everyday life. Times were changing, and the privacy of the past was fading away. That’s what they said: my mother, father, and stepfather. It was a new era: the 90s. A time to expose yourself.

I wanted that to be me.

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