Page 100 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
The old man’s kind eyes turn cold at David. “Did you do that?”
David’s smile holds, but I see the tension creep into the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head slowly, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “Bailey, listen to yourself. This—this story you’ve been spinning for years—it isn’t real. It’s some fantasy you’ve built because you can’t handle what’s true. I’ve always loved you.”
My throat tightens. I swallow, my pulse pounding in my ears. “You loved me so much you left me bruised? Loved me so much I had to hide photographs in the attic in case I ever needed proof? Loved me so much you broke my son’s arm?”
Friedburg raises both hands, his voice cracking through the air like a gavel. “Enough.” His tone is firm, but his eyes flick between us, unsettled, confusion written into every line of hisface. “This…this is not what I was told.” He looks at me, then at David. “You told me this was about giving them a better future.”
“And it is,” David says quickly, smoothly, stepping closer to him. “Bailey doesn’t see it now, but she will. She twists things. I don’t know why she does it.”
My voice cracks, fury bleeding into grief. “You’re lying, David. And now you want to stand here and act like you’re the hero?”
Friedburg shakes his head slowly, his gaze shifting back to David. “David told me he wanted to repair things. He said he wanted to reconcile, to put the family back together.”
“Reconciliation isn’t possible when one side of the marriage is built on bruises and the other side is made of lies.”
David chuckles under his breath, shaking his head like it’s all absurd. “Always so dramatic. She’s an actress, Friedburg—she lives for the performance. I don’t know why she insists on dragging me into her scripts, but here we are. I did this for her, and she’s turning on me.”
“No,” I say firmly, my voice shaking but sure. “I earned that role. You didn’t give me anything except scars.”
“David,” Friedburg says slowly, his voice a low rumble, “she is not saying these things lightly. No woman ever does.”
David’s mask doesn’t crack. He leans one hand against the back of a chair, the picture of composure. “They all make shit up when it’s convenient for them, Greg. You know that.”
My throat aches. My fingernails dig into my palms until I feel the sting of blood. “You’re a coward. You tricked Greg into this film, manipulated people, pulled strings, all so you could trap me here. You thought I’d play the role of the good girl in front ofhim to guarantee I kept the lead in the picture. That’s where you screwed up. I’m done. I’m not covering for you ever again. Our children will know what you did to me. The world will know?—”
Friedburg raises a hand, cutting through the air. His voice trembles slightly now. “David, I’ve known you a long time. I’ve trusted you. But…if what she says is true?—”
“It’s not,” David cuts in, quick, sharp. His voice loses some of its polish, just for a second.
Friedburg doesn’t look convinced. He leans heavily on his cane, his brows furrowed deep. “I will not condone abuse. Not of a woman. Not of children.”
For the first time, David’s smile slips entirely. His jaw tightens, his eyes flash. “You’re taking her side? After all the money I gave for this film?”
Friedburg shakes his head. “I’m listening to what she’s saying. And if there’s even a chance?—”
“She lies. She lies about everything. I don’t know why she does it. Maybe she needs attention. Maybe she needs sympathy. But I won’t stand here and let you believe a woman over me.”
The fury in his voice makes the hair rise on the back of my neck. “You don’t get to control the narrative anymore, David. Not here. Not with me.”
He whirls on me then, his mask shattered. His voice drips with venom. “You ungrateful bitch. I gave you everything. A career. Children. A home. And you spit in my face because you want to play martyr.”
“You didn’t give me anything but pain.”
David’s hand goes into his jacket, fast, practiced. When it comes out, there’s a gun in it.
The world narrows to a pinpoint.
I freeze.
Friedburg stiffens, his cane clattering against the tiles as he stumbles back a step. His face goes pale, but his voice booms. “David! What are you doing?”
David doesn’t answer. His eyes are locked on me, blazing with something feral, something I’ve seen before. The smugness is gone. The veneer is gone. Only rage remains.
34
SEAN
When the gunclears David’s jacket, my pulse slows.
