Page 130 of Between Never and Forever
Give me something. Please.
I would give her everything if I could.
I’ve spent so long juggling everything, terrified to let even one responsibility slip, that I can’t even begin to fathom stopping. I wouldn’t even know how. The silicone wedding band burns my finger, and I flex my hand to ease some of the imaginary sting.
Another envelope came this morning. More brochures and pamphlets. More bribes. More not-so-thinly veiled threats. Since Helen works at the bank, I know she’s seen that I’m finally pulling out of the red, thanks to the money from the studio. She’s getting desperate, and desperate people are dangerous. Especially the self-righteous ones.
The most recent straw she’s clawing at is threatening to take me to court. Saying my marriage to Julianna was a sham because I wanted her insurance pay out, which is hilarious seeing as how I refuse to take it.
She’s done this before.
She doesn’t have a damn leg to stand on. Julianna and I made sure of it. Legally, Helen and William Lark have no claim to Brynnlee. They can try to petition for custody, but they’ll get nowhere. I dropped the envelope off at Clark’s law firm this morning, and he reassured me that everything is fine, but it still makes me anxious.
I turn and walk back to Sharon and Brynn.
“I’m sorry,” Sharon says, and I wave her off.
Sharon didn’t do anything wrong. It was only a matter of time before Savannah found out anyway. I wasn’t expecting it to be the same time I found out that she’s our anonymous donor, but it’s over and done with now.
“Is Ms. Sharon really Sav’s mom?” Brynn pipes up, and I glance at Sharon before nodding. I don’t lie to my kid. Sharon knows that. If Brynn asks, I give her the truth.
“Yeah, Boss, she is.”
Brynn looks at Sharon with wide eyes.
“She’s the daughter you were unkind to? Sav’s the daughter who moved away because you were sick?”
“Yes,” Sharon says. “That’s her.”
Brynn opens her mouth to ask another question, but I hold up my hand, stopping her.
“No more questions today, Brynnlee. They’ll get answered, I promise, but not today.”
I can tell Brynn wants to argue, but she holds her tongue, and I give her a small smile in thanks.
Sharon takes Brynn back to the office, while I finish the walk throughs at River View, and then I meet the girls for dinner at SandBar. Brynn doesn’t ask a single question. She holds true to my “not today” decree. Instead, we talk about her STEM program, the movies she’s watched while staying at Sharon’s, her friend Cameron’s new crush in Connecticut, and how I’m not ready for Brynn to have any crushes at all, to which she said I don’t have to worry because she thinks handholding is gross because palms touching is gross. Sharon thought that was adorable.
By the time I say goodnight to Brynn and Sharon and head home, I’ve almost forgotten about this mess with Savannah.
I haven’t, but almost.
It’s not until I reach my block that I remember tonight is a late shoot. I should just go to bed, but just like last time, I don’t. I’m drawn to Savannah. I’ve always been drawn to Savannah. It’s always gotten me in trouble, and when I see what scene they’re shooting, I know this time won’t be any different.
A sex scene, and it’s taking place on my deck. The deckIbuilt.
I watch from the sliding glass doors. They’re open, allowing cords to run through the house and to a generator out front. I lean on the door frame, just out of the reach of the camera, with a perfect view of everything. I’m close enough that I can hear everything, too.
I knew this would be happening. I shouldn’t be surprised, but seeing Savannah locked in a passionate kiss with Paul Northwood makes me want to punch something. Preferably Mr. Hollywood’s insured face.
The way she’s clawing at him as he picks her up and places her on the railing. The way she wraps her legs around his waist. Even the way she moans his character’s name has me seeing red.
I hate every second of it, but I can’t tear my eyes from her. I’m staring, scowling, when she pops her eyes open, and they land right on me. She freezes, long enough that she breaks character and the director calls cut.
“Sorry,” Savannah says, then flicks her eyes to me before adding sweetly, “let’s go again. I’ll do it better this time.”
“You don’t have to be better, Sav. You were doing great. Just don’t get distracted,” the director says. “Just pick up where you left off. Ready? Action.”
This time, she starts to play it up. Tugging Paul’s hair. Thrusting her hips. Moaning louder. I keep willing the director to stop her. To tell her to tone it down, but she doesn’t. Then Savannah directs her gaze at me, but she does it discreetly this time. She never stops moving. She never stops touching him. Kissing him. And with her eyes on me, moaning and whimpering and writhing, my dick starts to harden. It’s painful, the way it presses into the zipper of my jeans. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
