Page 2 of Breaking the Rules
This wasn’t some rebellion. Not the timeless Hollywood trap that she’d made herself immune to. This was something else.
Xavier punched a number into the phone on his desk.
“I need a favor. I need a police report.”
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Waverly hid her wince as she climbed aboard the private water taxi on the dock in San Pedro. The in-your-face island beauty had never failed to strike her since the first time she visited Ambergris Caye shooting a movie. And this visit, though wounded and exhausted, was no different. The blinding turquoise of the water butted up against sugary sand beaches. On one end of the island was the bustling golf cart hub of San Pedro. On the opposite, endless peace and quiet. She’d bought a home here a year ago, finding the easy commute between L.A. and Belize City irresistible, and made sure to escape here as often as she could. The airy, canary yellow two-story was tucked in between resorts and protected by a thick grove of palms.
There wasn’t a housekeeper or a paparazzo to be seen. Here, she traded Hepplewhite for hammocks and bulletproof SUVs for a golf cart. And hopefully she would heal here.
The water taxi captain must have been under orders to go slow because they clipped along at a far more relaxed pace than the usual break neck speed. The town blurred by in a hodge-podge of colors. The docks became farther apart, the resorts more spectacular. And finally, there was her own little dock, jutting out into the Caribbean waters, a palapa offering shade and a place to swing in a hammock at the end.
They bumped alongside the dock, and Kate helped Waverly out of the boat. Their only luggage, two go bags, was easily hefted over the side. Kate tipped the captain, and with a wave, the taxi zoomed away leaving the two women alone.
They turned their back on the boundless blue of the ocean and slowly made their way down the dock. Palm trees shivered a welcome in the balmy breeze.
Waverly made it up onto the wraparound porch of the first floor before lowering herself onto the rust orange cushion of an outdoor sofa.
“Don’t get blood all over that,” Kate warned her as she jiggled the key in the lock. The side door, a thick wedge of tropical hardwood, opened inward.
Waverly gingerly held herself upright while Kate bustled inside. A moment later, the storm shutters that ran the length of the first floor began their intrepid journey upward. Shutters stowed, Kate shoved open the accordion glass doors until the porch and interior living space became one.
Kate joined her on the porch and flopped down in one of the wicker chairs. “Okay, there is literally no food here, and since we left in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to call the grocery service. I can leave you here and go into town, or I can call them now.”
For once, food didn’t sound remotely good to Waverly, but some time alone to think did. “If you don’t mind going into town, that would be great. Just start with some basics until we know how long we’re going to be on lockdown.”
Kate nodded and rose. “Cool. I’ll stop at that tiki bar place on the way back and bring home dinner.”
“Kate?” Waverly stopped her. “Thanks for being awesome. You don’t know what it means for me to be able to count on you like this.”
“I love your face, too.” Kate threw her a grin and a mock salute before heading back into the house.
Waverly dragged herself to her feet and plodded inside.
The main living space was a towering two-stories with glass from floor to ceiling, taking advantage of the ocean views. There were two wings each with a bedroom downstairs and a master upstairs.
Waverly slowly made her way up the concrete staircase to her room. With her last ounce of energy, she opened the storm shutters and pushed open the terrace doors. She grabbed towels from the bathroom, tossed them on the bed, and let herself collapse.
It was just a flesh wound. But there were other, worse implications that would come out of the events of today. Rehab? She snorted into a pillow. The studio didn’t care what a ding her reputation would take or how the lie would hurt her still healing parents. After all, a splashy comeback from rehab would only up her pull at the box office and make her other role as Hollywood’s party princess more sellable.
If she were to think about how she got herself into this mess, she could pinpoint the exact second she’d set off down this path. When Xavier Saint had walked out on her.
It had been a different wound then, five long years ago. A knife instead of a bullet. She’d been utterly helpless at the deranged hands of a serial killer and again when the only man she’d ever loved had told her she was damaged, toxic. She’d made a vow to herself that she would never again be helpless, never again be vulnerable.
She would never let herself be dependent on someone else for safety or love.
And that’s what it had been, she thought, fingering the medallion she wore around her neck. A gift from a lover. Even though she loathed the man who gave it to her, she couldn’t bear to part with it. A lucky charm, a superstition. And as long as no one knew what hung on that long chain dangling between her breasts, what harm could it do?
She would never understand why Xavier left. Not after watching the footage of her brutal attack. It had taken her months before she felt strong enough to face the visual evidence of the night that had cost Waverly her heart and very nearly her life. The screams, the headlights, the knife.
And then Xavier, tenderly curling over her, blocking out the rest of the world so he could whisper his love for her over and over into her ear. He had killed for her, and then he had held her as if she were fragile glass. Tears and pleas slipping from him, gently, reverently. She remembered everything from that night.
He had loved her, and he had left her. That was all there would be to their story. She would never forgive him for conning her into opening up to him, to giving him her heart, only to destroy that fragile trust, that delicate confidence.
Her mother had been right about so many things, even in the depths of her alcoholism. Chasing happiness and love only lead to heartache. The real satisfaction in life came from pride in her successes. No one could take that away from her. She was in control of her effort and her outcomes. There would be no going back to helpless and vulnerable.
No matter how many times she dreamed that she was still in Xavier’s arms only to wake alone. Nearly every night, but she shouldn’t be thinking of Xavier now. She needed to be thinking of Dante.
