Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(3)

He traced his fingers along his prominent scar and the altered shape of that side of his face. His rehab counselor had warned him that recovery would be a process. They’d assured him, though, that a normal life was possible.

What’s normal?

Am I capable of recognizing it?

Or even deserving it? He slammed his fist down on the bathroom counter. I need to be more careful. If those women recognized me—. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“You in there?” a familiar voice demanded.

Eric crossed the room to let him in. “I told you not to come here.”

Reggie, his employee and friend, breezed past him as if he’d been invited. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t handle your grandmother’s beady little eyes. You have to come back. She’s staring into my soul.”

“No,” Eric said as he closed the door. “Not until I’m ready.” There was a time when Reggie, his wife, and his two children were not as openly a part of his life. Reggie had moved them into an infrequently used wing of Eric’s home. Once Eric had fully acknowledged the agreement, it had brought him the closest thing he had to a family. Alice, Reggie’s wife, could always be found chasing her children: Axton, a precocious twelve-year-old; and Liana, his pint-size six-year-old sister. Their antics had given Eric’s empty home new life—but that wasn’t enough to get him to return.

Reggie looked him over and shuddered. “I’ll never get used to your face like that.” He walked around the room, kicking the legs of the threadbare furniture. “Honestly, I don’t see the appeal of this place, either.”

“You don’t need to. I don’t expect anyone to.”

After wiping crumbs off the cushion of a chair, Reggie sat. “You are one fucked-up dude. What’s it going to take for me to convince you to give this up?”

Eric shrugged and pocketed his hands in his jeans. “I am not going back yet, Reggie. I can walk down the street here without being followed. No one wants anything from me. Most people don’t even look at me.”

“You taking anything?”

“No.”

“Not even to sleep?”

“Nothing.”

“Prescription?”

“I’m clean.”

“Your phone rings constantly.”

“Turn it off.”

“You sure you don’t want it?”

“There’s no one I want to talk to.”

“Not even your sister? I thought you were getting close.”

“Rachelle is married with a baby on the way. She doesn’t need my stuff on top of all that.”

“I told the studio you were in Vandorra for a few weeks doing some Vandorran stuff. I don’t know; I made some shit up. They seemed to accept it.”

“I’m not concerned about them.”

Reggie sighed. “Don’t kill yourself. I really like my job, and my kids enjoy living in your house. They might even love the pool more than they love me.”

Eric smiled with wry amusement. “I’m glad they’re happy there. They’re good kids. Don’t worry about me, Reggie. I’m just taking a break.”

“I’m working on a surprise for you.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You need this even if you don’t know it yet. It’s expensive, though. Keep that in mind when you check your bank balance.”

“You know I don’t care about that.”

“You should.” Reggie shook his head as if disgusted and looked around the small apartment again. “Is this the life you really want?”

“I don’t know yet, but that’s what I’m here to find out. Not everything I heard at the clinic rang true to me, but one thing did. It wasn’t even from one of my counselors. It was an older man who was there to break an addiction to pain medication. He asked me why I was there, and I told him the truth—I didn’t know why. Maybe I needed to say it out loud. Anyway, he said every life was a gift, and if I couldn’t see that anymore, it was time to make a change—a drastic one. I asked myself what I wanted, and here I am.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“I don’t intend to. I was in a bad place before I went to the clinic. I wasn’t even angry anymore, just numb. When I visited those sick kids at the children’s hospital, I felt—ashamed. There has to be more to this existence than I’ve seen.”

“You chose a strange neighborhood to look for the meaning of life. I was almost mugged right outside your door.”

Eric looked Reggie over. “Is that my watch?”

Reggie pushed his sleeve back, revealing a Louis Moinet Magistralis watch—an $800,000-plus gift from his father. Eric had never worn it, anyway. “Yeah. I use it to keep the time while driving your McLaren.”

The admission didn’t bother Eric. “Keep both, but it’s probably safer if you don’t bring either here.”

Reggie stood. “Good point, but no thanks. It would take all the fun out of borrowing them. I might even give my title back. I admit it was cool to be knighted by the king of Vandorra, but it’s too much responsibility. They invite me and my wife to events now. I can’t sit around in one of your tuxes and talk to old, rich people all day. I have too much shit to do.”