Lie, Lie Again(26)
Embry had wanted it even more. For Brandon. For the baby. She wished she could change history, but no amount of wishing or positive thinking could make things different. Brandon wasn’t a working actor; he was a waiter by day and a bartender by night. She shuddered a sigh into his shoulder. “Maybe we should think about going home.”
He took her by both arms, holding on to her as if to steady himself. “What?”
“It’s a thought,” she said, taking a step back. “Money is tight, and we don’t have any family out here. And . . .” Tears pooled in her eyes. “And I—”
“And what? You don’t think I can do it? Is that what you’re saying?”
The sharpness in his voice stung, and the urge to spill the baby news hovered on her lips. What would he say if she just tossed it out there and let him deal with it? What sweet relief that would bring. But it wouldn’t be fair to him. And no matter what, she couldn’t help but put his feelings first. It was what you did when you loved someone.
She shook her head. “No! I’m not saying that at all.” Softening, she added, “I just want to do what’s best for us. That’s all.”
“Dammit, Embry. What do you think I want? Do you know how I feel every time I have to tell you I didn’t get another goddamn part?” He violently slit the air with his hand. “Not even a stupid costarring role that any asshole can book. I’m failing you. There’s always someone taller, shorter, more southern, less southern. They always want someone with a bit more or a bit less. I’m never the one.” He shoved a hand in his hair and turned away.
Embry threw a protective glance toward Kylie, worried that she’d heard Brandon swearing up a storm, but she was busy wandering the room, tapping her spatula to the books on the shelf as though anticipating their coming to life. Satisfied Kylie wasn’t listening, she touched her hand to Brandon’s shoulder. “You’re not failing us. The whole Hollywood thing is like getting picked up by a tornado and tossed around until you’re sick. But you will land.”
He shrugged her hand off and spun to face her. “How do you know that? Truth is, you don’t.”
“I’m only trying to be supportive, Brandon. You don’t need to act like a jerk,” she whispered harshly.
“You know what?” he snapped. “Maybe you’re right about going home. I’ll start working at my daddy’s gas station. I can see it now—going from pouring drinks for desperate divorcées to rotating tires on trucks.” A rough laugh fell from his lips, making his handsome face turn ugly. “Talk about a success story.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“Oh, I’m not being sarcastic. Isn’t that what you want? To go home? I’m telling you my options there. And you can get Kylie all prepped to go out on the pageant circuit. It’ll be a dream come true for your mama.”
Her hand burned with the foreign desire to slap him. She balled it into a fist, afraid she might actually do it. “Don’t you bring my mama into this. She’s been nothing but your biggest fan.”
He stormed past her. “I need to get some air.” Grabbing his keys from the hook in the kitchen, he yanked open the door and let it slam.
Embry collapsed into a chair. She stared at the spot where Brandon had stood. They’d never once fought like that. Not when she’d backed the car into a pole at Costco or when Brandon had fallen asleep while watching the kids and Embry had returned home to find Kylie drawing purple marker all over a sleeping Carson’s hands. Her husband was falling apart before her eyes. She could feel his despair in her bones.
If the going gets tough, the tough get going. It’s what her auntie Boots used to tell her all the time when she was a teenager. Boots wasn’t her real name, but Embry had called her that ever since she could remember. When Embry was first learning to talk, she couldn’t pronounce her real name, Ruth. Her daddy had laughed and said, “It sounds like she’s saying boots.” The name stuck, and it had managed to create a special bond between the two. Auntie Boots was her daddy’s aunt—her great-aunt—but Embry liked to think of her as her very own. She had a never-ending supply of great stories and solid advice. And if she were here now, she’d tell Embry to take matters into her own hands. If your finances are a worry, get out there and find a way to help.
There it was again, the idea that she could earn some money too. She’d find a way. The blood of generations of determined women flowed through her veins, after all. It was up to her now.
CHAPTER NINE
Sylvia sat up in her bed, adjusting the pillow so it supported her back, and flicked the cap off the bottle of Tylenol, washing two down with water from the glass on her bedside table as she glared at the stupid brace. She’d be better off amputating her wrist and purchasing a pretty hook. She could find an antique that would not only be functional but could double as a unique piece of statement jewelry. And it’d certainly come in handy. When someone annoyed her, she could use it as a weapon.
Hugh was to blame for her injury. If she hadn’t been busy trying to mentally pinpoint his location, she wouldn’t have tripped. She tried to release the anger. Maybe he was suffering in a gutter somewhere, the victim of a hit-and-run that had left him with severely broken bones. Or he could’ve been captured by disgusting drug dealers who were too stupid to have gotten the right guy. She hoped that was the case.