What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(6)

She clenched her teeth. “I swear to God, if you breathe a word to anybody—”

“He won’t,” Trevor said. “Our Bramwell has never been interested in anybody but himself.”

That was so true. But she still couldn’t bear knowing he’d overheard something so humiliating. She and Bram had worked together from the time he was seventeen until he was twenty-five. At seventeen, his selfishness had been thoughtless, but as his fame had spread, his behavior had become more deliberately reckless. It wasn’t hard to see that he’d only grown more cynical and self-centered.

He drew up his knee. “Aren’t you a little young to have given up on true love?”

She felt a hundred years old. Her fairy-tale marriage had failed, putting an end to her dreams of finally having a family of her own and a man who’d love her for herself instead of what she could do for his career. She flipped her sunglasses back over her eyes, weighing the danger of the jackals lurking outside against the danger of the beast in front of her. “I am not talking to you about this.”

“Ease up, Bram,” Trevor said. “She’s had a tough year.”

“The downside of being worshipped,” Bram replied.

Trev sniffed. “Nothing you’ll ever have to worry about.”

Bram picked up her abandoned margarita, sipped, and shuddered at the taste. “I’ve never seen the public take a celebrity divorce so personally. I’m surprised none of your crazed fans set themselves on fire.”

“People feel like Georgie’s family,” Trevor said. “They grew up with Scooter Brown.”

Bram set the glass down. “They grew up with me, too.”

“But Georgie and Scooter are basically the same person,” Trevor pointed out. “You and Skip aren’t.”

“Thank God.” Bram rose from the chaise. “I still hate that uptight little preppy prick.”

But Georgie had loved Skip Scofield. She’d loved everything about him. His big heart, his loyalty, the way he’d tried to protect Scooter from the Scofield family. The way he’d eventually fallen in love with her silly round face and rubber-band mouth. She’d loved everything except the man Skip turned into when the cameras stopped rolling.

The three of them had fallen back into their old pattern—Bram on the attack and Trevor defending her. But she wasn’t a kid any longer, and she needed to defend herself. “I don’t think you hate Skip at all. I think you always wanted to be Skip, but you fell so far short of the mark that you had to pretend to despise him.”

Bram yawned. “Maybe you’re right. Trev, are you sure no one’s left any weed lying around? Or even a cigarette?”

“I’m sure,” Trevor said, just as the phone rang. “Don’t kill each other while I answer that.”

Trevor went inside.

She wanted to punish Bram for being exactly who he was. “I could have been trampled to death today. Thanks for nothing.”

“You were handling it. And without Daddy. Now that was the real surprise.”

She stared him down. “What do you want, Bram? We both know your showing up here isn’t an accident.”

He rose, wandered toward the railing, and peered down at the beach. “If Trev had been stupid enough to take you up on your bizarre offer, what would you have done for a sex life?”

“Right. That’s something I’m going to talk to you about.”

“Who better to confide in?” he said. “I was there at the beginning, remember?”

She couldn’t bear another moment, and she spun toward the French doors.

“Just out of curiosity, Scoot…,” he said from behind her. “Now that Trev’s rejected you, who’s next in line to be Mr. Georgie York?”

She pasted on a smile full of mockery and turned back. “Aren’t you sweet to tax that big evil head of yours worrying about my future when your own life is such a screwed-up mess.” Her hand was trembling, but she gave what she hoped passed for a jaunty wave and went inside. Trev had just gotten off the phone, but she was too drained to do more than ask him to at least consider her idea.

By the time she reached Pacific Palisades, she was so tightly coiled she ached. She ignored the photographer parked at the end of her court and turned into a narrow driveway that curled down to an unassuming pseudo-Mediterranean ranch that could have fit into her former home’s swimming pool. She hadn’t been able to bear staying in the house where she and Lance had lived. This rental came furnished with bulky pieces that were too heavy for the small rooms, just as the ceilings were too low for the rough wooden beams, but she didn’t care enough to look for another place.

She cranked open a bedroom window, then made herself check her voice mail.

“Georgie, I saw the stupid tabloid, and—”

Delete

“Georgie, I’m so sorry—”

Delete

“He’s a bastard, kiddo, and you’re—”

Delete

Her friends were well meaning—most of them, anyway—but their nonstop sympathy choked her. She wanted to be the one handing out sympathy for a change, not always having to receive it.

“Georgie, call me immediately.” Her father’s crisp voice filled the room. “There’s a photo in the new Flash that’s bound to upset you. I don’t want you to be taken off guard.”