Wicked Heart by Leisa Rayven (8)

EIGHT

NO EXCUSES

Eight Months Later

Central Park

New York City

I used to think missing someone was a choice, but that was before Liam. Now I realize all you can do is choose to ignore missing someone. The actual longing never goes away. It stays in your body like a toothache, deep in your bones, and every time you forget to deny it, the hum of it builds into a roar that’s so loud, it’s the only thing you can hear.

He’s been gone eight months now, and I still have to concentrate to stop thinking about him every day.

It doesn’t help that Josh is also gone. He got his acceptance letter to The Grove the same time I did, but decided to accept an offer from the UCLA School of Theater, Film and Television instead. For years he’d fantasized about living in L.A., and even though I suspected his decision was fueled by his obsession with all things young, hot, and actressy, I tried to be as supportive as possible.

The result is that the two people I want to be with most are both thousands of miles away. This has worked out well.

I sigh as I cross the road and head into Central Park. Stupid Liam. Making me feel things. Forcing me to miss him. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d hate him.

As I head toward the lake, “I’m Too Sexy” blares out of my phone, and even before I answer it I’m smiling.

“Madam Elissa’s House of Snark. How may I help you?”

“Move to L.A. Right the fuck now,” Josh says.

“Certainly, sir. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Don’t mess with me, woman. I’m homesick, and haven’t been laid in over a week. I’m in a very vulnerable place right now. What are you doing?”

“Walking through Central Park. Heading to my reading tree.”

“You back home for the weekend?”

“Yeah. I had a few days off in between Grove shows, so I’ve come home to recharge.” I reach my reading tree near the lake and drop my bag on the grass before sitting. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to talk to my bestie. How’s your love life? Found anyone interesting at The Grove?”

I lean back against the tree and stretch my legs out in front of me. “Nope.”

“Aw, come on. It’s an arts college. There has to be a decent quotient of hot men.”

I pick at the grass. “Oh, there are lots of hot men, but it’s a drama school. It’s full of damn actors.”

“Okay, then branch out. There are also musicians and artists, right? Find a hot rock god. Or a sensitive painter. I know for damn sure you could get a date with anyone you liked if you just tried. At least have some meaningless sex. You’re wasting your college experience.”

The thing is, as much as I’d like to use sex to blow off steam, I’m just not interested in any of the guys at The Grove. I’m only interested in the man who’s closer to Josh than he is to me.

Josh clears his throat. “Aaaand we’ve reached the part of our conversation where I mention sex, and you go quiet so you can daydream about Liam Quinn.”

God, am I that predictable? “Sorry, Josh.”

“Don’t be. It’s just crappy he’s here instead of there. Did you see him in the latest Coke ad?”

“Yeah. It’s hard not to see him.” Shirt off, body glistening with water. A perfect-boobed blonde hanging off his arm as he smiles and embodies a man loving his life.

It makes me so jealous, I have to change the channel whenever it comes on.

“At least he’s getting work out here,” Josh says.

“Of course he is. He’s a casting agent’s wet dream.”

Josh pauses for a few seconds, then says, “You know, if you came out here to visit me, you could also see Quinn. I hate saying that because the risk is you’d fall into bed with him and not have time for me, but still. It’s a thought. I predict that if you and him were in the same city, your no-sex embargo would vanish in a puff of very horny smoke. Might do you some good.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. God, what a thought. Seeing Liam in the flesh. Touching him. Kissing him. It would be amazing.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Godammit. Just thinking about him is making me miss him even more. My chest actually aches.

I lean back against the tree. “Can we not talk about this anymore? Don’t you have to go to class?”

“Only if I want to graduate. So, yeah. Call me tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

“And, Lissa?”

“Hmmm?”

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I will. Love you, Josh.”

“Love you, too.”

I hang up and sigh. Thoughts of seeing Liam wind around in my brain. It’s tempting. Very tempting.

I go to my contacts and pull up his number. Next to it is the picture he took the night we met. The one where he’s kissing me so deeply, I felt it in my toes.

When he first left, I sent him text messages now and then, just to check if he was okay. I tried to keep them casual and friendly, but it somehow made me feel closer to him.

He’d never reply. Not with texts, anyway. The first time he called me, I panicked and let it go to voice mail. He left a message. Just listening to his voice made missing him both easier and harder.

I punch in the number for my voice mail. I’m embarrassed at how often I play these messages. When I hear them, I can almost imagine he’s with me.

“Hey, Elissa. How’s it going? Got your texts. I’m not great at replying to those things, so thought I’d call you instead. I made it to L.A. safely. Although after nearly six hours on a plane, I wanted to murder someone. Preferably the dude who made sure anyone over six feet tall would have to bend themselves like a pretzel to fit into those stupid economy seats. I suspect the asshole was a sadist. It’s the only logical explanation. Anyway, I’m going apartment hunting tomorrow. On my budget, I’ll be lucky to get something with running water and electricity, but I’ll do my best. Are you at The Grove yet? Surviving living with your brother? Okay, better go. Hope you’re well. Give me a call sometime, okay? I’d love to hear from you.”

A week later, I called him back. He didn’t pick up either, so I left him a voice mail. I told him about my course, the torture of living with Ethan. Everything and nothing.

After that, we fell into a cycle. Phone messages became our way of staying in touch without the pressure of an actual conversation. It worked for us. It took away the temptation of saying things in real time that would make our separation even more painful.

Or at least, that’s how it started.

“Hey, Liss. Sitting here, thinking about you. Thought I’d give you a quick call. I have my first screen test today. I’m nervous as hell. Please tell me it gets easier. Hope you’re well.”

“Liss! I got a national ad for Coke! It’s not Shakespeare but it’s a start. Now I can finally buy real food and pay my rent on time. Winning!” There’s a pause and a change of tone. “If you were here, I’d take you out to celebrate. Hope you’re well.”

See? Casual. Easy. Nice. I always replied.

But one day, the tone of Liam’s messages started to change.

“Hey, Liss. I kind of want you to pick up one day so we can have a proper conversation, but I know it would make me want to jump on the first plane home. I miss you. And New York. L.A. is driving me crazy, and Hollywood is . . . challenging.” He pauses. “The one thing that keeps me going is knowing we’ll be together again one day. I have no doubt about that. Leave me a message when you get a chance. I miss your voice. Well, I miss all of you, but hearing your voice makes me miss you a little less. Hope you’re well. Bye.”

From that day, my messages also got more plaintive. I kept the content the same—life at The Grove, my brother and his tragic love life, shows I was working on, and so on. But I also let him know I missed him. And putting that into words made the distance between us even more painful.

Then, a couple of months ago, I received this:

Every time I hear him say that, it makes me just as giddy as the first time. Of course, I called him straight back to tell him I felt the same, but when the message tone sounded, I couldn’t go through with saying it to a machine. Instead, I asked him to call me back ASAP so we could talk properly. He didn’t. In fact, my next three messages asking him to call also went unanswered.

Now, I have no idea where I stand. Is he embarrassed about saying he loved me? Or did he realize it was the booze and nostalgia talking rather than him?

Either way, I feel like I’m in limbo. And until I speak to him—the real-live him—I don’t see that changing.

I take a deep breath as my finger hovers over his number. Screw it. I’m going to keep calling until he answers. One way or another, we’re going to have a conversation today.

Adrenaline surges through me as I make the decision. I stand, sling my bag over my shoulder, and start walking. I try to expel nervous energy as I hit his number.

I tap my thigh as the call connects and starts to ring, once . . . twice . . . three times. After the sixth ring, it goes to voice mail. I hang up and redial.

Three more times it connects to voice mail, but on the fourth try, he answers.

“Liss? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The relief I feel at the sound of his voice is so intense, my knees go weak. “Liam. Hey. Hi. I’m fine. I just needed to talk to you. The real you. And . . . wow. I am.”

I hear him exhale. “I . . . God, Liss. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You, too. Your voice, I mean. I . . . uh . . . I can’t believe I’m speaking to you.” I’m so nervous, my saliva has dried up. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.” I shake my head as I reach the stairs leading down to the fountain. I’ve never felt awkward with him before. Why am I starting now? “How’s everything going? I haven’t heard from you in a while. I mean, I’ve tried a few times. I wanted you to know how much I loved your last message. I loved it. Really. Why didn’t you call me back?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been crazy busy. Actually, I’ve been meaning to call. I . . . uh, got a movie. Well, a movie franchise, actually.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?! Seriously? Tell me everything.”

“I auditioned for it when I first got here. They’ve made me do about twenty screen tests since, but a couple of months ago, they told me I got it. Have you heard of Rageheart?”

I stop dead in my tracks. “Are you kidding me? I read the script when it was leaked online. Please tell me you’re playing Zan. Oh, God, on second thought, no. He’s already too sexy. If you were playing him it would be disastrous for women everywhere, and me in particular. Okay, wait.” I take a deep breath. “Break it to me gently.”

He chuckles. “I’m playing Zan.”

I actually squeal and do a little jump. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before, but this is news worth squealing about. “Liam, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for you! This is it. Your big break to mega-stardom.”

As I come down the stairs, I pause to watch a group of people milling around near the fountain and wonder what’s going on. Knowing New York, someone’s filming here. It’s a daily occurrence.

Down the phone, I hear Liam sigh. “The whole thing has happened so fast my head is spinning. We’re already rehearsing and doing press.”

“Who’s playing Areal?”

He pauses. “Uh . . . Angel Bell.”

I frown. “Really? I didn’t know she was an actress. I just thought she was a professional famous person.”

“She’s done a few small movies recently, and I guess someone thinks she’s ready for the big leagues.”

“Well, that makes two of you. You’ll look incredible together.

People are going to lose their minds.”

He pauses. “Listen, Liss, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“I have something to talk to you about, too. That’s why I called.”

“Okay.”

“Since I got your last message, I’ve been wanting to tell you . . . Well, I need you to know that . . .” As I get closer to the fountain I see a group of people setting up for a photo shoot. Over to the side I spy the back of a particularly gorgeous male model. My whole body flushes at the sight of him.

Helloooo, handsome.

I frown. That back is awfully familiar. “Wait, Liam. Where are you?”

“Uh . . . talking to you on the phone.”

“Yes, but where? In L.A.?”

“Actually, no. I’m back in New York for the weekend. I have a photo shoot for some entertainment magazine. So strange.”

“You’re shooting in Central Park?”

He pauses. “Yes. How did you know that?”

I smile. “Turn around and look halfway up the stairs.”

He turns and scans the crowd behind him. When he sees me, his face goes through such a range of emotions, I have trouble deciphering them all. Finally, he gives me the most dazzling smile I’ve ever seen. He strides toward me, and I head toward him, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I launch myself into his arms. I swear we both stop breathing as we wrap around each other in the world’s tightest hug.

“Liss.” It not even a word. Just a sigh.

“Hey, you.” I’m so happy I could cry. He feels just as good as I remember. Smells even better.

I dig my fingers into his back as he breathes against my neck, “God, I’ve missed you. A lot. More than I should.”

“Likewise. I can’t believe you’re here. And I’m here.”

He pulls back and shakes his head without looking at me. “Finding each other randomly in the middle of Central Park? Yeah. That sounds about right for us.” He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. “Listen, we’re about to start shooting, but I . . . I really need to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere? After?”

“Of course. Call me when you’re done. I’ll be around.”

“Okay. Sure.” He shuffles his feet, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to go. I don’t want him to go, either. After our being apart for so long, having him close is intoxicating. He studies my face, like he’s trying to figure out what to do. I really want him to kiss me, but I understand that he’s working. It can wait until we’re alone.

“Mr. Quinn?” We turn to see a scrawny kid in skinny jeans and Chucks hovering nearby. “We’re almost ready for you.”

“Thanks. Be right there.” The boy disappears, and when Liam turns back to me, his face is drawn.

“Mr. Quinn, huh?”

He gives me a wry smile. “Yep. I hate it.”

“Well, get used to it. It won’t be long before we’re all calling you that.”

I expect him to smile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes my hands and mutters, “I’d better go.”

“Liam, wait. I just need to—” I take a step forward and look up at him. “We can talk about this more when you’re done, but I just want you to know . . .” This would have been so much easier on the phone. I get all turned around when I’m this close to him and he’s staring at me with those incredible eyes. I glance down at his fingers wrapped around mine, and I’m hit with the same sense of rightness I always feel when we touch. Our hands look perfect together. They feel perfect. Seeing that helps me find my words. “I know we said we wouldn’t do the long-distance thing, but . . . I can’t stop thinking about your last message, and you need to know that I—”

“Liss, you don’t have to—”

“Wait a sec, just let me say this before I lose my nerve, okay?” I take a breath and look up at him. “I’ve never met anyone like you, and I doubt I ever will. Recently I’ve come to the conclusion that life’s too short not to spend it with the people we love and . . . I love you.” I laugh and shake my head. “Wow, it feels weird to say that out loud. But I’m not saying it just because you said it. I promise. I’m saying it because I mean it, and I’ve been dying to tell you. I know that making things work when we’re so far away from each other will be tough, but . . . I want to try. If you do.”

His jaw tightens, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was on the verge of tears. His hands clench and release around mine, and I search his face as he swallows heavily.

“Liam?”

“Liss, I—”

The production assistant appears again, more nervous than before. “Mr. Quinn. We really need you to come now. Please, sir.”

Liam turns to glare at him. “I’ll be there in a second.” His expression makes the boy scurry away.

When he turns back to me, his face is still hard. “Sorry, I have to go. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

“Okay.” My heart is hammering in my chest. This isn’t how I saw my first declaration of love ending. I thought for sure Liam would say it back and then we’d have mind-blowing sex, or at least a toe-curling kiss. This is . . . not that.

Liam bends down and gently brushes his lips across my cheek. I close my eyes and shiver.

“I’ll call you later,” he whispers.

I nod, and then he leaves me and heads back over to the fountain. When he gets there, the photographer calls him over, and a beautiful redhead appears on the other side of him. Ah. Angel Bell. Holy wow, she looks like a goddess.

Something unpleasant fires in my stomach. It intensifies when she and Liam take up their positions, and she grabs his arm possessively.

The photographer shoots and calls out instructions, and Liam and Angel move through various intimate poses. When the photographer walks over and talks to them, the poses get a whole lot sexier. Liam’s shirt is unbuttoned. Angel’s hands are on his chest and abs. He gazes at her like he wants to eat her.

“You know him?”

I turn to see a man with greasy hair and a goatee standing next to me. He’s holding one of the biggest cameras I’ve ever seen.

Geez, dude. Overcompensating, much?

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Liam Quinn. I saw him talking to you. You friends? Family?”

I turn back to watch Liam grab Angel and pull her against him. “Friends.” For the moment. Very soon, I’m hoping we’ll be a whole lot more.

The man brings up his giant camera and squeezes off a few shots. “Anything you can tell me about him and his costar? When did they start dating? Did they know each other before they got the movie?”

I look at him sharply. “You a reporter?”

He shrugs. “Sort of.”

“Then you’re misinformed. They’re not dating.”

He laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound. “Haven’t seen your friend for a while, have you? They’re dating, all right. Well, ‘fucking’ would be a better word for it. Pardon the language.”

My stomach clenches. “Why the hell would you think that? They’re working together. That’s it.”

He smiles, showing nicotine-stained teeth, then glances around, as if to check that no one’s looking. “I shouldn’t be showing you this, but what the hell? Come tomorrow morning everyone’s going to know anyway. I’ve sold these babies to four national mags and three Web sites. There’s nothing like hot actors screwing each other’s brains out to boost audience pull.” He fiddles with the controls of his camera. “Friend of mine tipped me off that Quinn was going to be the next big thing in Hollywood, so I started following him a few weeks ago. Seems like he and his costar have been busy getting to know each other.”

He turns the camera around so I can see the screen, then he scrolls through photos. My face flushes with heat. I feel sick.

There are dozens of pictures of Liam and Angel together. Gazing at each other lovingly. Kissing across a table at lunch. Making out in the doorway of his apartment after obviously spending the night together.

My head pounds as nausea rolls through me. I look away. The man chuckles and hands me his card. “So, yeah. The story’s about to break about these two, big-time. If you ever have dirt on him you want to sell, I’ll make it worth your while. He’d never have to know it came from you.”

As he presses the card into my hand, humiliation sinks into my bones.

He said he loved me. That he missed me. That some actors might fall for their leading ladies, but he never would. And I believed him.

I bought every single line he fed me and begged for more. I really am a special breed of idiot.

Part of me is blindsided, but another part is completely unsurprised it’s happened again. Of course it has.

I look back at Liam and Angel, still groping each other for the camera. Liam’s eyes flicker to me, and I see it—the exact moment he realizes I know. His face drops and clouds with guilt, and then a look of indescribable sadness settles on his features. The photographer barks something at him and Liam glances at him briefly before turning back to me.

As I stare at him, my eyes prickle with hot tears, but I refuse to let them fall. I’m filled with so much rage, I’m shaking. More than anything, I’m angry with myself. I knew the risks of falling for him, and I let it happen anyway.

I deserve this. It’s as much my fault as it is his.

When I can’t bear to look at him anymore, I turn and walk away. I hear him yell my name, but I don’t stop. What would be the point?

Everything hurts as I walk, and I curse myself for wanting to run back and beg him to change his mind.

What the hell is wrong with me? Am I really that unlovable?

Tears well up again, and I tense every muscle to stop the emotion from overwhelming me.

Maybe I’m just supposed to live out my days with Josh and have casual sex with others. Maybe there isn’t a man out there who loves me enough to want my body and heart.

I want to deny that I love Liam so it won’t hurt so much, but I can’t. I don’t think I really loved the other guys who dumped me, but him . . . For all my ranting about fate, it felt like he was meant for me. Why couldn’t the only one I really wanted want me back?

I wipe my eyes in frustration. My face is hot with shame and embarrassment, and I’m so weary all I want to do is curl into a ball and close my eyes.

I’m almost to the subway station when my phone buzzes with a message. I stop dead when I see it’s from Liam. I stare at it for a long time.

I expected him to roll out the usual shtick: “It’s not you, it’s me.” Or, “We want different things.” Or my personal favorite: “I think we’re better as friends.”

The message I’m staring at is none of those things. It simply says, “I’m sorry.”

No denial. No excuses.

I don’t know why those two words crack my self-control, but they do. I break down in the middle of the pavement and cry in a way I’ve never cried before. It’s ugly, and every sob shoots pain through my chest. And even though I know people are staring, I can’t stop.

Years ago I saw a magazine article that claimed everyone should have their heart broken at least once in order to become a better person. It said that the pain of losing someone you love will teach you about yourself. Develop your strength and resilience.

Whoever wrote that article can go fuck themselves.

Heartache doesn’t teach you to be resilient. It teaches you to protect your fragility. It teaches you to fear love. And it draws a bright red circle around all the ways you’ve failed as a person and laughs while you cry.

I don’t know how long I stand there and sob, but after a while, all my tears are gone, and I collapse onto a nearby bench as I try to pull myself together. There’s a deep, angry pain in my chest, and I wonder how long I’ll have to live with it.

When the shadows start to lengthen and the streetlights flicker on, I stand and slowly head toward home.

At least having my heart broken by Liam Quinn taught me one thing. It’s taught me that I never want to feel this way about a man ever again.