Jace came in, a cup of tea in his hands. “I have no idea what I’m doing, so sorry if it’s bad.”
“Thank you, Jace.” Ever since Krystal had shared her possible pregnancy, Emmy couldn’t help but see everything he did differently. If Krystal was pregnant, her sister was going to have the best father for her baby. And he’d take such good care of Krystal—he already did.
“Scooch,” Krystal said, making room for Clementine on the bed.
Emmy propped
herself up on the pillows, took the tea, and smiled as Watson curled back into a little ball on her stomach. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the tea in bed, but what’s the big development this morning?”
Jace chuckled. “Well, now, funny you should put it that way.”
Krystal turned on the television mounted on the wall of Emmy’s bedroom. “Jace.” Krystal patted the bed beside her.
“Wouldn’t want to crowd the four of you.” He shook his head.
“Jace, you know she’s not going to stop until you do what she says.” Emmy took a sip of her very strong tea.
Jace sat beside Krystal, and Krystal pressed a button.
“I appreciate you being here tonight,” Guy James was saying.
“This was recorded last night,” Krystal whispered.
Vanessa Trentham looked amazing. “I’m assuming there is a reason I’m being tortured this morning?” Long, dark hair. Long legs. Long eyelashes. “She’s so gorgeous,” Emmy Lou mumbled. With her puffy eyes and bedhead, the last thing she wanted to do was watch the woman she’d lost Brock to.
“Give me the remote.” Jace took it and fast-forwarded. “Right here.”
“You’re saying these were taken out of context?” Guy asked. “I’m not sure how you can take these photos—of you two hugging and you wearing his clothing—out of context.”
“That’s because people see what they want to see, Guy.” Vanessa was shaking her head. “What you don’t see is the truth. And because Brock Watson is the sort of man who keeps his word, even when his character is being dragged through the mud, he wasn’t going to rat me out. But I can’t stand by and let him suffer because of me.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve always been too scared to say what I’m about to say out loud, but my problems are hurting good people, so…here we go.”
“You’ve certainly piqued my interest.” Guy leaned forward.
“I’m a drug addict. Recovering. I’ve used on and off since I was sixteen—maybe earlier. You have to keep stick thin to walk the runway. Cocaine and heroin were best for that. Sometimes it was a little; other times, a lot. Brock and I had this whirlwind courtship; it was a mess of a marriage from the get-go. His injury only added to my little pharmaceutical collection. We both spiraled out of control—”
Emmy was frozen; the image Vanessa’s words painted was devastating.
“With the drugs?” Guy asked.
“Yes. With drugs. A lot of them. Anyway, Brock’s father and aunt—forgive me for sharing this part, Brock—were the foundation for his recovery. When his father started suffering from Alzheimer’s, wandering and getting confused, Brock got clean. Boom, it was like…he needed to be there for the man who’s always been there for him.” She shook her head. “That was all it took.”
Emmy was trying not to cry. Brock would have felt terrible—his father was everything to him. And that Brock might not be there for him or let him down? It would have been enough to get him clean and keep him that way.
“Fast-forward to about three months ago. My sponsor was unavailable, I was in a bad place with Mark, and I called Brock. We’ve talked on and off, more of ‘Hey, are you staying out of trouble? Good, bye,’ sort of thing. I would call him, he would talk to me until my sponsor was available, and then we’d hang up. But then I took advantage of him, knowing how kind he was. I showed up when I needed money.”
“You? Aren’t you engaged to the richest man in the universe?”
“Was. Almost. I never wanted Mark to think I was after his money. I’ve never asked him for money. I had a big shoot coming up, but I didn’t have what I needed, and I needed it now. My mom has never asked for anything, ever. The woman is a saint. But she’s always wanted to live in this adorable little artist community around Georgetown. A house came open and, if I wanted it, I needed money now.”
“But you couldn’t ask Mark.” Guy nodded.
“And because Brock knows about my addiction problem, he couldn’t just hand over money. Because, again, he’s this amazing guy who didn’t want me to be tempted. So he drove me there, gave me money, and watched me write the check.”
“You’re not moving in with Brock Watson?” Guy clarified.
“No.” She shook her head. “Never was.”
“And these pictures?”