Finding My Way (Beaumont 4)

“I care about you, Valerie. You may be my pretend girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Valerie walks toward me and places her hands on the lapels of my tuxedo. She rises up on her toes and her lips brush lightly across mine. I wish I felt a jolt or a yearning, but I don’t.

“You’re going to make a damn good husband someday, Liam Page.” With that she walks away and out my door. I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the spot where she was, but it must be long enough for my legs to stiffen. Her words reverberate through me and thoughts of home filter through my mind.

I’m going home in a… I head for my wet bar and grab the bottle of Jack, forgoing a glass. I kick my chair over to the floor to ceiling window and sit my ass down. The liquid burns as it coats my throat, but I welcome it. I finish the half empty bottle and throw it against the wall. The sound of it shattering against my wall does nothing to curb the foul mood I’m now in.

I told myself I’d have a year in California and then I’d go home. I would get her back or I’d make her tell me how much she hates me. I dig around for my phone, pulling it out of my inside pocket. I scroll through my saved voicemails and press play. The screaming and crying, the hurtful words, the hate and venom from her telling me how much she hates me cut like a knife. If I go back now, it will be worse.

“Liam,” the voice is soft, soothing. I lean my head back over my chair to find Sam standing behind me. I sit back up and look at the lights of Hollywood twirling through the night sky. “You okay?” she asks as she surveys the broken glass on the floor.

“Fine.”

“Where’s Valerie?”

“Home, I guess. Someone drugged her, I think. Who does something like that?”

“Desperate people do desperate things sometimes.” She kneels before me, her hands spread out on my thighs.

“What’re you doing, Sam?” my voice breaks.

“I just want a chance, Liam. I know I’m your

manager and if you want I can hand some of my duties over to my dad, but we deserve a chance to see where this can go. I know you feel it.”

“I’m fucking twenty and you want me to commit?”

She shakes her head as her fingers deftly undo my belt and slide down my zipper. I close my eyes when her hand reaches into my boxers. I should tell her no, but I can’t. I won’t. “I just want to try.”

“Fine,” I say gruffly. I’m giving in and I know it, but the resistance isn’t worth it. I’m attracted to her and I have been for a year now. There’s that word again. Year. I stand abruptly, pulling her up by her arms.

“Turn around, lift your dress and bend over. I want all of Hollywood to watch us.” She does as I say, painstakingly slowly. She turns her head, eying me over her shoulder. Her plump ass is bared for my taking. I slap her once and slide her thong over. She’s glistening, ready.

I thrust into her with wild abandon. She screams out, but doesn’t stop watching me. I pull out and plunge deeper into the darkness that is threatening to swallow me. I rip her dress away from her body and lean forward, pinching her nipple. Her cries encourage me. Spur me to take complete control of her body.

I fall back into the chair, still buried deep in her. Sam knows what to do as she rides me into oblivion. I close my eyes and imagine she’s someone else. Sam has become her behind my closed lids and for the first time in years I’m letting myself go.

Chapter 40

The sunlight filters through my window, waking me slowly. I roll over onto my side and immediately regret moving so suddenly. Last night’s activities play like a black and white movie in slow motion. I’m the star, of course, but so is a blond haired, brown eyed woman that I don’t want starring in my life.

I scrub my hands over my face and groan. I don’t need to see her to know she’s in the other room watching TV. I can picture her clearly. She’ll be in my t-shirt, her feet tucked underneath her legs. There will be a bowl of fresh fruit on the table, but she’s only picking at it. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she’s wearing her librarian glasses. Papers are spread out all over the table and a pen dangles dangerously close to her mouth.

I’ve seen this image so many times before when we were on tour. She doesn’t feel the need to hide herself and I can’t really blame her, she’s beautiful. Harrison and Way didn’t seem to care, but I did for a time and it looks like last night I started caring again. I think I have two options: I can get up, head right to the shower then rush out the door to the studio or to Harrison’s or I can get up and walk out there like nothing has changed, except everything has. I can tell my heart over and over again not to feel anything, but the sad fact is, it does. Sam gets me. She understands the industry. She knows about this life. As much as I’ve been resisting her, my body responds to her with admiration. I’ll just never accept that I love her, I can’t.

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of my bed. My sheet barely keeps me covered. I look on the floor for something to wear, knowing I left sweats there last night before I left for the red carpet and find nothing. Of course when I need Linda, my housekeeper, to not be so efficient she is.

The closet it is, which ends up being option three. I find a clean pair of sweats and put them on, leaving them loose at my waist. I give my body a once over, barely looking at the tattoo on my chest. That one pains me the most. Each day that I live, I feel the needle tearing my skin so I can bleed ink.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I pad out to the living room. Sam is exactly as I thought she’d be. It’s Sunday and she’s working, trying to make her clients the most money. For all of Sam’s faults, and believe me there are many, she’s an excellent manager.

I don’t know what protocol here is. I could lean over the couch and surprise her from behind by kissing her on the cheek or I can go about my morning as if she’s not here. I know if I kissed her – if I made the first move – she’d be happy. A happy Sam, means a less stressed out Liam. But it also means I’m doing something I’m not sure I’m ready for. I don’t want a girlfriend. Valerie reminded me of that last night when she said I’d make a good husband someday. I won’t because I’ll never ask anyone to marry me. I don’t even want kids. At one point in my life I did. I could see myself standing in my front yard with a white picket fence, a wife and child. But not anymore, I destroyed that part of my life and I’m in no way eager to even start reconstructing it.

I’m too young to be tied down. I want to have fun. I want to live and wake up one morning and decide to take a drive and not have to report to anyone. I don’t want to worry about what’s for dinner or if I’m going to be home by a certain time. Relationships do that to people and that’s why I’ve taken the route I have this past year. No strings, no feelings. Two adults enjoying each other’s company without the touchy-feely shit getting in the way.

I don’t know what to do, so I sit down next to her. I see her smile even though she’s trying to hide it. I know she wants a relationship with me, but I’m not so sure I can do this with her. I pick up the remote and turn the volume up on the television, waiting for the commercials to stop so I can see what she’s been listening to.

My stomach turns when I see the name of the college that killed my dreams. I’m not talking my football dreams, but the one that took my family away from me.