Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation) - Page 16

“No shit?”

“None whatsoever. I went into couch potato mode the last couple months.” Callum didn’t need to know why. He had no clue he’d sprained her knee when he’d accidentally tumbled them both to the sidewalk outside the treatment center. “The Dirty Games shooting schedule moved up, and now I’m under the gun to get in shape.”

“Ah, man. We really are twins, aren’t we? We go like Energizer Bunnies until we can’t keep up the pace anymore, and then we crash, and end up sabotaging ourselves. We’re our own worst enemies.”

The observation sounded just enough like what Luke had said during their first session, it gave her pause. Callum didn’t seem to notice, though. “Still, Paradise Bay. That’s pretty sweet. Hey, I have an idea.” His excitement shimmered over the line. “Why don’t I get on a plane and complete the rest of my rehab there? We can keep each other company.”

“Oh…” No. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. “I don’t think that’s such a good plan.”

“It’s a great plan. They have a treatment program. Eddie suggested it at one point when he still handled me. I could stay with you. We’d be roommates again, and, you know, support each other.”

Her stomach turned into a hollow pit. She couldn’t be in charge of him again. Not now. There was too much at risk and she couldn’t handle failing on all fronts. “Callum, there’s a lot at stake here for both of us.”

“For you, you mean,” he argued, quick and defensive. “My stakes haven’t changed in a long time, and we both know it, so at least have the balls to be honest. You think I’ll fall off the wagon again, and I’ll take you down with me.”

“You want honesty? Here goes. I’m not a recovery counselor. I think I proved that last time around.” Agitated, she dug into the goody basket. Before she questioned her intentions, she reached past the bananas, past the pineapple, to a renegade package of sugar-dusted polvorones that definitely didn’t appear on the McLean-approved diet plan. And clearly I have my own issues.

“Please, Quinn. Pleeeaaase. I don’t think I can do this if you don’t believe in me. Don’t abandon me because you think it’s easier to outsource my problems to someone else.”

Like you’ve done, was the unspoken part of that accusation. Never mind that he’d broken every promise he’d made as a condition to moving in with her. Never mind that she’d “abandoned” him to the care of a top-tier treatment program and couldn’t afford to keep him there if she forfeited the Dirty Games payday. Now, somehow, declining to do exactly what he wanted amounted to a vote of no confidence.

“How would you even get here?” She asked the question around a mouthful of cookie. “You can’t travel on your own—nobody’s going to be down for that—and I don’t have the leeway to come get you.” Even as she devoured another cookie, she tried to feed herself a dose of resignation. She already knew what was coming.

“Mom will do it.”

Of course she would. Ann Sheridan came running whenever her son called. Callum was the shining star in their mother’s eyes—her golden boy with the looks and talent to captivate everyone. Quinn’s own early motive for participating in all the dance classes, drama workshops, and auditions had been a desire to win some notice. Luckily, she’d found performing satisfying in its own right, because it had never really worked as a way to claim any of their mom’s attention,

“I can’t—”

“Don’t say no. Please.” The ease with which he shifted modes from accusatory, to problem solving, to pleading left her off balance. As always. “I promise I’ll be a Boy Scout the whole time. I’ll make you proud of me again.”

“Make me proud by finishing the program you’re in. When you’re done, and I’m finished shooting the movie, we can celebrate with a trip. Anywhere you want to go. You choose.” She ate another cookie without tasting it, and dug into the bag for another. “It will be a good incentive for both of us.” What the fuck are you doing? Stop eating.

“You’re choosing a movie role over me.” Mr. Accusatory returned with a vengeance.

“I can’t, Callum. I just can’t.”

“You’re there with a guy—”

“No.” But there was some shameful grain of truth in his words. For the last five days, she’d toed the line with Luke, and felt like she’d forced him to rethink his opinion of her. She didn’t want to expose this side of her life to his scrutiny.

“You’re choosing a guy over your brother.”

“For the last time, there is no guy.”

“Yeah right. Enjoy Paradise, Quinn. Enjoy your fucking movie role, and this fucking guy, and your whole fucking life. Thanks for nothing.”

Silence sounded in her ear. She blinked rapidly to ease the sting of salt in her eyes. Recovery was a messy journey, full of swinging moods. Any expert would tell her not to take Callum’s words or actions to heart.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. She lifted another cookie to her mouth. Then she looked up to find Luke standing on the other side of the kitchen like a shadow in his black T-shirt and shorts, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

Oh shit.

“Good cookies?”

She swallowed quickly and crumpled the wrapper. “What cookies?”

“Wrong answer, Trouble. In the gym. Now.”

Tags: Samanthe Beck Romance
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