Steal (Seaside Pictures 3)

“Will!” I screamed, “Will!”

ANG WAS EVEN more silent than normal when she walked into the living room, her hair was a wet messy knot on the top of her head, and once again I was gifted with the girl I remembered.

No makeup.

An oversized T-shirt.

And a pair of sweats I could have sworn I’d noticed missing from my room two nights ago when I did a load of laundry.

“Those mine?” I pointed at the black Under Armour sweats and waited for her to deny it.

Instead, she shrugged a shoulder and said, “Maybe.”

“So you’re stealing from me now?”

“Borrowing,” she corrected. “If I stole them, that would mean that I left the house with them with the sole purpose of keeping them for myself.” She rubbed her nose and sat cross-legged on the couch, barely hiding a yawn behind the back of her hand. “All right, we have to be on set in a few hours, so spill.”

I suddenly forgot everything I was going to say.

And I had no idea why.

I was better than this.

I was an agent for God’s sake. I knew the words, I was older than her, more mature, I had everything.

And yet, when faced with the girl who had nothing left to lose, I had nothing left to give that would repair what broke between us.

“It’s never one thing, Ang.”

She blinked up at me. “And I’m the one on drugs.”

I smirked. “I missed that smart-ass side of you.”

“Yeah well I was told to be on my best behavior by my agent so I’ve been keeping all asses hidden.” She cringed. “Sort of. Never mind.”

“Right, since everyone saw your ass yesterday.”

“And lucky you, twice today.” She teased.

“Yeah, lucky me.” My tone turned serious.

She swallowed and looked down at her hands on her lap as they twisted around the drawstring of my sweats. “What’s never one thing?”

“I think—” I sighed. Shit, how did I even say this? How did I even begin to make sense of us, of our past? “Hell, I don’t know, I guess I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t… between us…” I stood and started pacing. She still wasn’t looking at me. “It’s not one thing, Ang. It’s a compilation of tiny little things. I think when you look at a relationship you always try to find where the hell things went wrong, and you always try to pinpoint one situation and say okay that, that was a mistake, that’s what killed this, that’s what went wrong. But with us, it wasn’t like that. It was a million tiny little unforgiveable things that led up to one big thing that shattered whatever thin ice we’d already been slowly destroying. Does that make sense?”

Her head lifted. “A thousand shitty mistakes, are still mistakes, Will. No matter how big or small, they add up, and they break just as hard as one giant elephant getting dropped on thin ice.”

I jerked back. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Not what I was expecting. I was trying, trying to help her make sense of things.

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Ang—”

She stood and started walking toward her room. I tried following her, but even though there wasn’t a door to her room, I could still feel the mental walls go up, the door slam in my face.

There was probably a bigger door than I could ever find blocking me, and the chasm between us widened yet again, and I had no idea why.

I mentally kicked the door, banged with my fists, then rested my head against it in absolute confusion. What the hell had I said wrong now?

I hated to do it.

Loathed myself as I slid my phone out of my pocket and sent a quick text to the only guy I knew who wouldn’t mock me for asking for advice.

Me: You up?

Zane: You know I’m a night owl, writing some music, sent Fallon to bed an hour ago. You’ve got a busy day, something or someone… on your mind?

Me: Very funny.

Zane: Hey man, you eat yet?

Me: I’m suddenly sorry I texted you instead of Linc.

Zane: Can’t talk to the brother about the sister. Not how these things work if you don’t want him punching your pretty face again.

Me: Was that a compliment?

Zane didn’t reply for a few minutes, so I went into my room and got ready for bed, only to have my phone buzz on the nightstand.

Zane: Sorry, Fallon wanted to make sure I wasn’t doing midnight ordering of marshmallows again, last time I ordered a crate instead of a bag, it was our first real fight.

Me: I call bullshit.

Zane: Fine we fight all the time, but we always make up and she’s always right. I learned the hard way with that one.

I rolled my eyes, Fallon couldn’t be more perfect for him, from her perpetual enthusiasm and love to the way she actually got him — it was disgusting, yup, disgusting. My heart clenched.

Me: Can I ask you something?

Zane: Now we get to the point. Always, you’re my family.

I smiled down at the phone, I’d always thought of him as more of a brother than most. It made me feel good that he returned the feeling even though I wanted to kick his ass half the time for wearing no clothes on stage. Zane had hit it big right when my career switched and I retired. It was the perfect fit. He’d opened up for us once, and I actually liked the guy. He didn’t drink or do drugs, and only gave off the impression that he lived the rock star life style. I’d helped form his image so he could keep his secrets, and he knew I’d take all of them to the grave.

Me: How did you get rid of your anxiety? Really get rid of it, I know you still struggle, I see the marshmallow trails, but how did you get out of that funk?

Zane: First off, I think it’s only fair you tell me what you’re struggling with even though I’m pretty sure I already know.

My hands shook as I took the phone and got ready to chuck it across the room, only to find my entire body shaking right along with my hands.

Me: So. Angry.

It hurt to type. My body convulsed.

Zane: You’re not angry, man. If you were angry, you’d be over it… you… my friend… have a broken heart.

Me: The HELL I do!

Zane: Sure. Okay. But in my experience, which is vast, by the way, when it comes to emotional conditions, as you know — anger is always rooted in sadness — ALWAYS. Find someone who’s angry and I can freaking guarantee you, that deep down, something’s broken. So yeah, you’re angry, but your anger isn’t the sickness — it’s the symptom.

I dropped my phone into my lap like it was on fire.

Was he right? It buzzed again. I was afraid to look.

Zane: And until you deal with the sadness, the anger will always be there, brother.

I don’t know how long I stared at my phone, but I do know that I never texted him back. I knew he wouldn’t mind either. Because with all the hatred I’d had for myself, for Angelica, for the entire situation. I’d never once realized that for years and years, I’d been angry, I’d been relentless, I’d been a workaholic, I’d been hell bent on being something other than the famous Will Sutherland, even going as far as to change the way I dressed, talked, acted.

And for what?

Because every single part of my identity.

Had been fused with hers.

“YOU LOOK LIKE crap,” Ang said handing me a cup of coffee before swiping my keys off the counter. “I can drive.”

“You can drive?”

This was news to me. The girl never drove. Why drive when someone could drive you and you could drink in the back seat of the limo? It was something that had always bothered me about her, the fact that she didn’t really have a license, I mean she could figure it out as good as anyone but she was too lazy to go in and take a damn test.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill us.” She gave me a sly wink before tucking her hair under another one of her baseball caps and opening the door to the house, locking it behind us.

Who was this person?

She unlocked the Rover and jumped in. The sky was a clear inky black, stars scattered all around. The breeze was frigid. If we had to go in the ocean today I was going to kick Jay’s ass.