Hold Me Close (Bridgewater County 4)

“Mm-hmm. But a retreat does sound amazing.” Sighing, I tugged my hair out of the sloppy ponytail, smoothed it out and tied it back again.

Maria looked genuinely concerned. We’d been together long enough that I knew she was actually worried about me, even if only because her job depended on my career remaining stable. The professional barrier kept us from being friends, but since she was the closest thing to one I had in L.A., I decided to confide in her.

“You’re right. It’s more than burnout. I’m lonely, Maria. It’s just me when I’m home and it’s even worse when I’m touring. Please don’t tell me I have all these ‘adoring fans’.” I could air quote at key moments, too. “I don’t—well, I do want fans. Obviously. But I can’t be sustained by the fickle love of billions of strangers, especially since the person they’re really drawn to is a fictional character. A series of them. Oh, you know what I mean.”

Maria nodded slowly. “I think I do. So—what about Chris? Would it really be so bad to be more than casual with him?” At my dry look, she wrinkled her nose and laughed. “Okay, yeah, stupid question. He’s an arrogant, self-important mess.”

Not to mention a user, but I didn’t need to tell Maria that. She was well aware of how my affiliation with Chris benefitted his career. Mine? Not so much. I was already the sweetheart of the big screen. Our so-called engagement was pure fiction, dreamed up by the PR company that represented both Chris and me.

“He’s…I don’t know. Chris just isn’t what I want.”

I wanted love, the sweet, simple, uncomplicated kind of love my sister had found. What good were money and stardom if nobody wanted the real me? The woman, not the star? And Chris didn’t even know who the real me was. He didn’t care.

Poor Maria didn’t deserve this heavy conversation so I shrugged and gave her a wan smile. “Okay, book me the retreat. Make sure it has plenty of long, hot baths. I only have two weeks between now and the next tour. Let’s make them count.”

“Yes! That’s the Lacey Lee I know and love.” Maria clapped her hands and then whipped out her tablet.

As she fired off retreat options, I picked up the stack of tabloids. The glow of the tablet screen made the headlines seem lurid and too ridiculous for words.

La-Chris was an absurd couple name. Chr-acey was even worse, but at least the sentiment was right. Crazy was just the word for all of this.

One headline made me huff a laugh. Maria glanced up. I brandished the paper at her. “Rock4Ever? What is this, a time machine back to the nineties?”

Maria didn’t get a chance to answer. The car slowed in front of my house, which was lit up like Christmas. Trucks and cars alike parked up the driveway and the lawn.

“Holy shit.” Maria leaned over me to look out the window, eyes bugging out. “Is that a tour bus?”

“What’s going on?”

Maria and I looked at each other. At the same time, we both groaned, “Chris.”

Nobody else would have the nerve to turn my million-dollar house into a freaking party palace. Especially while it was well known I was in Asia. Or had been.

Music pumped from every window, so loud I could hear it inside the car. As I watched, horrified, three women I didn’t know pranced out the front door, stark naked, carrying wine glasses and passing a joint between themselves.

Maria made a disgusted sound. “I can’t believe this. Stay here. I’m going to clean this mess up and get rid of Chris.”

I reached for the door first and waved her back. “No, don’t. You go home. I’ll handle this myself.”

I might not have any control over the media’s portrayal of my so-called love life, but I could sure as heck tell one person the truth. If Chris thought he had a right to anything I’d busted my butt to earn, he was dead wrong.

Flinging open the car door, I grabbed my carry-on and marched right through the pack of drunk groupies. My front door was hanging wide open. That would have been perfect for my dramatic entrance except for one thing.

Chris wasn’t there to see it.

The people who were around were either too blitzed to notice me or they just didn’t care that they’d been caught trashing my home. They probably didn’t even know whose home they were in. And why would they care? Chris’s people were all from the rock scene, musicians and groupies. A rager of a party was the norm. Mine was probably the third house or hotel they’d wrecked this week.

Head pounding from the blasting music and the wicked strobe lights someone had installed, I wandered from room to room. When I didn’t find Chris on the first floor, I headed upstairs, avoiding empty beer cans and carelessly strewn panties.

I didn’t even bother checking the guest rooms. If Chris had the nerve to invade my house, he wouldn’t behave like a guest. Following the trail of discarded clothes and shoes, I walked through my open bedroom door to a sight that would have shocked me at eighteen.

Some blonde I didn’t know was on all fours on my bed while Chris pumped away behind her. Up until this moment, I’d walked through the house with a sort of numb sensation, my vision freaking out over the light show. Now the numbness evaporated and sharp clarity rushed me.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it. Not the huge house I’d purchased because that’s what L.A. stars did, not the famous rocker boyfriend fans thought completed my image. Not the drugs, parties, and endless travel.

I didn’t want any of it. I was done. D.O.N.E.

Leaving my bag beside the door, I walked over to stand directly in front of Chris and his groupie.