Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet 2)

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I blurt quickly, before Savage can reply to my barb. “That was petty of me. You’ve bent over backwards to get me this job, and I’m grateful to you.” I bite my lip. “I think it’s going to take some conscious effort to rewire my brain not to immediately switch into ‘bitch mode’ as my default around you. But I promise I’ll try my best, starting now.”

Savage swallows hard. “I don’t blame you for constantly putting up your dukes around me, Laila. I was a royal prick to you, over and over again, during the tour.”

My lips part in surprise. That sounded awfully close to an apology. “Well, it takes two to tango,” I murmur, my heart thumping. “I reacted to you. You reacted to me. And around and around we went.”

“Yeah, but I think we both know who was leading our tango.”

Holy fuck. I’m floored. I stare at him in disbelief for a long moment, as palpable conciliation passes between us. Or maybe that’s nothing but our usual white-hot lust. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Kendrick clear his throat and excuse himself, mumbling something about needing to talk to Fish, who’s chatting with Aloha nearby in the game room.

When Kendrick is gone, Savage says, “Listen, Laila. I can’t explain away all the times I was late during the tour. Sometimes, I lost track of time, which happens to me a lot. Other times, I showed up late on purpose to piss you off. But regarding that VIP meet and greet, specifically, I had good reason to be late. As I was leaving to head over there, my cousin called with some bad news about our grandmother. Mimi—that’s my grandmother—had been in treatment for cancer for a while at that point, and my cousin called to say she’d taken a turn for the worse.”

“Oh no.”

“So, after hanging up with my cousin, it took me a while to pull myself together enough to head over to the meet and greet, where I knew I’d be expected to take selfies and smile. I’m not great at interacting with strangers, in the best of times, but—”

“Oh, Savage,” I interject. My heart feels like it’s exploding with sympathy, along with remorse for the way I tore into him about his lateness for that particular event. “I get it. How is your grandma doing now?”

The man shakes his head woefully, looking devastated. “Not well, unfortunately. She’s decided to quit treatments altogether and let nature take its course.”

I look around the large room at the other cast members and staff milling around, and feel an overwhelming tidal wave of regret flooding me. I can’t believe I screamed at Savage in Atlanta about his tardiness for that particular event, and he never once defended himself by telling me the situation. I ask, “Is your grandma here in LA?”

Savage shakes his head, his devastation palpable. “No, she lives in Chicago with my cousin. I visit as much as I can. Usually, about once a month.”

Chicago.

At the mention of that city, I feel even more regretful. That’s the city Kendrick mentioned the day our tour kicked off, when I was all bent out of shape that Savage had flown into Philadelphia the same day as our opening show, thereby messing up my schedule with his lateness. My interviews and hair and makeup. As if any of those things mattered more than Savage maximizing his time with his ailing grandmother.

“I had no idea you were carrying such a heavy burden all this time,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me about your grandmother when I was ripping you a new asshole in Atlanta?”

Savage screws up his face, looking confused. “Why would I tell you about my grandmother being sick?”

“To defend yourself! I went on and on about you being a selfish and unprofessional prick for being late for that event, and then going through the motions, halfheartedly, once you got there. But in reality, you showing up at all to that event was the epitome of selflessness and professionalism! Savage, you were a saint to show up to that event at all, given what you were going through that day. But you didn’t tell me any of that.”

Savage shrugs. “I didn’t say anything about my grandmother because you were right about everything else you accused me of doing. Why defend myself about the one time I hadn’t done anything wrong, when my rap sheet was long and embarrassing, regardless? Plus, I was in a particularly foul mood in Atlanta and it felt good to unload on you. That was the day my cousin called to say my grandmother had decided to stop treatments, so—”

“Oh, for the love of fuck!” I yell, palming my forehead. “No wonder you tore into me that day, after I tore into you, so cluelessly—and in front of everyone.”