“I didn’t do anything.” I hold my hands up. “Theo, I fucking promise you. I will shit-talk you to your face until the day I die, but I would lay down my life for your sister. I need to find her.”

Theo eyes me suspiciously, as though he’s not sure what to make of me. It’s the same look he was giving me during lunch yesterday.

“I’m sorry, Emmett,” he finally says. “I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her, but I can try to touch base. I’ll tell her to call you.”

“Okay,” I say, voice brimming with emotion as I glance around, searching for her, as though she might be hiding behind a tree or ready to pop out of a bush and shout, “Gotcha!”

But she doesn’t. And my panic swells.

I turn to walk away, but Theo brings me up short with some last words of warning.

“She’s too good for you,” he says simply, standing on the front step of the sprawling farmhouse.

My hands lift out wide and then drop as I scoff in defeat and meet his eyes. “Don’t you think I know that?”

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 45

Emmett

Richard

You think you can just quit this show with one week to go? I’ve got news for you, asshole. I’ll ruin you.

Richard

Come back to set. Do your job. And maybe if you try hard enough, I’ll overlook your outburst. Otherwise? Kiss this farm goodbye. Your family. Your girlfriend. Poof. Gone. You’ll be a washed-up has-been like your daddy.

Richard

You don’t want to see what I’m capable of. I can promise you that.

The world is hazy and moving in slow motion around me. I see Richard’s texts, but I don’t respond. I quit and I meant it. I also told him to contact my lawyer so these messages just reek of desperation.

He knows he fucked up.

But so have I.

I waited too long to quit. And now Julia’s been caught in the cross fire.

I spend the drive back to Oma and Opa’s place berating myself for signing up for this show in the first place. Without it, I may not have met Julia again, but I also wouldn’t have ended up hurting her. And that might have been better. I’d prefer to live with that.

I tread through the front door defeated. I’m at a loss about what to do, short of filing a police report.

I feel ready to collapse into a ball, let myself crumble. I kick off my boots and head toward the addition that’s home to all four of our bedrooms. When I run into Opa in the entryway, he gives me an appraising once-over.

“You look like shit, son. Kinda thought you could hold your liquor better than that.”

Then he reaches for his shoehorn before heading toward the door.

“It’s not the booze,” I rasp. I’m too hollowed out to cry, even though part of me wants to. “It’s Julia.”

Opa’s brows furrow. “Julia, the girl you’re in love with?”

I sigh, almost afraid to admit it out loud in the wake of what’s happened today. Might be easier to prepare myself for the inevitable. Maybe there’s a way to force myself to stop loving her, so that losing her doesn’t hurt quite this badly.

I settle on just shrugging.

“The Julia who’s currently in the crawl space, drinking bourbon with your sister?”

I freeze, head turning toward him, as though I’ve misheard what he just said.

“Yeah, you kids think you’re so smart. Acting like Oma and I don’t know about your little clubhouse.”

“I’m sorry. Right now? Julia is in the crawl space?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

I point below myself with a shaking hand. “Downstairs. With Parker.”

“Yes, unfortunately, the sound insulation in this house is not nearly as good as you all seem to think it is.”

Part of me wants to cringe over that revelation, but I gloss over it, deciding to share that tidbit with my siblings another day.

For now, I opt to race to the basement. My feet thump as I run down the stairs, striding briskly across the floor, past the pool table, and straight to the wood panel door.

Without bothering to announce myself or knock, I rip it open and all the air leaves my lungs when I lay eyes on her.

Relief crashes over me—furious or heartbroken as she may be, at least she’s safe.

I fall to my knees and let out a sigh, chin dropping to my chest as I whisper, “Oh, thank god.”

In front of me, Parker and Julia are sprawled on their backs, an expensive bottle of bourbon between them, and they are laughing.

In time, they lift their heads as though it takes a Herculean effort to do so, eyes glassy as they struggle to focus on me.

“Emmie!” Parker shouts, pulling out one of my more embarrassing childhood nicknames.

Julia just regards me with wide eyes before requesting, “Emmett, say something.”

“I’ve been looking for you all day. I have searched hell’s half acre for you, Julia. Not being able to find you scared the shit out of me.”

She looks at Parker with a firm nod before announcing, “No, the voice totally doesn’t match up.” They speak as if I’m not kneeling before them. As though I’m not present at all.

“Well, that’s great news! Today is looking up! We don’t have to tar and feather Emmett after all!” My sister rolls onto her side and reaches for the glass bottle, corking it. “All in a day’s work, old boy,” she says, patting the bottle like it’s done a good job.

Then, she gets on her hands and knees to crawl past Jules and out of our tiny safe space. “Oh, Emmie, I’m just so happy for you,” she mumbles, using my body as a handrail to move into the open basement behind me.

I make a mental note to check on her later. Because being drunk this early in the day is not what the most responsible of our foursome typically does.

But right now, all I can see is Julia. All I can think about is Julia. And I can’t stop myself from crawling across the Persian rugs and laying myself beside her.

I curl into her side, my ear on her chest, my arm over her ribs, my leg tangled with hers. I cling to her like a child might to their stuffed animal before whispering, “I am so fucking sorry.”

She breathes in deeply, as though memorizing my scent before raking her fingers through my curls. “Me too. Me too.”

“I saw the footage. But you need to know that I quit the show. Then I slept here at my grandparents’ house last night after confessing to them that I blew it all up. Richard tried to force my hand but—”

Her fingers pause. “You quit?”

I nod.

“But the contract—”

“Doesn’t matter.” I cut her off, searching the depths of her pretty brown eyes. “I’m not spending another moment on set, Julia. I’m not doing this to you. Fuck, I’m not doing this to us.”

Without another word, she rolls me onto my back, and she kisses me. And it tastes like bourbon, but it feels like relief.

Julia is drunk as a skunk. So when we’re finished making out, I carry her out of the house and down the dirt road.

I carry her right across that fucking set for every shitty, predatory producer to see, and I look Richard in the eye while I do it.

I go straight to my cottage, where I find the camera propped on the top shelf of the closet. I wave into it and say, “Fuck you, and fuck your show, Richard,” before tossing a cap over it and taking my girl to bed.

Curled up in bed, I hold her.

My fingers trail through her wild tresses in a continuous soothing motion. She smells sweet like bourbon and looks peaceful.