“Damn it.” I ran after her, but she was gone, lost in a crowd I didn’t want to deal with because I hated crowds.
So I disappeared back into the alley and made my way home.
Home.
Hah, not really.
More like, made my way back to Jamie Jaymeson’s house.
Because home?
Yeah, I hadn’t had one of those in a really long time.
And most nights, when I was being completely honest with myself, I admitted that I never would.
Not in the way that counted.
And probably not ever.
I hated the harshness of reality as it crashed in perfect cadence with the waves across the sand. Having a home had never been about having a safe place—it had been about the feeling being safe brings you.
Sometimes school was home.
Sometimes the tree house was home.
But when the safety nets get ripped away, you realize, home is nothing, without the people that make it that way.
And that’s what I was missing.
The key part of my life.
A family.
Chapter Three
Zane
“PANTS.” JAYMESON EYED ME up and down wearily. “Blokes wear pants.”
“It’s too early to use the word ‘bloke.’” I muttered, slapping his ass as I walked past him to grab a cup of much-needed coffee.
With a grunt, he placed his hands on the counter and moved his lips like he was praying.
“Jay?”
“Shhh.”
“Jay?”
“I’m counting to ten, so I don’t blow your bloody head off.”
“America!” I shouted. “Fun fact: did you know your accent’s really thick in the morning? Almost impossible to decipher if you’re actually speaking English or something else.”
Jaymeson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m suddenly remembering why I hesitated before saying yes, yes Zane I’d love to have you come stay with me and my new wife. You need a room? A bed to sleep in? A roof to cover your head? Hell, take my bloody dog while you’re at it! Oh, what’s that? You want to steal my friends too? Be my guest.”
With a grin, I sat on the barstool and sipped the hot, bitter liquid. “You done yet?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “Maybe.” A shrug. “I think I have more anger inside.”
“Sex cures anger.”
“So does shooting things,” he fired back, finally grabbing his coffee and slamming the newspaper against the granite counter top before dropping it.
“Tsk tsk, need I remind you who my cousin is?” I teased.
“Oh, dear God, not this again!” He held one hand up stop sign style as if to prevent me from talking “Please spare me the story of your Italian mafia connected family. That’s complete shite and you know it.”
“Fine.” I sighed. “Just don’t get pissed when I call in a favor and a sleek black Mercedes pulls up to the curb and a man in a suit tells you to get in.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“This from an A-list actor and movie director?”
His eyes narrowed.
“They’ll put you on ice.”
“The Godfather was on HBO last night again wasn’t it?”
“Hey Vin, we got a problem…” I said using my best Italian Mafioso voice, then rubbed my chin. “We go to the mattresses.”
Jay stared at me, hard. “Sure you don’t want to be in my next movie?”
“And have more fangirls chasing me around while I hide out on a carousel next to a unicorn that just so happens to hump my leg every time it comes down? Hell, no.”
“One instance.”
“It was enough.“ And then I added, “It had pink sparkles. Do you have any idea what that does to a man?”
“Come on.” Oh, I knew that look. Gone was my teasing friend. Now he was all business; then again, he had good reason. He was one of Hollywood’s hottest action stars, had married a local girl from Seaside, cast her in his last movie and basically solidified himself as one of the freshest directors of the decade. And he had no trouble at all trying to convince every pretty face around him to hop on the train, including our mutual friends AD2.
It was bad enough that I was helping with the soundtrack to the next movie while still trying to finish my own album.
Knowing Jaymeson was basically like knowing every single hot name in the industry. What was even weirder was that for the most part, we all knew each other, and we were all friends.
“Think about it.” Jay rapped his knuckles against the counter top. “I mean at least it would get you out of the dark.”
“No thanks.” I cut him off, irritated that he’d pulled that card, angry that he’d use my own weakness against me.
When I looked up, I wanted to toss him on his ass and slam my fist into his face.
It was pity.
Always the pity with Jaymeson.
Like I was some wounded-ass bird that needed to be kept in a box.
He was the only one who knew what haunted me.
Because he was the only friend I’d ever really had.
Which was pathetic, all things considered.
I’d met him when I was just starting out in the industry, and when it became too much, when I wanted to end it all, he helped me through it.
Damn him.
“I’ll think about it.” I found myself saying quietly, maybe more to myself than to him. “Just stop pressuring me about shit.”
“Jay!” Pris’ voice interrupted our tense stare down. “Stop picking on our house guest.”