“Make sure of it, Dev,” I said, dead serious.
Devlin grew sober. He knew how much I hated people using me, and that had been the mai
n reason I not only broke up with Caitlyn but quit trying to date or hang out with people who weren’t at my level of fame and popularity for a while. He held up a hand, indicating surrender. “No problem. Got it, man.”
I turned to Emily, who was watching the ridiculous drama unfold. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing about what happened here will be on social media,” I said soothingly, confident now that Dev would take care of it. Nobody liked to have their privacy violated. And thank God we lived in an empty cul-de-sac with just our two houses. No neighbors secretly watching us with a bucket of popcor—
What the…?
A silver Mercedes swerved in, its engine roaring. The car got on the one-way loop serving the cul-de-sac, but was going the wrong way. For an instant I wondered if it was another of Devlin’s surprises, but he was staring at the car with his mouth slightly parted. So it wasn’t him.
The Mercedes veered sharply toward Emily’s house without reducing speed. She stayed on the spot, frozen with her eyes wide.
“Shit.” I grabbed Emily’s shoulders and pulled her back, out of the driveway, as the silver vehicle screeched to halt. If I hadn’t, it would’ve hit her. Heart racing, I put Emily aside and stepped toward the car. “Are you fucking crazy?”
The door opened, and a driver in a white jumpsuit spilled out, holding on to the door for support and tears streaming down her face.
Uh… Whatever I’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. I felt a little bad about yelling. Okay, maybe not the yelling, per se, but yelling “fucking.”
“Emily!” The woman sobbed, one hand outstretched.
Emily closed her eyes for a second, then gave a resigned sigh. “Hi, Mom. What’s wrong?”
This was her mom? I looked at the woman more closely. She had the same golden hair as Emily, the same build. I couldn’t see her eyes because they were so swollen from crying.
“It’s your father. He admitted it. He is having another affair, this time with his new assistant!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emily
I stood there, my palms slick and my face cold, then hot. I should be used to this. After all, every time Dad admitted to screwing somebody, Mom came over crying. It was how she coped. And after a day or two she’d calm down and drive back to McLean, where she and Dad would go back to their lives like the affair had never happened.
But it was one thing for me to go through it in private. Quite another to have an audience, especially Killian. Not to mention the Barbie Sextet, who were still recording this. At least they wouldn’t upload it to every social media and video site out there without Devlin’s permission.
Why didn’t she go to a hotel like I told her? That would’ve been better than driving all the way to Kingstree from McLean, crying her eyes out the entire time. I’d made the suggestion partly because I didn’t have the time to deal with her while on a deadline, but mostly because I didn’t have the mental and emotional energy anymore. At some point after twenty-plus years, I’d started to question the madness of continuing the toxic cycle. And why I was playing a role in it.
Suddenly, it was all too much. I shrugged away from Killian and pressed the heels of my hands against my temples, praying my head didn’t explode. Or maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad outcome. At least that way I wouldn’t have to see the mess.
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Mom. This was such a familiar routine, but I never seemed to know the right words to offer. Although it wasn’t what Mom wanted to hear, I wanted to tell her, once again, to divorce Dad because he was never, ever going to change. He didn’t love her enough to bother. Surely she didn’t love him either by now.
But it wasn’t the kind of thing I could say in front of everyone. And what would be the point, anyway? Would she respond differently? She always told me how her place was by Dad’s side and how love was too wonderful to give up on. She refused to accept love wasn’t some kind of chastity belt that could keep Dad’s dick from touching other women.
“Oh my God, you poor woman!” someone said from behind me.
The Barbie Sextet was coming toward Mom, clopping precariously along in their heels and putting holes in the lawn. They surrounded her, the expressions on their faces eager and sympathetic. At least they weren’t filming this particular spectacle for likes.
“Did you slap his face? That is what he deserves!” Brown said.
“No, no. Punch.” Pink made a fist. “You punch a man who screws his assistant.”
“Kicking hurts more, yeah?” Purple said.
“But you have to put on boots for that. Otherwise, your pedicure!” Blondie said.
Purple looked at her feet. “Too much work, then. Just punching’s good.”
Mom stared at them, mouth parted and tears no longer flowing. She was probably too bewildered by their presence and the words coming out of their perfectly lipsticked mouths. She also had no idea who they were. They looked nothing like the writers I’d been hanging out with over the last few years.