She turned her head. “It’s okay,” she said as he moved past. On the other side of the entryway, the elevator doors slid closed. The men who she recognized walked by her, involved in their conversation, stopping right near the elevator, to the left of Johnny, and Scarlett backed into a shadowy corner, waiting for her chance to leave unnoticed. Crap.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. Her skin felt overheated. She was an interloper.
You wanted this, didn’t you? This is a bold stroke of luck, don’t you think?
She wasn’t sure.
Seize the day, Scarlett.
A ribbon of purpose wound through her. She was here, she might as well see what was what. Music played, something sultry and instrumental, and laughter rose, along with the clinking of ice in glasses.
There was a door to her right and Scarlett heard the unmistakable sounds of sex. She moved away, just far enough that the moaning and skin slapping were mere background noise to the moody saxophone strains, and then stepped behind a man as he walked by, heading deeper into the party. She’d circle around and hope that when she returned, those two men had moved away from her escape route.
There was a bar, green LED under-lights casting the area in a strange, alien glow. Scarlett took one of the glasses of champagne from a tray, holding it up near her face as she entered the room beyond. She did a double take when she saw a famous Hollywood director sitting on a sofa, laughing, a young woman on each knee.
Scarlett looked away, jolting when she saw the man sitting on the other end of the couch, alone, head hung low. He looked up and their gazes locked. Royce Reynolds.
His eyes widened and he stood, moving toward her. “Scarlett?” he asked, voice slurred. His gaze jumped from one feature to another as if he was trying to piece her together, to decide if it was really her. “Scarlett?” he repeated, and she was honestly shocked he’d recognized her much less remembered her name.
“Royce,” she said. She couldn’t believe this. She was standing there with Royce after all these years. She’d found him, she had so many questions, she wasn’t sure where or how to start. “I, hi—"
His eyes darted around the room. “I can see them, you know,” he whispered, leaning in, his gaze flitting over her shoulder quickly.
Scarlett frowned. “See who?”
“The monsters. Sometimes they’re right underneath their skin.” He’d lowered his voice even more, and now he grabbed her arm, pulling her to the side, against a nearby wall. “I see them.” He let out a ragged breath, leaning his forehead against hers. Scarlett froze, shock, and a modicum of fear rolling through her. She smelled the alcohol heavy on his breath, saw the way his pupils were so enlarged they appeared mystical, almost entirely sea-glass green. Clear and startling. Apparently, rehab hadn’t taken. This man was not well. “Not you though.” He dragged his knuckle down her cheek and for one hitched breath, she swore he was going to cry. “There’s only light in you. I noticed it, even then. I saw.” He closed his eyes, leaning away, swaying slightly. “This isn’t real, is it? It’s not. I’m dreaming you again.” For a second his expression collapsed, but he seemed to gather himself, opening his eyes and meeting hers. “I’ve wondered if you had a boy or a girl. I wonder about that, you know. I’m not supposed to, but I do.”
She paused, surprised that in his state, he’d even remembered she was the woman—dream or not—who’d had his baby in real life. “A girl,” she said quietly. “I had a girl.”
A faint smile came to his lips and he leaned back. “A daughter.” He was quiet for a minute. “That would be nice,” he said. “I’d like that.” He looked at her and even through the drug and alcohol haze, she saw fear in his eyes. “Is she . . . okay, I wonder?”
“Why wouldn’t she be, Royce?”
“Because she might be like me.”
Her heart sank. Yes, yes, she might be. “What does that mean? Please tell me.”
He closed his eyes, shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no idea. I’d tell you if I did.”
He swayed on his feet, reached out and took a drink out of some guy’s hand who was walking by. The man started to protest, his eyes widening when he saw who it was, and continued on.
She took a moment to look at him, really look. And what she saw was not a larger-than-life star, just a broken, self-destructive man with problems he obviously had no idea how to manage. She felt compassion for him, but she was no one in his life. She was nothing but the figment of a dream. In real life, in his sober moments, he’d written her off. He’d written his daughter off. He’d let others take charge of his life, probably with the excuse that they were “protecting him.” And more than that, whatever demons he was battling he didn’t know how to identify them. “Yes,” she finally said. “She’s fine. She’s perfect.” Because she was. She was.
Maybe Haddie had inherited something from him, maybe she hadn’t. Either way, they were going to play the hand they’d been dealt. They were going to face whatever challenges they were given, together.
She suddenly felt so incredibly sad, and all she wanted to do was run away. She shouldn’t have come here. This man couldn’t help her. He certainly couldn’t help his daughter. He couldn’t even help himself. An older man appeared, leaning toward Royce and whispering something in his ear. Royce nodded and the man began pulling him away. Royce grabbed her arm. “Don’t wake me. Stay. Meet me in my room.”
Scarlett felt tears burn the back of her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
He smiled at her. It was Haddie’s gorgeous smile, and her heart clenched. His hand dropped as the man guiding him away glanced back at her once and then gave Royce another hard yank. She watched as Royce broke free from his hold, taking the few steps back to her and grasping her upper arms. He leaned in and whispered, “Walk in the water. The dogs can’t track you there.” Then Royce was pulled away again, leaving Scarlett blinking in confusion as they disappeared into the darkness beyond the pulsing lights. He was delirious. Sick and unhinged.
She turned, tears blurring her vision. A man reached out, his hand sliding over her ass as she jumped away, out of his reach, hurrying forward. “Come on, baby,” he called behind her. “Don’t act like you’re not bought and paid for.” Laughter. She scooted around a couple who was embracing, her head thrown back, his face planted in the hollow of her throat. Next to them, a man leaned over a table and snorted a line of white powder off the glass surface.
Out, out, get me out.
Scarlett stepped into a darkened corner where she had a view of the entryway and sighed in relief to see that, other than Johnny, it was clear. The members of Royce’s security team—the ones who may or may not recognize her—were no longer there. She stepped away from where she’d attempted to merge with the shadows, when a hand clamped down on her arm and she was pulled to the side, her back hitting the wall. She let out a fearful whimper. A man pressed his body to hers, leaning in close so his mouth was at her ear. “What are you doing, Scarlett?” he grated.
Scarlett froze, the fight response she’d been about to give in to fading as her breath escaped her mouth in a sudden whoosh of air. Camden? Shock infused her cells. But how? Why? It couldn’t be . . . but . . . she knew his voice, remembered the feel of his body over hers, knew the particular scent of his skin, though she’d only smelled him this close on one other occasion. Oh yes, it was him. She’d thought she’d seen him in the lobby, had recognized the particular way he held himself and she’d been right. Despite herself, despite the fear and the confusion of this situation, every part that made her a woman responded to the man pressed against her. And something even deeper than that, experienced a soft wave of relief at his presence. She shoved the feelings down. All of them. She couldn’t trust herself because she couldn’t trust him.