He tastes divine, but he smells like sweat and grease. And while that may be some women’s fantasy, it isn’t mine.
“Ew,” I complain playfully against his lips. “You stink.”
“I was waiting for you. Thought we could shower together.” I feel his smile. “Save water.”
“Didn’t get enough last night?” I murmur, remembering the cool feel of his kitchen counter against my body.
His face is buried in my hair, and he says, “I’ll never get enough.”
I stiffen, but he doesn’t notice. I have to remind myself that deep down, Warner is a poet. He might mean what he says, but it won’t make him change his mind.
I throw myself into the moment. I’d rather give in to the experience than hold back and regret it forever. Last night when Warner asked me about Tate, I’d told him I should’ve listened to my heart. Well, here I am listening to my heart, and I’m still going to end up hurt. At least this way, I’m in control. I’m choosing my ending.
It’s me who leads Warner into the cabin. Me who takes him to the bathroom and starts the shower. Me who stands with him under the running water, soaps him down, then drops to my knees.
It’s not safe for me to use words to tell him I love him.
So I do the next best thing. I use my body.
27
Tenley
After the picture of Warner grabbing the camera came out, I tried to tell him he didn’t have to go into town with me. I repeated what Gretchen told me about the paps coming, hoping for something juicy.
Warner refused. He said he didn’t give a shit who said what about him, and he wasn’t going to hide out in his own town. He’s also been in a good mood because the sex scene was moved out a week. I explained to him it will have to happen eventually, but he silenced me with a kiss and that was the end of that.
Every day we’re getting closer and closer to finishing the movie. It’s been one of the easier films I’ve worked on. The years Calvin and I have spent together as coworkers and friends has come in handy. So far, we haven’t needed to make any changes to the script, so we haven’t had to add days to the shoot.
Each day we get closer to finishing brings me a day closer to leaving Sierra Grande. The end is in sight, and it’s making my time with Warner just a little sweeter, and a little more desperate. Each kiss is deeper, each touch lingers.
We’re in the Merc right now buying dog treats for Libby, and Warner’s running a fingertip up and down my bare arm. Touching me constantly is another recent development. It’s as if he thinks I’ll disappear if he doesn’t have a hold on me. I wonder if he knows how contradictory his actions and his words have become?
I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t give me hope. But there’s a difference between feeling hopeful, and letting it determine my future. Warner and I want different things, and no amount of hope will change that.
I grab the treats, plus two bags of peach rings. Warner raises his eyebrows. “I’m out,” I say with a pout. “I met this dude, and it turns out he’s addicted to spicy peach candy too, and he ate my stash.”
“What a dick.” Warner grabs two more bags.
After a stop at the feed store for a few items Juliette requested, we’re on our way back to my place. I want to check on Libby and I need to call Christian, my publicist. He’s called twice while we’ve been running errands.
“Hey girl,” I say to Libby when we open the front door. She dances in a circle, and her head goes straight into the bag Warner’s holding, sniffing out what she knows is for her. Warner opens the box and feeds one to her.
My phone dings with a text, then starts ringing. “Hey Gretch—”
“I just sent you a link to an article. Before you read it, I just want to say I’m sorry. Christian did his best to stop it.”
“Stop what?”
Warner’s watching me, responding to the dread in my tone.
“Read the article.”
She hangs up. Stomach rolling, I open Gretchen’s message. I’ve only read the headline and already my fingers are at my mouth, flattening my lips against the groan climbing up my throat. My stomach sours.
I begin to read.
Cowboy or Coward?
Curious about the mystery man Tenley Roberts has been seen with? Us too.
His name is Warner Hayden, and he’s a member of a cattle ranching royal family. Next time you’re shopping at Whole Foods, take a glance at where your pasture-raised beef came from. Chances are, it’s the Hayden Cattle Company.
Warner Hayden is handsome, rugged, and… married.
Or was, until recently. Hayden’s ex-wife deserted him and their two children, or so everyone thought.
Where did she go?
A treatment facility outside Phoenix. HIPAA regulations prohibited a source inside the facility from revealing why she was there, but said, “The husband never came to see her. The children never visited. It was all very suspect, if you ask me. Like taking out the trash. She was dumped.”
Looks like Roberts’ handsome new beau may be more coward than cowboy.
This is her second strike in relationships this year. Here’s hoping she doesn’t have a third.
“Tenley, what is it?”
Blood pounds in my ears as I look at Warner. The first time I met him, I knew I’d met someone good. A person with a warm, kind light glowing from the depths.
He doesn’t deserve this.
He takes the phone I’m holding out for him and quickly reads the article. His eyes tighten and he swallows hard.
“Fucking shit.” The words are low, dangerous, forced out through his teeth. He tosses the bag of dog treats onto the floor next to Libby and strides out the door.
I go after him. “Where are you going?”
“To my kids. To Anna. This is going to kill her.” He shakes his head as he stomps to his truck, one hand raking over the back of his neck. He stops in his open door and looks back at me. “The article got it wrong. They got everything wrong.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I know.”
Warner gets in his truck and turns it around. He’s gone in seconds.
When I’m in the cabin and the door is shut, I slink to the ground and cry. Libby licks my tears.
28
Warner
Anna’s confused. I would be too if I opened my front door and found her standing there.
I don’t know what she’s going to do when she finds out. It’s her secret, our secret. Me and Anna. Brock and Susan. Created and kept at Anna’s request. She didn’t want people in town knowing.
She was mortified at what she’d done, at how swiftly and easily the mental illness had taken hold. At the time I said all the right things, but they fell on deaf ears. I used big words, but they gained no purchase.
Normalize.
Destigmatize.
Make mental health a part of the conversation. Remove the hushed tones. Whole-body health. I researched until my eyes dried and I could read no more. I said it all, but Anna couldn’t hear me. She wasn’t only in the throes of her clinical depression, she was fucking drowning in it.