Chapter Eight

Ryan woke up on the couch, the morning light filtering in through the window. It fell like gold across his lap.

Wait. No. That was Celia’s hair. Shit. Had that really happened? Watching a movie with her head on his shoulder had somehow turned into them sleeping on the couch together.

With her head in his lap.

The head-to-crotch proximity was incredibly uncomfortable now that he thought about it. Gingerly, he slid out from under her, and though she stirred, she curled against the couch and went back to even breathing.

He stood there, his heart doing a weird heavy-beating thing as he watched. This. Last night. It was all innocent. Like one-kiss innocent, and yet…it felt so unbearably intimate.

Like husband and wife. Like they were, but weren’t. It was a piece of paper, as he’d told her. Meaningless. Why didn’t it feel that way?

He looked away, rubbing at the uncomfortable pain at the center of his chest. He felt…vulnerable. It was as if she just hacked away all the things that kept him strong and in control and all that was left was this teenage version of himself.

He heard her moving around, and he tried to avoid looking. He tried to force his legs to walk away and go take a cold shower or something. But she’d broken him. She’d broken his control, his ability to do what his brain told him to, all by giving him a piece of what might have been.

No. No more of this thinking about then or marriage or future or anything. It didn’t do a damn thing for him. For either of them.

“Was that second movie as terrible as the first?” She stretched into a sitting position on the couch, arms reaching behind her, breasts arching toward him.

No. It took a lot more energy than it should to make himself look away from her. The sleep-tousled hair, lush, unpainted mouth, flushed cheeks from being pressed against the couch.

He could not let his imagination go one millimeter further. They were sharing a roof for another four days yet; any place his mind might go… Nope.

“Some idiot running around in a tux, so yeah, I’d say so.”

“What’s wrong with a tux?”

“Those clown outfits you celebrities wear are just some lame attempt to feel important. Same with all those glitzy parties the guy was crashing. Real people don’t need that.”

She stared at him a beat, then two, silence between them. Reality between them. He could be transported to the past, or even this weird alternate-reality present they had going on, but whatever amends they came to, their lives would always be night and day. He wanted real. She wanted pretend. Would do anything for her pretend.

“Right,” she finally said, pushing off the couch. She bent over, collecting the plates from the coffee table and giving him an unobscured look at her ass. Christ. He was not going to be undone by that ass.

She stood, taking the plates to the sink. She glanced at him. “You okay?”

Sure, just an inappropriate erection for his almost-ex-wife. A pounding need to touch her, kiss her. As if losing himself in her would be an answer to any of the feelings, as if it wouldn’t confuse everything even more.

That idiotic idea helped, actually. An answer? Nothing about Celia could ever be the answer. Not a damn thing. They didn’t exist in the same world anymore, and they never would again. “I’m fine. I’m going to run through the shower.”

“Want me to make breakfast?”

Sure. If she wanted to kill him completely dead by all this damn could-have-been. “No.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a breezy calm that had him all but stomping to the shower. He stripped and wrenched the water as hot as it would go, to burn away all this…weirdness. Discomfort mixed with comfort. Rightness mixed with “none of this was fucking right.”

The shower didn’t fix it, though. Not really. And when he returned to the living room, she was standing in front of his mantel, clutching the picture of his grandparents.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice sounding rusty to his own ears.

She didn’t look at him, kept her back facing him, her hands on that picture. “You…must miss her.”

“Yeah, I do.” Not that he let himself think about it too often. It had been years since Grandma had passed away. Ryan had just finished law school, and he’d come back for the summer and one day she’d been fine and the next day she’d been gone and…

Well, that was life, wasn’t it?

“And…Millard. You haven’t mentioned…”

“He had a stroke. He’s in a nursing home.” The words were harsh, but they had to be. If he explained it in detail…if he let himself really go into it… It would hurt. A lot. And he was tired of hurting.

The back of her ponytail bobbed up and down. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. It was what it was, and as much as it sucked, as much is it broke his damn heart, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“Well… Let’s get going, huh?

“No, I…I need to see him.”

“What?”

She turned, clasping the picture frame to her chest. “I want you to take me to see him. They have visiting hours, right? That’s where you and Nate went yesterday over lunch? I want to see him…I just… Please.”

Ryan stared at her, realizing after a minute or so his mouth was hanging open. “He won’t know who you are. It’s pointless.” Pointless. Hard. Ridiculous.

“He meant a lot to me. And I didn’t get to say good-bye to Vanessa. I don’t care if he knows me. I just want to see him.”

“No.” Maybe it was knee-jerk but he didn’t care. This was his grandfather, not hers. She didn’t get to waltz in and…

And what? Christ. Millard had meant something to CeeCee. And vice versa.

She crossed the room, that damn picture still clutched to her chest. “Please, Ryan. I’m begging you.” He saw tears in her eyes, so he looked away.

He wanted to tell her he didn’t care what she needed, but of course that wasn’t true, was it? “Fine, but we’ll have to be quick about it.”

She nodded, handing him the picture. “I’ll be ready in ten.”

She disappeared into the bathroom and Ryan swallowed, looking at the photo. Grandma and Gramps. Happy, arms around each other. It had been their fiftieth wedding anniversary. It had been a happy day. Gramps had made jokes and Grandma had made pie.

It had been a good day, and the memory of it made everything inside him ache. They were gone or all but gone, and he didn’t think he had it in him to have that kind of good day ever again.

…

Celia sat in the passenger seat of Ryan’s car. If she looked at herself in the mirror, she looked calm and collected. The hat, the scarf, the oversize sunglasses did a lot to aid that image. Inside, she was awash with nerves and guilt and fear.

The nice thing about being estranged from your family was you didn’t have to watch anyone else get old. Not that dear old Dad had grown old.

The twinge of guilt over that was annoying. He didn’t deserve an ounce of her guilt. Not after what he’d done.

But she should and did feel guilty that she’d left the only three people who’d ever cared about her—the real her—behind without another look back. Vanessa, Millard…Ryan.

She didn’t regret it, though. Couldn’t. With everything she’d accomplished, how could she? If she had stayed, she would be Ryan’s dutiful housewife, as he’d wanted, and she’d be miserable.

Probably. She was 98 percent sure she would be miserable. It was that lingering 2 percent in question that drove her crazy.

Ryan pulled into a parking space at a small, brick building in the outskirts of Addington. The building looked old, but the lawn was well groomed and the white trim freshly painted.

Poor Mill. She couldn’t imagine his life without Harrington. It and his planes had been everything to him, and now all he had were the walls of a nursing home room.

Celia swallowed down the emotion, sneaked a glance at Ryan as they walked in. His jaw was set, the muscles in his shoulders so tense it had to hurt. Why should she want to soothe him when he was blackmailing her? Why should she feel anything but disgust for him, period?

Celia let out a long breath. The why didn’t matter, because she did feel. A lot of confusing things, and some of those things were stronger than she’d like. Attraction, longing.

Ryan stopped outside a door, she could hear his intake of breath, see him clench and unclench his fists. He and Nate had been so close to their grandfather, she couldn’t even imagine how hard it had been for them to put Millard in a home.

She wanted to slip her hand into his, offer him some comfort, but the hard set of his muscles seemed to be a sign to keep away. Far away.

Ryan opened the door and Celia steeled herself to look pleasant and calm and, hopefully, inconspicuous.

“I don’t want your damn box macaroni and cheese,” Millard muttered, pushing a tray toward the nurse who stood over him. “It’s crap.” It made Celia think about the homemade mac and cheese Ryan had put together last night, and it made her heart hurt even more.

God, how was that possible?

“Now, Mill. You need to eat. You don’t want to go through the feeding tube fiasco again, do you?”

Celia swallowed down nerves as the nurse smiled at them. Along with the sunglasses and hat, she’d chosen baggy clothes to hide her identity.

She hoped.

Still, seeing Millard was worth risking it. He was a skeleton of the man he’d been. His once-thick gray hair had thinned, his skin was pale and practically hung off his bones, and his milky green eyes looked at her and Ry with bored disinterest.

“You have visitors, Mill,” the nurse offered kindly. “Your grandson and…this young lady.”

“CeeCee.”

Ryan paused mid-stride, his mouth hanging down in obvious surprise, but then he firmed it into something that looked more like pain. “Hi, Gramps.”

“What are you two doing here?” Millard smiled. Though he looked frail and old and all too close to death, his words were lucid. He looked at her as though he knew her, knew Ryan. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Ryan took his hand, patted it gently. “Day off, Gramps.”

Millard nodded, squinting in concentration. “But…wait.” His hand shook in Ryan’s. “That ain’t right, Jed. CeeCee left a long time ago.”

Celia swallowed at the use of Ryan’s father’s name, then crossed the room and took a seat next to his wheelchair. “I thought I’d visit. Tell you how much I missed you.” It took every ounce of effort to keep the tears from falling. Lucidity was gone, but he knew her. It hurt worse than if she’d been a blank. “I don’t know how many letters I wrote to you and Vanessa, but was too much of a coward to send them.”

Millard smiled, patted her hand as he had a million times when she’d been a teen. Battered and bruised, and too scared, too defeated to take them up on their offers of help. Who could help when Mom had always turned a blind eye and sent everyone who could help away?

“Bravest girl I know.”

The lump was too big to talk through, so she just sat with her hand in his. He spoke to Ryan, alternately calling him Jed or Nate or a few other names. But despite getting her name right, he didn’t get Ryan’s right once. She couldn’t bear to look up from her hand joined with Millard’s.

“I’m getting tired,” Millard complained.

“Let me help you into bed.” Ryan helped Millard from the wheelchair, and Celia watched helplessly as grandson helped grandfather walk the few steps to his bed, pull the sheets up over Millard. It wasn’t right. And it wasn’t fair.

“I just want to die,” Millard muttered as his eyes fluttered closed.

She could have been the best actress in the world and she wouldn’t have been able to keep the tears off her cheeks. On shaky legs she stood and crossed over to his bed. She pressed a kiss to Millard’s forehead, then followed Ryan back through the home and out to the car.

Silently, they slid into the car. Silently, Ryan drove toward Harrington. Silently, Celia let the tears fall.

He pulled his car into the Harrington lot, but he didn’t turn off the car and he didn’t pull up to the office. Instead he pushed the car into park at the far end.

He put his hand over hers, squeezed. When she worked up the courage to look at him, he stared straight ahead, but his jaw was locked tight, and his green eyes looked greener.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

His words were barely distinguishable, so gravelly and pained, but she nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at her.

Ready? No. She wouldn’t ever be ready to face all this pain, but here it was whether she was ready or not. Time marched on, whether she wanted it to or not. People got sick, old, died. Bad things happened. Good things happened.

She wasn’t ready for any of it, but it would happen either way.

Who did she want to be when it happened to her?

…

Ryan felt like his heart had been ripped out. More than that. Ripped out. Shredded. Put back in and then his chest had been sewn back together with a rusty fucking needle.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard Gramps say he wanted to die. It hurt every time, but it was fairly normal at this point. Routine, really. And who could blame him?

But in the almost-year since Ryan had been back, Gramps had never once recognized him. Not once said his name. He was Jed or Nate or Harold, Gramps’s long-dead brother. Never Ryan.

But he’d seen CeeCee and known her. Maybe even known him, though he hadn’t said his name.

He’d hate Celia if he could, but he couldn’t. Not sitting in his car, gutted, holding hands. Not after spending the night on the couch together. Not after yesterday in the trees. He couldn’t muster anger.

He should. And maybe later he’d be able to, but right now, all he had was hand-holding. And even if it had been a gesture to comfort her, it felt damn good to him too.

“I’m ready,” she said hoarsely. “Let’s go inside.”

Ryan nodded, though he wasn’t ready. Not even a little bit, but he pulled the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the car and walked, side by side with Celia, to Harrington.

When they walked into the hangar, everyone was clustered around Nate and Vivvy. Laughter rang out and a little squeal, such a complete opposite from what he’d just walked away from, his gut cramped.

“There they are,” Nate said, waving Ryan and Celia over to the small group that made up the Celebrity Air crew.

Ryan had the weird feeling he was walking toward something he wanted nothing to do with. Happiness and laughter. No, he wanted to stay the hell away from that right now. He was too afraid it wouldn’t, couldn’t, penetrate the grim devastation of this morning’s visit.

But some people moved out of the way so he and Celia could approach Nate and Vivvy, both of whom were grinning. Ellen had Vivvy’s hand in hers, her face all but jammed against Vivvy’s fingers.

“What’s up?”

Ellen practically shoved Vivvy’s hand at him, a sparkly silver band now adorning one finger. “They’re engaged!” Ellen said brightly, all but jumping up and down.

Ryan knew he needed to muster some enthusiasm. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know Nate was planning to propose soon. He just didn’t know it would be now. Now when Ryan was hollowed out and broken.

He didn’t want to glance at Celia, but he couldn’t help it. He was drawn to her, and on her face he saw the same exact kind of surprised discomfort. And maybe sadness and hurt. And pretty much anything except the mask of Celia Grant.

…

Celia smiled at the camera, at the assistant producer asking her questions. Her cheeks hurt from the force of it all, from the force of being Celia Grant right now.

Last night had stripped it away, and then this morning had stomped all over it. Ryan’s look when Millard had recognized her, Ryan’s look when he found out Nate was engaged, Ryan stripped it away. Millard and Harrington and memory had stripped every damn thing away.

“Ms. Grant?”

“Sorry?”

“How did you get involved in flying?” the perky redhead asked. “That’s the question.”

“Right. Of course.” In light of this morning, the question was like a stab to the gut. No answer made any sense without revealing all she couldn’t. Ryan. This place. Millard. None of it was part of Celia Grant’s reality, and she’d forgotten who Celia Grant was. “Do you think we could take a break? I’m so sorry.”

“No problem. It’s almost time for lunch anyway.” She put her clipboard down and motioned to the cameraman. “We can start back up after.”

Celia nodded her thanks and even when she tried to let the smile go, it remained. Frozen on her face, so fake it did more than hurt. It felt as though it was breaking everything inside her.

She glanced behind her at Ryan putting away the tools he and Nate had been using in the first part of filming this morning. “Do you remember?” she asked, before she could think better of it.

“Remember what?” He was standing over the toolbox but from what she could tell not actually doing anything. Except avoiding her.

“Proposing.” She whispered because emotion made her voice squeaky and so no one would hear.

“No. Did I propose?”

Celia glanced around the hangar. Everyone had vacated the area, so it was safe to bring this up. Or maybe it was stupid. Okay, it was definitely stupid.

“Of course I remember, Celia.”

“It was sweet.” It had been. As stupid as it had been to get married right out of high school, his proposal after prom had meant the world to her. Even with all the ways he’d driven her crazy, she’d been so head over heels in love with him. His humor and his drive, and the very fact that he didn’t just care about her, but showed it without using his fists.

If she had stayed, would that love have stayed? Or would it have died in adulthood?

It didn’t matter. She had left, and she’d never regret that, even after visiting Millard. Look where she was, who she was. Last night and this morning she’d lost sight of that. She wouldn’t again.

Ryan pulled the chair Ellen had vacated next to her. Most of the people had left the hangar in pursuit of lunch, and the few people who were left were hidden behind the prop plane they sat next to. He was close. Close enough she could feel his body heat, smell his soap, remember what it had felt like to sleep on his lap. How hard it had been to keep her brain in place and keep her hands to herself.

“Why do you keep bringing up the past if you so badly want to forget about it? When you want to be this new person who doesn’t have that past?”

“Because it’s right here. Everywhere I look.” Forgetting in LA was second nature; it didn’t require any energy at all. But here, her Celia Grant facade was breaking and she was too damn tired and hurt from keeping it in place not to just let it fall away. “No matter how much I want to forget, every corner of Harrington, every inch of you, it reminds me. You were the best part. If I could pick and choose, I’d remember you and us, here, and your grandparents, but I can’t. So I block it all out, to avoid remembering any of it. Except when you make me. When being here makes me.” She took a deep breath. Funny, it was so much easier to do when she wasn’t pretending.

“I can’t make you remember anything, Celia. That’s on you.”

Maybe, but she wasn’t alone. There were times that just like her, he forgot this was blackmail. All the ways it would be wrong, a mistake. For all the ways they didn’t fit into each other’s worlds, he threatened her ability to forget and live this life she’d built, they wanted each other. Here. Now. And remembering had surprisingly little to do with that.

“We should go eat,” he said, his voice rusty as he pushed to his feet.

“Let’s go back to your place for lunch.” And pretend. She was so good at pretending. She got paid millions to do it. Why not pretend she and Ryan could act on that attraction without ruining everything?

Why the hell not?

“All right,” he said quietly. “All right.”

Celia nodded and followed him out of the hangar. She didn’t know if he had any idea what she wanted out of him, what felt like need driving each footstep, but that didn’t matter now. In her pretend world, they had all the time they wanted to understand each other.

She glanced behind her, in front of them, and saw nobody. So she slipped her hand into his. But when they rounded the corner to the parking lot, an unfamiliar car was parked next to Ryan’s. And next to it…

Celia dropped Ryan’s hand and stopped breathing.

Her mother. “What are you doing here?”

The woman pressed her thin lips together, reminding Celia far too much of a childhood spent withering under that disgusted look. Every ounce of pretending was sucked out of her, because just that one look and Celia was transported to CeeCee and not knowing how to fight back.

Her mother fisted hands on her hips. “That was my question for you.”

Ryan stepped in front of Celia. It was such a familiar gesture, that move to protect, to shelter. She wanted to press her face into his back and let him deal with this. She wanted to love him again and be this confused girl on the inside. But she couldn’t be that. Not ever.

God, what was being here doing to her? She sidestepped Ryan, because as much as she wanted to let him protect her, she wasn’t a teenager anymore. This was her battle. “You shouldn’t be here.” She was proud when her voice was firm. Dismissive. Maybe she could act her way out of this. She was one of the best, after all.

“You are certainly not the boss of me, young lady.” She clucked her tongue, perfectly made-up face screwed into a sneering expression. It was amazing how Celia hadn’t seen this woman in five years and there was no change. No softening.

In Cathy’s eyes, Celia was still the child who had “caused” her father’s abuse, the child who’d refused to save him. She’d be damned if she’d give up a part of herself to save a man who’d tormented her for eighteen years.

Despite that, despite all that her father had done in his alcoholic rages, he wasn’t the one Celia really blamed. Not when the woman standing before her had cared about no one but herself, allowed her husband to beat their child because that’s what fathers do to awful children.

“I may not be your boss, but I am your meal ticket, Cathy.” She forced a smirk, hoped it didn’t waver like everything inside of her was doing.

“Listen, you little—“

“Get off this property,” Ryan said in a threatening voice. He stepped toward Cathy. “I’m going to get security.”

Part of Celia wanted to let him do what he’d always tried to do—protect her, fight for her—but the other half of her knew it wasn’t his role anymore. She couldn’t let it be or she’d find herself in the past, and she’d already let herself travel too far down that road since coming back.

“I have every right to be here.” Cathy was never more frightening than when she had righteous anger behind her. “If you knew what your precious Celia Grant had done—”

“This has nothing to do with…that,” Celia interrupted. Ryan might know everything, but she couldn’t stand to have it rehashed. Not right now when she was holding on to control.

Disbelief was evident in the hiss of breath. “I want to know what you’re telling these people. I want to know how much they’re paying you.”

Because it came down to money. It always did. At first it was about medical bills and funeral expenses, for the father Celia had killed. Years had passed. So much money had been shoved at her mother it was a wonder she could possibly want for anything else.

But there was an endless world of want in front of Cathy McAvoy. Celia had felt that once. Buying the big house, going on luxurious vacations, buying anything to try to fill the hole of loss and pain and blame inside her.

It hadn’t bought her happiness and it hadn’t bought her a memory eraser. Sure, it helped push it to the background, but here was her mother. Here was Ryan standing in front of her even though she’d moved around him.

Celia focused on her shield, her persona. “All requests from the public for my time or resources have to go through my attorney.”

“I won’t talk to that weasel another minute! He’s trying to screw with me, not giving me what I deserve. You’re right here. I’m talking to you. What lies are you spewing to these people?”

“I think you forget I know the truth, Cathy,” Ryan said. His voice was calm, bored almost, as if he were donning his own version of himself. This was probably Lawyer Ryan. How he must have held himself in the courtroom, with complete surety in his own power, his own rightness. Yes, she could see he would have done very well at it. “I don’t need Celia to tell me anything. I saw what Curtis did to her. What you did to her.” In the end, his voice hadn’t remained bored. Or calm. Unless it was an icy threatening kind of calm. Power. Ryan had power, and it made her want her own.

“You certainly think you’re something, don’t you? Always such a high opinion of yourself, but she hid you from the press, too, now, didn’t she?”

If the words affected him, he didn’t show it. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to call our security guard and have him escort you off the premises.”

Her mother responded by pulling her own cell phone out of her pocket. “And I’ll respond by calling the press.” Her smile was vicious. “You really want that, CeeCee? All the stories I could tell so you couldn’t keep being the princess of the world. Everyone would finally see you for what you really are. I can make that happen, little girl. Don’t you for one second underestimate me.”

Was that what she was doing? Celia didn’t know anymore. But she did know, no matter how hard she tried, even if she took all the lessons in the world from Ryan on how to project power, she’d been born with none.

And as long as she was in Demo, as long as her mother held so many secrets that could unravel her life, that complete lack of power was back.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll tell Brad to give you more. Just go.” Celia turned to the car doing her best act at dismissive and not defeated. Not the sucker.

Shaky hands didn’t jibe with indifference and control, but she was doing her best.

“You better make sure he does. Or I will camp out right here. With the press this time. And people will know what you are. What you did. Murderer. And then, of course, there’s Ryan. Mr. Hotshot Lawyer. Your daddy has a lot to say about how you handled CeeCee leaving you.”

“Leave Ryan out of this.”

Cathy snickered and Celia squeezed her eyes shut. She’d given her mother more ammunition simply by showing she cared.

“I don’t think Celia Grant’s fans can forgive nasty divorces and murder, do you, CeeCee?”

The old familiar mantra rang in her head. He hadn’t deserved it. He hadn’t deserved anything from her. It wasn’t her fault he was dead.

If only she could believe it.

“Get the hell out of here, Cathy,” Ryan ordered. “And don’t you dare come back. Celia might be afraid of your threats, but I’m not.”

Her mother laughed. “Amazing that you’d fall for her little act all over again. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one of your family.”

“Get off my property. Now.”

“If your lawyer doesn’t have the money in my bank account by Friday, you’re ruined. Do you understand me? Ruined.”

The sound of an engine starting prompted Celia to reopen her eyes. She couldn’t face Ryan, so she didn’t look in his direction. She opened the passenger car door and slid into the passenger seat.

Seconds ticked by, maybe minutes, maybe hours. She kept her body rigid, her gaze straight ahead. The Celia armor was back on. Where it belonged.