And how many times had he patted her hand, running off at the mouth about how she just needed to think of the right way back. She’d tried to tell herself he was just being supportive in case she wanted to go back, to let her know he’d be there for her.
Feeling nauseated, and so damned angry, she had to acknowledge the truth now. He wasn’t being supportive. He’d wanted her back in that life. It was his way of catching the limelight; she’d met too many users not to realize it, but how could it have taken her so long? Had he loved her at all, or had he just been with her because of the life she used to live?
The son of a bitch had no idea what being a star meant. It had been hard back then and it would be even harder now.
Anger burned inside her even now. He was wrong. She didn’t miss anything about that life. She didn’t miss the early morning calls, the invasion of her privacy—and hello, that still happened. And although it hadn’t been as much of an issue during her career, she knew she’d never be able to deal with the current physical standards being impressed on women in the entertainment industry.
Abigale kept in shape because she enjoyed it, but she was a size ten and by Hollywood’s standards, that was borderline grotesque. She’d seen some of the gossip rags when they caught pictures of her. They only bothered when there was nothing else going on because she was old news and she only showed up in California when she was visiting friends. Their main bitch was her weight.
Her favorite headline was THE SAD STATE OF CUTIE KATE’S CURRENT LIFE . . . HER WEIGHT HAS GONE OUT OF CONTROL!
And Roger thought she missed that life?
Clenching her jaw, she reached for the pen on her desk and carefully drew a line through goal number four. Then she focused on the list itself. It was worn and faded, the paper thin from how often she’d handled it. It had been years since she’d all but run screaming from the home her mother had purchased. Ran away, just hours after her father’s funeral, and she didn’t regret leaving. Not once.
The writing blurred before her eyes but she blinked until it became clear and then she reached out, touching the faded ink. This list had been her guiding light, the driving force behind her entire life.
“Now what?” Abigale whispered.
Because she had absolutely no idea what to do next, she turned away and walked across the pale green carpet and sank down on the bed. She curled up on her side and pulled a pillow to her chest, closing her eyes.
She wasn’t going to cry about this, damn it.
She wasn’t.
* * *
Zach Barnes read the note. Then he dropped it, pressed his fingers to his eyes, and rubbed. He’d been up late last night, working on some designs. He was tired. That was all. He’d read it again and the message would be different.
He knew it.
But when he picked it back up, the message remained the same.
Abby called. Wedding is off.
The wedding. The day he’d been dreading for the past year. He had it circled in black marker on his calendar and although nobody else knew, he’d taken to calling it “Black Saturday.” The bleakest fucking day of his entire life . . . the day the woman he loved was going to marry somebody else.
It was two months away and he’d been wishing like hell he could be anywhere else, do anything else, even if it involved hot coals, torture, and fire ants. But when your best friend was getting married, you had to be there. Especially when she’d asked you to give her away.
He was going to have to walk her down the aisle. He was going to have to lift her damn veil . . . So what if it was viscerally painful for him? It didn’t matter that he’d been in love with her his entire life. She’d found the man she wanted to marry and it wasn’t him. He had to deal with it, right?
Except this message said the wedding was off. It wasn’t adding up in his head. He’d wanted this, but hadn’t dared to hope. He wanted Abby to be happy, but happy meant not being with him, apparently. Talk about a conundrum, because for him to have what he wanted, it involved Abby not getting what