Pranked (11 page)

“
I
’m so
glad I married you….”

Her words crashed over me like a bucket of ice water. Even if I’d been able to push past the tightness of my throat, I couldn’t have continued. The words made me recoil automatically. I didn’t even realize I’d pulled away from her until she spoke, her words soft and confused. “What’s wrong, Cowboy? Bennett?”

“Shitfingers,” I muttered, pulling myself up and reaching for my boxers at the same time as I tossed my coat to Ava.

“Bennett?” Ava asked again. I was struggling into my underwear, and she just held the coat at her side as she stood, still beautifully, temptingly naked in the fading sunlight.

“Put that on,” I said, stepping toward her to help her into it.

She stepped back, stumbling a little. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Please,” I said, turning away from her, needing to put distance between us. I couldn’t possibly say what I needed to say while she was naked and wet and… “Shitfingers.”

“Okay, okay,” Ava muttered, and I heard the rustling of cloth. “Now will you tell me what’s wrong so we can get back to our honeymoon?”

I turned around slowly to make sure she’d put it on. She was already going to hate me. No need to make it worse by embarrassing her. “I can do one of those two, but not both,” I said, feeling my mouth twist into a grimace.

“Bennett?” Her voice was suffused with concern now. She stepped toward me, but I held up a hand, stepping back. It wasn’t that I was worried she would hit me when I finally came clean, although that was a very real possibility.

“Trust me on this,” I said. “You’re not gonna want to be near me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bennett,” Ava said, laughing softly and taking another step in my direction. She no longer seemed as sure of herself, though, and the confused look in her eyes was making me feel worse.

“Seriously, don’t,” I answered, my voice getting serious and my feet stepping back again.

She stopped, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay,” she nodded, holding her hands up as well, as though we needed that wall between us. “Okay, I’ll stay here, just... tell me what’s wrong? Why won’t I want to be near you?” I could hear the concern in her voice veiled behind a hopeful note of skepticism. I had done that. It was my fault she trusted me. That she didn’t want to believe that anything I had to say now was going to be that bad.

When we started all of this, I definitely wasn’t trying to break through the wall that she had built because of her ex. Hell, I didn’t even know about it. But somehow, I’d done it, and now, even though she really shouldn’t, Ava trusted me so much that even while I was threatening that trust, she wasn’t ready to believe it. She wanted to believe in me. In us.

This girl was amazing, and now I had to break her heart.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, dropping my arms to my sides. My gaze fell somewhere around her perfect, tiny feet. I couldn’t look her in the eye. Not now. “Because I have something to tell you, and when I tell you, you’re going to hate me.”

“Bennett….” When I saw her feet move, I glanced up sharply. She took a startled step back. “Sorry,” she muttered, her demeanor finally changing. Her guard starting to come up. Her spine stiffened, and her fingers tapped against the canvas of my coat. “Just... tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.”

Her voice had changed as well, wary now, and I wondered if there were more to the story with her and her manager than just the pictures on the internet. I wondered just how badly this was going to hurt her.

“I….” I took another deep breath. This was even harder than I’d imagined it would be, and she looked so... fragile, standing there in the sunset, my coat too big on her petite frame. I knew I had to say something, though, even if it might break her. Letting her find out some other way would be much, much worse.

Swallowing hard, I started again. “I’m not your husband.”

I heard her intake of breath from several feet away, but her voice was barely audible when she whispered, “What?”

“I’m... I’m not your husband,” I said again. “We didn’t get married that night. We just met in a bar and got drunker together and had one incredible, mind-altering night of sex, and then... I made the rest of it up.”

Her mouth hung open, and her face seemed to be caught between anger and pain. “You... you made it up? The marriage? Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because I…,” I turned away from her, ashamed that I didn’t have a better reason than my own pride and stupidity. “I was angry you didn’t remember me, and I... I guess I just thought it would be funny.”

For a long moment, there was no response, then Ava’s voice came, cold and hard. “You thought it would be funny.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yeah, you know. Like a good prank. I say we’re married, make you believe it for a few hours. You slap me when I confess, and then we laugh about it. You get a ring for your troubles, I walk away with another good story.”

“For a few hours?” her voice rose in disbelief, and I turned back to look at her. “It’s been over a
week
, Bennett.”

“I know,” I said, searching for anything at all that made that okay. “I was going to tell you in the lobby, but then Layla showed up, and then again on the plane, and then…. I don’t know. Every time I wanted to tell you, something seemed to convince me to put it off and then eventually… I guess I just became too afraid to say anything.”

“Too afraid to man up to your mistakes?”

“Too afraid to lose you.”

She was quiet for a long time. The sun dipped below the horizon, and we both just stood there, looking at each other.

Eventually she found the words she was looking for. “You’re despicable.”

“I know,” I agreed, miserable at how well she could see the truth and feeling guilty, for the first time in a long time, about how I’d made a person feel.

“And you’re an asshole,” she added.

It wasn’t that I disagreed with that assessment, but I was so shocked to hear the word come from Ava’s mouth that I didn’t move immediately. She stomped, barefoot and naked except for my jacket, back to the horses and had Domino untethered before I even started to follow.

“Ava!” I shouted, grabbing my jeans and following. “Ava, wait.”

But she was off already. It took me way too long to get my jeans on, and I was still stumbling over them as I pulled on my boots. I wanted to race after her, catch her before she got to the house. Not that I had any sort of plan of what to do then.

Instead, I made myself slow down, go back for our clothes and Ava’s shoes. My instinct was to race after her, but it was my instinct that had gotten me into this mess to begin with, so ignoring it seemed like a much better plan. I needed to give her time. She had every right to be mad at me, and she clearly wanted to get away.

Even so, once I had Rosie untethered and mounted, I urged her into a gallop, taking her back down the path, only slowing when it was too unsafe not to. I might not care about what would happen to me if we fell, but Rosie deserved better than that. Too many people had been hurt by my impulsiveness.

Still, I knew my purpose now. I knew why I had to rush. I had to get back before Ava convinced River to drive her to the airport. I needed to see her one more time, just to make sure she’d be okay.

Domino was tied up to the rail by the patio, and I quickly secured Rosie there as well. I was still shrugging on my shirt when I made it into the house. River stood just outside my office, his hair mussed, shirt and shoes missing.

“Man, I’m sorry. It’s bad.” He looked miserable as he shrugged in defeat, as if upset at himself that he had no words of wisdom to offer. He gestured inside.

I stepped into the room to see Ava at my desk, still only wearing my jacket. Her mouth was open in shock, Layla at her side, both of them staring at the monitor. As I strode across the room to her, I saw why.

My home page was MSNBC, and right there, front and center, was a picture of the woman I now knew had played Ava’s mom on her show. Underneath were the words, “Fiona Watts Promises Tell-All on America’s Sweetheart Ava Cassidy.”

Ava just stared at the screen, dumbstruck, frozen. I wanted to go to her, pull her into my arms and promise to make everything okay, but I knew I couldn’t, knew she wouldn’t want that. I’d given up my right to offer anything of the sort. I’d become just another problem in her life that she wanted to escape from, another asshole she couldn’t trust.

I had to do something, though. I couldn’t just stand there without trying to help. “Ava... you can stay. If you want, you can stay here. You don’t have to go back if you’re not ready. I’ll even... I’ll leave, and you can stay here with Layla, and….”

I trailed off as she turned to me, that same cold fury on her face that I’d seen on the mountain. Without saying a word, she stood and walked out of the room, poised and practiced.

Layla whistled. “Dude, I don’t know what you did, but it was hella bad, and for that, I am pissed at you.” Then she left, trailing quickly after her friend.

“You and me both,” I answered, now speaking only to myself. I dropped into my now vacant office chair and buried my face in my hands.

I
t was
difficult to pack with my vision blurred from tears, but somehow I managed it. Mostly, I just threw anything that looked like it might be mine into my bag. I could sort it out properly once I got home.

Oh, god. Home. I didn’t even have a home to go to. I couldn’t go back to Ken’s.

The thought brought me up short, and it was only then I realized I was still wearing Bennett’s jacket. I wanted to throw it off. Crumple it up and toss it over the balcony. Burn it, maybe.

But I also wanted to curl up in its warmth and smell Bennett’s cologne and be comforted.

I slid down the side of the bed to the floor, pulling the jacket tight around me, and wept into the collar.

Really wept, too. Big, snotty, ugly-crying sobs.

God, I was so stupid. So stupid. Was I really that desperate, that afraid of being alone that I’d believe the first random stranger who said we’d gotten married in a drunken revel in Vegas? He’d made me happy for a few days, but the whole time—the
whole
time—he was lying to me. This place, this retreat away from all my troubles, it was all too good to be true, and I should have known that.

There was a soft noise by the door, someone clearing their throat. I looked up to see Layla there, holding a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“I don’t know what the asshole did, but I am fully prepared to take your side,” she said. “Also, I have whiskey.”

“I’m not sure alcohol is the best choice for me right now,” I said dryly, as Layla dropped next to me on the floor.

“Hey,” she said with a shrug, setting the glasses down and filling them generously. “You’re spending your honeymoon naked and crying, booze is the only choice.”

“You have a point,” I answered, sniffling a little and then glancing around for a tissue.

“Wipe it on his sleeve,” Layla suggested. “He deserves it.”

“You have another point,” I agreed, wiping my nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

“So.” She handed me one glass and took the other herself. “Are you going to tell me what he did, or are we going to drink in silence?”

I took a long drink before answering, feeling the alcohol burn down my throat, fighting against the numbness that was beginning to set in.

“We’re not married,” I admitted once I’d finished. As hard as it had been to believe in the marriage at first, it was almost as equally difficult to believe it was all just a big lie, now.

Layla was in the middle of a drink, and she very calmly finished it and set her glass down. “Excuse me?”

“Bennett and I,” I clarified. “We’re not married. It was... it was a joke. A practical joke. He made it all up. The Elvis impersonator, the marriage license, the... the ring.” I looked down at my left hand where what I’d begun to think of as my ring was sparkling as though it weren’t a symbol of betrayal.

“Okay, the second you tell me you aren’t fucking with me, I am going to go castrate him,” Layla said, already starting to stand.

I grabbed her arm to pull her down, sloshing a little whiskey on Bennett’s coat in the process. “Don’t. Please, just… don’t. I just want to get out of here and go….” Somewhere. Not home, but somewhere, anywhere I didn’t have to think about Bennett Dallas Campbell.

“What am I going to do? I can’t go back. I have no job, no... no home. I’m just….”

Layla shifted closer, slinging her arm around me, not at all weirded out that I was basically naked. It was such a Layla thing to do, to roll with the punches. I wished I could be like her, just once, just able to let life happen and figure it out as it came.

I’d never done that. When I’d gone into acting, my mom had sat down with Ken to work out a five-year plan, what I should be doing, how I should be improving, where I should try to break in. Then when I’d left home, Ken had rewritten the plan. He told me where to go and when to be there, and I never had to do any of it myself. He basically controlled everything about my life. I never had to make any of the hard decisions.

Maybe that was why I’d so easily believed Bennett. I was just letting someone else make the plan again.

Sniffing a little more, I raised my head, a new resolve building in me. “I can do this,” I said, not at all sure that I could. I took another drink to steady myself, help ease me into this new idea of self-reliance and confidence that I had to embrace.

“Damn straight you can,” Layla agreed, lifting her own glass in salute. “What can you do?”

“This,” I said again, gesturing all around us. “Life. I can do this, right? Tell me I can do this?”

“You can totally do this, boo,” Layla responded, giving my shoulders a squeeze and then topping off both our drinks.

“Okay, right. I can... I can just... cut back on expenses until I figure out what’s next. All my stuff is still at Ken’s….” Aside from controlling everything else about my life, Ken had always had all the control over my finances. I didn’t even really know where most of my money was, or how much of it was even still there. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I thought about how foolish I had been to trust Ken as much as I had. Did I even have any money left?

Layla cut me off. “I will go to the bastard’s place and get all your things. Don’t you even worry about that.”

I nodded. Layla always worked that way. She always had my back, always anticipated my needs. It was what made her such a good assistant.

“Dammit, no,” I said as that thought flitted through my head. “Layla... I can’t pay you now. I mean, not until I figure out how to get my money… if I even have any left… You don’t have to….”

She raised a hand, cutting me off again. “Clearly you’re gonna have to fire me, but I’m gonna go on having your back, boo. Because that’s what friends do.”

“Layla,” I began to protest, but she countered by reaching out to lift my hand to my mouth until I gave in and drank again. I was starting to feel loose from the whiskey, and it was helping more than I’d care to admit.

“Don’t you even say that we’re not friends. You brought me along on your honeymoon and let me play tonsil hockey with the hot hippie. That’s not an assistant thing. That’s a friend thing.”

The last thing I was going to try to argue was that Layla wasn’t my friend. She’d been there for me since almost the beginning, and I knew she wasn’t just doing it for the paycheck. I didn’t even know how much Ken paid her, but I was certain it wasn’t nearly enough. “Sorry for interrupting that, by the way,” I said. “It looked like you were enjoying it.”

“I was, but this is way more important.” She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You just tell me what you need to do next, and I’ll make it happen. It’ll be my last official task as your assistant.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Okay, well... first we need to get back to L.A.”

“Already on it,
mon petit chou
.” She held up her phone, showing me the confirmation screen from a purchase for two one-way tickets from Fresno to L.A. “Next?”

“Next, I... need a place to stay, which means I need to talk to my parents.” Something I was not looking forward to. I had said some not-awesome things to them when I moved out. Things about them trying to steal my career and live off my fame and money. Turned out it was actually Ken who wanted to do that.

“Ah,” Layla said. “Well, that sounds more like a friend thing than an assistant thing.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, peering over my glass at her as I contemplated whether or not to have another drink.

“I’m saying hurry up and fire me, so I can support you while you call your parents.”

I laughed, a sound that got half-choked in a sob, and said—in my best Donald Trump voice— “Layla? You’re fired.”