by Erin Watt
“I can’t believe my boy is twenty!” Dustin crows as Oak approaches him. He pulls Oak in for a warm hug and then gives him a manly backslap. “Where does the time go?”
“Hey, Dad.” Even from five feet away, I can hear the suspicion in Oak’s tone. “Nice of you to make it.”
“Where else would I be?” Dustin flashes a million-dollar smile, but I notice it’s aimed toward the crowd and not at his son. “This is a nice turnout. Small, but intimate. Where’s your mother?”
“In the kitchen,” Oak answers. “She’s talking to the chef.”
I cautiously join them. “Hi,” I say awkwardly.
“Dad, this is Vaughn.” Oak grabs my hand and drags me forward.
Dustin nods. “Ah, the girlfriend everyone is talking about.” He gives his son a pointed look. “I was wondering when you would get around to introducing us.”
One of Mr. Ford’s assistants walks over and whispers something in his ear. I make out the words cameras and outside and photo op.
Clearly, Oak picks up on the same words I do. “There’s paps outside?” he demands.
I swallow a frustrated groan. Crap. Katrina and I purposely arranged everything under pseudonyms so the press wouldn’t catch wind of this. We figured it would leak at some point during the night, but not right from the get-go.
Dustin heaves a big, what-can-you-do sigh. “I’m afraid so. We tried to lose them on the way here, but they tailed us from the mansion.” He turns to me. “Did Oakley tell you about the Brentwood mansion? I’d love to show it to you sometime. We’ve got three tennis courts, an indoor and outdoor pool, a bowling alley in the basement.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, dumbfounded. A bowling alley? In his house? Why? “That sounds...cool.”
Luckily, we’re interrupted before he can try to hammer down an exact time for me to visit his bowling alley mansion.
“Mr. Ford,” a tentative voice murmurs.
I’m startled to discover that it belongs to my friend Tracy. Since when does she murmur? The girl is all about ear-piercing squeeees! and omigods!
“Do you... Could you... Could I get a picture with you?” she finally manages to get out, thrusting her phone at him.
His straight white teeth gleam under the overhead lighting as he once again flashes his famous smile. “Of course, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and Tracy looks ready to faint. “Should we take a selfie?”
Tracy’s courage spurs a few of my other friends into action, and soon Oak’s dad is swarmed by admirers who are eager to tell him how much they love his movies and how he’s the best actor ever and will he please, please take a selfie with them, too?
Oak slinks away without a word, but before I can go after him, Jim Tolson sidles up to me.
“I’m guessing it was your idea to invite Dustin?” he mutters.
I nod.
“Well, I hope you have a good plan on how to reel Oak back from the edge of the cliff. He hates his father. His father hates him. There’s no way this ends well.”
And then he departs, leaving me to stand there alone like a fool.
* * *
The evening doesn’t get much better. Although it’s supposed to be Oak’s big night, Dustin Ford sucks up all the attention in the room. He regales the partygoers with anecdotes about his experiences on different film sets. He talks about what it felt like when he won the Oscar. He even plugs his upcoming movie by showing everyone a sneak peek of the trailer on his phone.
Not once does he talk about Oakley’s accomplishments or congratulate his son for finishing another album. To an onlooker, it would seem like this was Dustin Ford’s party. Oakley is all but invisible, and it breaks my heart every time I look at him. He tries to shutter his expression, but flashes of pain peek through. It kills me.
We don’t do any of the silly childhood games I had planned. They all seem ridiculous in the face of Dustin’s elegance and overpowering presence. Oak barely says more than a handful of words to anyone, and when the party breaks up three hours later, I’m grateful.
“Go home or to Oakley’s,” Paisley urges. “I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.” He’s been staring at the back door ever since his dad got here.
“His father’s an attention hog,” my sister says with a sigh. “He’s probably embarrassed, and you need to be there for him. Tell him it’s okay and that you love him regardless.”
I swallow hard but force myself to Oak’s table. “Want to take off?”
“Sure,” he answers dully.
I signal Ty, who nods briskly and ducks out to get the car. Taking Oak’s hand, I lead him to the back door, where I pause for a beat.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“Yeah” is his sullen response.
It’s obvious he doesn’t feel like talking—or listening—so I just hold his hand tighter and push the door open.
The second we step into the back alley, there’s an explosion of light and noise. The incessant strobe of flashbulbs and the eager voices of the vultures that are always circling Oakley.
“Oakley! Are you and your father speaking again?”
“How was the family reunion?”
“What does Dusty think of your new girlfriend?”
“I love her,” a male voice booms, and suddenly Dustin himself appears behind us.
I almost jump three feet in the air when his muscular arm wraps around my shoulder. Oak’s dad squeezes me tight and then plants a loud kiss on my cheek. More flashbulbs go off. More shouts pierce the night air.
“Dusty! How was the party?”
“Are you giving Vaughn the Ford stamp of approval?”
“Will you be appearing at any of Oakley’s tour stops, Dusty?”
It’s chaos. The questions keep coming and coming and coming, and Oakley’s face gets darker and darker and darker. Dustin, however, is reveling in it all. He eats up the attention, smiling for the cameras and answering questions, all the while keeping his arm around me like we’re father and daughter and he couldn’t be happier that I’m dating his son.
“Vaughn! Is this the first time you’ve met Dusty?”
“Vaughn! How does it feel to be welcomed into such a distinguished family?”
“Bitch! Get your hands off my man!”
The last shout doesn’t just catch me off guard—it also brings a stunned silence to the paparazzi. I don’t know who the screamer is, but she’s not just content with screaming. Before I can blink, something smashes into the side of my head. Moisture drips down my face and splashes into my mouth. It’s bitter and gross and—an egg. Someone threw an egg at me!
I’m too stunned to move. Fortunately, Oak takes control, dragging me away from the back door and elbowing his way through the crowd until we clear the alley.
Ty and the Escalade wait at the curb, and we throw ourselves into the backseat. Oak slams the door and the SUV speeds off, while I sit there in horror, egg yolk sliding down my neck and into my shirt.
“Are you okay?” Oak finally asks. His voice sounds like gravel.
I manage a weak nod. “I’m...fine.”
Out of nowhere, he produces a pack of tissues. Neither of us says a word as he gently wipes the egg off my face. Or at least he tries to, but he can’t get it all off. My skin is sticky and there’s a gooey trail running between my breasts.
I don’t even know why she egged me. “Did April ever get treated like this?”
“No eggs that I can remember,” he says softly.
“So I’m special, huh?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. This night was a disaster. A total disaster. I wanted so desperately to do something nice for Oak, and it backfired in a way I never, ever expected.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
/>
“For getting egged?” he says tightly. “That’s not your fault. Some fans can be insane. Don’t take it personally.”
“No.” I take a breath. “I’m sorry I invited your dad. I thought... I thought it would be nice if your whole family was there for your party.”
His face tense, Oak tosses the wet napkins on the floor. “So you could see what a shit show my childhood was?”
“No. Because I thought you could reconnect.” I struggle to explain. “I did this for you.”
His head swings toward the window as if he needs to hide his expression from me, and his voice is brutal and harsh when he answers. “No. You did it for yourself. You weren’t thinking of me. You were thinking about how you’d like your parents back, but my parents aren’t like yours, Vaughn. My dad’s a self-righteous prick. And my mom might be okay half the time, but I was raised by nannies.”
“Your mom thought—”
“Oh, my mom? Of course she did. She probably wants to get screwed by Ol’ Dusty again. She’s feeling her age because I’m getting older so she needs to be reminded she’s still young and beautiful.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “When your mom called to invite him, he agreed to come right away. He seemed excited about it, so I thought...” I bite my lip. It doesn’t matter what I thought, because I thought wrong.
Dustin Ford clearly doesn’t give a crap about his son. He burst into the party like a thundercloud, darkened the room, poured rain all over the celebration and then left.
“My dad came because he had an agenda,” Oakley says flatly. “He always has one. Everyone in my life does.” Bitterness washes over his handsome face. “He doesn’t give a damn about me. He couldn’t take it when my first album went platinum. When I made my first million. When I won a Grammy. And then the label offered me the kind of deal every musician dreams of, and the old man ordered me not to sign it. He kept saying it didn’t make sense business-wise and how I would be indebted to the label forever. But Jim went over that contract with a fine-tooth comb. If anything, I was coming out ahead. The deal was that good. And Dad didn’t want me to sign. Not because he was looking out for me, but because he was jealous.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Gosh, that’s so sad. I don’t even know how to respond to it.
I swallow hard, remembering the hesitation on Katrina’s face when I mentioned inviting Dusty. But I’d ignored the warning signs. The distance between Oak and his mother had been the result of a stupid misunderstanding, and I was hoping it was the same for him and his father.
“I didn’t know it was that bad between you two,” I say weakly.
“I told you I don’t get along with him. Did you think it was for no reason? Just me being a spoiled, stubborn brat?”
I stare at my hands. I don’t like being on the receiving end of that thunderous expression.
“God.” Oak runs both hands through his hair. “I’m so sick of everyone’s agendas. And I’m so tired of everyone wanting a piece of me. You know, if I was stranded in the middle of the desert about to take my dying breath, and a bunch of fans came up and found me? I honestly don’t think they’d save me. They’d just be scrambling to get scraps of my clothing, locks of my hair, something to show their friends later—look, I got Oakley Ford’s shirt right before he died!”
My worried gaze meets Ty’s in the rearview mirror. The deep furrow in his forehead tells me he’s concerned, too, but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. I simply reach for Oak’s hand and squeeze it.
“It’s all about what I can give people,” he’s mumbling. “A shot at getting a record deal, a chance in the spotlight, money. Everyone here is fake. It’s a plastic, made-up world full of people who only want one thing...”
He keeps talking, but my mind halts at his words money and fake, and suddenly I’m so guilty I can barely breathe. That’s why I started this, wasn’t it? For the money he was giving me? I have a hundred thousand dollars in the bank, courtesy of Oakley Ford, and thinking about it makes me want to throw up. It’s that same gut-churning sensation I got when Paisley showed me the last check she deposited.
It doesn’t feel right accepting money to date Oakley when I want to be dating him. It’s not fair to him. I want him to know that I’m here in this car, holding his hand, because it’s something I desperately want to do and not because I’m getting paid to do it.
Suddenly dried egg is the least problematic thing in my life. Oak has gone silent. His troubled green eyes peer out the window, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thoughts that I am, that his girlfriend is just another person who “wants” something from him.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take money for fake-dating Oak, because there’s nothing fake about it. It’s real. But as long as I keep cashing those checks, there will always be that shred of doubt in Oak’s mind about us. A part of him will always wonder if I’m with him because I want to be, or because I have to be. I almost regret having sex with him, at least before I told him I loved him. I hope he doesn’t feel like I did it because I had to. That would be terrible. Worse than terrible. It would be devastating.
I’m a basket case by the time we reach my house. Ty stops the car. Oak and I get out, but it’s not until I’m halfway up the front path that I realize he’s not following me.
“Vaughn,” he calls softly.
I walk back to him. “What is it?”
“I...” He meets my eyes. “I don’t think you should come on the tour.”
My heart stops. “Wh-what?”
He wrings his hands together before sliding them into his pockets. “That girl back there, the one who threw the egg...” He shakes his head. “That’s the kind of shit you’re gonna be dealing with on a daily basis if you tour with me. My fans will eat you alive.”
I can’t help but frown. “You didn’t seem worried about that when you asked me to go with you.”
“Because I wasn’t thinking,” he mutters back. “I let myself forget about...about my life. My fucking life, Vaughn, the one where I can’t even have a fucking birthday party without it turning into a media storm. The one where my own father cares about his image more than his son. The one where my girlfriend is called a bitch and is attacked by some stranger because how dare I go out with someone who isn’t her.”
“Her?” I echo.
“Her, them, the world,” he snaps. “They think I belong to them.”
You don’t. You belong to me.
But I don’t say the words out loud. His expression is too bleak, his voice ravaged.
“It’ll be better if you stay behind,” he says roughly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my shit show of a life. You don’t deserve the backlash you’ll get if you come with me.”
I want to argue, but the look in his eyes tells me now is not the time. He needs to calm down first. He doesn’t leave for New York until tomorrow morning. Hopefully by then he’ll have forgotten about this disastrous night, had a chance to regroup and will realize that he still wants me to go with him.
Oak thinks I can’t handle his life, but he’s wrong. I don’t care if a hundred eggs are thrown at me. I can deal. Because he needs me. He shouldn’t have to go through this stuff alone, and as long as we’re together, he won’t have to.
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” I finally say. “Okay?”
He nods. “Okay. But...I don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I repeat, firmer this time.
A ghost of a smile tugs on his mouth. Then he leans closer and bends his head, but the kiss he gives me lacks its usual warmth.
“Night, Vaughn,” he whispers.
“Good night, Oak.”
With a knot of misery in my stomach, I watch him walk away.
35
HER
> 1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 She cheated on Oakley?
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 She’s trash. Like he should literally throw her in the garbage
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 I feel sooooo bad for him. He tries dating a normal and she ends up cheating on him with one of his band members.
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 I heard that Luke isn’t even on the tour. This is why. So it must be true.
OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 She’s a disgrace to our gender. Hey @VeryVaughn u suck ur terrible go away
1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 He deserves so much better. He’s never going to date another fan again. @VeryVaughn’s ruined it for fans everywhere.
The phone rings at six in the morning. Groaning, I roll over to check the display. Then I groan again, because the caller is Claudia. I can’t believe I have to suffer through a lecture about the disastrous end to the birthday party before I have any food or caffeine in me. I decide that Claudia can yell at me later, but as soon as the voice mail kicks in, the phone starts ringing again.
With a huff, I throw off the covers and answer the phone. “It’s six in the morning, Claudia, and no one in California but surfers and fishermen get up this early.”
“And publicists who are forced to clean up client messes left over from the night before,” she replies. Her voice is decidedly cool.
I grab my laptop. Did something happen last night with Oakley? He’d been upset, but I figured he just needed time to cool off. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“You tell me,” Claudia snaps. “If you were tired of dating Oakley, why didn’t you simply come to me or Jim? We would’ve found a way to wind this down without dragging Oakley through the mud.”
“What are you talking about?” My stupid computer won’t boot up fast enough.
“I’m talking about the fact that you decided to publicly cheat on my client. Not only have you destroyed our narrative, you took advantage of Oakley.”
“What? I never...” Oh, hell, there was that one kiss the night W broke up with me. Is that what she’s talking about? “Is this about Luke? Because I told Oak—”