This was day four of being out of rehab and my first call from my family. God only knew when or if any of my friends would ever call.
“Willow?” Miller asked.
“I should be okay,” I said. “I’ve got to study my lines and watch the original version of the film.” It was a gift from Dickson, my producer, which had come in the mail this afternoon along with a note saying how happy he was to be working with me again.
“I’m going to go work out. You call me if you change your mind?”
“Will do,” I said quickly. The moment the screen door shut and Miller disappeared from sight I answered the phone, tucking it in the spot between my ear and shoulder. “Mom?” I asked.
“You sound so good, honey!” she immediately gushed.
“It’s good to hear you too.”
“Have you been doing . . . well?” she asked tentatively.
Translation: Are you popping a rainbow variety of pills yet? I grabbed a box of shoes from the other end of the sofa, crushing the cardboard between my hands as I carried it to my bedroom at the back of the house.
“No,” I said, and then shook my head furiously. “I mean yes. I’m doing great. Rehab worked wonders and I feel great.”
Except for every now and then, when I catch myself wanting to reduce every sense in my body to nothing, I silently added.
“How’s Hawaii? Do you love it? Are you taking lots of pictures?”
I thought of Cooper and the frustrating insta-lust I felt toward him and threw the box of shoes to the floor. I knelt down beside it. “It’s . . . nice.”
“I don’t like that voice,” Mom said. “What’s wrong?”
Cooper.
But I wasn’t going to get into relationships with my mom because she’d pick me apart with a million questions. Are you taking your birth control? Are you using condoms? You’re not . . . you know . . . again, right? I changed the subject. “We start shooting in like ten days.” It was a lame change of pace, but her voice perked right back up.
“I know, aren’t you excited?”
“Why didn’t you and Dad let me know you had a part lined up for me?” I asked, shoving a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps to the back of the closet. One of them tipped over to the side, its bright red sole facing up at me.
“We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Mom, you sent me details about the gazillion lawsuits against me. I could’ve handled a damn part or, you know, a script.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Don’t be rude, Willow.”
But I wasn’t being rude. Rude would have been asking my mother where she was when I was released from Serenity Hills a few days ago. Rude would have been asking Mom where she was right now. I threw another pair of shoes into the closet and gritted my teeth before asking, “Is Dad around?”
“He’s getting dressed for dinner, but he wanted me to tell you to take care of yourself.”
Meaning he didn’t want to talk to me. That had always been my father’s solution to dealing with my screw-ups, and it was one I had never understood. My counselor at rehab had told me he’d come around after I atoned for my failings. Because according to her, proving myself was the best way to win my father’s thumbs up. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people left Serenity Hills with even more f**ked up Daddy issues than they’d arrived with.
“You’re being too quiet. Is everything alright?” she asked.
I slid into the closet, pulled my knees up to my chest and placed my forehead against them. “Have you heard from the lawyer about the case against the agency?” I demanded.
“These things take time,” Mom said in a sing-song voice.
Because apparently, three f**king years wasn’t long enough.
After that, my conversation with my mother went by quickly. She reminded me that I needed to get in touch with my probation officer and start my community service. I rolled my eyes and told her I would. When it was time to hang up, Mom gasped and said, “Damn, before I forget—have you started your personal training yet?”
My neck and shoulders tensed up. “Not yet,” I replied in a clipped voice.
“You know it’s important for you to stay in shape,” she admonished, and suddenly, I remembered her putting me on a diet of grilled chicken salads and water a few years back. She hadn’t known what was going on then because I’d been too afraid to tell her, too afraid of my parents finding out what I’d done, but it still made me upset to think about it now.
I just wanted this call to hurry up and end.
“Got it, Mom,” I said.
“Good. We love you, Willow.”
“Uh huh. You too.”
The moment she disconnected the call, I found the manila folder Kevin had given me a few days before. I pulled the personal trainer’s information from the back of the folder. And I heard Cooper’s words from a few days earlier echo in my head. “Nobody wants to see a sickly-looking surfer.”
After I ripped the paper into shreds, I sent Miller a text.
Do you feel like some sight-seeing? You know . . . this is my first time in Hawaii.
He responded back five minutes later with a message that made me heave a sigh of relief.
1:48 p.m.: Mine too. Got another hour of working out then we can hit the town.
It was going to be my first time out on “the town” with a bodyguard when I wasn’t too drunk or too f**ked up to function.
Chapter Six
Though I was still on the verge of being broke, Miller and I stayed out late into the evening, walking around a cheap amusement park. He was a welcome change from the bodyguards I had before. Not once did he give me that look that clearly conveyed he thought I was a dumbass, or worse, that he was picturing me naked. I probably would have stayed out all night, but as Miller and I stood in line to ride the only decent rollercoaster in the entire park, he slowly turned to me.