Never in my life had I wanted to drown someone as much as I wanted to right now.
The moderator turned his attention on me. “What about you, Willow?”
I raked my hand through my brown hair, which the stylist who’d shown up at my rental house at the ass-crack of dawn had artfully tousled for at least an hour. “I didn’t have it quite as easy as Justin. I’ve spent the last couple weeks training with a really incredible surf coach here in Hawaii—Cooper Taylor. I’ve gotten to the point where I can actually take on a wave or two. Of course, I fall flat on my butt two seconds later, but it’s a work in progress.”
That comment evoked more chuckles and flashes from the throng of people so I gave them the pretty smile they expected.
“Speaking of Cooper Taylor,” the moderator started, and I felt my breath catch. “How does it feel to be working with the Hilary Norton’s only kid?”
I blinked. And for a moment, I was left utterly speechless. How does it feel to be working with Hilary Norton’s kid? And he was talking about my Cooper?
A shiver raced up my spine the moment I thought of him as that.
When I answered, I never faltered. “He’s got this insane work ethic. We trained for three or four hours a day.” And not once did he tell me I was playing his deceased mother’s role. “We still have a ways to go, but I’m confident that all the stunt work you see me actually doing is going to look fantastic.”
The moderator turned his questions on Justin then, and after that on one of the supporting actors, but the sharp tingles creeping down my face and throughout the rest of my body made it nearly impossible to hear anything that wasn’t aimed directly at me.
Cooper was Hilary Norton’s son.
The sad part was that as I sat there, becoming angrier, I wasn’t sure if I was even supposed to be pissed. It wasn’t like it had ever come up in a conversation, but God, it was hard not to feel duped.
Because Hilary Norton—Cooper’s mom—had OD’d on the same crap that sent me to rehab.
By the time I reached Cooper’s house for my lesson, which Miller insisted he had to stay for now that the press had me on their radar, my anger had reached the boiling point. As Cooper and I strode out to the beach, with Miller tailing behind us a few feet, I put as much distance as I could between our bodies.
He gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’m guessing your press conference went badly?” he asked.
Narrowing my eyes, I snorted and picked up my pace. “Where should I start? First there’s my horny costar who introduced himself by asking if I’d f**k him in his trailer to test out the new couch.”
Cooper caught up to me, his face dark. He placed his board down by the shoreline in slow controlled motions. “He touched you?”
“Don’t worry, I threatened to hit him with a surfboard on set,” I said. Cooper smiled, murmuring something under his breath. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared down at him and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me who your mom was, Cooper?”
His toned body went taut and he glanced down at the emblem on the head of his board before meeting my gaze. “Because it’s not a big secret,” he said, shrugging indifferently.
I sank down on my knees beside him in the sand, not caring that Miller was lounging close by or that there were other people around us on the beach. I squinted at him and realized it wasn’t because the sunlight was beating down on my face—it was to hold the stupid tears back.
I pretended to clean something off my board with the end of my beach towel. “I didn’t know,” I finally said in a low whisper.
He scoffed. “Then, how’s this? Hilary Norton was my mum but I don’t broadcast it. Because I don’t like talking about her. Because they tore her apart until she tore herself down.”
“I don’t know who they are.”
A sound of frustration bubbled up in the back of his throat and he leaned close to me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Willow. You of all people know exactly who they are.”
“And Dickson knew who you were?” I demanded.
He scoffed, nodding.
“God, I feel like an idiot,” I said.
“Why?”
I stopped fidgeting with my board and looked him directly in the eye. “Because I’ve been studying your mom’s movies and working with you and—”
He touched his fingertips together in front of his mouth and shook his head. “It doesn’t change anything.”
So why did it feel like it did? When I started to push my board out into the water, he caught up behind me, tugging on the strap of my swimsuit. I whirled on him.
“Who my mum was doesn’t change anything,” he repeated.
“Why’d you agree to train me?” I demanded. “You hate Hollywood and I’m working in your mom’s most popular movie. That’s got to hurt, Cooper. I mean, f**k, I hurt for you.”
He started to speak and then he hesitated. When I tightened my hold on the edge of my board and nodded for him to continue, he demanded, “You want to know why I agreed to train you?”
“Please.”
“Because Dickson said nobody else wanted to work with you.”
I felt as if someone had struck their hand across my face. When I flinched, he muttered a string of curse words. “Look, Wills, that didn’t come out like I wanted it—”
“No, I appreciate your honesty,” I said, shoving my board further out into the white water.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“We’ve got a lesson, don’t we?”