Page 73 of My Grape Crush
“Shut up!” Rhys bellows, stress radiating off him in waves.
“Jesus,” Sawyer mutters, giving Myla a wide berth as he heads toward the door. “Good luck, bro. Sounds like you’ll need it.”
He finds my eyes across the room and silently saystake your time. Before I pick the wrong emotion to focus on and regret saying something irreversible, a burly bow-legged man bumps into Sawyer as he’s about to leave.
We all lapse into a confused silence, staring at him as his watery eyes scan the stage he’s walked onto. They land on the smashed lamp and upended side table. Then they narrow in on me in a robe, porn star Myla, and Rhys half-naked, blood oozing from a cut on his chest. I can tell he’s trying to make sense of Sawyer, who, to a stranger’s eyes, is the collegiate pimp to our motley crew of degenerates.
Suddenly, the man’s puzzled expression becomes as clear as his mission.
Those winery folks, I can hear him tell his wife later as they dig into fried pork cutlets and Caesar salad from a bag.Bunch of sex-crazed lunatics.
Because dangling between two of his stumpy fingers is a crinkled Shoppers Drug Mart bag, and he's holding the offending item far away from his JESUS SAVES t-shirt as if it's a skunk about to spray.
“Who ordered the condoms?”
“Is it because he’s famous?” Sawyer breaks the silence that’s hung like smoke since we peeled out of the winery.
I glance at him, hunched over the steering wheel, eyes on the road. Too chicken shit to look me in the eye while serving up judgment.
“Things happen between people for reasons other than fame.” I’m annoyed he reduced me to nothing but a star fucker. I'm also annoyed because it hurts like hell to be blindsided, and I have no one to blame but myself. My emotions are mine to deal with.
“The other day you couldn’t stop raving about how much you liked working with Evelyn,” he says.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Sawyer cuts me a sideways glance. “You strike me as intelligent, but have you thought any of this through? Rhys has no plans to live in Canada. You know that much, right?”
“How doyouknow?” I parrot back, his smug tone and underhanded comment that essentially questions my intelligence impressively irritating. “From what I’ve seen, all you two do is squabble and tear each other down.”
“No offense, Dani,” he says, “but one week does not make you an authority on Rhys.”He shifts in his seat, readying himself to share more Sawyer gospel. “Has he told you anything about our family? Or did you soak up his sunshine and daffodils routine, no questions asked?”
I shut my eyes to steady the roller coaster of conflicting emotions, trying to avoid becoming hopelessly entangled in whatever this mess is. “Is this where you tell me what I should know?”
Sawyer shakes his head as if I’m just not getting it. “What you just witnessed is the real Rhys,” he replies. “He’s a head case. Always has been. He cannot hold a relationship together to save his life. And he ends up with dumb dingbats because they are who he thinks he’s worth.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Sawyer sighs. “I didn’t mean you.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask, heavy on the sarcasm.
“What I do know is that he’s not moving back here,” he asserts. “Not even for you. Trust me on that one.”
Our ambivalent gazes collide over the console.
Not even for you.
His simple emphatic statement sends a shot of ice up my spine. It's as if Sawyer knows how this will end. Like he’s witnessed this particular car crash a hundred times.
No,I tell myself.It does not end like this.
I stare glumly out the window at another brilliant, scorching day. Sawyer’s prior comment stings because maybe—possibly—I did get caught up in the fame angle. That’s the problem with celebrities: they shine their light on you, and you instantly feel like the best version of yourself. But the light Rhys turns so brightly on me shines on everyone. He doesn’t have a shit ton of followers for nothing.
“Where should I go?” Sawyer asks.
We’re at the T junction of Highway 3. Weekend traffic crawls in either direction. A wild idea bubbles up out of nowhere—what if I booked it to Vancouver with Sawyer and never returned? Just remember last night and ignore the fact that Myla tarnished what was supposed to be one of the best days of my life.
Oh, the temptation.
