Page 15 of Hollywood King
“Yes, Mr. Cliff.”
I shook my head and entered the house.
The big, quiet, empty house. All the lights were off, and I began flipping them on as I made my way through. My bedroom sat at the top of the stairs, and I tossed my jacket and tie on the bed before crumpling backward onto the lush mound.
Being home, I could finally relax, but the Cathy and Eddy thing still sizzled through me. Edgar-Fucking-Linton. I almost wished she’d been snapped kissing anyone else. Anyone at all.
There was no competing with the saint of Hollywood. Especially by the adopted and abandoned son of the Earnshaw family.
I sat up and finally stripped out of my clothes until I wore nothing but my black boxer briefs. The day still weighed heavy on me, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep it off.
I climbed into bed and folded the coverlet and sheets up to my chin.
Once I let out a long sigh, I started to relax.
Then the phone rang. One, two, three shrill claps of sound cutting through the peace I’d gathered close. I pulled the house phone off the bedside table and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?” Only a handful of people knew this number.
“Heath, they weren’t going to tell you, but I felt you had a right to know.”
“Nelly?” I sat up.
“Your Father is dead.”
