The Critic (20 page)

After my heart-to-heart with Brett, my head had swum with questions. I’d been trying not to think about Bentley, but when I passed the newsstands, I couldn’t help picking up a copy of the
Edge.
His picture next to his latest review haunted me. I missed those deep blue eyes. The image of his tousled hair and chiseled jawline felt like a vise on my heart, and since when did he have his picture in the paper?

I’d read all of his latest reviews. Some were praise, and some weren’t, but the one I hated the most was when he appeared in a photograph with the star of a show that had received a lot of acclaim in the trades. Her name was Jaclyn Love Hart, which sounded phony. I wondered if she was as fake as her name, which was wrong of me. She was stunning, and by his smile, he seemed happy. Who was I to be jealous when I was the one who’d pushed him away?

When I finally got home from the grueling yet enjoyable week, I peeled off my Converse sneaks, which felt as if they’d been molded to my feet. The air was getting warmer as summer drew near. My feet were beginning to swell. I kept forgetting that New Yorkers walked . . . a lot. Cabs were too expensive to keep taking, and the subway lines still confused me a bit, so I walked too. The chardonnay in my fridge was calling my name, and after I answered by pouring myself a glass, I planted my tired ass on the soft sofa. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at yet another picture of “Mr. Chambers and Ms. Hart” in the society section. They were arm-in-arm at the benefit gala for the Shooting Stars Theater Guild. The vise on my heart turned into a blade that sliced right through me. Would we have been at that gala if we were still together? Would I have been the one in the gorgeous black gown?

My eyes betrayed me, refusing to look away from the stunning couple. The tips of his fingers peeked out from around her small silk-covered waist. I could actually feel his palm pressed against the small of her back as she smiled brightly; I’d have been smiling too. I set the paper down and decided I’d had enough of the happy couple.

Questions lingered in my mind. Did he miss me? Did he think of me? Did he wonder what I was doing? Did he still want me? I glanced back at the picture and came to one conclusion . . . the only conclusion: no.

I refilled my glass and polished it off before grabbing my phone. No calls, messages, or texts. He didn’t miss me. My mind enjoyed the wine coursing through it, but my heart hurt. I made a call to the local cab company.

Sixty minutes later, I was back in the city, sitting in a packed theater and waiting for Ms. Hart’s show to begin. The show’s program sported pictures of the cast, and her headshot was prettier than the pictures in the paper. I perused the auditorium, looking for him, but the house lights dimmed. I didn’t even know if he was there or not.

Ninety minutes and two standing ovations later, the theater emptied. Ms. Hart had been as wonderful as Bentley had said in his review. Her stage presence was as large as she was beautiful. If she weren’t an actress, she could have easily been a beauty queen. For a fleeting moment, I felt as if they were meant to be together, two gorgeous people who exuded confidence and strength.

I didn’t know what had possessed me, but I took the aisle to the back of the playhouse and waited to see the woman up-close and personal. I ducked behind a crew member and followed him backstage, trying to go unnoticed. Then my world halted when he came into view: Bentley in her embrace. Ms. Hart’s long hair was draped over his arm, and her cheek rested on his shoulder. Bentley’s back looked broad and strong as he held her close. My skin prickled. What had I done? I’d pushed him away and into the arms of another woman.

Her eyes opened and met mine. As she pulled out of the embrace and stared at me, Bentley turned. His smile faltered as his brows drew together and creases formed on his forehead.

“Andi?”

Going backstage had been a mistake of epic proportions. I had nothing to say. My chest heaved, and my lungs burned for air. For a brief moment, I was rooted in place, but once he stepped closer, my feet moved. I turned to hurry away. As I pushed through the stagehands, praying my legs wouldn’t betray me, he kept calling my name, each call louder than the last. I needed to keep moving and get as far away from them as I could. I heard his voice through the crowd, but I kept going. I should have been happy for him, for them, but at that moment, I couldn’t be. Maybe someday, but not now.

“Andi, wait!” His voice echoed down the back hallway, sounding closer than it had.

I came to a door that sported a “No Exit” sign.
Shit!
I stopped and pivoted, praying my body could absorb the emotions that were ready to burst from me. Being upset with him wasn’t fair—this was all on me. As I tried to muster some version of a smile, I stared at him. He had a look on his face that I couldn’t decipher. Guilt? Happiness? Dread maybe?

He appraised me from my hair to the tips of my stilettos. “You’re here.” A smile grew across his gorgeous face.

I nodded as he took a tentative step forward then another. With one deep breath, my chest would be against his, so I stepped back.

“Don’t run from me.” He took my hand and attempted to pull me toward him.

My feet stayed rooted as he tugged on my arm, and my head shook. “I can’t. I don’t want to see you with her. She’s a wonderful actress, but . . .” Feeling as though I would lose all my composure, I whispered, “Did you help her find her passion too? How many of us are there?” It was an unfair question, and I really didn’t want to know the answer, but I wanted him to know where my mind was. Was I being petty? Yeah, probably, but my sarcasm was keeping my tears at bay.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I helped her, yes.”

“I see.” My head lowered, and my eyes stung. That wasn’t the answer I’d expected or wanted.

“Why did you come? Did you know I’d be here?” He studied me with his head cocked. His brows rose, waiting for my reply as a glimmer of hope passed over his face.

I felt his deep blue eyes penetrate my soul as my heart broke. How could he not see what he was doing to me? “I talked to Brett.” I shrugged.

“He told me. So, that was a bit ago. Why did you come here?”

Normally, his soft voice would have comforted me, but right then, it did the opposite. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter now.” I tried pulling my hand from his, but he just gripped it tighter.

“It does matter. What did he say to you that made you want to see me?”

My face heated with embarrassment. “He said you cared about me, but he was clearly mistaken. It’s fine, really. Can you please just let me go?” His charcoal-gray dress slacks and black loafers were the only things in my line of vision. I kept trying in vain to pull my hand from his grasp.

“No, it’s not fine, and no, I’m not letting you go until you meet Lyn.” His voice was calm, which unnerved me.

“What? Why do I need to meet her? Meeting your girlfriend will only make me feel worse. If you’ve found someone who makes you happy, then I’m happy for you, but I can’t handle meeting her.”

His eyes were soft. “Andi, you don’t understand.”

I nodded. “That’s where you’re wrong. I do understand, and I take full responsibility. You tried to explain. I didn’t let you, and now I’ve lost you.” My voice hitched, making me pause. “This hurts too much, Bentley. You’ve moved on. Please just let me go so I can try to do the same.”

With his index finger, he raised my chin. I kept my eyes away from his.

“Look at me,” he asked. “You’re doing it again. You’re jumping to conclusions. Let me explain.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I need to go. Your girlfriend will be looking for you soon, and I just . . .” I raised my eyes to his, allowing a tear to fall. “I can’t meet the woman who has you now. I’m very sorry . . . for everything.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I should’ve trusted him and at the very least let him explain about his relationship, or non-relationship, with Lucy. “Thank you for everything you did for me, but you should be celebrating with her.” Just saying that made me want to be ill. All I wanted to do was go outside and wail until I had nothing left in me. I was crushed and surprised I was still breathing.

I heard a giggle and looked behind Bentley to see Ms. Hart gliding toward us like a runway model. My heart jackhammered. He dropped his hands from my face, and I whisked away my tears. I was sure my face was a mess, but at that point, I really didn’t care.

She walked up. “I’m sorry for laughing, but I couldn’t help overhearing you. I’m Jaclyn Love Hart—well, that’s my stage name. My real name is Lyn Chambers.” She extended her hand.

Chambers?

“I’m Bentley’s cousin. You’re Andrea, right? I’ve seen your picture.”

I accepted her hand, feeling utterly foolish.

“It’s nice to meet the woman who stole my favorite cousin’s heart,” she said.

I managed to squeak, “It’s nice to meet you too.” I looked at Bentley, who had his arms crossed in front of him as his eyebrows rose to say, “I told you so.”
Wait, I stole his heart?

“I need to go to our post-show cast meeting and scrape off this make-up. Thanks for coming to the show. It was good to meet you.” Lyn’s smile was genuine and bright, which made me feel horrible for the mean things I’d thought about her.

I’d been wrong . . . again. I really needed to stop making assumptions. “Very nice meeting you as well. You’re a very good actress. Congratulations on your success. The show was wonderful.” I was rambling, trying to cover my earlier faux pas with a smile.

“Thank you.” She turned to Bentley. “Thanks again, cuz. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She kissed his cheek, hugged him, and scurried away.

I realized I wanted to be back in those arms and feel his body against mine. We were alone again, and it was time for me to eat crow. “I’m sorry. When I saw her, I just thought—”

“You thought I’d moved on and that I’m in the habit of screwing actresses.” His cheeks rose as he smirked.

“Yes. No. I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t like what I saw.” My lips pressed together as I struggled to keep my emotions in check. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” I was wringing my hands, and if I didn’t calm down, I was going to twist off a finger.

“My place isn’t far. Do you want to come over? Or we can go somewhere less private.” The look on his face told me where he’d prefer to go.

“Your place will be fine.” I felt a bit of relief and thanked God she was his cousin. I didn’t think I would have survived her being his lover.

I had her with me. Her obvious jealousy confirmed what Brett had told me—she did care. I needed to make her realize that we belonged together and she needed to trust that my feelings for her were genuine. Then I’d tell her about London.

A short cab ride later, and we were entering my second-floor walk-up. The building was a vintage brownstone with an old brick façade, which was what I loved about that part of the city. It wasn’t pretentious or glamorous—it was real.

I opened the door to my apartment and let Andi in. I followed close behind her.

“Wow, this place is spacious.” Her voice was filled with surprise. “It’s just gorgeous.”

My apartment was large by NYC standards, but to me, this was just home. I owned the building and hoped to renovate it someday when I had a family. She dragged her hand along the back of the sofa as she walked around, taking in the soft earth tones and the décor. The pictures of skylines and different architecture scattered throughout seemed to capture her attention. She stopped at one picture, and my heart clenched.

“Is this . . . ?” She pointed at the picture and looked back at me.

I rested my hands on her waist and my chin on her shoulder. I took in her warmth as I pointed at the older boy on the left. “That’s me, and that little guy is Brett.” I felt my smile growing as I recalled when we’d taken that picture.

She turned in my arms, and I studied her. Her eyes were rimmed in pink, a faint black smudge underneath her lashes, and my chest constricted. I’d never wanted to upset her. All I’d wanted was to make her happy.

Her bloodshot eyes looked around the room. “Is this where you grew up?”

“Yeah. When my parents moved out to the Hamptons, I stayed here. My grandfather owned this building, and he handed it down to Brett and me. Brett wanted a more upscale apartment in the city, but this was home to me, so I bought him out.” My voice was full of pride.

“I see.” Her soft hand ran down my chest. “Can we sit and talk?” She licked her lower lip, making me want to do the same.

A wave of relief, followed by nerves, washed over me. “Yeah, I’d like that.”