Worlds Collide (Fan Service #6)

10. Wolf

TEN

WOLF

There’s a woman screaming on the other side of the door.

My eyes spring open in panic.

What woman?

Where . . .

I roll over and see only CJ’s naked back. He has a phone to his ear and the woman’s voice is coming from what I guess is a call. Who the fuck is calling him so fucking early? I have an alarm set for seven a.m., so I know it has to be earlier than that.

I rub my eyes and try to understand what in the living hell is happening. The last thing I remember is finishing episode four of the first season and CJ’s sleepy eyes peering up at me. Then I just shut off the TV and the lights like a coward. At least I did manage to tell him goodnight before I lay down.

God, I’m such a fucking dumbass. I should’ve definitely made a move.

No, actually, what I should’ve done is closed the door on his face and told him to please forget he knows me. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to stop this obsession.

There’s no turning back now, though. Not after actually having CJ. The way he melted in my arms, the way he embraced and kissed me like it was only a matter of time.

I sneer at myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? CJ didn’t embrace me. He was happy enough letting me fuck him, and that’s all there is to it. Nothing more is ever going to happen. I can’t let it, because I’m?—

“It’s an embarrassment to this family, Jerry. It’s indecent, what were you thinking? And it’s all over the press, it’s made national news! We raised you better than this, that good-for-nothing—” The woman’s voice rises enough that I can make out the words, but CJ cuts her off and I have to scowl at his tone.

“Okay, that’s enough. My name isn’t Jerry and you know it. What I do or don’t do isn’t any of your business anymore, is it, Mother? ” He says the last word with so much derision, that a chill goes down my arms. “Never call me again.” With that CJ hangs up and I’m about to ask what the hell is happening when my alarm goes off.

CJ turns so I quickly roll again and shut it off.

I have... a million fucking texts, and that’s never good. It has only ever been bad. Especially when “photos” is said in so many different messages. What now? Did someone take naked pictures of me and post them online or something?

I feel all the blood drain from my head the second I click on the link Tristan sent me in his last message.

It’s me. And CJ. In the hallway. Kissing.

Wolf Storm celebrates his 33 rd birthday with new boyfriend: meet billionaire philanthropist, CJ Sounders .

“Jesus fucking Christ.” The whisper escapes my lips without my permission.

“You saw, huh?” CJ says from behind me.

“Of course, I fucking saw,” I growl without looking back.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” he asks in a way-too-gentle voice. I can’t take any pity right now. I won’t accept it because no one fucking knew where I was staying for these two days. No one except for fucking CJ.

“You just had to get back at Mommy and Daddy, huh?” I jump from the mattress and walk straight to my bag, get out my jeans and start to pull them up with my back to him. I can’t look at him, this is too fucking much. “What, did they not give you the Maserati you wanted for your sweet sixteenth? Well, now you got back at them, didn’t you? Made sure the whole world saw how you slept with the fucked-up rock star. Congratulations, CJ, you got what you wanted and now they will finally give you what you want.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says quietly.

“Oh, really?” I turn because I have to look at his face when he’s lying. “You’re the only person aside from Hawk and Derek who knew I had a room in this hotel yesterday. You’re the only person in the world who had the information to set me up for those pictures, CJ. Do I look fucking stupid to you?” I finish dressing and walk out to the front room and put my sneakers on. CJ follows me out and I scoff when I see him standing by the bedroom door with a forlorn look on his face. That’s some good acting right there. “I expect you to be out of here before I come back. Have a nice life.”

“Go fuck yourself, you self-centered bastard,” he shouts at me and I snort back.

With that I walk out of the room and to Rich’s room as fast as I can .

He’s up and dressed, thankfully, and doesn’t have to ask one single question or say a single word for me to know he knows, and he’s going to do his best to make sure no one sees my face today.

We take the service elevator down to the underground garage, and Rich lets me stew in my humiliation on the thirty minutes it takes us to drive seven blocks. Because I can’t ever just walk anywhere. Because my parents are infamous. Because my brother and I just made it worse by becoming teenage musicians almost twenty years ago. Because CJ somehow arranged to have pictures of us taken and sold to some sleazy celebrity gossip magazine.

We enter the hospital—this time I ask Rich to come with me—and I go to my doctor’s office, only to have a pointless thirty minute conversation that ends with him telling me I’m fine but I should definitely never fall off glass stairs again or drink a drop of alcohol. Like I didn’t know that already.

The only thing I want right now is a stiff drink to start processing the fucking audacity of CJ Sounders. Spoiled, trust-fund brat. Rich prick.

We go back to the hotel and I stay in the car while Rich goes to get my things, and his things, and checks us out of our rooms.

I bite my lip to stop myself from asking him anything about my room when he gets back, but Rich doesn’t seem to be on the same page, ’cause he tells me anyway.

“He wasn’t there,” he tells me softly. I wish I could only grunt for a whole conversation, but he asks an open-ended question and squashes my dreams of never speaking again. “Where to?”

“Group in Malibu,” I mumble.

“Okay,” he says simply but I see his eyes crinkle in the rearview mirror and scowl at the reflection. “No more hotels, huh?”

“You’ve got that right,” I say in a growl. “If by some miracle Birdie and I ever tour another album we’ll rent an AirBnb wherever we go. And I’ll buy a fucking apartment in LA if I need to.”

“Hey everyone, I’m Wolf and I’m an alcoholic.” I begin this nonsense, and resist rolling my eyes while I wait for the response. My sponsor has told me it doesn’t help my case when I do that.

“Hello, Wolf,” the seven other attendants of today’s meeting answer back.

“I got sold off to the tabloids today. By someone I actually trusted. At least I trusted him to never do that .” As far as starts go it’s not too bad, I think. “Last time that happened it was my father’s old business partner wanting to get my mom thrown in jail for life and I was only seven, so you can imagine why it hits a little different this time.” Only silence greets me. I drop my shoulders. Man, this is a tough crowd . “You know, because I actually understand what’s happening this time...”

Linda, my sponsor, smiles awkwardly at me then nods for me to go on.

“Anyway, I don’t really know what to do now, but I do know,” I say faking triumph. “That I’m not supposed to drink. And I haven’t. Thank you.”

I somehow feel even shittier after my testimony, especially because the man that goes after me talks about how hard he’s been working on repairing his relationship with his estranged daughter who stopped talking to him when he wouldn’t get help.

Everyone at the rehab center in Carmel-by-the-Sea told me how the only proven way to stay sober is to go to meetings regularly and talk to my sponsor, but honestly, with the way my life differs so wildly from normal people’s, it only makes me feel shittier .

Every time I leave a meeting I tell this to Linda, who was a TV star about thirty years ago and understands where I’m coming from. All she’s ever said to me is that it gets easier.

I don’t know how that’s possible.

“God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference,” the whole group chants while standing in a circle and holding hands like we’re kindergartners or something.

I understand the logic of the phrase, it’s simple enough, but I don’t think I can control anything but my drinking—or not drinking.

“Pancakes?” Linda asks me and I about pass out from relief.

“Yes, please.” I haven’t had anything to eat since last night’s delicious tacos—and fuck CJ for not having the decency to bring me shitty food so I won’t think about him every time I eat tacos.

Yeah, like that’s the only time I’m gonna think about him.

It’s such bullshit. The way he’s gotten into my head since he moved to LA is so unfair. I don’t need this—no, correction, I don’t deserve this. After the hell I’ve been through, this kind of humiliation is really cruel.

I’ve learned enough lessons from the universe, and I thought one of those was that I could really trust the people closest to me. Silly, stupid Wolf thought that included the people who Derek trusts too.

I only want peace and to be left the fuck alone. Is that too much to ask?

Linda climbs into the back of the SUV before me and greets Rich like they’re old friends. I like that, just to be clear.

“The diner?” Rich asks while he shifts the car into drive.

“Yeah,” I confirm.

The tiny diner that’s as secluded as you can get in Malibu is ah- mazing. I not only weep for the pancakes, but the staff treat me like any other human too. It’s also been open for about fifty years and I don’t think it has been renovated ever, so it’s never too crowded at this time of the day.

“So,” Linda says after we confirm our order to Gretchen and she leaves us to it. “You really think this guy CJ called the paps?” Her face is doing that neutral thing I hate—I can never tell what she’s thinking—but I do appreciate that she went right to the heart of it.

“He’s the only person who knew where I was—besides my brother, Rich, and my brother-in-law, of course.”

“And?” Again with the passive, non-emotional tone.

“What do you mean, and? He obviously set this up.”

“Oh, were you on a floor with no other rooms?” I open my mouth to answer but she rolls right through. “Did you buy out all the rooms? No wait, I know what happened. You had five new bodyguards, all posted at every entrance to the floor and asking for the IDs of any person who wanted to make use of that hallway, right?”

I growl at her, and this time I show teeth.

She only smiles brightly at me.

“You know damn well if jumping to conclusions was a sport every alcoholic in the world would win gold medals.”

Gretchen is back with our plates before I can tell Linda, in explicit detail, where she can shove her smartass remarks. It gives me enough time to breathe through the rage and think about what she said.

“You wanna know what I think?” Rich asks from the booth behind me. He always sits there, but normally he has the decency to pretend he’s not listening to every piece of my heart and soul that I lay out for Linda.

“Yes, please,” she says at the same time as I speak .

“No, asshole.”

Rich spins in his seat and ignores me completely.

“He’s just scared because CJ is so pretty that he can’t even growl properly when he’s near.”

“Avoiding vulnerability, huh? Classic.” Linda nods wisely.

“You both suck,” I say before either of them can keep chatting like I’m not right here.

“And you probably said some pretty awful things to CJ and need to apologize.” Linda turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow just to punch in her point.

I don’t dignify that with a response. CJ didn’t even deny that he’d done it.

Birdie’s waiting for me on the steps of my front porch when Rich parks the car in my driveway, and if I wasn’t still annoyed with him crashing my time with my sponsor I’d beg Rich to keep driving around the roundabout and then head north for Carmel-by-the Sea where I can avoid the fucking lecture that’s waiting for me.

“Wolfie,” my brother calls out when I don’t open the door after Rich shuts off the car.

Time to face the music I guess. I step out and ignore Hawk. Maybe that will clue him in to what kind of mood I’m in.

“I don’t understand you,” he starts out strong with the guilting tone he’s so damn good at.

“How about you stop trying,” I suggest when I pass by him.

“Wolfie,” he calls out when I’m on the first step.

“What, Hawk? What do you want me to say, huh? I clearly already suffered the consequences of this fuck-up, so why don’t you fucking leave it alone.” He looks stricken as soon as I call him by his first name and not the nickname I gave him as soon as I could speak.

“Uh...” He hesitates then pulls his shoulders back and looks me straight in the eyes. Oh, goodie. He’s probably about to impart some wisdom he learned in his Al-Anon group a million years ago, because of course , Hawk goodie two-shoes was well aware I’m an alcoholic before I was. I hate myself for every word in my head, and for every vicious wave of emotion they bring out in me, but it’s not like any of it is incorrect. “Tristan wants to talk to you,” he says quietly and looks down.

“Of course, he does,” I mumble and stuff my hands in my pants pockets.

“And Dee and I left your presents in the kitchen for you. I’m supposed to invite you over for dinner tonight, but I’m sure you don’t want to?—”

“I’ll be there at seven, Birdie. Just please let me be alone for a while.”

“Yeah.” He nods a few times. “’Course.”

“Thank you.”

I get inside the house and see the two boxes wrapped in fancy wrapping paper. Probably best that I open those later.

God, clearly my plans for a quiet birthday—for once—were all shot to shit, and now Hawk and Deedee probably think I lied to them when I told them what I really wanted for my birthday was to be alone.

I bite the bullet and call Tristan right away. Better to get that part of the day over with.

“So, is this a PR stunt you forgot to tell your PR manager about? Or is this real and will you make my life a lot harder?”

“Zero for two, Tristan. Of course it’s not fake, why would it be fake? ”

“Well, for one, it’s doing wonders for your image. I literally just found out thanks to the article—and these people really did an amazing job gathering all that info so quickly—so of course being associated with CJ is going to be good for your image.”

“What the hell did he do?” I demand.