So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2)(55)

I wrench the door open. “Oh, for the love of sanity. If I let you in, will you shut the fuck up?”

Buck tosses the banjo to the deck and turns, giving the camera guy a thumbs-up over the railing.

I let him in and shut the door, and then I double check that the curtains are closed.

I turn to him. “You are seriously disturbed.”

“No, I’m desperate.”

His blue-green gaze won’t leave me. I look away, but when my eyes flick back to him, he’s still watching me.

“Well, you’re in. Say whatever it is you need to say, so you can leave.”

He grabs my hands. “Lou, I know what happened. I didn’t see it before, but I think I get it now.”

My chest freezes. I want to answer with some scathing remark, but there just aren’t any words left in my sarcasm tank to spew at him at the moment.

He drags me to sit on the bed. “You said the other day that I left like I was gifting you your freedom. I was. That’s exactly what I was doing. Maybe you were looking at things from a different perspective than me.”

“Ya think?”

He pulls out his phone and taps the screen.

I stare at him for a moment, but it’s taking forever.

Meanwhile, the little ridiculous kernel of hope in my gut fades. “Look, Buck. Go take care of your business. You obviously have more important things to do than talk to me right now.”

He looks up. “No. I’m trying to load something for you to watch. You need to see this.”

“I thought you came here to talk.”

He nods. “I did. I even brought my cameraman to catch that badly out of tune display of affection because I want you to understand that California, Hollywood, my career, none of it is more important to me than you. It never has been.”

I step back, holding my hands up to stop him. “No. Please. Let’s not do this. You don’t need to lie to me. We both know how important your career is. It’s all you talked about that last year before you left.”

“Well, yeah, it’s important, but never more so than you. I kept talking about it, because I had to keep it in my mind that I was leaving…that things between us were going to change. Otherwise, I’d never have been able to leave so you could have a better life.”

He pushes his phone into my hands, though I try to shove it back toward him.

He brushes the hair out of my eyes. “Please, just watch. If you’ll allow it, they’re going to air it tomorrow night on the show.”

I swallow, my stomach tripping over itself and tangling into knots.

He taps the screen in my hands. “Watch.”

It’s him on screen with Trudi.

Trudi introduces herself, explaining she’s Celebrity Homecoming’s field producer. “I’m here with Buck Wylder to learn a bit more about his relationship with Ms. Loula Mae Fontaine. The world’s dying to know what the story is. So, in your own words, Buck, tell us about your history with Loula.”

My knotted stomach crawls into my throat, and I can barely breathe around it.

The on-screen version of Buck scratches his neck, but then he looks directly into the camera. “Well, Lou and I grew up two houses down from each other. Her mom was—let’s just say she probably didn’t much want to be a mother, and she had other things on her mind rather than Lou’s well being.”

He rubs his chin. “Lou was always my best friend. She and I did almost everything together. So, when she hurt, it hurt me—all the way to my core. Unfortunately for Lou, she hurt a lot because of who her mom and dad were in the community. And, well, people in this town weren’t too kind to a little girl of mixed race.”

I cringe at the millions of memories that bombard me; the sneers and upturned noses and comments made under people’s breath as I’d walk in or out of a store.

Buck runs his hand down my back, setting his chin on my shoulder.

Trudi leans forward. “So, Loula Mae is important to you and has been for a long time.”

The Buck on the phone shifts in his chair. “She’s more than important, Trudi. She’s vital to my happiness, to my life.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Again those eyes capture me through the screen. “Because, Loula Mae is—well—she was—my wife.”





TWENTY-FIVE





Lou turns to me, her jaw hanging loose, her green eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen them.

She tosses my phone against the wall. “What the fuck did you tell them that for?”

Uh oh. Maybe not the best idea.

“I think this will be the thing that’ll get them off your case. A man’s allowed to give money to his ex-wife. People expect it.”

She jumps up, throwing her hands in the air. “But—but—aw, hell, Buck. I don’t even know what to say.”