Fuck. My gaze settles on his laptop still open on the bed. I slide it toward me and hit a key. His Facebook page comes up with an open chat box.
My entire body grows cold.
What the fuck is Caroline doing texting him? I scroll through the messages.
Caroline: Bobby, call me now. I fucked up big. I can’t reach anyone. I need help. NOW. Definite emergency. Don’t talk to Seth. Call me now!!!!!
Really, the I can’t reach my boyfriend, please come, fembot in distress bullshit?
Emergency my ass.
I continue to read. Crap, it doesn’t say what’s going on or where they went. Bobby must have called her. My insides grow queasy and chaotic. I can’t believe he jumped for her. I can’t believe he went. And I can’t shut off the voice inside my head wondering how often she has emergencies, how many times he’s run to the rescue, and what the fuck else I don’t know about.
Stupid?
Maybe.
Irrational jealousy?
No doubt, since Bobby isn’t a player.
But I can’t contain my spiking temper. He’s my guy. He should be here when I need him, not with her. You’re going to have a lot to answer for, Bobby Rowan, when you get back.
I exhale loudly.
Crap, I wish he were here.
My nerves feel like they’re about to snap.
Fuck.
What’s happening at my house?
Why is Alan in Pacific Palisades at long last?
I start clicking away, cyberstalking my dad. It’s galling that I have to surf the net to know what’s going on in his life. I hit a link. Nothing. Another. Nothing. Why isn’t there ever anything useful on the Internet? But nope, no answers here about what’s going on in my dad’s universe. Just the standard PR bullshit—blah, blah, blah—and Kodak tabloid moments.
Damn. I’m going to be a fucking mess until I know everything is all right with my mom. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the house, even though Chrissie wanted me to. I know it was just because she didn’t want me to hear if everything exploded but, fuck, I’m not a little girl and really there’s not much I can go through at this stage in my life any more intense than the shit I’ve already been through.
I type in my mom’s name on the search bar. Lots of links. Nothing new. At least there isn’t any gossip about Chrissie online yet. There never is. Mom’s about as boring a recording artist as they come. But, oh, there will be. Once the shit hits the fan, the rag sheets are going to be running full press 24/7.
It’s how it works whenever Alan drifts into our world.
Tabloid-mania.
Going back to school after winter break is going to be an all-out nightmare.
Grabbing my phone, I text my mom to let her know I’m at “Zoe’s.” My eyes widen when I hear the ding. She answered back—Love you. Have a good night. I didn’t expect that. Maybe things aren’t going into the crapper the first minutes of Alan’s return.
Maybe it will be OK.
For Chrissie’s sake I hope so.
Then maybe we’ll be able to move on to my issues with Alan.
It sucks to be the oldest and always have to wait.
First born.
Last priority.
That doesn’t seem right.
Exhaling loudly, I try to figure out what to do now. Maybe I should go to Zoe’s. Or should I wait for Bobby? I check my phone again.
Still no text.
My stomach turns.
Like hell I’m leaving before he comes back.
By 9:30 p.m. I’m ready to explode. How could he just blow me off this way? It’s been hours with no answer. What the fuck is he doing with Caroline?
The door opens.
I leap up off the bed and cross the room, my entire body twitching with anger. “Where the fuck have you been?”
Bobby freezes just inside the room. He frowns. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to stay home tonight.”
Really? That’s how he wants to play this?
“Don’t even try to lie to me. I know you were with Caroline. Where were you?”
He blinks at me, shocked. “Nope, not answering, and I’m not even going to ask how the hell you know who I’ve been with. But the spying shit, Kaley, not cool. You either trust me or you don’t.”
He grabs a beer from the small fridge, twists off the top, and tosses it into the trash before sitting on the foot of the bed.
“Then we’re over. I don’t need one more liar in my life and not answering me is a form of lying. You just don’t want to tell me what you’ve been doing. Pretty clear confirmation that you can’t tell me.”
He gapes. “Over? Is that really what you want to have happen here tonight?” He stares and has the gall to look angry at me. “Do you really think I’d cheat on you?”
“You’ve been with her,” I snarl. “It doesn’t matter what you did together. That’s a form of cheating.”
“There are times you have totally fucked-up logic.”
He swallows down half his beer, then sets it on the floor and tries to reach for me, but I twist away.
“Baby, why are you crying? I know you don’t really believe that I’d mess around with Caroline. What is going on, Kaley?”
I become aware of the light trickle of tears spilling down my cheeks—fuck, when did those start?—and I brush at them furiously.
“I’m surprised you care,” I counter petulantly.
His jaw clenches.
His eyes flare and widen.
He picks up his beer and polishes off the remainder. “That’s fucking sad because you shouldn’t be surprised.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m answering your question because I want to. Maybe you’ll figure out how fucking wrong you always are when you let your anger take control of your brain. I’m telling you this not because you threatened me but because I love you and I want to.”
I cross my arms and wait. I’m way out of line, I know it, but something in me won’t let me relent.
“I’ve had a fucking miserable day since you left,” he says after several minutes of squaring off with our eyes. “Caroline hooked up with some guys from Simi Valley that she shouldn’t have. The party got rough. She got scared and called me to come get her. She’s a friend and I’m not leaving her somewhere dangerous because my girlfriend might get pissed off. I picked her up. I drove her home. End of story.”
End of story, my ass!
He’s keeping something from me.
“It’s only like an hour each way to Simi,” I murmur accusingly. “You’ve been gone six hours, Bobby. What did you do? Stay to comfort her after the trauma of making an incredibly stupid decision? Is that part of you being a friend, too?”
“No, saving her from fucking gangbangers about to rape her and a pit bull attack falls into the friend category,” he snaps and every ounce of steam in me evaporates. He shakes his head, and I can see now he’s struggling to control his anger over whatever happened with Caroline. “Those fucking bastards had illegal fight dogs. They let one loose when they saw me cutting out with Caroline. I don’t know what the fuck would have happened if I’d left her there with them. Crazy shit was going down. The dog nearly got her before I shoved her into the car. I don’t know how I managed to keep it off me. It kept snarling and coming at me with its mouth open no matter how hard I kicked it, and I thought, ‘Shit, I’m going to have to kill this dog to get away’ and then some guy from the house next door shoots it, and Caroline and I just fucking burned rubber out of there without sticking around to see what happened next. Fucking insane.”
I pale and drop down on the bed beside him. “Oh God. Are you all right? Are you sure the dog didn’t get you anywhere?”
He nods, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I’d really appreciate it if, whatever is going on with you, you’d keep the anger and verbal attacks at a minimum tonight. I’ve just pissed off a Simi Valley gang, saw a dog be executed, and have had to listen to Caroline wail for the past five hours.”