Page 13 of Repairing the Wreckage

“Help!” Jordan shouts. “Help!”

Imagine working on a show with a bunch of street fighters and being afraid of your own shadow.

“Quit whining.” I jerk him forward by his shirt collar, slam him into the wall again, then release him. I lean close. “How can you look me in the eye after the bullshit lies you’ve been broadcasting?” I whisper in his ear. “And don’t you dare try to deny it.”

His eyes widen.

That’s right motherfucker—I know.

“You can’t tell the others,” he warns.

A sneer turns the corners of my mouth, but the wide-eyed look of fear on Jordan’s face stops me from saying anything else.

Control. Get control of yourself. Breathe. You’re smarter than this.

I don’t know what I’m dealing with. There were a lot of contracts and documents I signed for the show. Hope, the lawyer I spoke to, tried to warn me most—if not all—of the contracts wouldn’t be in my favor. Who am I kidding—everyone in my life tried to warn me that coming here was a bad idea. I went ahead and signed my life away anyway.

No one could’ve predicted this level of fuckery, though.

All I wanted to do was make Molly’s life better. Instead, I made it worse. Forget the car. I hate that I made her last few weeks of school miserable because all her friends and classmates were watching the show.

And she never said a word in our brief phone calls. She couldn’t. But I should’ve been able to tell something was wrong.

That I might have lost her for good, doesn’t enter my mind. Molly knows me. Once I’m able to see her and talk to her, she’ll understand it was all fake.

Everything will be fine.

“I’m serious,” Jordan warns in a low voice. “Don’t.” He flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “Or at least be careful where.”

His cryptic warning isn’t hard to untangle. There are cameras recording us everywhere in this damn house.

While I had him on the phone, I should’ve asked Remy if they show footage from the bathrooms.

I’m losing my mind.

“I won’t,” I promise. Jordan’s not the one I’m mad at. He’s trying to earn a paycheck like everyone else. “Sorry.”

Racing footsteps squeak over the polished hallway floor behind me. I hold my hands in the air and take a few steps back. I glare at Jordan who’s shaking and looking anywhere but at my face. “Get me someone in charge to talk to—right fucking now.”

“What’s going on?” Venom says from behind me.

I turn and find his big frame blocking two of the camera guys and a production assistant from getting too close. It’s a small gesture but after the conversation I just had with Remy, gratitude floods my system. At least not everyone’s trying to stab me in the back. I nod my thanks to Venom, but Jordan’s warning still echoes in my ear.

“Nothing. I just need to talk to someone.”

There’s still a chance I can salvage this situation. Turn it around to somehow work in my favor. Repair my relationship with Molly. Or maybe I’m fucking delusional, and I’ve already lost everything.

I still have to try.

Our standoff in the hallway lasts for a few minutes. Enough time for Jordan to pull out his cell phone and frantically tap out a text. A few seconds later, he places a call.

I back away, giving him the illusion of privacy.

“What’s going on?” Venom murmurs close to my ear.

“I can’t talk about it.” I meet his eyes, hoping he’ll understand that if I could tell him, I would.

He nods slowly. “You better not be leaving.”

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