Page 35 of Wild Eyes
Somehow, being in his company out in the open air, under the milky sky, feels more oppressive than in the barn. Once again, I’m struck by the feeling of everything here being way too fucking quiet.
I feel the inexplicable need to say something, to soften the tension between us, to end the silence.
As our feet thud against the dirt path that runs between the paddocks, I’m just desperate enough that I blurt out, “My ex-boyfriend gave me those earrings.”
West pauses and then continues walking.
He doesn’t turn to stare at me, so I forge ahead. “Or, well, I thought he was my boyfriend. And, actually, now that I say it out loud, Ithinkhe bought me those earrings. But it’s possible he didn’t.”
West carefully pulls a flake of hay and tosses it into the feeder at the paddock beside him. He’s not dancing now.
“What do you mean? Did he steal them?”
I laugh softly at that. “This story would be a lot more interesting if he did.”
I don’t know how West does it, but he has a way of taking a fragile moment and injecting humor into it. “No, I don’t think he stole them. I don’t even think he picked them out.”
“So he had a friend do it? An assistant?”
The laugh that erupts from my throat now is not amused. It’s dry and painful, and it hurts my lungs as it rips itself from them. “I don’t know if you could consider him and my dad friends. More like partners in crime? Contractually tied? I’m not entirely sure what the word would be for your dad paying another musician to be your boyfriend.”
West stops and stares at me now. “Come again?”
“Yeah, funny story, right? The kicker is, I had no idea.”
“That’s not funny, Skylar. What the fuck?”
“It’s funny but notha-ha funny, right? Welcome to the world of Skylar Stone.”
West is stock-still, except for the tic in his jaw.
“Not the America’s sweetheart story the world likes to think it is, huh? I’ve been dolled up and traipsed around and shined to the perfect luster to appeal to the consumer since I was a child. That was a weird awakening to have at twenty-six.”
I gaze up at the stars, a dry hum in my throat. “Everything that you thought was real is”—I wave a hand at the sky with a resigned sigh—“poof…not. You only figure it out when you sit down to lunch with your boyfriend and he opens with, ‘Sorry, Sky, haven’t received a payment from your dad lately, so I’d say the jig is up.’”
I laugh at my awkward monologue, but it’s uncomfortable. And West doesn’t laugh along with me.
He stands at attention. His eyes narrow as he regards me, like I might turn and flee or break down or…I don’t even know. Melt at his feet? I feel like I could explode. Yet saying it out loud,telling someone who doesn’t know me from Adam, relieves the smallest amount of pressure.
It makes me feel just a bit more comfortable in my body.
“What. The. Fuck.” West bites out the words and they drip with fury. His head is shaking and his fists are flexing. He puffs up just a little bit and it makes him seem bigger and more imposing than ever before.
“Hilariously, I’m not even sad about the breakup. We were never close. It was very transactional. But Iamhumiliated by it.”
He looks like he could kill someone for doing this to me. A comforting heat suffuses my bones. No one has ever been incensed by the things that have been done to me. And I’ve been subjected to some wild shit.
It makes me feel like I’m standing here staring at him with hearts in my eyes. It inspires an instant and irrational sort of loyalty. A little part of me at the back of my head knows it’s tragic to feel this impressed by simple human kindness.
And yet, here I am. Slack-jawed over it.
West steps closer, knees bumping against the edge of the wheelbarrow that separates us, dipping his head to meet my eyes. “Skylar? Why? Why the fuck would your dad do that to you?” His rage mingles with genuine confusion.
“Because…” I glance away, teeth biting at my bottom lip. “Because marketing Skylar Stone in love with everyone’s favorite heartthrob crooner, Andrew McCann, makes sense. It’s easier than marketing the girl with no personality and a dependency on Auto-Tune, who can’t keep a man. It’s more palatable. I’ll give him that. Welcome to Hollywood,” I add with a sad, sarcastic smile.
West rounds the wheelbarrow and eats up the space between us, heating the surrounding air with the intensity of his stare. He’s too big, too nice. He’s too fuckingmuch.
I shift my gaze to the blackness of the trees that line the property.
