lots of versions floating around out there, you know.”
“Marti told me,” he confesses, giving me an apologetic smile. “I didn’t recognize you or know… anything until last night.”
“Marti,” I repeat dully, feeling slightly betrayed by this woman I’ve only barely met.
“Don’t blame her. She thought I knew,” he rushes to explain. He gives a quiet laugh. “Well, actually she thinks I live under a rock now because I hadn’t heard of you before.”
“Would it help if I said I think so, too?” I tease, laughing with him. Then, just like that, the tension ruptures. We’re buddies again. More than friends, as he leans a little closer to me and lowers his voice. “Rebecca, all your secrets are safe with me.”
Safe. What a concept. The most important word in the world to me, and it’s something Michael makes me feel on instinct, even without his reassurances.
“What do you want to know?” I ask. “How I got here? About the guy who came after me? I’ll tell you whatever.”
“I want to know about you. Just you.”
“What is this? Notting Hill ?” I laugh anxiously.
He frowns. “I’m serious, Rebecca.”
Jake wanted to know about me, too, that first time he took me out, right after we wrapped the first episode of season two. He was my co-star on About the House , and even though I knew his reputation, I thought maybe he’d changed over the hiatus. He certainly convinced me that he had, talking about the power of rehab and finding his “center”. For a southern Methodist girl like me, some of his New Age talk didn’t really make much sense, but I was just so bowled over by his charisma. And he had it in spades.
“I’ve heard that question before.”
“You suggesting it’s a line?” For the first time since I’ve met Michael Warner, I’m glimpsing a slight temper.
Despite myself, I smile. “No, just that it’s not a line that will work on me. If it is a line, I mean.”
“Rebecca, I’ve told you the way it is with me. And I don’t confess those things to just anyone.”
“Why me?” I ask, really wondering. Thinking of Trevor’s suspicious take on my new friendship.
Maybe he’ll say because he’s been waiting for a girl like me. Or that it’s been a long time since anyone made him feel this way. I wait, breath held tight inside my lungs, time literally suspended until he finally answers.
“’Cause I know you’ve been through things, too. But you’re still smiling. And beautiful. I want to understand how you do that.”
Oh, God. He could’ve said anything else, but now he’s got me. In the palm of his hand, like a baby bird just fallen out of its nest. I’m vulnerable, naked. I can only hope he’s gentle.
“Can we wait to talk about my past?” I ask, knowing I’ll go anywhere he leads me now.
“Of course.”
“It’s just, well, it was three years ago last week that this—” I hesitate, then point to my face,“—happened. My attack. I’ve been feeling kind of freaky about it.”
“Anniversaries are tough,” he answers knowingly, and it makes me wonder exactly when Alex died. “They make you feel like you’re in a time warp.”
“Or like it’s going to happen all over again,” I add, and this clearly hits home, because he nods his head dramatically.
“Yeah, and if I had to go through it all again,” he agrees, “it’d probably kill me.”
I think of the nine slashes of Ben McAllister’s knife. If I had to live through those again, would he aim any better? Or would one or two more targeted thrusts finish me off next time?
“That’s why it’s the past, Michael,” I answer, shivering as I think of Ben languishing in Chino. Thank God he’s locked away for the rest of my life and his. “Because it’s done with.”
“Reckon so,” he agrees, and then we both just look away. We look away because the platitudes don’t work for either of us. We both know that I’m saying what we want to believe, because like some terrible
“Marti told me,” he confesses, giving me an apologetic smile. “I didn’t recognize you or know… anything until last night.”
“Marti,” I repeat dully, feeling slightly betrayed by this woman I’ve only barely met.
“Don’t blame her. She thought I knew,” he rushes to explain. He gives a quiet laugh. “Well, actually she thinks I live under a rock now because I hadn’t heard of you before.”
“Would it help if I said I think so, too?” I tease, laughing with him. Then, just like that, the tension ruptures. We’re buddies again. More than friends, as he leans a little closer to me and lowers his voice. “Rebecca, all your secrets are safe with me.”
Safe. What a concept. The most important word in the world to me, and it’s something Michael makes me feel on instinct, even without his reassurances.
“What do you want to know?” I ask. “How I got here? About the guy who came after me? I’ll tell you whatever.”
“I want to know about you. Just you.”
“What is this? Notting Hill ?” I laugh anxiously.
He frowns. “I’m serious, Rebecca.”
Jake wanted to know about me, too, that first time he took me out, right after we wrapped the first episode of season two. He was my co-star on About the House , and even though I knew his reputation, I thought maybe he’d changed over the hiatus. He certainly convinced me that he had, talking about the power of rehab and finding his “center”. For a southern Methodist girl like me, some of his New Age talk didn’t really make much sense, but I was just so bowled over by his charisma. And he had it in spades.
“I’ve heard that question before.”
“You suggesting it’s a line?” For the first time since I’ve met Michael Warner, I’m glimpsing a slight temper.
Despite myself, I smile. “No, just that it’s not a line that will work on me. If it is a line, I mean.”
“Rebecca, I’ve told you the way it is with me. And I don’t confess those things to just anyone.”
“Why me?” I ask, really wondering. Thinking of Trevor’s suspicious take on my new friendship.
Maybe he’ll say because he’s been waiting for a girl like me. Or that it’s been a long time since anyone made him feel this way. I wait, breath held tight inside my lungs, time literally suspended until he finally answers.
“’Cause I know you’ve been through things, too. But you’re still smiling. And beautiful. I want to understand how you do that.”
Oh, God. He could’ve said anything else, but now he’s got me. In the palm of his hand, like a baby bird just fallen out of its nest. I’m vulnerable, naked. I can only hope he’s gentle.
“Can we wait to talk about my past?” I ask, knowing I’ll go anywhere he leads me now.
“Of course.”
“It’s just, well, it was three years ago last week that this—” I hesitate, then point to my face,“—happened. My attack. I’ve been feeling kind of freaky about it.”
“Anniversaries are tough,” he answers knowingly, and it makes me wonder exactly when Alex died. “They make you feel like you’re in a time warp.”
“Or like it’s going to happen all over again,” I add, and this clearly hits home, because he nods his head dramatically.
“Yeah, and if I had to go through it all again,” he agrees, “it’d probably kill me.”
I think of the nine slashes of Ben McAllister’s knife. If I had to live through those again, would he aim any better? Or would one or two more targeted thrusts finish me off next time?
“That’s why it’s the past, Michael,” I answer, shivering as I think of Ben languishing in Chino. Thank God he’s locked away for the rest of my life and his. “Because it’s done with.”
“Reckon so,” he agrees, and then we both just look away. We look away because the platitudes don’t work for either of us. We both know that I’m saying what we want to believe, because like some terrible
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