the less they can hurt me. I learned that if I give them an inch, if I give them even a few seconds of thought, they take over. They incapacitate. They paralyze. They eat away at the carefully constructed person I’ve become, destroying the peace and security that I’ve worked so hard to achieve. And I can’t let that happen. Not again.
I busy myself with the routine tasks I perform each day when I get home from work. I find comfort in structure, in the predictable. I thrive on being ordinary and living an ordinary life. Thespectacular can only end in devastation. The bigger the star, the brighter the shine, but the more epic the explosion and subsequent death. That’s something else I learned. The hard way. It’s better not to shine too bright. Or, sometimes, not to shine at all.
At a few minutes before ten, I’m already brushed and washed and lying in bed with one of Mona’s books. I refuse to consider why I picked up another of her silly romance stories tonight of all nights. I also refuse to consider why, when I hear a door slam outside, I think for just a fraction of a second that it might be Kiefer Rogan. And that a guy like him might actually be interested in a girl like me.
I ignore the niggle of disappointment and remind myself that I’m better off without men like that in my life—the kind who love beauty and glamour, the kind who gravitate toward the kind of girl that I used to be. That got me nothing but trouble and pain and regret, and I’ve got the scars to prove it. No, I’m better off by myself and I’ll do well to remember that.
Why, after all this time, I’d let a guy like Kiefer Rogan get under my skin is strange, yes, but I have to keep it in perspective. Not let him get inside my head with his killer smile and charming wink. Letting him in would be a disaster, plain and simple.
I snap the book shut with a definitive thud, glaring at the beautiful laughing couple on the cover. Life isn’t a romantic comedy. It’s more of a light Shakespearean tragedy. Or a cruel joke. At least that’s been my experience.
EIGHT
Rogan
Because Enchantment, Georgia, is a small town—like such a small town that the one restaurant it boasts is actually a diner—the studio had some more . . .
luxurious
houses built for their stars. They’re designed to be leased on a very temporary basis, meant mostly for those who don’t like living out of their trailer or don’t want to travel back to their real homes on the weekends and between shoots. The place I leased from them for six weeks is perfect for my purposes, mainly because Kurt, my younger brother, has certain living requirements that make trailer, hotel or apartment residences nearly impossible to navigate with his wheelchair.
I’m still surprised that he wanted to come down here with me. He doesn’t like getting out of his element much and, as shitty as it sounds, I was sort of counting on that to keep him at home.
But it didn’t.
Maybe he needed a break from home, too.
For Kurt, home is Texas. He’s comfortable there, but I never willbe. Once I left the town I was born in, I didn’t plan to return. Ever. Too many bad memories. I thought my brother and I had both managed to escape when we enlisted in the military. I thought we’d both have a better life. Him not worrying about Dad, me not having to worry about either of them. But when Kurt got hurt, I was all he had. I gave up my career in the military, the family I’d made there, so I could come home and take care of him. I went back to fighting because other than Delta Five, my covert ops team, it was all I knew. It’s what I had to do. Kind of like coming back to Texas to take care of my brother.
I had to put down roots for Kurt’s sake, and Texas is where he wanted to be, so Texas it was. I ended up going all the way around the world only to end up back in the same shitty memories I had just barely managed to escape. Between that and Kurt’s assholery and feeling trapped in a
I busy myself with the routine tasks I perform each day when I get home from work. I find comfort in structure, in the predictable. I thrive on being ordinary and living an ordinary life. Thespectacular can only end in devastation. The bigger the star, the brighter the shine, but the more epic the explosion and subsequent death. That’s something else I learned. The hard way. It’s better not to shine too bright. Or, sometimes, not to shine at all.
At a few minutes before ten, I’m already brushed and washed and lying in bed with one of Mona’s books. I refuse to consider why I picked up another of her silly romance stories tonight of all nights. I also refuse to consider why, when I hear a door slam outside, I think for just a fraction of a second that it might be Kiefer Rogan. And that a guy like him might actually be interested in a girl like me.
I ignore the niggle of disappointment and remind myself that I’m better off without men like that in my life—the kind who love beauty and glamour, the kind who gravitate toward the kind of girl that I used to be. That got me nothing but trouble and pain and regret, and I’ve got the scars to prove it. No, I’m better off by myself and I’ll do well to remember that.
Why, after all this time, I’d let a guy like Kiefer Rogan get under my skin is strange, yes, but I have to keep it in perspective. Not let him get inside my head with his killer smile and charming wink. Letting him in would be a disaster, plain and simple.
I snap the book shut with a definitive thud, glaring at the beautiful laughing couple on the cover. Life isn’t a romantic comedy. It’s more of a light Shakespearean tragedy. Or a cruel joke. At least that’s been my experience.
EIGHT
Rogan
Because Enchantment, Georgia, is a small town—like such a small town that the one restaurant it boasts is actually a diner—the studio had some more . . .
luxurious
houses built for their stars. They’re designed to be leased on a very temporary basis, meant mostly for those who don’t like living out of their trailer or don’t want to travel back to their real homes on the weekends and between shoots. The place I leased from them for six weeks is perfect for my purposes, mainly because Kurt, my younger brother, has certain living requirements that make trailer, hotel or apartment residences nearly impossible to navigate with his wheelchair.
I’m still surprised that he wanted to come down here with me. He doesn’t like getting out of his element much and, as shitty as it sounds, I was sort of counting on that to keep him at home.
But it didn’t.
Maybe he needed a break from home, too.
For Kurt, home is Texas. He’s comfortable there, but I never willbe. Once I left the town I was born in, I didn’t plan to return. Ever. Too many bad memories. I thought my brother and I had both managed to escape when we enlisted in the military. I thought we’d both have a better life. Him not worrying about Dad, me not having to worry about either of them. But when Kurt got hurt, I was all he had. I gave up my career in the military, the family I’d made there, so I could come home and take care of him. I went back to fighting because other than Delta Five, my covert ops team, it was all I knew. It’s what I had to do. Kind of like coming back to Texas to take care of my brother.
I had to put down roots for Kurt’s sake, and Texas is where he wanted to be, so Texas it was. I ended up going all the way around the world only to end up back in the same shitty memories I had just barely managed to escape. Between that and Kurt’s assholery and feeling trapped in a
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