In Too Deep (Doing Bad Things Book 2) Read online

  “Fine. The rooms aren’t completely ready, but I’ll give you my best one. It’s almost finished and the air conditioning works good in there,” I tell him, and okay I’m kind of lying. The air conditioning does work, but sometimes the breakers blow if you use the receptacles in the bathroom. This guy looks haggard as hell though. I doubt he knows what a blow dryer is and that’s really the only thing you use in the bathroom…Right?

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he mocks, as I grab the key to room number seven. Seven is supposed to be a lucky number, but considering I’m contemplating picking my stapler back up and bludgeoning my new tenant with it…I have a feeling it’s not lucky at all for me.

  2

  Aden

  I was an ass to the clerk. I know it, but I’m too fucking worn out to care. It’s been weeks and weeks of lawyers, negotiating and paparazzi and I’m just sick of it all. The last thing I wanted or needed was some backwoods Barbie to give me shit about renting her motel room a couple of weeks early. The place is a dump. I could wring White’s neck for suggesting it. Of course, I’m being sued for breach of contract, so I should get used to staying in dumps. It would have been so easy for me to keep my mouth shut and keep raking in the money, but in truth my career has been on its way out for years. I see what the press has been saying about me. I used to say it didn’t bother me, that I just didn’t give a damn. Maybe at one time I didn’t, but as time wears on, and the years pile up, it’s beginning to.

  No one wants to think of themselves as a has been. Acting might not have been what I originally chose to do in life, but the career happened. I would have preferred going out on top, rather than becoming one of Hollywood’s C-list actors who tries to maintain their glory days with horrible roles…or worse… reality television.

  Titan and Gavin think pushing me to write is the answer. I’ve always wanted to do it, but there’s something to be said about security and staying with the status quo—not making waves. I sure as fuck made waves when I walked off the set and told the producers I quit. Shit, it wasn’t waves, I’ve created a damn tsunami and it’s threatening to take me under.

  If there’s a bright side to any of this, it’s the fact that White was right about one thing. Clancy, Idaho is the last place on earth anyone would look for me—or even recognize me. I can take a little comfort in that—very little.

  I lie across the bed and I’m not one bit surprised to find it hard as a rock. Maybe I could send White flowers to thank him—black roses wrapped in poison ivy. I pick up my phone and dial Gavin’s number.

  He picks up on the third ring.

  “Hey buddy.”

  “I made it here.”

  “You sound so thrilled,” the bastard laughs. Sure, he can laugh. His life is going great lately and he’s got Casey. The asshole has it all. If he had to deal with all of the shit I have, he wouldn’t be laughing. Hell, he would be drunk. Which is the next thing on my list tonight.

  “This place is a dump,” I sigh. I realize the motel is not really why I’m so bent out of shape, but it’s an easy place to begin.

  “God you’re turning into a whiny-bitch Aden.”

  “Fuck you,” I growl, rubbing my jaw and the coarse stubble scratches against my palm. I should shave or let it grow out…one of those. Maybe I could grow a beard so thick I could look like the fucking uni-bomber. It might at least get the press off my ass.

  “Maybe that’s the answer,” Gavin laughs.

  “What’s the answer?”

  “Fucking. You need to get laid,” he responds and I roll my eyes upward at the ceiling. He can’t see me, but it makes me feel better.

  My gaze freezes when it lands on the stained ceiling tiles above my head. Water has stained them a rusty-brown-red color and they sag in places I’m sure they’re not meant to. They’ll probably fall down on me one night while I’m sleeping. I can read the headlines now, “Famous American film star, Aden McIntyre found dead under a pile of debris in a flea infested motel….”

  “Are you listening to me?” Gavin asks.

  “Sorry, I was tuning you out. I was busy contemplating life and death.”

  “Damn man, find a woman and get your dick sucked. Seriously. You’re starting to depress me.”

  “The only woman I’ve seen around here is the owner of this dump.”

  “Then do her,” Gavin instructs helpfully.

  “Please. She’s not my type,” I sigh, closing my eyes and for some reason the girl’s image comes easily to mind.

  “Meaning she’s not a drama-queen, she-bitch from Hell,” I hear Casey yell out.

  “I should have known you had me on speakerphone. Hey Casey, my biggest fan.”

  “Hey Aden,” she calls out cheerfully. “Quit being a dickhead.”

  “Being around Gavin has changed you Casey. But I’m not being a dickhead as you so eloquently put it. This woman makes Gloria look like a damn saint.”

  “I doubt anyone has that ability. You’re exaggerating Aden,” Casey laughs.

  “Or delirious,” Gavin yells out. “Someone call 9-1-1.”

  They’re laughing and it’s annoying the shit out of me. Maybe I’m just being a miserable dumbass and I’m sick of hearing how happy and in love my best friend and his girl are. I mean I’m happy for them, sure. But fuck. It gets old. Gavin got fucking lucky. In the real day-to-day world there are no happy endings, no fucking I-love-you-forevers. Casey is a different kind of girl, sure. Still, they’re younger than me and they’re new in the relationship. They’re still having sex all the time. It won’t be long until they’re at each other’s throats and the real world shows up.

  They’re still laughing at me in the background and I’m tempted to hang up. My life is a mess right now and this is the last fucking thing I need right now. Fuck, I wouldn’t even be in this damn town, in this rat-infested no-tell motel, if not for Gavin and his smart ass. Or even Casey and her, “Write a book, Aden! It will be easy!”

  When Gavin makes his next remark, I don’t mind admitting, I lose it.

  “I think you’re protesting too much, Aden. I bet you like this chick. This time next week you’ll probably be nailing her.”

  “Gavin!” Casey yells.

  “What? I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised next time he checks in he’ll be doing a little brown chicken, brown cow.”

  “Brown chicken? Brown cow? What the hell does that even mean?” I snap.

  “You know getting it on…farm style,” Gavin answers.

  “Getting it on? You’re insane. What happens if the Cow is gray?” Casey asks.

  “Casey, there are no gray cows,” Gavin answers seriously and I can’t believe I’m on the phone having this damn conversation.

  “How did I ever fall in love with you again, Gavin?”

  “My sparkling personality,” he laughs.

  “I’m going,” I growl.

  “Come on Aden, don’t be all grouchy drawers,” Casey whines.

  “Slip the owner the dick, dude. Work the edge off. It will probably help you with your writing,” Gavin adds.

  “Slip her the dick? God, with romance like that, how could I help but love you, Gavin,” Casey mutters.

  “Fuck no. My dick is getting nowhere near this woman. Her motel is a joke and she’s got the personality of the school lunchroom lady.”

  “Do you even remember school, old man?” Gavin laughs.

  “That’s not nice Aden,” Casey censures, which again just feeds the anger inside of me.

  “Just being honest. She doesn’t even try to make herself look better. It’s probably just as well. Casey, even you with your talent in makeup would have trouble doing it. She’s got so many bags under her eyes it looks like she’s been on a three-week bender.”

  “Aden—”

  “And don’t get me started on how out of shape she is. She probably sits in front of the television eating chocolate all day.”

  “Aden!” Casey says again.

  “You know the type, Gavi
n. The ones who watch life go on around them and do nothing to take part.”

  “Aden you need to chill, man. You’re not even sounding like yourself,” Gavin says and he’s not laughing now and neither is Casey. They’re going all moral on me. They’re right, I’m being an ass, but I’m sick of people.

  I’m sick of everything.

  “What? You asked. I’m just telling the truth. There’s no way in hell my dick would get near White’s cousin. Maybe if she lost thirty pounds and actually ran a brush through her hair I’d give her a pity fuck, but that’s it.”

  I hate the words as soon as I say them. I’m instantly filled with guilt. Shit, I don’t even mean them. I’m letting my anger at the world, at Gloria and everything else boil over. Casey and Gavin don’t realize how much they add to my misery. I know I’m filled with self-pity right now, but I don’t give a damn, not really. Still, when I say the words I hear a small gasp. I look up immediately and realize I left the door open. It was freaking hot when I got here, and I thought leaving it open would help air circulate until the AC cooled things down. That was a mistake, because White’s cousin is standing there, looking shell-shocked holding a stack of clean towels.

  Shit.

  “I’ll just leave these here,” she whispers, stepping inside to leave the towels on the table by the door. Her face is white, and there are tears shining in her eyes.

  Well done, you fucking asshole.

  I’ve managed to make an innocent girl cry. Awesome.

  “Aden?” Casey says through the phone.

  “I’m going to sign off for a while. I need to get my head screwed on straight,” I answer in the phone, hanging up without saying goodbye.

  I watch as the girl leaves my room, her back straight and head held high. Then I throw my phone across the room.

  Fucking hell.

  3

  Hope

  I can feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I ignore it, going back to the office and locking the door. I unclip the baby monitor from my belt loop and take the door that leads to the private quarters. It contains a small kitchen and living area, two bedrooms—though one is more nursery size—and a bathroom. Not plush, but it works. The only sad part is that this is part of the motel that I haven’t really done renovations in. I tried to concentrate on what had to be done first. I fixed Jack’s room, but the rest of it… is sad. I peek in Jack’s room and he’s still sound asleep, just like I left him. He’s wearing his Paw Patrol pajamas and his blonde hair shines bright from the hall light, even in the dark room.

  He’s my angel and the sole reason I manage to keep going. He turned two last month, and he’s growing so fast. I have so much guilt inside, because I’m not spending time with him like I should. Even before this motel debacle, I barely got time with him. I had to work two jobs just to keep food on the table. I’ve missed so much. At least moving here, I won’t be away from him as much. I won’t have to put him in daycare—which is yet another reason I need this motel to take off…and I need to find a way to put up with the asshole in room seven.

  I walk over to Jack’s bedside, and kiss him gently on the forehead, letting my fingers brush through his blonde hair. Jack’s father might have been the mistake of my life, but Jack is everything. He deserves a better mother, and he’s never seen his father. He kind of struck out on the parent lottery. His father was a drifter coming through town with a cocky smile and a vintage 1965 Mustang. I thought he was something special—or at least, I thought I might have been special to him. I was about as wrong as a girl could get on that score. He stayed around long enough to knock me up, then split town the minute he found out I was pregnant—after calling me every name in the book for trying to trap him. We used condoms, but the asshole blamed me because one broke. It had more to do with him being a cheap ass and his condoms being old, but it doesn’t matter.

  I got Jack, and I’ll kill myself to make sure he’s happy.

  Still… it hurts that someone I gave myself to didn’t care enough to stick around. Not for me… and not for my son. Maybe it’s that fact that makes my guest’s words hurt so deeply—deeper than they should. Whatever it is, the words hurt.

  Take out has become a way of life, it’s hard to cook or even worry about being healthy when you don’t look up. I put on weight when I was pregnant and, honestly, that weight just stayed on and I’ve added to it lately. I’m a stress eater and if there’s one thing my life has had in it… it’s stress. He wasn’t wrong about other things either. I honestly can’t remember if I brushed my hair today. To be fair, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone other than my son, but still…

  As soon as I get done justifying the man’s words, I get mad at myself—well… madder. There’s nothing wrong with me, and who the hell is this guy anyway? He doesn’t look exactly hot himself. He looks like he’s been on a week-long bender to be honest. There’s no way I should let his opinion matter.

  And it doesn’t.

  I repeat those three words as I go back into my bedroom. I lay down on my bed and I let a few of the tears finally escape. His words might not matter, but the fact that my life feels as if it is running off the rails and I can’t get it to stop even long enough to catch my breath… does.

  So I cry, but I vow this will be the last time I give in to the tears.

  The very last time.

  4

  Aden

  I planned to apologize. Really—I did. I was dreading it. In my experience when you apologize to a woman you show them weakness, and with weakness they smell blood. It never ends well. Still, I shouldn’t have said what I did about her. I was going to the office to say I’m sorry, see if there was literature about where I can find a place with take-out food and leave—quickly.

  One thing stops me.

  I open the door to the office and this small boy comes running out at me, completely naked. He slaps his hands against my legs, just reaching above my knee. I stop quickly so I don’t plow him over.

  “You my Daddy?” he asks. I know nothing about kids, but I do know one of the last things I ever want to hear from one are those words. His question strikes fear in my heart, but the fact his hands are covered in some dark brown unknown substance terrifies me. I watch as it smears across the legs of my favorite jeans. I’m not sure what it is, but he’s not wearing any clothes—including a diaper. Do kids his size wear diapers?

  “Jack! You get back here right now, young man!”

  “Daddy!”

  The child screams the name like it’s being torn from his heart, the moment White’s cousin captures him in her arms and pulls him away. The scream is so piercing I wince.

  “That’s not your daddy, Jack,” she reprimands. “Do you need something?” she asks over the noise. Her face instantly hardens, whereas just a moment ago she was smiling, even chasing after her son.

  “Does he belong to you?” I ask, all thoughts of giving an apology gone. My voice is that of a growl really. It seems this woman brings out the worst in me.

  “I—”

  “He destroyed my clothes.”

  Her eyes go round and briefly I notice she has brown eyes…almost as dark as whatever the child rubbed all over me.

  “Daddy!” he screams again, and the woman’s face blushes a deep red.

  “Hush, Jack. That’s not your Daddy,” she hisses.

  “He doesn’t know who his father is?” I don’t bother keeping the censure out of my voice. This entire revelation doesn’t surprise me. I’m making a mental note to punch White in the face the next time I see him.

  “It’s just chocolate. It will come out of your pants. You should probably flush it with club soda or…”

  “Do I look like I do laundry?”

  “Well—”

  “Does your motel even have laundry service?”

  “There’s a laundry mat in town,” she says defensively.

  “Charming.”

  “Daddy!” the child screams again.

  “Listen, Jack and I were—”<
br />
  “Wrestling in chocolate?”

  “Is there something you need?” she all but growls, her face tight with irritation.

  “Besides new clothes?” I ask, being a jackass, but irritated and not really caring. When she refuses to respond I’m a dick enough to admit I’m disappointed. “I was looking for information on local restaurants.”

  “There are none close by.”

  “I was—What?”

  “There are no real restaurants. There’s a diner in town.”

  “That will have to do,” I grumble, wondering if punching White is letting him off too easy.

  “Though it’s closed this week.”

  “It’s closed…for a week?

  “The owner is visiting her son in Florida.”

  “What am I supposed to do for food?” Irritated and completely ignoring how her child—I guess—keeps reaching out to me. In fact, I take a few steps back from the mongrel.

  “Gee. I don’t think that’s my problem.”

  “I rented this motel!”

  “Two weeks early. If you were on time the diner would be open and this would be a nonissue,” she says with a forced smile and I don’t think I’m imagining the quick look of victory that flashes over her face.

  “So you expect me to starve?”

  “I don’t think that’s my problem,” she answers, turning away with the child still wrapped around her upper body.

  “I could demand my money back and leave,” I warn her. The thought of going somewhere else is very tempting. The one thing stopping me is the threat of the press being out there. I’ve had my fill of them the last few months. I’d almost rather be in Hell itself than face more probing questions and pictures of me being snapped constantly.

  “Read the sign under the counter,” she calls, opening the small door off to the right that the child had come running from earlier. “There’s no refunds. But by all means, feel free to leave anytime Mr. Smith. Now, if you will excuse me I’m spending time with Jack today and we’re baking cookies.”