She was trying to make him feel comfortable, and while Tommy appreciated the gesture, he was hoping to move on to the discussion they needed to have.
“So.” She shifted her body toward him. “What now?”
Tommy eased back against the cushions. “Way I see it, it’s my turn to interview you.”
She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. Then, without warning, she rose to her feet and extended a hand he was slow to take.
“What’s this? What’s going on?”
“Only one way to find out.” She wiggled her brows.
Grasping her hand in his, he followed her down a hall to a large room at the end.
“I think you’re going to like this.” She grinned as she swung the door open.
Tommy stood on the threshold. One thing was sure: Madison never failed to surprise him.
“It’s a combination training room slash rage room.” She slipped inside. “Have you ever seen one?”
Tommy shook his head and ran his gaze around the space. The floor was covered in wall-to-wall rubber that gave slightly under his step. Three of the walls appeared to be heavily padded, while the fourth consisted of badly dented drywall. In a far corner hung a large punching bag, along with an assortment of boxing gloves, paddles, and bats. A shelf stacked with cheap porcelain plates completed the theme.
“This is my favorite way to de-stress. Much better and far more effective than more illicit activities.”
Tommy shifted uncertainly. How much built-up anger did a person have to possess to even need such a place?
“You should try it.” She shot him a knowing look.
Tommy waved a hand. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m good.”
She peered at him so intently he cringed. “I’m guessing you accepted the beer not just out of politeness but to also take off some of the edge from what’s turning out to be kind of a messed-up day.”
He shrugged. She might be right, but he was under no obligation to admit it.
“Are you actually going to pretend you’re not angry at me for hijacking your Rolling Stone interview?”
He turned on her.
“The interview was real. I simply got lucky and decided to take advantage of an opportunity that was presented to me.”
His mind raced to catch up with her words. “I stood up Rolling Stone magazine?”
She handed him a bat and took a step back.
He gripped the handle and glared. “You sure you want to give me this right after admitting that?”
She lifted her shoulders. “People always have the capacity to surprise.”
Their eyes met.
“Go ahead,” she urged. “Show me how mad I’ve made you.”
Tommy pressed his lips together and tightened his grip. He really was mad. Actually he was angry in a way words could never express. Once she’d confirmed her true identity, he assumed the interview was faked too. Discovering it wasn’t left him enraged, and there was no telling how Malina might react.
His shoulders tensed. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Madison’s face. She looked pale, fragile, tragic, and vulnerable. But in her gaze, he caught a glimmer of unmistakable excitement.
Facing the padded wall, he swung the bat so hard a loud whack reverberated throughout the room. His biceps juddered in response, and his pulse raced as a rush of endorphins coursed through him. He longed to do it again, but with Madison watching, he lowered the bat to his side. “This is fun and all, but we need to talk. You have a lot to explain.”
“I do,” she agreed. “But not until you’ve worked through your anger. C’mon,” she chided. “I know you can do better than that. What’re you so afraid of, Tommy? This isn’t just a rage room. It’s a safe room.”
Tommy hesitated, torn between looking foolish and smacking the hell out of that wall until he felt better. He closed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and widened his stance. The first swing had felt good, the second even better.
He swung again. And again. He swung for Detective Larsen, the paparazzi, for the faceless douche who’d slashed his car tires. He swung for every hater who’d sent a death threat. He swung for Trena Moretti, who dragged his name through the mud in a bid for higher ratings. He even swung for Layla because he liked her, and she drove him crazy in ways both good and bad. And because deep down inside, he knew they’d probably blow up before they could even try to make it work. He swung for Ira Redman, his piece-of-shit father. And he kept on swinging until he’d swung so many times he could no longer remember what he was swinging for or how he even got there.
Exhausted, he dropped the bat to the ground and turned to face Madison. His face sheened with sweat, his shoulder throbbed in a raging dull ache. Still, he felt more alive than he had in ages.
Madison pushed away from the wall and slowly walked toward him. “You have no idea how beautiful that was.” Her eyes glimmered. “One of the most authentic displays I’ve seen in a while.” She moved so close there was merely a hand’s width between them. “How do you feel?”
Tommy’s gaze rested on hers. “Good,” he said, his voice hoarse as he fought to steady his breath.
“Good, like spent? Like you let it all out? Or is there a part of you that still wants to throttle me?”
He nodded toward the row of paddles. “What are those for?”
Madison’s violet eyes flashed, and her grin grew wider. “I thought you’d never ask.”
TWENTY-THREEHEY, JEALOUSY
Layla spotted Tommy’s car in the drive and stared dumb-founded at the sight.
What the hell was Tommy Phillips doing at Madison Brooks’s secret address?
Just how long had he known Madison was alive?
She parked at the end of the road and sent Aster a text.
Change of plan. Meet me at the end of the street. You’ll see why when you get here.
So far, they’d communicated solely via Javen, but Layla was too keyed up to go through the motions. For all she knew,
