“Jesus.” My heart sinks. “He died of liver failure as a result of alcoholism.”
That’s what she’s been hiding.
Mila clutches the steering wheel tighter. “They were both alcoholics. Her mum has been in rehab!”
“What?” I scan the article faster.
“There are a lot of lies about celebs and their families; I never trust what I read the very first time. But this isn’t one of those cases, is it?”
I shake my head. “No, it all makes perfect sense. The secrecy, not wanting anyone to meet her parents or come to her house. She only let me take her home last month. Her dad was dead and her mum in rehab. Shit. She’s been dealing with all of this alone for years.”
I scrub my hand over my head. Somehow the reporter has also spoken to one of Indie’s old teachers who confirmed that Indie was sometimes withdrawn and didn’t always complete homework on time. She didn’t ever have help with it.
“Fuck!” I shout. I want to throw the phone out of the window.
I pull mine out and call Denny. “Spencer, I’m dealing with it,” he says before any pleasantries.
“When did you find out?”
“A second ago. I was just about to go to bed. I’ll bury this and sue whoever we need to. Tell her not to worry.”
“Thank you.”
He hangs up, and I close my eyes.
Mila sniffs and whispers, “How do we fix this?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She kept all of this from us. I knew there was something wrong. I thought they just didn’t care. I should have done something. I never thought…”
“I hate them.”
We pull into her drive, and I catch Mila’s wrist before she leaps out of the car.
Amber eyes stare back at me. “What?”
“We need to handle this gently. Indie didn’t want us to know about this, and now everyone knows.”
“I can do gentle.”
I let go of her, and we both get out. Mila is ahead. She’s damn fast, and knocks on the door just as I get to her. Her fist pounds a little too hard. She drops her arm and steps back.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters.
I can’t blame her; I want to kick the door down.
She steps back, making sure she’s slightly behind to let me lead.
Indie opens the door a minute later, and her eyebrows pull together.
“What are you two doing here?” she asks, looking between us both.
I walk in so she can’t slam the door in my face, and Mila closes it behind us all.
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
I step closer and take her hand. “Spencer, you’re scaring me. Is it Wren?”
“No, she’s fine… but something has happened. My agent is on it, so I don’t want you to worry.”
She takes a step back. “What does that mean?”
I feel sick as fuck.
“We know what you’re hiding.”
She tugs her hand out of mine. “What do you mean?”
“We know that your dad died and that your mum is in rehab. Baby, I’m so sorry. You could have come to me.”
We stand in silence in the hallway. It’s still dark outside but the light above us is bright. I can see the anguish on Indie’s face. We were never supposed to know.
“No. No, that’s not…” She turns and walks away.
Mila and I look at each other. “What do we do?” she asks.
With a shrug, I follow Indie into the living room. The house looks very different. It’s now fresh and ready for the twenty-first century. When did she do this?
“Indie, please talk to us,” Mila pleads. “We love you. We can help.”
She twists around and throws her hands up. “I don’t need help from anyone. I’m fine. Why did you say Denny is on it? Why does he need to be on it?”
“I’m so sorry, the press got hold of it.”
With a sharp breath, she steps back as if she’s been shocked.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Maybe you should go, Mila.”
Her face crumples, but Mila eventually nods.
“Call me if you need anything,” she says to Indie. “I love you.” Then, she’s gone.
Indie sits down and pulls her feet up on the sofa. She curls her arms around her legs and puts her chin on her knees, defeated. This has to be the last time I see her like this. “How did it happen?” she asks me.
We’ll come to that one in a minute.
I sit beside her on the sofa. There is no indication that she notices I’m still in the same room.
“Did I do something to make you think you couldn’t open up with me?”
“No.”
“Then why did you never say anything? I would do anything for you.”
“Shh, she’s still asleep.”
“Who?”
“Mum. She’s got home yesterday.”
She’s here?
I lower my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?”
Her eyes well with tears. “Who does? No one wants to admit when their home life is shitty. I was afraid and ashamed, and I just wanted one part of my life to be normal. My parents would rather drink themselves to death than look after their daughter. It’s not something I like to advertise. I didn’t want anyone to know what it was like. I…” She trails off, lowering her head.
I put my arm around her shoulder, caressing her skin. She allows it.
“You what, Indie?”
Her fingers dig into her legs. “I was scared there was something wrong with me… and if you knew that my own parents didn’t love me enough, you wouldn’t either.”
“Fucking hell.” Her words are a blow to my chest. “Hey,” I say, lifting her chin. “Never think that. I love you unconditionally. Jesus, Indie, I’ve loved you since we were kids. I love you.”
She whimpers.
I take her hand in mine before she claws her skin off. There are tiny half-moon crescents indented into her legs. “Hey, stop. None of this is on you. You’re perfect. You’re everything, and if they never realised it, that’s on them.”
“Stop,” she sobs. Her head lands on my chest, and she breaks.
“Hey,” I whisper, scooping her onto my lap and wrapping my arms around her. “I love you. I’ll never stop telling you how amazing
