Cruel Summer Read online

  CRUEL

  SUMMER

  ◆◆◆

  Lisa Cardwell

  Rebel Heart Ink

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Chalmers.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Lisa Cardwell

  Rebel Heart Ink

  www.lisa-cardwell.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover art designed by Mariah Sinclair / The Cover Vault

  Book Layout ©2019 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  ISBN 978-0-9878805-6-7

  To Mom

  1

  “We’re live from outside the hospital where the latest Hollywood ‘it girl,’ Chey Morrow, has been brought in. According to an unnamed source, she lost control of her BMW earlier tonight on a slippery stretch of PCH and spun out into oncoming traffic. No reports yet on whether alcohol was a contributing factor…”

  The same perky blonde reporter from the premiere flashed a bright smile at the camera like my sudden downward spiral represented the highlight of her day. Disgust flowed through me, and I was tempted to hit mute to stop her spiel, not wanting to hear any more. I was sure, no doubt, there’d be something from an ‘unnamed source’ who had nothing but a vendetta against me.

  The screen split in two, and before the serious-looking anchorwoman could ask a single nauseating question, my finger found the power button on the remote and clicked the dratted thing off, leaving me to glare at the darkened screen. Alcohol a contributing factor, my rear. I hadn’t been near any all night. I’d been stone cold sober throughout the entire painful ordeal.

  I eased down carefully in the cramped hospital bed, wanting to pull the blankets over my head, wanting to drown out the thoughts that were going through my mind, all seemingly being narrated in that stupid reporter’s perkier-than-thou voice.

  But the standard-issue blanket was too thin to do the type of blocking I needed, let alone keep out any of those faint hospital sounds in the hallway. Pages, beeps of various machines, and voices and footsteps of who knows who loitering near my door drifted in.

  I reached behind me, wincing slightly as I moved in a way my body no longer liked thanks to my various new scratches, bruises, and possible fractures to grab one of the extra pillows someone had procured for me. I pulled the flat pillow over my head, screaming silently into the worn fabric that still smelled faintly of laundry detergent, letting out all the pent-up emotion, the anger, sadness, everything that had led up to this brilliant point in my life.

  The first hitch of a sob shook me, sending a jolt of pain through my sore ribs. I let it out into the fabric of the pillow, slowly easing it down so I could breathe, glad no one was here to witness my mini meltdown.

  If I only had the chance to redo at least part of my summer.

  I’d been so naïve when I arrived, thinking the whole time would be about me and my father bonding, hanging out, having fun. All those things I’d missed out on since my parents’ divorce nearly a decade ago.

  I sniffled away the last of my tears, wiping them away with the back of my hand, glaring at the sight of the I.V. the paramedics had hooked me up to.

  Yeah, if I could go back in time, I’d seriously think about smacking that version of me up alongside the head as I issued a dire warning.

  Beware of Adriana.

  Enough said.

  ***

  Six weeks before

  The metallic red, hard-cased carryon bumped along behind me as I trekked across LAX airport. He’d promised to be the one to pick me up, but I had serious doubts, fully prepared to see some chauffeur or long-suffering personal assistant holding a sign with my name and the keyword on it.

  No keyword meant I wasn’t going anywhere—except on the next plane back home.

  That had been one of Mom’s little rules which, of course, I’d instantly agreed to. Truth be told, Mom could have gotten me to agree to almost anything just so I could spend the summer here.

  I’d been counting down the days.

  It meant more to me than my graduation had a few weeks ago. I hadn’t been thrilled at Dad’s inability to make it, but I understood his schedule was set seriously in advance, and he didn’t have any wiggle room.

  As a consolation, he was supposed to have most of the summer off.

  I slipped by the couples happily reuniting around me and headed into a no man’s land, wondering if he’d forgotten me completely. I was about to pull my cell phone out of my pocket and text a quick message to see where he was when a familiar voice called my name, and I turned around, moments before I found myself swooped up into my father’s arms.

  I wrapped my arms around him tightly as he lifted me up on tiptoe, taking a deep inhale of his familiar scent, a cologne I remembered buying him years ago for Father’s Day as a little girl. A scent that purely reminded me of the sun and the beach and him.

  To say I was stunned by the ferocity of the hug may have been an understatement. Some small voice—which reminded me vaguely of my mother’s—wondered if a stray paparazzi lurked nearby to capture this happy father-daughter reunion to sell to the highest bidder.

  “How are you, Chey? How was the flight?” Dad asked, taking the handle of my carryon as he finally let me go.

  I took a moment to look at him, the faded Dodgers baseball cap hiding his dark hair, a hint of stubble on his face. I almost wondered if he’d overslept.

  All combined, it might make him a little less recognizable to those around us who barely spared us a quick glance, but to me…I’d know my Dad anywhere.

  I fell into step easily beside him as we headed towards baggage claim. “Okay on both counts.”

  “Good.” He smiled like he did in so many family photos. A little lopsided, a little goofy. The smile I’d unfortunately inherited. “Glad you’re here.”

  I beamed. “Me, too.”

  Very glad.

  Fifteen minutes later, the matching red suitcase finally appeared amongst the sea of revolving luggage on the carousel in front of us. I hoisted it off easily and set it at our feet, keeping my hands wrapped around the handle, ready to go.

  “This it?” Dad’s blue eyes looked a little stunned as he glanced at the luggage carousel then back at me, as if he’d expected a few more matching suitcases to magically appear.

  I peered at my meager belongings.

  “That’s all.” What can I say? I traveled light.

  “Let me take that.”

  “Thanks.”

  He took the suitcase while I dragged the carryon behind me, glad it had wheels and not just its flimsy shoulder strap. Walking alongside him towards the exit, I noticed a few whispered comments being directed our way—maybe someone had seen beyond the stubble and baseball cap, but Dad didn’t do anything but slip on a pair of aviator shades and keep moving.

  Oh, yeah—I might h
ave forgotten to mention it, but my dad, he’s well…sort of an actor.

  A well-known sorta actor.

  The type who graced People’s Fifty Most Beautiful issues and Sexiest Bachelors in Hollywood. The man had People’s Choice awards, MTV movie awards, and countless other accolades, but most importantly to me, he was my dad.

  Or ‘estranged’ Dad as Mom liked to call him when she was upset with him. Not that he’d forgotten about me, because he hadn’t. Didn’t.

  This trip alone, this summer alone, was proof of that.

  A combination Graduation-Birthday-whatever-else-he-wanted-to-throw-in trip. A chance for the two of us to spend some real time together.

  A chance to make up for the lack of real father-daughter bonding going on the last couple of years.

  Which I understood. His workload was heavy. He was busy shooting films all over the world, which didn’t exactly allow a lot of time for on-set visits by his teenage daughter. My school break schedules never really aligned with his time off.

  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he’d forgotten about me, because he hadn’t. We exchanged emails and phone calls and texts. The occasional visit when he was nearby. Our usual trip to NYC to see the Christmas trees in December and catch a Rangers game or two.

  I kept up to date as much as I could, finding tidbits online about his life. I’d learned to DVR anything that mentioned his name. It had become my way of keeping up with him between visits. Made me feel like a part of his life, even when I wasn’t around.

  In spite of the near-unbearable heat the moment we stepped outside, I couldn’t help smiling.

  It was official.

  I was finally in California, and I was finally spending the summer with my dad.

  Nothing had come up that meant cancelling the trip at the last minute.

  If something even tiny had changed in his at-times unpredictable schedules, with reshoots or whatever else, this would have been totally off, and I would have likely been spending the summer either hanging out with my grandparents or being a part-time pizza delivery driver.

  Not exactly how I envisioned spending my summer for a second year in a row.

  “Which way?”

  My gaze got lost at the sight of row upon row of vehicles. The sun glared back from all those windshields. I squinted a little, wishing I’d pulled my sunglasses out sooner, but they were stuck likely in the bottom of my purse which was still in my carryon. I’d just have to suffer.

  He adjusted his grip on the suitcase. “Head right, a couple lanes over. I lucked out on the parking spot. Figured you wouldn’t want to make a huge trek.”

  Especially in this heat.

  I swore it almost hurt to breathe.

  Heat waves rose from the asphalt, creating a mirage as we kept walking, and I realized again how big LAX was and actually how close he had parked.

  We came to a stop in front of a silver Escalade, and Dad opened the back hatch while I rooted through my carryon, removing my small black leather purse and iPhone, unable to keep from glancing around me in awe.

  It was true. I was really here.

  Someone pinch me.

  “I thought we’d go home first, get you settled in.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked as he unlocked the doors. “We can pick something up on the way?”

  “I’m good.” Food was so the last thing on my mind right now. I wanted nothing else but to go home.

  Wow, home.

  That sounded so…different, especially out here. Go home, unpack, change, and see what Dad had in mind. I doubted he planned to take me to Disneyland—although honestly, I wouldn’t have vetoed that one completely. But food…hmmm, now that I thought about it, my stomach gave a testing rumble. “I could maybe go for something in a while.”

  “We’ll get you comfortable first then see what you’re in the mood for after.”

  “Perfect.”

  Even though the air-conditioning of the Escalade struck me as icy, I hoped for a pool when we got to Dad’s. I just felt like diving in and cooling off for the rest of the day, even after the brief walk to the vehicle. I mean, I should have known L.A. would be hot during the summer months, but this felt a little extreme.

  ’Course, not like I had dressed for the weather. Shorts and flip flops would have been such a better choice than jeans and my ancient sneakers. No wonder I felt like I’d stepped foot inside a sauna.

  “You okay over there?”

  I smiled. Dad must have caught me toying with the air vents, trying to find the perfect angle to cool down. “Fine. Need to get used to the heat, that’s all.”

  “It’s not always this hot,” he assured me before he turned the a/c from icy to Antarctic.

  So much better.

  “But it’s not going to get any cooler over the next few days, either. Sorry, kiddo.”

  I had to smile at the nickname I’d grown up with; even at seventeen, I liked hearing him say it. “That’s okay. You’ve got air, right?”

  “Absolutely. Trust me, you won’t fade away from the heat any time soon.” He hooked his phone up to the stereo and punched in some playlist before we pulled out of the parking lot.

  The ride to the house turned out filled with traffic jams, my plane having landed at just the right time to put us in gridlock. I surfed through his iPhone music lists and skipped ahead to a couple of better songs. When they were done, he had me switch over to the radio app so he could hear the traffic reports and I could pretend I knew where half the accidents had happened.

  I hadn’t been to Los Angeles in years, vaguely remembering spending my tenth birthday at Disneyland with both my parents and having a private dinner with Cinderella in matching dresses before Dad went home and Mom and I spent the night at the hotel before flying back east.

  So basically, I was one Star Home tours away from qualifying as a tourist.

  “Are we there yet?” The GPS screen on the console looked like alien mish-mash. Where exactly were we? Okay, not like I knew one part of L.A. from the other, but still.

  “Close,” he said with a smile. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  My body slumped into the leather seat, and I watched the palm trees and bright-colored flowers pass me by. We’d hit a residential area a few blocks back, and I kept waiting for him to turn into one of the gated driveways we kept zooming by.

  Finally, we took a turn off and headed into the Holmby Hills, or so the last sign we’d passed said. I tilted the air conditioning vents once more, smiling as the rush of Arctic air hit my face. Dad, in his dark blue T-shirt and faded jeans, looked like any father, really, out for the afternoon with his daughter. It just happened my dad had a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

  No biggie.

  I glanced over at him, trying to get a hint of how close we were.

  “Whatcha looking at?” he asked, glancing at me.

  I laughed self-consciously. “The scenery. It’s gorgeous out here.”

  My attention veered back out the window. The vehicle slowed as we rounded a curve and headed into a nearly hidden driveway, the dark metal gates sliding back effortlessly seconds before we drove up.

  Can I just say it’s a little odd to be gaping at your father’s house?

  Yet, I freely admit I did.

  I leaned forward slightly as we approached, staring out the windshield at the glistening glass house in front of us.

  It was a lot more modern than I expected, with all that glass and a boxy look to it, jutting out at different angles here and there.

  The whole thing looked glass from where we were. So much for privacy, I guess.

  As we followed the driveway, I could see a balcony or two visible along the back. Hope sorta jumped in me that maybe, just maybe, one of those balconies belonged to my room?

  How cool would it be to sit out there and look down the hills at night with all the lights of the city spread out below? It’d definitely beat the view out my bedroom window back home of th
e overgrown apple trees and our backyard.

  Dad chuckled as he unlocked the doors, obviously wanting to give me time to absorb things. Or at least, not look like a fool in front of him as I practically drooled. You know, the more I stared, the more I grew pretty sure I’d seen this place somewhere before. Like on TV. Certain of it, actually.

  “What do you think?” he asked from the back after he popped the hatch.

  ‘Wow’ came to mind. I couldn’t quite take my eyes off the house. I never expected him to live in a place like this.

  I couldn’t believe I would be living here for the next few months.