Submit and Surrender

chapter 16


It shouldn’t matter. Adra knew that. It really, really shouldn’t.

But it freaking did.

It was obviously her own fault for obsessing about Ford and his ex-wife the past few days. Adra hadn’t asked Ford about it partially because she almost didn’t want to know, and partially to protect the boundaries of whatever the hell this arrangement had become. Or, if she was being honest, to protect herself.

It had shocked her to find out Ford had an ex-wife, and she’d been hurt at the time. But in the end? It had put this distance between them that made her feel safer, like it would be easier to keep herself from falling in love and then inevitably getting her heart broken. And the longer this went on, the more Adra needed to feel safe, because Ford was anything but safe.

Besides, it made her feel less crappy about not telling him about Charlie and her family. She liked that Ford was like this blissful island in the middle of her otherwise chaotic life, untouched by all the garbage she had to deal with.

That is, until she saw him with his ex-wife.

So that was what jealousy felt like. It wasn’t necessarily a stabbing pain; it was like this great, yawning gulf opened up inside of you and then slowly filling with despair.

Oh man, be more dramatic, Adra. See if you can do it. Go for the gold.

She felt like a freaking teenager. She hated feeling like a teenager. She had been almost universally stupid as a teenager.

Worse, it was absolutely one hundred percent unfair that she felt like this. This was explicitly against the rules, wasn’t it? They were under no romantic obligations, which was the way it had to be. He was technically free to fall for someone else, or even to not be over his ex-wife. And yet watching the evidence of intimacy between Ford and his ex—how she’d put out her hand to touch his and revealed years of history, of emotion, of things Adra knew nothing about, in one tiny gesture—had made her insane.

And it had made her realize how much she missed emotional intimacy with Ford. It wasn’t just that she was afraid to tell him about Charlie, or afraid to ask him about his ex, it was that at the same time she desperately wanted to do both. She wanted to know him, and share with him, and…

She was right between a rock and freaking hard place. And it was her own fault, since she was the one who couldn’t handle the real thing. Adra had exactly zero right to complain.

And, conveniently, she had no one to complain to, not if she didn’t want the intense scrutiny of Lola to fall on her and Ford.

Which was why she’d already been on shaky ground when her brother’s wife called her. And why, after they’d talked, and Nicole had sounded so tired and defeated, and had said in that flat voice, “You know you can’t take care of us all the time, Adra,” Adra had decided to hide in one of the playrooms during a break in shooting. Here, she could cry and feel sorry for herself and only feel mildly silly about it, because she was alone.

Well, she was alone for about five minutes.

Then the door opened.

It was funny. Adra’s first thought was that it must be Ford. She’d been trained by a million romantic comedies, maybe? Like in the world of Hollywood, it absolutely would have been Ford, no doubt about it.

Instead this was real life, which meant she got Derrick.

“Shit,” Adra said, and tried to dab at her eyes. Wouldn’t do much good; mascara was a bitch on a day like this.

“I thought I saw you come in here,” Derrick said.

He sounded different. Gentle, almost? Adra had forgotten that he could be gentle, she’d gotten so used to his a*shole Dom performance. But they had been together for almost two years all those years ago. He hadn’t been an a*shole all the time.

Still, she was wary. Especially because Derrick had been taking every opportunity to either hit on her or remind her that they used to have sex since the shoot began.

“I came in here because I wanted a moment alone,” Adra said.

Screw being polite. She didn’t have the reserves.

“Yeah, you do that when you’re hurt,” Derrick said. “You hide like a wounded animal.”

Adra turned away. She didn’t need to be reminded that he knew her so well. “Derrick, I’m not trying to be rude, but I really can’t handle any crude jokes, or inappropriate flirtation, or…I just can’t, right now. So please leave.”

The door didn’t open. Which meant he didn’t leave.

Adra turned around to find Derrick standing there with his hands in his pockets and an absolutely miserable hangdog expression on his face.

“I am probably the world’s biggest a*shole,” he said.

“You are at least in the running, yes.”

“I know it won’t help to say I’m sorry,” Derrick said. “But I am.”

“Derrick…” Adra shook her head. She thought she was past being angry at Derrick for his behavior and had just moved into this dismissive, stoic sort of attitude, but it turned out that his admission of a*shole-ness actually made her angry all over again.

She glared at him. “Why?” she said.

Derrick ran a hand through his artfully messy hair and stared at the ground. “F*ck if I know, Adra,” he said. “It wasn’t even about you, it was just this stupid f*cking dominance thing, like territorial, you know, and—”

“I’m trying to decide if you were this bad a Dom when we were together,” Adra said.

Silence.

Derrick stared at the ground, angrily this time.

Mostly, Adra found it sad.

“You don’t treat people like objects in some sort of Dom competition,” Adra said. “What kind of person treats someone they used to love like that?”

And as soon as she said it, Adra found herself wondering: Well, maybe he never did love me.

That would explain a lot. It would explain how he left, for one thing. It would almost make things easier.

And like he could read her mind—maybe because he could, in that way you get to know someone you’ve lived with—Derrick went from angry to saddened and contrite in about the space of a heart beat.

“Damn, Adra,” he said. “I really am sorry. About all of it. About the way I ended things. I was young and didn’t know how to handle it, but it’s not excuse.”

Adra shook her head. “Ancient history. I’m over it.”

“I really am sorry about being a jerk the past few weeks, too,” he said, taking his cue to come sit beside her. “I guess I’m just not used to being around you and not being…”

Adra looked at him. He was thoughtful. He was the way she remembered him in the beginning, when they first became close. The way he was when she decided to trust him.

“I’m not used to not being the most important person in the room to you,” he said, smiling ruefully. “F*cking childish, when I say it out loud.”

She stared at him.

“Yeah, it is,” she said. “Jesus, Derrick.”

He shrugged, not particularly bothered by his admission. He’d always had an ego. It had always been what drove him—you couldn’t become a successful actor without that, honestly. Adra had never understood how Derrick had withstood the countless rejections that came with working his way up, but now she kind of got it: an impenetrably thick skin made of pure ego.

Well, whatever worked, right?

“That’s not even why I’m here,” he said finally.

“You’re not here to be a jerk while I’m crying?” Adra laughed. “I don’t know if congratulations are in order, I’ll be honest.”

Derrick nudged her with his elbow, laughing.

“No, shockingly,” he said. That old charm coming back. “I’m here to see if you’re ok. Obviously, you’re not.”

Adra paused. “Obviously.”

“You going to tell me about it?”

“Derrick…”

The thing was, Derrick knew about Adra’s screwed up family. He knew all about it, because Adra, in her youthful exuberance, had decided to trust him. No, it was more than that: Derrick had known about the walls Adra put up, he’d known about the limits she set on her relationships, and he set out to get around them. And eventually it had worked. And she’d told him everything.

“Is it your dad?” Derrick asked softly.

Adra sighed.

The thing about people you once trusted was that you couldn’t take it back. They’d always have that part of you; they’d always know. And most days that made Adra crazy. But right now, mostly what she kept thinking about was how good it felt to have someone to talk to.

Even if it wasn’t the person she wanted.

“Not exactly,” Adra said, staring at her hands. She didn’t want to look at Derrick, for some reason. “We haven’t heard from Dad in years. It’s my brother, Charlie. He’s just…pulling the same old stuff.”


As soon as she said it, it felt wrong.

It felt wrong to be in this room with Derrick Duvall. It felt wrong to be telling him anything about her life, anything at all, but especially about something she couldn’t bring herself to share with Ford.

“You haven’t told him, have you?” Derrick asked.

Adra snapped her head up. “Who?”

“Ford.” Derrick put his hand on Adra’s shoulder. “C’mon, it’s obvious there’s something going on there. But you haven’t told him about this.”

Red f*cking alert.

Adra stood up suddenly and stepped away from the bench she’d been sitting on.

“I should get back to work,” she said.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Derrick asked. What had sounded sweet before now felt…

Ugh. Manipulative.

Goddammit. She should have seen it. Derrick was exactly narcissistic enough that he could be sympathetic and manipulative all at once.

“I’m fine,” Adra said. She was already reaching for the door. She just needed to get away, be alone. Think about why she was almost ready to talk about the things that hurt her with someone who actually had hurt her, rather than the man that she…

F*ck. She’d almost let herself think it.

“You sure?”

Adra ignored Derrick and stepped out into the hall, eager to put as much distance between herself and everything as she possibly could.

But Derrick grabbed her hand and pulled her short.

“Adra,” he said. “You know I’m always here if you ever need me.”

It was a lie.

She knew at once, in that way she knew him so well, that it was a lie. But it was a lie he might actually believe, right up until it was no longer convenient.

She had been sad and stupid, to give this man credit. She knew him too well for that. She saw the goddamn look in his eyes at that very moment. Derrick Duvall was about the chase, the hunt, just as he had been all those years ago. If she sobbed on his shoulder, it would mean Derrick had won whatever little fantasy competition he had going on with Ford in his own head. And then, after that, Derrick would go back to being Derrick.

Adra pulled her hand away. “I’m fine,” she said.

And she turned around to see Ford watching from the other end of the hall.

“Oh, come on,” she whispered.

That, at least, would have made the Hollywood version of her life.