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linens, check. Crystal vase, check. I fumbled to turn off the beeping alarm next to my bed, but my heart continued to pound frantically as I realized I’d been dreaming but I was in my old room in my parents’ house. Why? I’d gotten my own place over two months ago.
    For several seconds I feared it had all been a dream, not just me getting my hand pulverized in a juicer and attacked by rats, but me having actually moved out on my own. Chest heaving, I tried to catch my breath.
    The more time that passed, the more my senses came back to me. Finally, I remembered that yes, I now rented my own place. I’d merely spent the night because I was leaving town in a few days to begin filming in New Mexico, and my parents had wanted to spend some extra time with me. Last night we’d had dinner at the Club then afterward Dad and I had run lines.
    But I didn’t live here anymore. Hopefully, as much as I loved my parents, I never would again. I was just beginning to get used to being free of my dad’s constant scrutiny and well-meaning lectures. To not feeling like I was going to disappoint him every time I picked out an outfit myself or talked to a boy.
    Instinctively, I glanced at my nightstand where I’d placed the five-year-old prom picture of Sean and me. I don’t know why I kept it. It was a memento of a night no one would want to remember. Not because I hadn’t had a good time at prom, but because of what had come after.
    Police had set up a DUI checkpoint along the highway, funneling traffic into two lanes, and Sean had been thirty minutes late getting me home. My father had been waiting up for us. He didn’t give us time to explain. The second Sean had stepped out of his Corvette, Dad knocked him on his ass. Sean fought back for the first few punches while I shrieked for them to stop, but I knew, even as captain of the wrestling team, he didn’t stand a chance against a man who’d once been crowned Mr. Universe.
    While Mom stayed inside, watching from the frosted foyer window with her robe clutched closed, Dad accused Sean and me of having sex and promised to sue him for every penny he possessed if a child came from our "irresponsible union." I had never been so mortified. Sean and I had dated for two years, but after that night, he broke things off. Outside of the handful of days we had left in high school, I never saw Sean again.
    That was the day I learned that I wasn’t worth fighting for, that no boy or man would ever be strong enough to stand by me—not against my father, who stood as the contemporary version of a giant and a dragon in one exceptionally intimidating human-shaped body. And not against other hardships that life was bound to throw my way.
    At least I thought I’d learned that lesson.
    Until I’d been weak and Randall Stone had taught me the lesson all over again.
     
    * * *
     
    After attending Sunday morning church service with my parents, surviving one of Dad’s well-meaning pep-talks slash lectures during brunch, and promising (again) to stay out of trouble in New Mexico, I was comfortably seated in the back of one of his Lexuses and being driven home. As ridiculous as it was that he still insisted his driver transport me to and from his house or work, I didn’t fight him. In my mind, I’d already won the most important battle, which had been convincing my father to let me move out in the first place. My winning strategy had been telling him I wanted to immerse myself in the role of Lacey on Straightlaced , the new television show that Fluidity Films was producing with Sun Studio.
    My dad was a co-owner and executive producer at Fluidity. Unfortunately, the production company had become a bit of a joke in the film industry due to some seriously unsuccessful films. My dad was counting on Straightlaced —and thus, me—to turn Fluidity’s reputation around. When I’d told him moving out on my own was vital to getting into the head of my character—who had also just moved out on her