The Golden Boy

by J Darcy

  With shaky hands, she grabbed her bag and bolted out of the gym. This time, she would be the one to run away. Besides, she couldn’t hear it anymore. She couldn’t look at him anymore.

  Everything hurt.

  And as she sat on the freeway, in painful Los Angeles traffic, she wondered for the first time if accepting her new role had been a mistake. If she could barely look at Cade now without falling apart, she had no idea what she would do come movie three.

  Chapter 9

  His head hurt. His limbs felt weak, like an invisible force kept him pinned down against the polyester cushion of the dingy booth he sat in. Hours ago, he thought venturing to one of the few dive bars in the west of the city was the right choice. That maybe a few beers and time with a friend would be a balm to his hurting heart.

  Sure, it meant breaking the near month and half he had gone without a drink of alcohol, but after a day like today, it was needed.

  What’s done is done.

  Her words floated around in his head, twisting around his heart and lungs like a boa constrictor. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t function. This wasn’t like him. Cade Campbell didn’t fall apart because of anyone or anything, let alone a woman.

  One that he crossed the first time around.

  It was all his fault, and that knowledge made everything hurt just a little bit more. Thankfully, Dean was there to listen to his sorry ass talk, nodding along in quiet support. Or pity. He wasn’t sure.

  Part of him didn’t even want to go to Dean with his own stupid behavior—especially now that his best friend was effectively his current boss.

  But the alternative was going home alone and drinking his way through a bottle until the only liquid around him was the drunken tears dripping down his face. He was so fucking stupid. He was a pathetic sack of shit, and today made it even more apparent just how little he deserved her.

  Kellie deserved a man who knew what he wanted. Which Cade now did, but it just felt a little too late. No—it didn’t feel—it was too late. She said it herself.

  “I don’t get it.” Dean began, nursing his own bottle of some local brew, “If you have feelings for her—and it sounds like you always have—why the hell did you run away? Why didn’t you just tell her that?”

  Cade had been asking himself that same question over and over again for more than eighteen months. But the truth wasn’t that complicated, really. He just didn’t like the answer.

  “I was a coward. I was scared about what would happen next. Equally petrified by the thought of her not wanting more and the heartbreak and awkwardness that would follow, and then us getting together, and me fucking shit up because I always fuck shit up.”

  Dean sighed and shook his head, soft blonde curls shaking in the process. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself, Cade. You’re allowed to fall in love and be happy. You deserve it, too.”

  Cade dropped his head, considering his friend’s words. He also wished he didn’t have to wear a fucking baseball cap at nearly ten o’clock at night. While he used to think his concerns about being recognized were just narcissism and arrogance, he knew that was no longer the case. He got recognized virtually everywhere he went. Which meant when he could help it, he tried to block his face.

  He envied Dean for following his dreams while being able to maintain some sort of anonymity. Sure, he was recognized sometimes, but it was nothing in comparison to what Cade dealt with virtually every day of his life. It was a small price to pay for following his dreams and making a pretty penny in the process.

  “Even if you’re right,” Cade began, his voice weary, “That train left a long time ago. No matter what I do, I fuck shit up. I figured we could move past our issues and I asked to be friends. Which went well for oh, maybe a day while we were in each other’s company. Then I went apeshit crazy about her going on a date and fucking kissed her.”

  Dean waved forward another round of drinks and thanked the waiter as the bottles were set on the table. He pushed one towards Cade. “Listen to me, ok? You’re not off the hook. You did fuck up. You hurt her and because you’re an idiot, you keep hurting her. So, don’t for one-minute think I’m excusing your behavior because you’re hurt or scared or whatever your excuse is.”

  He paused for a moment, stuffing a fistful of peanuts into his mouth, before continuing. “But at this point, you have two options. You take her word as gospel and accept that you’ll never be more than friends. If that’s the case, you guys can work on being civil and getting along, and I’ll help you get so drunk you forget her name.” He sipped his drink, watching Cade closely, and added, “Or you fight the good fight. You stop putting your foot in your mouth and you tell her just how much you care about her. Be honest with her—but more importantly, be honest with yourself.”

  Cade felt woozy when confronted by the reality of the situation. He could wallow in his self-pity. He could drown in a sea of misery and his own self-loathing. He could get shit faced drunk until he could barely remember her name, let alone his own.

  He had plenty of options for what to do next. But it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it only scared him more.

  “She deserves more than I could ever offer her,” He finally admitted, his words slightly muffled by the strong pull of beer he took, “She’s like fucking sunshine. She’s so bright and sweet and beautiful and perfect and I’m like a fucking rain cloud over her pretty blue sky.”

  Dean sighed and shook his head. “Stop being so hard on yourself, Cade. That’s not true. You’re not perfect but neither is she. You can be someone that deserves her if you take the right steps. Apologize to her. Explain yourself. Prove that you’ve changed. But most importantly, you have to tell her how you feel.”

  When the waitress set down a pair of shots in front of them, Dean slid one towards Cade. “If you love her, she needs to know. Otherwise, you’re stuck playing this game where she thinks you want something casual or a quick fuck or that you’re not capable of relationships.”

  “I’m really not,” Cade muttered dejectedly, thinking back to his own pathetic history with previous girlfriends, “I’m awful at being a boyfriend. It’s part of the reason I was so scared about what to do with Kellie. I knew I wasn’t good enough to be her other half.”

  “That’s not an excuse.” Dean shot back, before taking his own shot. He shuttered as the clear liquid—Cade assumed vodka—slid down his throat. With pink cheeks, he kept talking. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t claim to love her or to have feelings for her but then not be willing to try your hand at a relationship. Because if you do that, you are right—she does deserve more. It’s not fair to her.”

  Cade took the other shot in quick movements, enjoying the sting of the liquid down his throat. It was a nice alternative to the smooth sipping of the beers he kept having topped off. “You really think I still have a chance?”

  Dean shrugged and ate another fistful of nuts. “Hell, if I know, dude. I’m not close enough with her to know what she’s thinking or feeling. But I think you are. I think you’d know if whatever thing you have with her is dead on its feet. Clearly you both felt something, even if it was just physical.” He paused, considering the situation, before adding, “And I think based on how hurt she was, it was definitely more than just physical. I’d say you broke her heart when you slipped out of that hotel room in the middle of the night.”

  With a curse, Cade threw his head back, thrilled that the liquor was starting to burn hot in his veins. He desperately needed to clear his mind. The pleasant thrum in his skin and the dulling of his senses was exactly what he needed in such a challenging period for him. It made him eternally thankful that he could rely on a cold drink and one of his best friends for advice.

  “Looking back, I’m pretty sure I broke my own heart that night,” He explained, his voice thick with regret, “The aftermath was fucking devastating. I lost one of my best friends. She used to text me dog GIFs and recommend new music for me to check out. Now, she does
n’t want to be in same room as me, let alone fucking talk to me.” He cursed and rubbed at his face, exhaustion creeping in, “Now she throws around that she hates me like she’s fucking talking about the weather or, I don’t know, what she had for breakfast.”

  Cade finished his beer and shoved the bottle away. “And it hurts even more because she has every right to hate me after what I did.”

  “If you know that, and accept responsibility, then you two can move on.” Dean reminded him, trying to remain hopeful despite his friend’s glum attitude, “Shit would be different if you couldn’t recognize that you created this mess yourself. But you know that it was your actions that started it all. You apologized, but you kept fucking up. Now you can change that. Now you tell her why you’ve acted how you’ve acted, and make sure she knows how you feel.”

  “What do I do if she doesn’t want me?” Cade hated how pathetic he sounded. He was usually so sure of himself—it was the only way to make it in a dog eat dog industry where everyone had an ego the size of the Pacific Ocean. “How am I supposed to work with her if she turns me down? I just…” He swallowed and shook his head, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  Dean waved over another round of shots. “Why don’t we think positive thoughts instead of every what if? If it’s meant to be, it will happen. If it doesn’t work out, she’s not the woman for you.”

  Suddenly, while coughing through two shots of tequila, he was assaulted by memories of bright green eyes and shiny auburn hair and a melodic laugh that had his heart hammering in his chest and his pants tightening uncomfortably. What Dean was saying made no sense to him. It couldn’t make sense to him.

  Kellie Allen was the perfect woman for him. He knew it when they acted together. He knew it when they talked, and when they laughed, and when they shared popsicles in a luxury hotel room at some acclaimed hotel in Westminster. He knew it when he kissed her perfect lips and gazed into those ivy green eyes time and time again.

  He knew it when he spent one night in her bed, listening to her soft cries of pleasure and feeling her needy hands tug at his tangled hair. He had nails marks from her fingers, and love bites from her hungry mouth, and memories that served him whenever he felt sad or lonely or needed to take himself in his hand to simply fall asleep.

  If she didn’t want him—if he couldn’t prove to her that he fucked up and that he wanted her—no, needed her—he didn’t know what he would do. It was a scary thought that he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on. Not when it could prematurely have him vomiting up his drinks and running for the Hollywood Hills.

  “She is the woman for me.” Is all he managed to say, watching his best friend with glazed over eyes. Apparently, the drinks were starting to get to him. “I just have to prove it to her.”

  Dean smiled, clearly happy by his friend’s declaration. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I like seeing you sure of yourself. It’s a nice reprieve from you kicking your own ass and licking your wounds.”

  “I’m going to tell her.” Cade had never been so sure of his words. When another selection of shots was placed in front of him, he gladly downed one, followed by another. This time, whiskey. Or so he thought. He couldn’t tell anymore.

  It all tasted like alcohol.

  “That’s awesome. What will you say?”

  Cade just shrugged. “I’ll figure it out when I get there,” He explained, suddenly aware of how slow his voice sounded. Dean also seemed to have a twin. Why the fuck had that never come up in conversation before? When had this other dude arrived?

  “When you get where?” Dean probed, watching him curiously.

  “To Kellie’s house.” He had her address somewhere in their text conversations. When they weren’t fighting, right when she arrived in LA, she sent him along her address and asked for some advice about Thai food in the area. He knew it was her favorite.

  When he located the address, he was quick to open a ride-sharing app and paste it in as his destination. Going home, ordering a pizza, and wallowing in his misery would have to wait. He much rather spend the night staring at Kellie’s beautiful face and reminding her just how perfect and beautiful and amazing she was.

  Dean cleared his throat. Or maybe it was his twin brother. Cade couldn’t tell. “Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Cade. You’re pretty drunk.”

  But Cade snorted. He wasn’t that drunk. Dean—or his brother—had no right to comment on his new, incredibly full proof plan. “I’m not that drunk. I need to talk to her. You told me to tell her how I felt.”

  “Yeah, but I meant when you haven’t been drinking, and maybe not at…” Dean glanced at his watch, before looking back to Cade, “Almost eleven at night. Maybe she’s sleeping.”

  “Then I’ll wake her up.” She could sleep with him. He’d hold her tight to his chest and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. He’d play with her soft waves and nuzzle into the warm skin of her neck. He had so many things he wanted to do with her back in his arms, and most of them weren’t even sexual in nature. He just…

  Well, he wanted to hold her.

  Dean rubbed at his eyes, clearly exhausted. “Cade, man, this is a horrible idea. I love your enthusiasm, but you’re a lot better off going home, sleeping away the night, and then tomorrow, or whenever you two can find a time, you sit down and be honest with her. Don’t just show up at her doorstep and proclaim your love.”

  Now that was a great idea. He was going to steal it. Kellie would never have to know that it was Dean’s suggestion, not his own creativity. He’d be like Prince Charming, or the dude in Love Actually with the signs.

  He wouldn’t fuck things up this time around. On shaky legs, he withdrew a few bills from his wallet and dropped them on the table, beaming wildly at Dean. “I’ll let you know how it goes. You’ll be my Best Man at the wedding, ok?”

  Dean cursed and shook his head. “Cade, man, this is a bad idea. Call an Uber and go home. Do not go to her house. You’re asking for trouble. Nothing good ever comes out of a drunken confession.”

  Cade begged to differ. If he wasn’t drunk, he certainly wouldn’t have the balls to show up at her doorstep and tell her how perfect she was. He had to take advantage of this moment. He felt like his life depended on it.

  Considering the state of his heart, maybe it did.

  “Too late.” He held up his phone, the bright white screen displaying that his car was two minutes away, “Richard is already on the way.”

  Dean shook his head. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you”

  He hummed and slid into his once discarded jacket. He felt good. Hopeful. Like happiness and his forever were only a twenty-minute drive away. All that stood in the way was LA traffic and saying the right words.

  Thankfully, he had time to rehearse the perfect words on the ride over. Which he did, after saying goodbye to Dean and sliding into the backseat of a silver Jeep Cherokee. Richard was blissfully quiet, and Cade enjoyed the soft drum of the radio and the dark sky as they veered closer and closer to his salvation.

  When the car stopped in front of a little bungalow with the car he recognized Kellie using from the gym, he knew he was in the right place. He waved frantically to his driver and hopped out, practically running to her front door.

  Except when he finally got there and came face to face with the aqua-colored door, and the massive plant sitting beside the welcome mat, and the half curtain-covered window beside the door that glowed from the interior lights, he froze.

  It was like he was paralyzed. And then he started swaying, his thoughts moving far too fast for his own good. He thought he decided to leave—to turn around and call another uber to take him home so he could wallow alone—but in his drunken stupor, he must have rung the doorbell.

  Because moments later, he saw her confused green eyes looking through the glass of the window. Then, the door opened. Suddenly, he was face to face with the woman who claimed his heart.

  Before he could say a word, he stumbled forward into her arms.
r />   Chapter 10

  Kellie must have been dreaming. She must have fallen asleep while watching that cooking reality show on Netflix that kept popping up in the recommended shows section. Or, there must have been something in her wine, something that had her drunk off one glass of rosé. Maybe, her time training was proving to be too strenuous for her, and now she was hallucinating Cade Campbell standing on her doorstep, his dark hair falling into his wild, brown eyes.

  There were many, many explanations for why Cade was standing on her doorstep, looking as unhinged as ever. But none of them made as much sense as the truth. She didn’t like the truth—frankly, it kind of scared her.

  He hadn’t even said a word and she knew he was drunk. He reeked of alcohol—like a pungent mix of tequila and lime and a splash of whiskey. He looked rough, with bags under his usually youthful chocolate eyes, and his dark hair tousled from presumably his anxious hands.

  But since she opened the door seconds ago, he hadn’t said a word. In fact, before she could even say anything, he was moving. On disoriented feet, he stumbled forward, one half of his body balancing on hers, the other pressing into the side of her doorway. He was heavy, and warm, and she had so many questions.

  “Cade!” She choked out, gently patting his back, “Can you stand up?”

  Surprisingly, at her question, he immediately righted himself by stumbling back, a goofy grin spreading across his lips. She watched, eyes wide, as he shut the front door and strolled into the home she was temporarily staying in as if he owned the place. However, Kellie remained rooted to the ground, following his uneven steps to the couch with her eyes. Cade eventually made it to the sitting area, plopping down on the couch without his usual grace.

  Apparently, he had no qualms about making himself at home, and quickly grabbed the yellow cable knit blanket she had been resting under during her late-night TV binge. She wasn’t sure if she should be amused, or annoyed, or frustratingly attracted to the sight of the muscular man wrapped in such a delicate thing. Under the yellow knit, his face in a pleasant smile, he looked at her as if she had all the answers in the world.