by Maggie Marr
My heart skidded to a stop.
My hunger disappeared. I grabbed the envelope and pulled my iPhone from my back pocket. I scrolled. I texted. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. Why was I here, in Dillon and Lane’s kitchen with a buffed-up goon named Brock and a letter?
“You about ready for your meeting?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. I stuffed my phone into my pocket and grabbed the envelope. “Just let me get my shoes. They’re upstairs.”
Brock nodded.
I padded up the stairs. Grabbed my sneakers. Put them on then bolted down the back staircase and out the back door. I needed answers and I definitely didn’t want Brock along for that ride.
Amanda
“You have everything?” Sterling asked.
Three giant suitcases sat beside the town car. The driver lifted one and settled it into the trunk. “If I don’t, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll be out in two weeks. I have a meeting with Harvey and it needs to be face to face. Whatever you need, I can ship it or bring it with me.”
The ball, the same giant ball I’d felt as I left Lane and Dillon’s house late last night, lodged in my throat. Tears started in the back of my eyes.
“We’ll be fine,” Sterling said. “Dad and I will be fine. Don’t worry about us.”
I forced a teary smile onto my face. Sterling was so far off base. I wasn’t worried about Sterling or Daddy. They’d heal. They had each other, and even with me on the other side of the country, they knew they would always have me. The worry etched in my brain was for Ryan. I dropped my gaze toward the ground. This—fleeing into the night, and then an early flight, with only a letter left for Ryan—was the coward’s way out. I’d abandoned Ryan. Left him without saying good-bye.
“Ryan needs this,” Sterling said.
My gaze shot up toward my brother. He understood addicts and alcoholics as much as I did. We’d been raised by them. Sure they were high-functioning celebrity addicts, and now Daddy was in recovery, but we knew about addicts and their addictions. We knew how hard an addict could lean on you, and how much you could love them and want them to be well, and how much you could give and yet … yet they had to make the change. You couldn’t make the change for them.
“He can’t be with you right now,” Sterling said.
“I know.”
Sterling knew all about last night. I’d told him about what had happened and how I’d decided to leave for New York now. Today. Last night was spent packing and getting ready to leave. This was the right decision for both me and for Ryan.
But my heart ached.
Sober Ryan was a guy that I adored. He was funny and witty and clever and smart and astute and charming. He had the courage to see the real me and like that girl. Not just the nice, always-say-the-right-thing Amanda Legend, but the Amanda Legend with the dry wit and the truth. That girl was funny and I didn’t let many people see her.
“Let him get some days under him. If it’s meant to be, you two will work it out.” Sterling shook his head. “It’s still too new. Too fresh for him to be able to take care of himself and be in love with you.”
“Who knew that my amazing brother was such a smart guy?” I tugged at his shirt collar. “And a romantic.”
Sterling smiled. “Sister dear, you should know, I have no belief in happily-ever-afters, or romance. Me? I’m a hard-core, good-time guy. But you?” He ruffled my hair. “You want to believe in forever afters, and I want whatever makes you happy.”
I’d heard Sterling’s spiel before. How he was a confirmed bachelor who would never marry, but I knew one girl that he’d given his heart to. The one that had broken it, the one I believed he still loved. We Legends didn’t give our hearts away easy, but when we did … Ryan’s gorgeous face and body flashed through my mind. A heat curled upward from my toes and pooled in the vee between my legs.
But when we did give our hearts away, the loss was serious business.
“You’d better go,” Sterling said. “Traffic will be insane this time of day.” He pulled me into a hug. “You’ll do great,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Be good.” I said. The heat of tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t want them. I’d cried while I wrote Ryan’s letter. Then I’d cried while packing. I’d cried enough for a lifetime. Now it was time for me to go to New York City. Away from entertainment, away from the industry, away from L.A., away from everything that, for years, I’d said I’d wanted to flee from. Now, today, was my day to fly.
The 405 was a nightmare. The warm leather seat curved around my back. I pulled my phone from my bag. I scrolled through text after text after text after text. I’d put my phone on mute when I left Dillon and Lane’s. I’d half expected Ryan to appear on Sterling’s doorstep, once he finally woke up.
My fingertips pressed to my lips. I wanted to cry. He was hurt. He was confused. He was angry, and then he was hurt again. No words could express to him how complex and twisted my feelings for him had become. I had to leave. I was going to New York. Today. That wouldn’t change.
“Get yourself to a meeting.” I tapped into my keypad and pressed send.
My eyes closed and my teeth pressed into my bottom lip. The ache in my chest was because I wanted Ryan. But the guy I wanted was the sober Ryan, and that guy had disappeared last night into a tequila bottle with a singer he’d known from rehab. I wouldn’t surrender my heart to that guy, not now and not ever.
The private airport was coming into view. My driver pulled to a stop on the tarmac. He unloaded my bags. I gathered my bag and exited the car, and there stood Ryan.
Ryan
The beauty of Amanda would forever be etched on my soul. There was no other way to describe her. Amanda Legend was the most beautiful girl in the world and she wasn’t mine. At least not now. Maybe not ever. For a moment in time I’d had her, she’d been mine, or nearly mine, but I’d let this precious girl slip away from me. Hadn’t I proved to her last night, how right she was to let me go?
My anger, my confusion, the knot that was tight in my chest loosened the moment I saw her. She turned to me. Our gaze locked. I knew two things.
In her eyes, I saw that Amanda cared for me as much as I cared for her and in that instant, that moment, I knew that I had to let her go.
And second, I knew I would always love Amanda.
She walked toward me. Her face was soft, but a variety of emotions scattered across her features: anger, surprise, happiness, fear, sadness, and even hints of joy. The morning air held a chill. I scrubbed my hand over my arm. Amanda stopped in front of me and steadied herself as though she were ready for me to blast her with more anger and pain.
I reached out. I pulled her into my arms. Her skin was soft under my fingertips. The scent of lavender, of Amanda, infused the air around us. Her lush hair brushed against my arms. I held the most beautiful girl in the world.
“I had to say good-bye.”
Her body stiffened in my arms. I looked at her and she relaxed into me. Her head dropped to my chest, her arms tightened around my back, and her hands pressed into my muscles. A dampness penetrated my shirt. I pulled back and tilted her chin. “Don’t cry, Princess. Please don’t cry. You’re going to do great in New York. This is what you’ve always wanted.”
She nodded. Her big blue eyes locked with mine. My heart ripped.
“Remember one thing, okay?”
Her gaze seared into mine.
“Remember this for always.”
I pressed my lips to hers. Heat rushed through me. The heat of a last kiss. The heat of a kiss good-bye. The heat of a kiss that held the uncertainty of the future, and the knowledge that this kiss might be the last one I ever gave Amanda. I might never touch her, or those lips, again. I needed to fuse this kiss into her soul. I needed her to know that I loved her, that I would always love her. Years from now, when she didn’t think of me every day and someone else held her in his arms, let this kiss, little bits of this kiss, still touch
her soul.
I pulled away.
Tears rimmed her eyes. I pressed my forehead to hers.
“I love you,” I said. Then, I turned away.
Amanda
Ryan left me. He kissed me, and then he left me. The Uber car drove across the tarmac. He didn’t look back. He didn’t wave. He didn’t stare longingly my way. His kiss had contained every emotion. Tears streamed cool and wet down my cheeks. The past, the present, my L.A., my existence, my New York future, my wants, our desires, his failure, everything was contained in his lips as they’d pressed against mine. A world-ending kiss. And now he was gone.
I don’t remember climbing on board Daddy’s plane, or buckling my seatbelt, or taking off. I didn’t speak. I breathed in and out. My eyes closed and I settled my forehead against the window. Los Angeles fell away beneath me. My home grew smaller as the wind lifted us upward. I needed my freedom from L.A., from being a Legend in this Industry town, and from Ryan.
He also needed to be without me, to stand alone, to find his path to his sober life. I hoped that he would choose the life he’d created since rehab. I hoped he would get himself to a meeting and stay sober for the last two weeks of filming. Let him continue his therapy. Let him keep his life on track. Let last night be a tiny bump in his new path. I couldn’t be the person making that happen for him. I couldn’t be Ryan’s insurance policy.
He needed to be alone, and so did I.
I closed my eyes. This would be a long flight to New York.
Chapter 27
Ryan
Two weeks later, all I wanted were two things in life. I wanted to get drunk and I wanted Amanda. I couldn’t have Amanda, but I could definitely have the booze. I’d had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d filmed hundred-million dollar films half in the bag, so I could sure as hell finish my final day of shooting an indie after a couple vodkas. Brock got his check for the last two weeks of driving, plus a bonus for keeping quiet. The film wrapped, I went to Dillon and Lane’s, packed a bag, and left.
I knew what I needed. I knew what I wanted. I knew that none of it was good for me, but I didn’t care. I walked around with a hole in my chest and the pain was more than I could stand.
The driver turned into the little Malibu motel and I hopped from the car. The owner of this place knew me. I used to come up here when things got too tough, me and my bottles, and I’d party alone for a weekend. Let myself get drunk and sit on my balcony and stare off at the ocean and watch the sun set. Up here I would try to mend all my broken pieces, make them all fit together. Away from the madness of L.A. Away from the people and the scene.
Solitude was what I wanted now. Solitude and booze. I wanted to drink and let the alcohol numb my pain. Let myself get outrageously numb. I signed in at the front desk and headed toward my room. The giant sack of booze was cradled in my arms and my body trembled with the knowledge of the upcoming release. I could feel the relaxation that would drift through every cell of my body with even one drink. When I’d done those shots with Carly, the effect of the booze was like going home. I never felt as relaxed, as whole, as comfortable, as I did when I was loose and plowed. My words came easier and I could just be without the fear and anxiety and embarrassment and disappointment and shame that constantly careened through my chest. Until I was sober again.
I walked into my room. Tossed my duffel onto the bed. Why did I even pack? I’d be passed out in the same clothes in less than an hour. I pulled the bottles of booze from the bag and lined them up on the table. Like old friends they stood there and waited for me. I considered using a glass but instead I lifted a bottle filled with amber liquid. My mouth tingled for the taste. I cracked open the lid. The thick rich scent wafted into my nose. I closed my eyes, already intoxicated with the upcoming pleasure. I lifted the bottle, toasted Amanda, pressed the cool bottle to my lips and drank.
*
“Dude! What the fuck? Dillon, he looks worse than you did when Lane kicked your ass to the curb.”
My eyes fluttered open. Sound drifted in and out, like giant waves hitting my head. I turned toward the window. The shades were open. I pressed my arm over my eyes.
“What the hell? Fucking shut the blinds,” I said.
“Man, you fucking stink.”
I pulled my head up off the pillow and looked down at the end of the bed. Dillon stood, hands on hips, and stared at me. His eyebrows were creased. Webber stood beside him and surveyed the empties on the table.
“Ryan, man, you got quite a collection going here.” He picked up a glass and sniffed. His nosed scrunched up. “Not sure I’m digging the tequila-whiskey mix.”
“Dude, this shit is getting old,” Dillon said. He walked to the side of the bed and pulled on my arm. “I get that it’s a disease, and I get that some shitty things have happened. But you have opportunities, and I refuse to let you piss them down your leg.”
“Or drink yourself to death,” Webber added.
“Get his other arm,” Dillon said. “We’ve got a Steve Legend film to make together. That is a once in a lifetime thing, my man.”
Webber reached for my right arm. He turned away. “A shower, man. Wow. Benders and showering, mutually exclusive, right?”
“Pick his ass up,” Dillon said.
My body was upright, but I couldn’t control my legs. “My megs,” I said.
“What the hell was that?” Dillon asked.
“His megs?” Webber said.
“My legs!” I said and kicked my leg upward. It lifted two centimeters.
“His fucking legs are numb,” Dillon said. “Good thing we don’t have far to go.”
The drive was short. I burped. My stomach rolled and heaved.
“Don’t you dare fucking throw up in my car,” Dillon said. “You have to puke, you tell me. Got it?”
I attempted to look at him in the rearview mirror, but the double vision made the attempt impossible.
“Gotcha.” My chin settled on my chest. With each bump and turn I slumped down a little bit more until, finally, I lay flat out on the sweet leather of the long back seat. Words flew between Dillon and Webber. I even heard my name a couple times. I was too tired to care. The car turned and then stopped.
I knew where I was. It was the only place these two fuckers would take me when I was like this. The back door opened and Dillon reached in. He pulled me up to a seated position.
“Listen, man,” Dillon said. He put my arm around his neck and helped me get my feet out of his car. “You need this.” He ducked his eyes and looked into mine. “I’m with your ass until the bitter end. If have to bring you here one time or a thousand. It’s you and me. Got it?”
I nodded. That was a true fucking friend. He didn’t jet off to some fucking internship in New York. He didn’t run when things got tough. He didn’t turn his back on me when I needed him most. Dillon was a real friend. I put my other hand on his shoulder. A smile carved across my face. I pulled myself to stand. Then I threw up.
Amanda
“Do you love it? I mean don’t you just love it? How could anyone pick L.A. over New York?” Bibi asked. She’d been one of my girlfriends at USC. She’d grown up in Manhattan, had come to Los Angeles for college, and then immediately returned to New York. She poured more sugar in her coffee cup and stirred. Her brown curls bounced around her pixie face. Bibi was little and energy zinged around her.
Beyond the window, masses of humanity shuffled up and down the sidewalks. The cars zipped by on the streets. New York was its own kind of place with the constant movement and buzz. But did I love it? I’d been here for four weeks and I wasn’t sure yet.
“How’s your gig at the gallery?” Bibi asked.
“Well,” I said and settled my coffee cup onto the table. “I get to spend a lot of time in the archives.”
“Archives?” Bibi squinted.
“The basement.”
She pursed her lips together and scrunched her nose. “That sounds awful.”
“I’m sure it’s
just part of the internship, right? I mean, once I’m familiar with the archives they’ll let me work at the front desk, and then they’ll offer me a permanent job.”
Bibi bit her bottom lip and looked at me with a face full of sympathy.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Bibi said, “but it sounds like your internship kind of sucks. I get free lunches and car service.”
I sighed. If I was completely honest with myself, and I was trying not to be, the whole thing kind of sucked and I missed L.A. I missed the constant sunshine, the beach, the driving, my friends. A shiver raced down my back. I even missed the Industry. And, of course, there was Ryan.
Ryan crept into my mind multiple times each day. The texts and emails stopped after his good-bye kiss. Was he well? Was he sober? I hadn’t asked Lane or Choo about him. I purposely avoided the topic when I spoke to Lane, and I spoke to Lane nearly every day. I didn’t deserve to know the answers, especially after deserting him.
“So, listen,” Bibi glanced at her phone. “I have to run.” She gathered up her coat, her bag, and her hat, and slung everything over her arm.
“Maybe want to get brunch this weekend?” I asked. “Go for a mani-pedi?”
Bibi smiled and shook her head. “Oh, Amanda, you are just so L.A. It’s fall. There’s no need for razors or pedis until spring.” She bent forward and kissed my cheek. “See you soon!” she said, and slipped out the door.
I picked up my phone and dialed Lane. My attempts at New York friendships weren’t going so well.
“Hey, how is my favorite New Yorker?” Lane asked.
“Good.” I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Not good.”
“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Lane asked.
“Just a little homesick,” I said. “For everything.”
“I still get that myself,” Lane said. “I love L.A. and I can’t move back to Kansas, but once in a while I miss the big sky and the open spaces and my friends. I promise it will get better.”
