by Megan Hart
She could tell she’d caught him by surprise. “I’m fine, babe.”
It felt as if she’d been holding her breath for an hour, and now it sighed out. “Oh, thank God. I was worried. You’re okay?”
“I’m fine, really.” Ty’s voice soothed her. “I’m sorry to worry you.”
“You said you had bad news, and then you didn’t answer the phone, and . . .” Edie took another shallow breath and let it out. “I was just worried.”
“No. I have good news, too. Not just bad.”
She could see his face, the half smile and the way his green eyes would crinkle at the corners. Good news, bad news, whatever it was, so long as he was fine. That’s all that mattered.
“Good news first,” she said.
“I sold the house.”
“Whoo-hoo!” Edie punched her fist in the air and spun around in her chair. “That’s not good news, that’s great news!”
She sobered a little. “What’s the bad news? They didn’t give you what you wanted?”
“No. Not that. They made a good offer on the house. With everything else going on, it’s enough to cover the realtor’s fees and what I owed. I won’t come out a prince from the deal, but I’ll have some cash in pocket for the trip.”
“So . . . ?” Edie chewed her bottom lip and stopped her chair spinning.
“They want to settle next week.”
Her heart sank, but she tried optimism first. “So . . . you’ll have to leave a day or so later?”
“I won’t be there for Valentine’s Day, babe.”
Ty sounded so forlorn she couldn’t be angry with him, but disappointment splintered her voice. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Ty sighed, and she imagined him running a hand through his shaggy dark hair. “The realtor and the lawyers have to do their thing . . . they can’t meet until the Monday after. I’m really, really sorry.”
Edie had been running on close to empty for the past month, trying to wrap up all her work, say good-bye to friends and plan the move, too. She was putting aside everything she’d known for the past seven years since she’d taken a long shot and moved to California to pursue a dream, but none of that had mattered compared to not being with Ty. Missing him had been an ache, soul-deep, that she’d only managed to put aside with knowing she’d see him soon. Valentine’s Day had never been meant to be such a big deal. Not until they weren’t going to have it.
“There will be other Valentine’s Days.” Maybe if she convinced him, she could convince herself.
“There will.” Ty didn’t sound any more convinced than she had. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Oh, Ty.” Edie sighed. “You don’t have to make anything up to me. It’s not like that. I’m just glad you sold your house. And a few more days won’t matter, really. Right?”
“Right.”
It didn’t feel right. It felt all kinds of wrong, but Edie wasn’t about to lay a guilt trip on him. “It’s only a few more days.”
“And I’ll leave right after the settlement. Be packed and ready to hit the road. I can be there in eleven hours if I drive straight through.”
“As much as I want to see you, I don’t want you to be too tired,” Edie cautioned. “You were going to take two days.”
“I’ll be ok.”
Tears filled her voice, though her words were meant to sound upbeat. “It’s just Valentine’s Day. What’s more important is that we’ll be together after that. For good. Right?”
“Right.” But he felt bad about it, she could tell, and Ty feeling bad about it made Edie feel worse for being a silly girl who’d let herself get all wrapped up in an image of red ribbons and boxes of candy.
A rap on the door turned her in her chair. To her surprise, it was Justin. He’d visited her office only a few times in the entire time she’d been writing for the show, both times by happenstance and coincidence on his way to meetings with someone else. She’d seen him on set the few times she’d gone, but it wasn’t like they’d ever gone out for drinks or hung out. She didn’t get invited to the parties he did. He spoke her words every week, but it was his face the fans wanted to see.
“Ty, I have to go.” Too late, she’d sounded more abrupt than she meant to. “There’s someone here.”
“Babe, I’m really sorry.”
His apologies only made her feel worse for being upset. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sure. All right.” Ty hung up and Edie, stomach churning, turned to face the doorway.
“Hey . . . Edie.” Justin leaned against the doorframe, one long leg crossed over the other. Today he wore a button-down shirt left untucked from faded jeans, an outfit completely different from what he wore on the show. It made him look younger. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, hey, Justin. It’s going.” Edie waved at the computer, where her cursor squatted like a fat, blinking spider, mocking her with its lack of web.
“That good, huh?”
She wasn’t about to tell him she was stuck on the finale or that her fiancé wasn’t going to be with her on Valentine’s Day, after all, and she was about to burst into hysterical tears better suited to a television show than real life. “How’s it going for you? Looking forward to wrapping the season?”
“Oh yeah.” He shot her a lower-wattage version of the grin that had set fandom on fire. “I’m going to take a long vacation.”
“Sounds good.” She paused, her fingers brushing the keyboard, and gave him a curious look. “Is there something you wanted?”
He’d asked her, once, to give him “smarter” lines. That had been back in the beginning of season two. Edie had just come on board and taken over some of the secondary story lines, most requiring him to come out of the bathroom in a towel or have a short-lived, angsty romance with a guest star. Edie, new to the gig, had been stuck between the senior writers and wanting to prove she could really write. She’d come up with one of the show’s most popular story lines, given Justin something meaty to work with, and earned the position of senior writer for the next season.
“I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me? Today? Erm . . . now? To talk about the finale. I had some thoughts.”
Normally he just shot her an e-mail or had his agent bring up points at the beginning of the season, but this was the last season. There’d been changes all over the place, more than in any other season. Suggested arcs had been dropped to concentrate on tying up the long-term threads and new ones devised with wiggle room for the inevitable movie follow-ups. Aside from that, Edie was one of the few writers who’d made it clear from the start she valued actor input, if for no other reason than she believed if someone were going to give life to the people in her head, she wanted it to be done right.
Edie looked at the keyboard. This wasn’t going anywhere, and the next writers’ meeting wasn’t until tomorrow. She needed lunch, preferably something chocolate.
“Sure. Okay. I can do that.”
As she got up from her desk, another figure loomed in the doorway. Shaggy-haired Runner newcomer Tristan Winsam had only been on the show one season, but his pre-built fan base had followed him from his previous show. There’d been some trepidation about how he’d get along with Justin, but the pair, though they played rivals on the show, akin to The X-Files’ Mulder and Krycek, got along famously in real life.
“Hey, Edie. Ready to go?”
She’d been half out of her seat but now stood slowly, looking from one to the other. Neither was smiling. “Hey, Tristan. What’s up?”
“Not much.” He clapped Justin on the shoulder. “We’ve got some things to talk about with you, that’s all.”
This didn’t bode well, especially when Edie caught the glance Justin shot the other man. Trouble brewing? They’d better hope neither one of them pulled a diva, she thought as she grabbed her bag and followed them out into the hall. She wasn’t in the mood.
Her mood changed five minutes later when they took her down the hall to the conference room i
nstead of out the door to the parking lot. Justin and Tristan parted in front of her so she could enter first, but Edie already knew what she’d find inside by the way they both were grinning. She didn’t need to worry about anyone playing diva. They’d been trying to surprise her.
“Surpriiiiiise!” The word rang out in the small room, and Edie turned in a slow half circle to take it all in. All her cowriters, the production staff, the director . . . several of the show’s stars, and even the head Foley guy, all there with grins as bright as the California sunshine.
“Hey, sweetie.” Billy help up one end of the banner reading “Good Luck, Edie and Ty!” in huge red letters. “Surprise!”
Edie shook her finger at him. “You can never keep a secret!”
“That’s why we didn’t tell him until fifteen minutes ago.” Tristan gestured at the sign. “It wasn’t easy keeping it from him, but we managed.”
Billy made a face and handed off the banner so he could enfold Edie into a crushing hug. “Thank those boys. They had a lot to do with this.”
Edie squeezed and kissed Billy and looked toward Justin and Tristan, who’d already moved to the table laden with food. “They did?”
Billy nodded. “Yep. They’re going to miss you, too, hon. Not just us. Imagine that.”
Edie managed a smile. “Don’t start with me, Billy. You know I’ll cry, and I hate that.”
He started to reply but then held her off at arm’s length and studied her face. “What’s wrong?”
In the crowd pushing forward to wish her well and offer hugs and congratulations, Edie didn’t want to be a downer. Not when all her friends had gathered to give her a send-off that included catering from her favorite restaurant and—
“Gummy worms!” Tristan showed her the tin from a swanky gourmet candy shop frequented by the sort-of rich and trying-to-be famous. He grabbed up a handful and dangled one into his mouth, grinning.
“Such a boy,” Billy said as he steered her toward one of the seats in the back. “C’mere, sweetie. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Later,” Edie said. “Now it’s time for lunch.”
Suddenly starving, she loaded her plate with fresh deli rolls, sliced turkey and cheese, and a handful of chips, then grabbed a can of diet cola from the cooler and headed for the seat Billy had picked out for her. The ones to her left and right were immediately occupied by Sandy from payroll and Debbie from legal, who gabbed away and saved Edie from having to say anything at all.
There was another surprise, too. A wedding shower, all the gifts small enough to pack in her suitcase. She got a lot of gift cards and a few skimpy, lacy things they all expected to make her blush but which she instead insisted on holding up and showing around.
The party didn’t last long, but by the end of it, Edie had been hugged, kissed, and squeezed by just about everyone. She’d even had her picture taken between Justin and Tristan, their long arms slung around her shoulders. She’d be the envy of the Internet as soon as these hit the message boards, but though both men were well built and handsome, neither of them was Ty.
When the room had cleared out, leaving behind only scraps and crumbs and shredded curls of wrapping paper, Edie tossed her trash in the can and grabbed up another diet cola. Before she cracked the top, a tap on her shoulder turned her. It was Justin.
“Hey.” She touched his arm briefly. “This was great. Thanks.”
Justin shook his head. “No thanks necessary. I wanted to thank you. And wish you luck. Wish you were hanging around here.”
“We’ve had a great run, huh?” Edie’s grin wasn’t forced, this time.
He shot her a smile at her deliberate play on words. “You know I almost quit after season one. I would’ve had to stick it out for season two for my contract, but . . . then you came along. Thanks.”
“I just wrote the words, Justin.”
He shrugged, and Edie thought everyone who loved him so much based on his face and the character he played on TV would love him even more if they knew what a nice guy he was, too. “Couldn’t have done any of it without them.”
She held out her hand. “Let’s agree to call it a joint effort, shall we?”
He took her fingers and squeezed them gently. “Sure we can’t convince you to stay here? I can think of a dozen shows that would die to get you on board.”
It hadn’t been that easy, no matter what he thought. She’d had offers, sure, many worse than what she was leaving and none better than where she was going. “Thanks, but . . .”
“Yeah. I get it.” He laughed. “You and Murphy are getting married. It’s true loooove.”
Edie knuckled his arm the way she’d done to her younger brother long ago. “Yes. It is.”
“Good for you.”
Tristan appeared in the doorway. “Justin. You coming?”
Justin nodded. “Yeah, man. Be there in a minute.”
Tristan, hand full of gummy worms, waved. “Good luck with the movie script, Edie. Give me better lines than this douche.”
“If they let me write it.” Nothing was ever set in stone in this business.
“They’d better.” Justin laughed and held out his hand again.
She shook it. “See you, Justin.”
Alone in the conference room, Edie looked around. In this room she’d had the beginning of a career. It seemed fitting it would see the end of one, too.
“Chill, dude.” Ham ducked as Ty threw the basketball at him.
It had been meant to be a pass, but somehow his frustration had ended up erupting. “Sorry, man.”
Ham tossed the ball back and forth in his hands before dribbling but didn’t shoot. The indoor gym echoed with the squeak of sneakers on the wood floor and shouts as men and women played. Ty and Ham had been coming here for years. Since they were kids, as a matter of fact. They played racquetball or a game of pickup basketball at least once a week, and Ty had always counted on the exercise to work him out of whatever funk he might’ve been in.
Not today.
He held up his hands for Ham to make a pass, and Ty took the ball down the half-court to the basket. He laid it up but instead of a slam dunk, the ball bounced off the rim. Ham grabbed the rebound and set up a perfect, sweet shot. Swish. But, unusual for Ham, he didn’t razz Ty about how easy it had been.
Ty took the pass from Ham back to center court and then up to the basket again. Another failed shot had him cursing, and Ham took the ball to the hoop without hesitating. Ty, sweat stinging his eyes, bent to put his hands on his knees.
“You up for it?” Ham bounced the ball near Ty’s feet, caught it, and bounced it again. “Gonna take it?”
Ty looked at the basket, then hooked the ball from Ham’s grip and took another shot. This time, the ball swished through the hoop and Ty grabbed it on the rebound, sending it through the hoop again. Ham didn’t even try to go after it that time, and they both watched it bounce away toward the bleachers.
“Your concentration’s for shit,” Ham offered.
“Yeah. I know.”
“You want to quit? Go for a beer?”
Ham, Ty’s friend since the sixth grade, shifted on his worn sneakers. Ty straightened and went after the ball, cradling and not dribbling it. Ham had barely broken a sweat, but Ty’s entire shirt clung to him and he had to swipe at his eyes.
“Beer would be good,” he admitted reluctantly and waited for Ham to mock him.
Miraculously, Ham didn’t take that chance, either. “C’mon.”
They showered and dressed and headed out into the frigid February air. Ty’s hair froze into the spikes left as he ran his hand through it, and he looked at the sky for a hint of sun, but all he saw were clouds scudding across the darkness. He’d lived here his entire life, and he doubted he’d miss the Maine winters. It would be worse for Edie, his California Girl, moving from the land of oranges and oceans back to suburban Philadelphia.
“Lenny’s?” Ham jerked his chin in the direction of the beer and pizza joint they frequented.
“Yeah. Meet you there.”
Ten minutes drive was all it took, but in that ten minutes, all Ty could hear was the sound of disappointment in Edie’s voice when he’d spoken to her earlier. Even over the sound of his favorite local classic rock station. Even over the sound of the sudden gust of wind that rocked his car.
By the time he got out in the parking lot at Lenny’s he’d lost his taste for beer, but there was no way to admit that to Ham without coming off as a total pussy, so Ty just pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and put his head down against the wind. Inside, the heat from the pizza ovens and the scent of sauce and cheese and beer hit him like a living thing. He breathed in, deep.
Ham waved him over to a booth, where their regular waitress, Tammy, had already put out a basket of breadsticks with a small ceramic bowl of tomato sauce.
“Getcha?” she asked, pen ready to scribble.
“Pitcher of the usual. Large pie, half sausage. And I want two dozen wings, hot, with extra blue cheese.” Ham grinned and turned to Ty. “What’ll you have?”
But Tammy, who knew Ham too well, had already turned to go. Ham shrugged and dug into the breadsticks. He pushed the basket toward Ty, who grabbed a few, not because he was especially hungry but because Ham tended to eat the whole basket before asking “did you want some more?”
They had food, they had beer, and they didn’t have conversation about anything more important than the score of the game on TV, the possibilities of bad weather and the tightness of Tammy’s ass, and the probability of her ever agreeing to go home with Ham. Ham thought it was a question of sooner rather than later, Ty didn’t much care, and Tammy, when asked, was of the opinion that hell would feel much like Maine did at the moment before she went anywhere with Ham.
“She’s crazy about me.” Ham said this with the same enviable confidence he’d had since high school, when he’d shot up over everyone else and had been the first to grow armpit hair.
“I can see that.” Ty’d only sipped on one beer and eaten two slices of pizza.
