Fucking important.
He grabbed the script and turned to the marked scene, trying desperately to clear his head and map out a scene that didn’t suck. He was just getting into the zone when he realized someone was calling his name.
He looked up, torn out of his fog, and stared at Ophelia. Clad in denim shorts and a white ruffled top, hair spilling around her shoulders, he caught his breath as her beauty struck him full force. Even with all this bullshit, he loved her so damn much. They’d work it out.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
She shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable. “We really need to talk, Kyle. I spoke with my sister. I’m thinking of heading back home.”
The tenderness drifted away and was replaced by pure anger. “Are you kidding? Why on earth would you want to run back home? We hated it there. You want to end up running the B & B like your mom? Get trapped for life in a small town with no opportunities?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know—I just hate it here,” she whispered. She came over to stand beside him. “This thing with the show blew up. The papers are saying crappy things about me—about how I was a diva and wanted all these things and that’s why I quit the show. It’s all lies.”
He gave an impatient sigh. “That’s just the press twisting things. It’s a new show. By quitting, you gave them a bad reputation. It’ll blow over.”
She stared at him. “You don’t even care?”
He rubbed his head. Stress bubbled over—along with confusion—and he lashed out. “Listen, you can’t do this to me right now. I have to get these rewrites to Solomon ASAP, and then God knows what else he’ll want me to change to make this movie work. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“I need you tonight, Kyle.” Her words throbbed with urgency. “Please come home. I’ll wait up. I just can’t keep going on like this.”
“I get it. I’ll be home. I promise. I’m sorry, but I have to get this script done.”
She took a step back and nodded. “I’ll see you at home tonight.” Her gaze held a touch of desperation. “You promise, right?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
He only had a few flashes of memory of the last time he saw her. The sad look in her blue eyes as she turned away. The click of her low-heeled sandals over the tiled floor. The scent of lavender and soap and honey drifting from her skin. The flicker of light on her left hand from the small diamond she proudly wore, even though he’d promised her something bigger and better soon.
He’d go over them endlessly in the long months ahead as he ached for her.
But he didn’t know any of it then.
The shooting ran late, and the producers and director called a meeting to change the ending. He texted her his apologies while he locked himself in a small, airless room with his computer. He typed through the night, finally delivering something the team was proud of.
When he got home, she was gone.
Kyle stared at the pages. So close to the ending. The simplicity and stark honesty of the book humbled him. It was the type of love story stripped to its bare bones: sex, youth, passion, ambition, and what happens to two innocent people caught in the storm. His talks with Ophelia these past two months had helped him understand the nuances and differences between how their individual stories had unfolded, which made the book come alive. Excitement flowed through his veins.
Now, it was time to make the big decision.
The ending.
He swiveled around in his chair and stared out the window. Change was on the way. Most of the snow had melted, leaving a damp, muddy mess, but the ripe scent of spring hung in the air. The evenings began to lengthen, and the sound of the birds exploded in the newly budding trees. Ophelia was already starting her spring planting, including various herbs and vegetables for the garden. Ethan had begun renovation on the bungalow, and Harper had acquired some new spring foals. The red barn doors were now flung open, and the animals began poking their noses from their stalls and galloping in the fields.
Time was running out.
He stood up from his computer and decided to go into town. He’d pick up a few things for Ophelia and grab lunch. Tugging on a thick hooded sweatshirt, he headed out, his thoughts on the past and the present and the promises he needed to keep for the woman he loved.
When he neared the familiar driveway, his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He made the decision last minute—swerving down the path and parking the car in front of the run-down farmhouse. His gut churned, and his palms grew damp. He stared at the sagging porch, the sloped roof still clogged with snow, and the bright-red door that winked at him through the gloom. The barns and chicken coops and shed were tightly closed up and eerily vacant. Ghosts surrounded his childhood home. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if he had the guts to go in.
Then with a muttered curse, he shoved open the car door and walked onto the porch. Kyle lifted his hand and knocked. His hands trembled slightly, so he quickly stuck them in his pockets and waited.
His father answered the door. He’d never seen joy in his dad’s face before. It was an emotion that was too soft to be shared between them, so it took Kyle a few seconds to realize it wasn’t his imagination.
“Kyle. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I didn’t know I was, either.”
Patrick motioned him in. The dog caught sight of him and slowly limped over for a greeting.
He knelt down and rubbed the shepherd’s ears, crooning to him. “Ophelia told me she got you to take him in.”
A smile ghosted his lips. “Yeah. She’s manipulative, that one. But I like him. Named him Charlie.”
His throat tightened. “That was the name of my teddy bear when I was young.” God, how he’d loved that scraggly old bear. Carried it everywhere with him for way too long, and never even felt embarrassed. He’d wanted to bring it with him to California, but by then it had been lost or boxed away.
“I know,” Patrick said softly.
Kyle choked back the emotions, hardened his heart. One nice gesture didn’t take away any of the bad. His tone hardened. “I’m surprised you’re keeping the dog. You’re not really the animal type.”
His father nodded. “We’re a lot alike. Charlie’s not too good with others, either. We don’t need much.”
“Ophelia said you’ve been getting her to cook for you.”
He winced. “Yeah, I have. Takeout and delivery gets old, and I don’t cook so well.”
“No shit. I always did that for you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you did. Plus a bunch of other things I never gave you credit for. Probably not even a thank you.”
Old anger stirred. “No, you didn’t,” Kyle said coldly. “Other than an occasional slap or the reminder I killed my mother, you weren’t into interacting with me.”
Patrick flinched but kept his gaze direct, not trying to hide. “Yeah. I gotta live with that. With the shame over the fact that your mother loved you so much she wanted you to live, yet I disrespected her greatest gift of all. You.” He let out a sigh that was so weary it was like an arrow through Kyle’s chest. “I’m sorry, son. Not that it means anything now, but I am.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Kyle waited, not knowing what he really wanted from this little visit.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Umm, want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
He petted the dog and watched his father work the coffeepot. “How do you take it?” Patrick asked.
Kyle ignored the shred of pain.
His father truly knew nothing about him. There was something about a parent knowing a child’s food and drink choices that created a special bond. Stupid, but he couldn’t help it.
“A little sugar.”
He gazed around his childhood home, noting the familiar furniture, scarred wooden floors, and the same paintings on the wall. Nothing much had changed, except now the place was neatly kept and a dog bed lay in the corner, along with food and water bowls.
He noticed the framed pictures on the oak tables. Him in his graduation robe from high school. Him at his first Communion. Him at a football game, grinning widely. Him with Ophelia and Ethan in front of Bea’s Diner, hamming it up for the camera. All taken by friends. None taken by his father.
He’d barely recognized the most important moments in Kyle’s life.
He’d tried to tell his father about taking off to California, but Patrick had been drunk again and hadn’t cared. Kyle just packed his shit and left without another word. It had been up to Ophelia’s mom to come over and explain what they’d done after they were gone. The jab had felt good, especially since he knew his dad had needed his help with the farm.
Patrick came in with the coffee. Kyle got up and took a seat at the battered dining room table. Charlie padded over and sat next to his father.
“Place looks clean,” Kyle said.
“Ophelia helps me out once in a while,” he admitted.
“And she took care of you when you got sick.”
“She’s good to me. Like her mother was.”
He couldn’t help the sharp edge to his voice. “Don’t take advantage of her. She cares about people in a way I’ve never seen before—people who don’t even deserve it. She makes the world a better place.”
Patrick didn’t even flinch. Just nodded. “I won’t. You still love her, huh?”
Kyle stretched his legs out and tapped the table. “Yeah.” They sat in silence for a while. “I married her, you know.”
His father stared at him in shock. “You got married?”
“Back in California. When we ran away.”
“You were only eighteen.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t matter. It didn’t work out, so she came back here. Now we’re back together.”
Patrick studied his face. “That’s good. Always sensed you were meant for each other. You gonna stay?”
Kyle tried not to wince as he took a sip of his coffee. “I have to get back to Hollywood to pitch a new screenplay. But I plan on coming back.”
His father seemed to light up. “Yeah? Another like Conspiracy? That was good.”
“You saw it?”
“Hell yeah. I’ve seen all your movies. I take a picture on my cell phone when the credits roll and your name is shown. See?” He rose and walked over to the coffee table, grabbing a trio of small, framed pictures Kyle hadn’t spotted before. “Printed them out and framed them myself.”
Kyle stared at them, his name in big print various times, clad in cheap silver frames. Emotion choked his throat. “I didn’t know you even knew what I did.”
Patrick sat back down, hands on his knees. “Because I’m an asshole. I get it. But even before I finally stopped drinking, I was proud of you. I think leaving me was the best thing you ever did for yourself. I ended up letting the farm go to hell, drinking myself into almost nothing, and I became the town drunk. If you had stuck around, I would’ve ruined more of your life.”
He sat in silence for a bit. “I ran into your sponsor in town. Tony.”
“Yeah? Tony’s helped me a lot.” He watched in shock as Patrick’s eyes filled with shame. “Did he try to guilt you into coming to see me?”
Kyle shrugged. “Not really. Just said you’d changed.” He ran his thumb around the corners of the frame, turning it around in his hands. “I came here because Ophelia asked me to see you. I’m doing this for her.”
Patrick nodded. “Makes sense. I’m glad you found her again. You deserve some happiness. God knows you had none as a kid. God knows what I did is unforgivable, but I’m saying I’m sorry anyway.”
Kyle looked him straight in the face. “I hated your guts. I wished you were dead.”
Grief touched his father’s green eyes. “I know. Did you look in the box I sent over?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I couldn’t.”
“Maybe you’ll open it one day.”
“Maybe.” Kyle took another sip of coffee and stood. “I gotta go.” He patted the dog’s head, turned, and headed toward the door.
“Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for seeing me.”
He couldn’t answer, so he just nodded and left.
He headed into town, stopping at the Market to fill up on some appetizers for the March Madness crew, and tried not to think about the conversation with his father. He was just pulling back into the inn when his cell rang. It was his agent.
“Robbie. Been wondering when you were going to call with some news.”
“I finally have some, but it depends on how fast you can get me the script.”
His gut lurched. “What do you mean?”
“Alan Bell said he may be interested. I told him this was a script no one else had seen yet, and it was going to rock the industry.”
Kyle winced at his agent’s normal dramatics, but the mention of Bell made his breath stop. The hot new director storming Tinseltown was known for his Academy Award nominees and a talent for hitting the audience with tearjerkers. “Are you fucking kidding me? Bell would give it a read?”
“Only if you can get me the script ASAP. He’ll be out of the country for the next few weeks, so if you want him, we need to schedule the meeting for Tuesday. How close are you to wrapping up?”
“Close.”
“Then get it done so I can send it to the team in the next day or two. Who the hell knows if Bell will still be interested after returning from overseas? You know how hard it is to keep the attention of directors of his caliber, or even score a meeting at all. You in?”
No.
He wanted more time here. He wasn’t ready to leave her yet.
But this opportunity needed to be grabbed. “Yes, I’m in. I’ll get it done. Thanks, Robbie.” They exchanged goodbyes, and he clicked the phone off.
Kyle wanted these last few weeks with Ophelia, uninterrupted. But if he could sell the script early and nail down the project of his dreams with the director of his dreams, he needed to give his all.
It was different this time. He knew better what he wanted, how to manage things, and had rediscovered who he was. All he needed to do was convince Ophelia they wouldn’t be separated for long.
This time, he’d come back for her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next evening, Ophelia was prepping dinner when the phone rang. She hit the speaker button with her elbow, her hands covered in flour. “Hello?”
“Ophelia? It’s Patrick. I need help.”
“Hi, Patrick. Are you okay?”
“It’s not me.” His voice caught in a strange way. “It’s Charlie. I think he’s sick. I have to get him to the vet.”
She didn’t question why he was calling her, just stumbled to the sink, turned on the faucet, and rinsed off the powder. “I’m on my way. I’ll call Sarah and tell her it’s an emergency.”
“Okay.”
She grabbed her coat and raced to her room, where Kyle had settled in to make room for the snowboarders. He had been working nonstop and was probably deep into the zone, so she knocked a few times before saying through the door, “Babe, I have to run out for a while. Be back soon.”
The door flung open. He blinked as if emerging from a dark cave. “Want some company? I need a break.”
She hesitated. He’d finally gone to see Patrick, and though the visit had gone relatively well, he hadn’t told her he wanted to see him again. “I’m going to your dad’s. Charlie’s sick, and he needs help getting him to the vet.” A flicker of emotion crossed his face, squeezing her heart. She reached out and touched his cheek. “I think you should come with me.”
He stared at her for a few moments, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”
“Let’s go.”
They didn’t speak on the drive over. Patrick was waiting outside for them, with Charlie hooked to a leash. When she neared the dog, she could see from his glassy eyes and slumped head that he was out of it.
Kyle got out of the car, nodding at his father but not speaki
ng. Patrick stared at his son, obviously shocked by his presence, but didn’t seem to know what to say, either. Kyle picked up the dog and settled him in the back seat of her car. Patrick climbed in next to the dog.
“It could be the flu,” she said to Patrick, pulling onto the highway. “I’ve heard animals can get it, too.”
“He hasn’t been eating. Not even the chicken or the gravy bone he likes. He’s just been laying there, and his breathing sounds funny. That’s not good for his age.”
“Let’s not panic until the vet sees him. You can be old as dirt and still tough as nails.”
A half laugh echoed from the back. Kyle stared out the window silently, his face set in a hard line.
Within ten minutes, they arrived at the vet and got Charlie checked in. Kyle waited outside the office while she stood next to Patrick as the doctor examined the dog. After a thorough exam, Sarah turned to both of them, her brown eyes kind. “I think it may just be a virus, but with his age, I can’t rule some other things out. I’d like to keep him overnight and do some blood work.”
Patrick stared at her. “You talking about cancer?”
“Possibly. He’s definitely dehydrated, so I’d like to get some fluids in him, run some tests, and take it from there. I’ll take good care of him. Is that all right?”
Patrick nodded. “Sure. Will I know tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’ll rush the tests to the lab. I should have them by noon.”
“And you’ll call me?”
“Yes, as soon as I know. Do you want to say goodbye before I take him in the back?”
Patrick flinched. She watched as the older man gently laid his hands on the dog and whispered something in his ear. Then he walked out of the office without turning back.
Ophelia followed him out. “Patrick, he has all the symptoms of a virus or a cold. Don’t panic yet.”
“I’m good. Can you take me home now?”
Kyle glanced back and forth between them as if trying to figure out what might have happened in the exam room. She nodded. They checked out at the counter, then got back in the car and drove home.
A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Page 26
