by Kelly Oram
Scott pulled out his laptop and patted the table space next to him. “I learn fast. Pull up a chair. You’re going to want to sit down for this.”
. . . . .
I had been pacing the hotel suite for ten minutes, still too enraged to speak. This was a nightmare.
I knew there was going to be a media frenzy over the incident on Sunday, but I thought Ella would be safe. No one knew her real identity. I didn’t even know her identity. But I knew that something was going to happen. How could I just take off and not wait around to see what the fallout would be?
Ella’s personal identity hadn’t been leaked, but, thanks to Kaylee, her online one had. Her Facebook and Twitter had been deleted and her e-mail address was no longer valid. Her blog was still there—thank the Lord for some miracles. I would have been heartbroken if all of her posts for the last three years had been erased forever—but the comments feature had been disabled and she hadn’t posted anything since Saturday.
I didn’t have to imagine the kinds of things people posted on her social media for her to delete everything, because there were plenty of other places on the Internet for me to read it. A charity case? An obsessed fan? A psycho stalker? And those were just the nicer things. I wouldn’t repeat the nastier stuff.
And it was my own damned people who started the rumors. Ella must hate me. In fact, I knew she did, because even if she had to delete her online persona, the public didn’t know her cell phone number and instant messenger ID. She didn’t have to get rid of those, but she did. She’d made it impossible for me to contact her.
She didn’t just delete her online presence—she deleted me from her life. It was unacceptable. I had to do something. I couldn’t let her write me off without giving me the chance to explain. I needed a plan, but I wouldn’t be making that plan with the people who usually helped me.
I stopped pacing and turned to Scott, who still sat at the table in front of his laptop, waiting for me to come back from my internal rant. “I have a lawyer, right? I’ve got to. I probably have a whole team of lawyers, right?”
Scott nodded. “Candice Regan and Associates.”
“Candice Regan.” I committed the name to memory. “Get me Candice Regan on the phone.”
Scott tapped on his iPad for a minute, then dialed my cell phone. “Yes, I have Brian Oliver on the line for Candice Regan. Then I suggest you interrupt it. I really don’t think Mr. Oliver is in the mood to wait. Yes, I’ll stay on the line, thank you.”
Scott handed the phone over just as an older woman’s cheerful voice came on the line. “Brian! What a pleasant surprise. I haven’t spoken to you directly in ages. What can I do for you?”
“My entire management team,” I said slowly, trying to control the anger still raging inside me. “I want them all fired by the end of the day, and I don’t want to be sued for it.”
“Fired! Well!” Candice sputtered a second and then said, “But they’re all under contract, Brian.”
“Which is exactly why I called you. Are you aware of the story they ran with Sunday evening?”
“The charity case with the wish for a kiss?”
I gritted my teeth. It wasn’t this woman’s fault. I shouldn’t yell at her. Still, when I spoke, I sounded downright dangerous. “It was bullshit. All of it. Ella is not a fan. I was not working with any charity, and I wasn’t even still engaged to Kaylee when I kissed Ella. My so-called team made up the story with Kaylee in a meeting I wasn’t present for. They ran it without my knowledge or approval, against the protests of my personal assistant, who told them I’d never allow it.”
Candice was too flustered to speak.
“There has to be a breech of contract in there somewhere.”
“I’m certain we can find something, but if not?”
“They’re all still fired,” I said firmly. “It’ll just cost me more.”
“If they really acted without your permission, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’ve been unavailable. The first I heard of any of it was fifteen minutes ago.”
“In that case, give me a couple hours and I’ll let you know what I find.”
“I appreciate it. I’ll wait to drop the news until I hear from you.”
I hung up and Scott smiled. “That had to feel good.”
“Not as good as firing them will.”
“So what’s next?”
I thought for a minute. “I’ve been with my agency since I first started out. My career’s come a long way since then. I think I’m due for an upgrade, wouldn’t you say?”
“Definitely. Am I calling CAA, ICM, or WME?”
“All three.” I started pacing again, trying to stay focused, even though my thoughts kept drifting to Ella. “Inform them of the situation—the whole situation—and tell them if they want me, they’ve got until tomorrow morning to come up with a plan as to how they would approach this mess. Tell them I’ll sign with whoever has the best idea. And Scotty?” Scott looked up at my pause. “Do make sure they understand that Ella is my top priority here, and not my own damn career.”
Scott absorbed that statement and shook his head as if he thought I had lost my mind. “This should be interesting,” he murmured as he began tapping away on his tablet again. “I’ll have it all set up by the time you’re out of the shower.”
I looked down at the pajama pants I’d been wearing for apparently two nights and ran a hand through my messy hair. “I take it that’s supposed to be a hint?”
“More like a friendly request,” Scott said, never lifting his eyes from the glowing screen in front of him. “You stink, boss.”
I laughed all the way to the bathroom.
My rehab center in Beverly Hills was quiet, luxurious, and surprisingly peaceful. There were only a handful of “guests,” as they called us, including someone whose music I had stored in my iPod. If it weren’t for the mandatory therapy sessions, I would have thought they’d sent me to a spa resort for vacation.
I had daily visits from Dr. Parish and joined the other patients for a group therapy session every other day. My dietician came once after I’d arrived and had a meeting with the clinic’s kitchen staff about my diet, and my nurse, Cody, came on his regular weekly visits.
Delicious Daniel came to work with me every day like Dr. Parish. Even though I’d banged up my hip, this wasn’t necessary—we’d been on a three-days-a-week schedule before—but I think he felt sorry for me and wanted to keep me company. He’s awesome like that. Of course, I think it also had a little to do with that beautiful popstar I mentioned who was staying at the center as well, who liked to hang out in gym where Daniel and I did our therapy sessions. Daniel denied this accusation, but always blushed when I pointed out that he was staring again.
I was glad for Daniel’s company, because other than my doctors I wasn’t allowed any outside contact with anyone. The point of being there, Dr. Parish informed me, was to get some rest and relaxation in a stress-free environment. The No Visitors rule was because my family was a major stress point for me, and the No Friends, No Phone, No TV, and No Internet rules were meant to be a shield from the whole Brian Oliver debacle. While I missed my friends and was bored out of my mind, I can’t say I hated missing all the media attention.
The total seclusion had to end at some point, though, and that point was about a week after I’d checked in. Dr. Parish allowed my father and Jennifer to visit under the condition that our time together be supervised. The visit was basically family counseling—which Dr. Parish recommended my father and I start doing regularly. I was shocked that my father agreed without hesitation.
“If that’s what we need to fix things between us, then of course I will,” he said when he saw my surprise. “I do love you, Ella. I’ve loved having you back in my life this past year. I know an apology isn’t nearly enough, but I am sorry for leaving you.”
“I understand people get divorced,” I whispered, “but you never even said good-bye. You never called. You never came to visit
. Why did you just abandon me?”
I’d been really good about not crying since I’d arrived at the clinic, but my eyes started to burn.
My dad sighed his defeat, then began his explanation with a warning. “I wish I had some really good excuse that would make what I did okay, but I just don’t. The truth isn’t pretty, honey. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”
I could hear the desperate, unspoken plea to let it drop, but I needed to know. “Not understanding is what hurts the most.”
“Without understanding, Ella won’t be able to forgive you, Mr. Coleman,” Dr. Parish said gently. “It’s what keeps her from being able to move on. If you can’t be honest with your daughter, you will never be able to build a true relationship with her.”
My dad’s body seemed to cave in on itself. If Jennifer hadn’t been sitting with him, holding him so tightly, he might have collapsed from despair. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Ella, and they all started when I met your mother. I should never have married her.”
I swayed in my chair. Dr. Parish had to get me a glass of water before I could speak. My hands shook so hard I spilled a little as I drank. “W-hat?” I stammered once I could finally think again. “How can you say that? Did you even love her?”
“I grew to love her in some ways, but not in the way you’re asking, and I don’t think she ever loved me, either.”
I started gulping my water and my father turned to Dr. Parish with a look of stark fear. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Are you sure she can handle this right now? Her mother was her hero, her best friend. This won’t be easy for her.”
“Just tell me.” If he didn’t explain it soon, I would lose my mind.
Dr. Parish regarded us both calmly and then met my father’s look with a gentle sternness that only doctors and mothers were capable of. “Whatever it is, Mr. Coleman, you and I are both here to help her cope.”
My dad swallowed and then turned back to me. His whole body sagged the second he looked at me. “I was in my last year of school at one of the top law schools in the country. It was a brutal and competitive program. I studied nearly every second I wasn’t in class. My life was so stressful. Meeting your mother was like a breath of fresh air. She was so fun and exotic. We went out every now and then when I could find the time, and we had a great time together, but things were never serious between us. We were never in love. We were never even a couple.”
My dad winced when my eyes bulged, but he pressed on. “I was shocked when your mom told me she was pregnant. The last thing I’d wanted at that time was a child. I was getting ready to take the bar. If I passed, I had a job lined up that I knew from my internships would be really demanding on my time.”
My stomach rolled with sudden queasiness. “Did you ask her to get an abortion?”
My father looked at his lap. I heard his swallow from the opposite side of the room. After a minute, he met my eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
I felt the blood in my veins freeze and had to remind myself to breathe. It wasn’t easy to do. My heart was hammering in my chest and the water I’d sipped felt like it wasn’t going to stay put in my stomach. He’d never wanted me. Not ever.
“Your mother was raised religious. She absolutely refused to terminate the pregnancy and asked me to marry her instead. I offered to pay for everything, and help however I could, but I didn’t want to get married. Your mom and I weren’t a good fit. We were too different. We weren’t in love. But your mom insisted.
“Your Abuela and Granpapa were religious fanatics. They were outraged by the whole baby-out-of-wedlock thing. They said if we didn’t get married they would disown your mother. You know how close she was with her parents. She was hysterical. Plus, she would have been on her own, and she was going to have a baby. My baby. I may not have been raised with religion, but I was taught to take responsibility for my actions.”
“So you married her.”
My dad let out a breath and nodded. “So I married her.”
I was an unwanted pregnancy and a shotgun wedding. My parents never even loved each other.
My dad read the look on my face and grimaced. “It was bad right from the start. I resented her for trapping me, she resented me for feeling trapped, and I blamed the baby—” Dad swallowed again and corrected himself. “I blamed you for my unhappiness.”
I closed my eyes against my tears, but they escaped down my cheeks anyway.
“I was wrong to feel that way, Ella. Your mother and I were to blame for what happened, not you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
My father and Dr. Parish gave me a minute to compose myself. Once I could speak I asked a question I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer to, but had to know nonetheless. “Did you ever love me, Dad? I know I was little, but I don’t remember things being that bad. I remember you laughing and playing with me sometimes. Was all that just a lie?”
“Honey, life isn’t black and white,” Dad replied. “I did love you, but I couldn’t ever get past my issues, and neither could your mother. She held the abortion thing over my head the entire time we were married. She never forgave me for not wanting you, and she would never let me forget it. It always made her angry whenever you and I got close. She said I didn’t deserve you. She drove a wedge between you and me on purpose, and with her making it difficult, it was easier for me to distance myself. I worked as much as I could, and I let you and your mother do your own thing. I stayed out of your way.”
“What kind of wedge?” I asked, completely unable to picture my mother doing something so mean.
“She raised you as if you were all Chilean. She completely ignored the fact that you were half white—half my child. She immersed you in a culture I didn’t understand, taught you a language I didn’t know. She practically raised you with your grandparents, and ignored all of the family traditions I was accustomed to. We only visited my family twice the entire time we were married. It was hard because they lived out West, but your mother didn’t exactly make any effort to see them, either. Most of the time I went to visit them by myself. She didn’t want you to be a part of my family. You haven’t seen them since you were three.”
“Your family?” I asked, confused.
My father sighed. “You have living grandparents, Ella, my parents. And an aunt and uncle and three cousins.”
I gasped. This was news to me. “I do?”
It all made sense, of course—my dad having parents and a sibling and all that—but in all the years I could remember, I couldn’t recall ever hearing about them. My mother definitely never mentioned them. After my father left, she barely ever said two words about him except to blame things on him or curse him in Spanish.
“I guess I should have thought to tell you this before now, but yes. My parents and my younger brother Jack all live up in the Bay Area outside of San Francisco. They were down to visit not that long ago, while you were still in the rehab center in Boston. Whenever you’re ready, I can take you to visit them, or have them come down to LA. They’re curious and excited to meet you—same as I was when the hospital called me.”
I flinched at that confession, unsure how I felt about it. “You were excited to meet me when the hospital called?”
The disbelief in my voice made my dad’s shoulders hunch, weighed down by guilt. “Yes, Ella. You’re my daughter. We might not have had the greatest relationship, but I raised you for eight years. That’s not something a person just forgets. I have thought about you over the years. I knew you were probably happy, because I knew how much your mother loved you, but I have wondered what you looked like and how you turned out.
“When I came to Boston, I was very curious to see what kind of young woman you’d grown into, and I was terrified that you weren’t going to survive and I’d never get to find out. This is going to sound terrible, but I was excited for the opportunity to spend some time with you without your mother around to poison you against me. When I took you in, I hoped it could be a
chance to start over.”
Some start we’d had.
“I would still like that,” my dad said quietly, “if you’ll give me a chance.”
At that moment his words hit me hard. I heard the plea in his voice and realized that the rocky relationship I had with my father was mostly my fault. I knew he was trying, but I wasn’t giving him a chance to get close to me. It was strange. I wanted him to love me, to want me and know me, but I’d never let him in.
“I’d like that too,” I admitted. “I’ll try to be better, but I think it’s going to take me time.”
Dad nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” I asked, unable to keep all of the antagonism out of my voice. “I’m so angry, Dad. And I’m hurt. You left me. I grew up without a father. When I came here and saw how happy you were with Jennifer and Juliette and Anastasia, it ripped me apart. They call you Dad while I feel like I should call you Mr. Coleman. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? I want to build a relationship with you, but I hate living in your home because I am so jealous of your family.”
Dr. Parish got up and walked the infamous Box of Tissues to me. I grabbed one and then took three more for good measure. I was about to snatch the entire box, but then Dr. Parish turned and held it out to my father and Jennifer.
I was shocked to see my dad’s eyes glistening. I’d never seen him cry before. “I’m sorry, Ella. I can’t help loving my family. When I met Jennifer—” His voice gave out and he took a minute to compose himself. “When I met Jennifer, I fell in love for the first time in my life. I hadn’t known what I was missing—how unhappy I really was—until Jennifer filled the hole in my heart.”
Jennifer blinked a few tears free from her eyes and squeezed my dad’s hand. I wanted to be mad at her. I wanted to hate her—to hate them both—but any idiot could see how in love they were. How could I begrudge them that? How could I not want my father to be happy? He didn’t deserve to be miserable for life any more than I did.
