Taking a break from the oversized waffle she was sharing with Ben, piled high with Reese’s Pieces, gooey fudge drizzle, and marshmallow fluff, Riley raised her fork to get everyone’s attention. “I want to say a few words about my girl, Pip.”
“Don’t you dare make me cry,” said Piper, taking a bite of her Cap’n Crunch waffle.
“I’ll never forget how we met. Four years ago, first day at Tisch—”
“Waiting in line in the NYU bookstore,” Piper interrupted, elbowing her best friend.
“Ahh, not quite! You were leaving the bookstore, yapping on your phone. Your face! It was bright red—”
“I was mid-argument,” explained Piper.
“You were stomping around in four-inch wedges and tripped over your own feet!” Riley laughed. “It was epic! NYU magnets, Swedish fish, and a bottle opener all went flying.”
“I remember that opener!” Casey, sitting across the table, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That’s how Pip and I met in the dorms. I had the wine and a massive hangover, she had the opener—and a cast on her foot.”
“And I thought I was clumsy.” Ben laughed.
“It wasn’t funny, Ben.” Piper leaned across Riley to playfully slap his arm. “It really hurt! I thought I had broken my ribs and wrist, too.”
Maggie winced.
“Pip was crying. She never cries,” said Riley. “She had scraped her hands up pretty good, too, and her phone got flattened by an open-top tour bus.”
Piper bumped Riley with her shoulder. “This one ended up late for class because she waited with me for the ambulance. I spotted the Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock pin on her backpack and that was it—friends for life.”
“I love how you met,” Maggie smiled.
“Fandoms rock!” Riley nodded.
“I only survived my first weeks at NYU with my cast and crutches because of Riley,” said Piper. “She carried my books and got me from class to class. Rain or shine, she was there for me, and when my cast came off, she still was—every day, for four years.”
Ben kissed Riley on the shoulder.
“She even waited outside Rockefeller Center in a blizzard to get me Cumberbatch’s autograph. Who does that, huh? Riley does! Actor crushes, boyfriends, and girlfriends may come and go, but Rye never failed me.” Tears glistened behind Piper’s false eyelashes. “I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I miss you already.” She sniffed. “Dammit! I wasn’t going to cry…”
“Oh, Pip.” Riley’s nose prickled with impending tears as she sank into Piper’s outstretched arms. “I’m so proud and excited for you! And this isn’t goodbye. A best friend like you is for life. I’m going to text and FaceTime you so much, you’ll be begging for a restraining order.”
“You better come visit.” Piper wiped her nose. “And when you’re ready to move to LA, I’ll be there, playing tour guide.”
Casey chuckled, cutting his churro waffle. “Are you going to do this all over again at the airport tonight?”
The girls laughed through their tearful hug. “Probably!”
Fifty-Seven
Two days later
“Hey, man! Welcome back!” Ben’s diner buddy slapped him on the back. “Oh, shit…did I hurt you?”
Fuck, yeah. Ben bit his lip. “No, I’m good. It’s been just over six weeks…goin’ a bit stir crazy, to be honest.”
“I’ll bet.” The server flicked through his notepad and looked over his shoulder at a table of seniors wearing Hamilton sweatshirts. “We’ve missed you…and we weren’t the only ones. All those school girls stopped coming when they realized you weren’t here.”
Yeah, that’s me, Mr. Popularity! Ben chuckled. “Well, I’m itching to come back. Is Stavros about?”
“Stavvy? Nah, he hit the road.”
“Ah, bollocks.” Ben sighed, stuffing his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “I’ll try him tomorrow, then—”
“No, he’s gone, dude, like, no-longer-here gone. Family stuff.”
Concern darkened Ben’s eyes. “Oh, shit. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. They moved upstate…beginning of October.” His co-worker pointed to a stocky guy with muscles for days flipping through paperwork at a far table. “Talk to Ethan. He’s taken Stavvy’s place.”
Ben broke into a smile. “Oh, cheers, mate.”
His friend nodded at a customer waving for his attention. “Great seein’ ya, Ben! Let’s grab a beer when you’re back.”
“Definitely!” Ben weaved past diners and servers, pausing several times to say hi to his co-workers. A few new faces slipped past with meals aloft, but such was working life in a restaurant. The revolving door of employees was always spinning.
With a big friendly smile, Ben caught Ethan’s eye. “Hello!”
“Hi. What can I do for you?” A confident grin brightened Ethan’s face.
“Ethan, I’m Ben Fagan.” He offered his hand to shake and the diner boss accepted. “I worked as a server for Stavros.”
“Okay.” Ethan released Ben’s hand and cocked his head, his eyes straying and coming back, keeping tabs on the restaurant.
“I’ve been on medical leave for six weeks and I’m ready to come back. I realize my day shifts have been given to someone else, no worries—”
“Day shifts?” Ethan blew out his cheeks. “Sorry, but I don’t know who you are and we don’t have any jobs open.”
Who is this joker? Ben smirked and leaned in. “Stavros was holding my job for me. He was renewing my visa and—”
“Nope, no, sorry.” Ethan shook his head, his eyes escaping down to his invoices. “I don’t know anything about your visa.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me… Ben narrowed his eyes. “What?” His heart began to hammer in his chest. “Stavros had all the paperwork…”
Ethan chewed his lip. “Visa renewals went in for the kitchen staff, but Stavros didn’t leave immigration forms for any servers. Things have been slow since summer, and we’re in the middle of a hiring freeze. I had to let two staff go last week.”
This is a mistake. Surely he can fix it? “Okay, but look—Ethan—I’m a total grafter. I can work double shifts with no notice, and I’m popular with customers. You can ask—”
Ethan held up his palms. “Listen, Ben, I get it. Stavros made you a promise, but it’s not my fault he didn’t tell me. He left in quite a hurry and I guess some things got lost in the transition. My hands are tied. I wish I could help, but…I’m sorry. Look, I’m sure you’ll find something. If you need a letter of recommendation, gimme a call.” He grinned tightly and returned to his invoices.
With no visa, I’m fucked. Ben gulped, a sick taste burning his throat. What am I gonna do?
Hunter scratched his bare chest. Even in his cramped courier office, he worked half-naked. “Ben-dude, you okay? You look like you ate some bad shrimp.”
I’m sweating like I’m in a sauna. “I’m in trouble, mate.” Ben sagged into a chair. “The diner didn’t hold my job—they didn’t renew my visa. The three weeks left on it are tied to that job in that restaurant. I can’t legally work here anymore.”
“Jesus, yeah. Lose the job, lose the visa—and hey, good luck finding another restaurant to hire you and file paperwork in time.”
“Cheers.” Ben exhaled, worry gnawing at his gut. “That really makes me feel better.”
“Sorry.” Hunter grimaced as he shifted a bike made from spare parts.
“What the hell am I going to tell Riley?”
“Hey, maybe she’ll marry ya!”
“Fuck, I wouldn’t marry me.” Ben frowned and picked the peeling paint on the wall. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m crazy about her, but I’m nowhere near ready to be a husband.”
Hunter tapped his fingers against his lips. “Hmm, there is a guy I know who might need bar staff. Would be legit, too. He got that same visa for some guys a few months back. I saw on Facebook he’s chillin’ in Miami, but I’ll call him this weekend when he’s back.”
Hunter’s impressive contact list saves the day again. “Ah, that would save me. Thanks, mate!” Ben’s smile gave way to a yawn, his stamina still not back to normal. “And I’d really like to get back on my bike, do some deliveries—is that cool? Some tax-free cash would be really helpful.”
“Job’s yours, you know that, but you sure you’re ready to ride?”
“Yeah, no problem!”
“But they cut your stomach muscles, man.” Hunter picked up a spare tire. “I’m no doctor, but I know a bit about abs. You need your core to cycle. If your muscles aren’t completely healed, you should probably wait—”
“No, I’m good. Never felt better! I can start tomorrow…if that works.”
“I could definitely use you, but I dunno…”
“Hunter, dude, I’m ready!” Ben looked around the small room. “Where’s my bike?”
“The new guy has it.” Hunter’s phone began to ring. He motioned to three bikes near the door. “Grab any of those tomorrow.”
“Brilliant!” Ben’s grin faded as Hunter answered his call. But what if the bar job doesn’t come through…?
Ben set plates down on Riley’s tiny counter. I’m not hungry, not after the day I’ve had. “How was therapy?”
“Good.” Riley filled a tortilla with romaine lettuce, chicken, and Caesar dressing. “We talked about Pip leaving and me living alone again, and we did another CBT exercise together.”
“Coping strategies…that cognitive behavior stuff works, eh?”
“Yeah, it takes practice. It’s not easy replacing negative thoughts with positive ones, but I’m really trying. I feel like I’m rewiring my brain—in a good way!”
“Well, I think you’re amazing—and brave. Asking for help is a huge step. I’m proud of you, Riles.” Ben leaned over, kissing her temple.
“Thanks.” Riley glanced over her shoulder. “Last night was so quiet without the chaos of Pip.” She pouted. “I miss her.”
“Have you spoken yet?”
“Yeah, she landed two hours ago. Her first stop was Kermit the Frog’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”
“She really does live and breathe puppets, doesn’t she?”
“Yup.” Riley rolled up the tortilla while Ben filled glasses with tap water.
“What about Erika? Still off the radar?”
“Seems so. I texted again, but I guess out of sight, out of mind. What’s that phrase? Fair-weather friend? We were great as teenagers when everything was gossip and crushes on boys, but things got real two years ago with Mom and that’s not her scene. The Josh stuff didn’t help either…” Riley sighed. “It’s still sad, losing a friend.”
Ben rubbed her back and left a kiss in her hair.
She changed the subject. “How’s Hunter? I bet he’s happy you’re back.”
In more ways than one. “Yep. I’m a dream roomie compared to the bloke who stayed while I was at your mom’s. Get this—the dude was a naked sleepwalker! Freaked Hunter right out, which is ironic considering…”
Riley laughed. “Is he okay holding your job a little longer?” She sliced through the homemade wrap and placed half on Ben’s plate.
Shit. I knew she wouldn’t forget what the doctor said Monday: start back slowly, no heavy lifting, try riding a bike in the gym first.
“Yep.” Ben picked up a bottle of malt vinegar and doused the opening of his wrap. “But starting tomorrow, he’s paying me to organize his paperwork, answer the phone for a bit.” He slipped her a quick smile. “So, don’t worry, I won’t lift anything heavy.”
Fifty-Eight
Jeez, this is tougher than I thought. I’m exhausted. Thighs burning and gasping for breath, Ben pumped the pedals on his bike, just making it across the intersection of West 54th Street and Seventh Avenue before the traffic light switched to red. He stuck to the relative safety of the bike lane, avoiding cars parked by the curb on his left and the mid-Friday gridlock of honking taxis on his right, heading east toward Sixth Avenue.
Three deliveries down, two to go, then lunch!
Passing a car rental place, an SUV pulled out behind him a little too close for comfort, almost clipping his back wheel. Ben kept pedaling, increasing speed and creating distance, but his body was no longer used to that type of exertion. His butt ached and his back cracked. A side stitch had been pinching for the past fifteen blocks, reminding him that it had only been a short six weeks since his surgery.
Get to Sixth then take a rest at the fountains. Just a few minutes with some water should do it.
He stood up on his pedals and dug in, puffs of his warm breath hitting the cool October air as he pushed himself, but the strain he felt in his core, back, and hips forced him back in the saddle.
Then it came out of nowhere.
Ben didn’t see it.
A passenger-side car door flew open from the curb into the bike lane.
He didn’t stand a chance.
Smashing into the car, Ben was thrown into his handlebars and over the vehicle’s door, his momentum sending his messenger bag soaring from his shoulder. It landed under the wheels of a passing truck. Ben followed, tumbling into a crumpled heap on the asphalt, the air in his lungs knocked free. His bike didn’t fare much better, bending into a crude right angle.
A screechy “OH MY GOD!” from the car’s open door echoed across the street.
“FUCK!” Ben’s abs and hands felt like they were on fire. “You fucking twat!” He glanced down. Blood and dirt streaked his hands and patches of skin had been shorn off his palms, but worst of all, his right wrist was bent funny. Oh Jesus, I’m gonna be sick.
“Oh, I’m soooo sorry!” A nasal accent sailed over the still-open passenger door, but the man and his wife, departing guests from the hotel overlooking the scene, kept their distance.
“You all right?” A doorman crouched by Ben’s side. His hotel co-worker was on his phone, calling 911. Several pedestrians lingered, cars slowed to rubberneck, and two cyclists swerved to pass the bicycle lane roadkill.
“Yeah, I…” Ben shifted to sit up. His back ached and the burn in his stomach flared, stealing his breath.
“Don’t move, buddy.” The doorman raised his hand, afraid to touch him but also wanting Ben to stay put. “You might have a concussion or something. Can you feel everything? Your legs, hands?”
That’s just the problem—I’m feeling everything way too much. He lifted his throbbing right arm, slowly. “Yeah, but something’s wrong with—”
“Your wrist looks broken,” said the doorman with a distasteful gulp. “Stay right there. Ambulance will be here soon.”
A siren screamed from the direction of Seventh Avenue. Competing from somewhere… the sidewalk, underneath a parked car… was the intro to “Take On Me”.
Shit, my phone…where is it? With one hand, Ben tugged off his helmet and dropped it on the ground. I need to call Riley. His eyes lingered over his clothes: torn jeans, ripped hoodie…his bracelet, missing. His heart stuttered and began to race. I have to get out of here.
“The police are here.” The concierge from the hotel appeared with a bottle of water and a towel just as Ben crawled to the curb.
Two NYPD officers strolled over. “Second case of dooring today.” The female police officer shook her head at her male partner. She flipped open her notebook and turned to Ben. “Can I have your name, please?”
Do we really have to? My life is scattered across the road and my wrist—fuck! Hugging his stomach, Ben rocked back and forth on the curb, his gaze frantically searching the pavement for his bracelet and now-silent phone. I feel dizzy…“Benjamin Fagan.” Sweat began to soak his t-shirt.
“Can you tell me what happened, Benjamin?”
Ben recounted what he remembered along with the doorman and a few tourists who saw the incident unfold. The reckless car door opener, hyperventilating and fretting over what he thought was an impending heart attack, sat in his car talking to his lawyer on the phone, and was the last to give h
is side of the accident.
After a twenty-minute wait, paramedics arrived and took Ben’s medical history, his liver donation sparking tons of new questions. They inspected his chest, ribs, and abdomen for injuries, his L-shaped surgical scar still pink. They cleaned cuts on his face, hands, and knees, and placed his broken wrist in a sling that would have to do until he could be transported to a hospital. When they were done, the female officer returned to his side, asking questions about his background and employment.
Ben pawed at his hair. Say as little as possible.
“You’re from England? How long have you been in the States?”
“Since February.”
“So, over ninety days. Do you have a visa?”
Shit. Not a visa that allows me to work as a bike courier. I can’t lie my way out of this one. “It’s an H-2B…I was acting in an indie film but found work in a restaurant and they renewed it.”
“So, you’re an actor and also a waiter?”
Ben nodded, his eyes spotting his broken leather bracelet lying in the bike lane. I need to get that!
The cop eyed a large envelope of legal documents and a flattened box poking out of Ben’s messenger bag in the road. “And a bike courier…?”
Pain seared through Ben’s stomach causing him to reply through gritted teeth. “No, just today. I’m helping a friend.” A sour taste rose in his throat. Ugh. I might throw up.
“Hey, Viv.” The cop’s partner called over from Ben’s broken bike. “Come ’ere.”
Until The Last Star Fades Page 35
