by Taylor Hart
She pulled out her phone and clicked on a picture of a woman in a black and white photo, wearing some kind of prom dress, on the arm of a man.
He leaned over to get a better look, guessing it was her grandmother.
She sighed. “That’s Nana’s prom picture.” Her voice quieted and she zoomed the photo in, inspecting it. “She was so beautiful.” Her voice was melancholy.
He turned to her and studied her face, noticing the shimmer in her eyes.
“Are those butterflies on the dress?”
She let out a light laugh “Nana loved them. She’d loved them her whole life. Her logo for the ranch has butterflies on it.”
“She was beautiful like you.”
She glared at him and put the picture away. “Look, I’m not one of your Hollywood types, you don’t have to say things like that.”
He hesitated, clearly the manic girl was back.
“I mean it,” she said angrily.
“Oh, you mean the truth?” He said back a bit testily. He knew he was flirting and he liked it.
She waved him off. “Whatever.”
The view was breath taking. He liked sitting up here and he liked the fact he could see practically the whole valley. The warm, desert air felt absolutely amazing. When he’d gotten to this town this morning, it’d been sweltering heat. Currently, it had cooled off to a perfect temperature. “Dang, it’s nice up here,” he said.
“Even impressive enough for you?” she questioned.
He turned to see her shimmering eyes.
For a moment, neither of them spoke because he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what this woman needed. Didn’t know if he could help her at all. She had him completely off balance. Beauty, brashness, she had a wildness about her. Sure, grief did those things to people, but there was more to her. He could feel it. “It’s impressive,” he said, not really meaning the view.
She grinned at him. “As good as Paris?”
Sucking in a breath, he looked out, thinking of standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower. “Different, but good.” He took a chance. “Do you really want to go to Paris?”
She grinned and it was brilliant. “Of course, I want to do Paris. Only I want to do the cliché Paris, in Springtime. That’s what I’ll do one day."
Unexpectedly, an image of both of them in Paris appeared in his mind, with her doing one of those cheesy selfie poses next to the Seine River. “After you finish Julliard?”
She glowered at him. “Do you really want to get in a fight?”
He put up his hands, not realizing it was a hot point. “Why is it a fight?”
She exhaled. “Because Nana was paying for Julliard.”
He got it. “And Nana’s gone now.”
She nodded. “It sounds so messy when it’s just about money, because with Nana, it wasn’t about money.”
Once again he wondered if she would cry. “School might not be an option now.”
For a moment, he didn’t know what to do, but he wanted to connect with her. Wanted to show her he understood what it was like to lose someone. "I may not understand your pain, but I lost my best friend on my second tour in Afghanistan.”
Jerking to look at him, she asked. “You served?”
He nodded.
She shook her head slowly. "I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Truthfully, I don’t know much about you.”
He didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. “I guess that’s ok.”
She let out a light laugh. “Oh, it’s okay you’re not the center of my universe? Well, that’s good.”
Once again, this woman was keeping him off kilter. He let out a joyless laugh. He guessed he did sound annoying.
She sighed. “Well, finish telling me. You can’t just start something like that and not tell me.”
Of course she would want to know. Why was he talking about something he hadn’t told anyone? He continued. “Troy and I were clearing a building together and he got hit. I dragged him back to base, but he died in my arms.” He shivered, thinking about it. Truthfully, he’d had nightmares about it way too much.
She turned to him. “You tried to save him.”
It unsettled him, the raw way she said it.
He shrugged. “I didn’t.”
She put her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
This connection was the last thing he’d expected. This actually felt real. He thought of all the conversations he’d had with women lately that had felt more like a movie script than real life.
She pulled her hand back. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“What?” he asked.
She pointed at him. "There was a look on your face. A look like it wasn’t a cover up.”
“Cover up?”
She let out a breath. “You’re an actor. I am a dancer. I had a teacher who told us to put on a ‘jacket’ of the best dancer we could when we performed. So I guess I found it helpful to go into a character. To put on the best dancer I could think of. It made me think, how easy it would be for actors to always ‘wear a jacket.’”
“Hmmph.” He hadn’t thought of it like that, but she was right.
“So what were you thinking when your jacket slipped?"
He didn’t know how to explain, but he wanted to try. He actually liked sitting up here above St. George, in the middle of the night. Everything felt a bit fuzzy, yet perfectly clear. “I guess, I was thinking how I hadn’t had real conversations with women for a long time.”
She scoffed. “Not when you’re offering to buy them plane tickets.” She tsked her tongue. “Why would you do that?”
He felt like an idiot. Which was funny. Most of the time buying stuff for people worked like a charm. “I don’t know.”
“Because you’re typecast,” she offered.
“What?”
“In your role. As the bad boy that comes in and tears it up. The anti-hero. The jerk. You’ve taken it on.”
He blinked and tried to just live in the now. It was what his therapist said. “Okay, getting deep.”
“Or I guess you’re a typecast of just the hero too.”
He frowned.
“I’m not saying that I’m not typecast, too,” she said unexpectedly. "I think I’ve typecast myself with the bad boyfriend.” She let out a derisive laugh. “I’ve been with Spence a year. He came here and met Nana last Christmas and hated everything about Southern Utah. Hated everything about the ranch. Currently, he says he’s helping people in Africa build catfish ponds and he can’t come home….man, I’m rambling and pathetic,” she snapped. “I guess I’m that character in the movie. The pathetic one.”
This was interesting. Was she trying to be self-reflective? Because he sensed this wasn’t the time to press her about the bad boyfriend. Even though he wanted to. How he wanted to. “I’m sorry, again, about your Nana,” he said softly, not knowing what to say. “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
For a moment, her face was completely still, then she turned back to him. “Thanks.”
Again, he liked that this whole thing felt real.
Letting out a long breath, Kira leaned back on her hands. “Nana, she was a dreamer. She…” Then her face turned into one big smile. So bright and brilliant and beautiful, he wished he could bottle it and keep it when he needed a shot of pure delight. “The past couple of years I’ve been a bit lost.” She let out a light laugh. “Nana thought Spence was part of that lost part of me.” She shrugged. “She didn’t like him.”
He found this even more interesting but he didn’t want to push it.
“Nana was always so grounded. She always told me to trust in God.”
His heart pounded inside his chest. Lately, when he was honest with himself he was looking for something to hold to. “Is that the answer?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. My boyfriend doesn’t think it is.”
“Oh.” He’d been trying not to recall that small detail. “The boyfriend in Africa.”
S
he grunted and didn’t seem happy. She waved a hand into the air. “Nana believed in truth outside of anything. That’s how she proved the existence of God.” she said and waved another hand, “All of this, the Earth, the air, the stars, the sun exist outside of anyone’s belief.” Her voice sounded dreamy. “I guess I believe it, too.”
He turned to her and saw a tear running down her cheek.
Her simple faith touched him.
She turned to him. “Do you believe in God, after what you've seen in war?”
He hesitated. Wow, it had gone deep.
“You don’t have to answer.”
He found himself wanting to answer. “Sometimes I would tell myself there was a reason for it all, but if there was a reason, then why was there so much evil in the world?” It honestly just made me angry. Dang, he was telling this woman everything. He put a hand up. “Not to squelch what your Nana said.”
She shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Spence told me this morning, before the funeral when I was bawling my eyes out on the phone to him, that if we are really existentialists then there is no death, and nothing to be upset about.”
Instantly, B.C. wanted to sucker punch what he imagined would be the smug, fictional boyfriend. Well, fictional in his mind, boyfriend’s head off. “Spence’s an idiot.”
She let out a light laugh. “That’s what Kevin says.” She pointed toward the east. “Over there, that’s Zion National Park. She would take us to Zions hiking. I don’t know if you’ve been to Zions.”
The moonlight painted the landscape in silvers and shadows that he’d never seen before, but all he could think about was how much he hated this girl’s boyfriend. “No, but it sounds nice.”
“When the people settled this part of Utah, the Native Americans were here and they had all these legends about Zion.” She smiled. “Nana would take us on these hikes and teach us about the flowers and the botany. I swear, my grandmother had an herb for everything. She wasn't into New Agey stuff, she was legit; love the land, love the flowers and herbs, they love you back.”
She shook her head and he saw a tear wash down her face. “My parents were.... Well, my dad passed away. My mother ran off to Hollywood and never came back. My Nana was everything.” She put her hand into a fist. “I’m rambling. Sorry.”
“No.” He didn’t think she was rambling. “I like talking with you.”
For a few moments both of them were quiet.
She was looking out at the city. “Nana loved it here, but she pushed me to use my talent to go to Julliard and perform.”
“She sounds pretty amazing.”
She shook her head. “She was. Now it’s too late. I have to get home.” She turned on her stomach and started sliding off the boulder.
He didn’t want this ride to be over yet. “Wait, don’t go.”
She was already well on her way down. “If you’re going to see me home, you better pick up the pace.”
So he did what she said. He got off the boulder and went after her. Dang, she was fast in those heels.
He caught up to her and found himself walking down the switchback path.
Now that she didn’t seem as out of her mind, she was more determined.
He had to walk faster to catch her. “Are you okay?”
She grunted. “I’m fine. Probably better than you.” She turned her searing attention on him but kept hiking. “Why are you in St. George again?"
It was funny to him how many answers his publicist had prepped for him. Looking at property, searching for a vacation home, here to take in the sights. Nothing but the truth would do. “Drug rehab,” he offered plainly.
She immediately stopped.
Ramming right into her, he tried to stop the force of the hit and switched in front of her, holding on to her, so she didn’t fall over.
They twisted down the path a ways, but it was like dancing again. He braced them before they stumbled, glad he was so athletic and she was so graceful.
She’d held his arms as he’d taken her by the waist and braced both of them. When they stopped, they were both breathing hard.
They both burst out laughing.
It felt amazing.
“You’re pretty good on your feet,” she admitted.
The words didn’t have the angst behind them any longer.
He knew that this would be a great scene in a movie. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, he leaned down and gently brushed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a needy kiss, or a gentle kiss, but more like a kiss of truth. He felt something he’d never felt. It was over too quickly when she shoved him hard in the chest.
She put her hand to her mouth and blinked. “What was that?”
He was honestly flabbergasted. “I’m sorry.”
For a moment, she looked completely confused. “I don't even know you!”
How did he feel like he knew her? “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She was already hiking down the mountain again. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Who’s a jerk,” he added.
She glared at him. “Shut up!”
All of these feelings were buzzing inside of him. “I’m sorry," he mumbled for the third time, even though he wasn’t.
She yanked out her phone as they got to the little dirt road and he saw her ping an Uber.
They waited.
Now, instead of feeling the peace he’d felt earlier as they stared down at the lit up city of St. George, he felt like he’d just blown what could have been the best thing in his life.
She turned and glared at him. “You don’t get to kiss people you don’t know. I don’t know who you are."
A black sedan pulled up. He reached out and opened the door for her.
She gave him another glare, then got in.
He rushed around, getting in the other side, thinking this night had taken a whole different path than he ever could have imagined.
She gave the guy directions to the dance club.
“No, I told your cousin I would see you home." He protested.
She ignored him and the sedan wound back through town.
When they arrived at the club, she shook her head and looked like the air had all been deflated out of her. “Please. Just get out. I…” she turned away. “On top of everything else in my life, now I have to explain to my boyfriend why I just kissed a movie star.”
Chapter 3
About forty minutes outside of St. George, B.C. walked into the posh spa-like place he’d been ordered to go to for rehab and cringed.
The smell of sage assaulted him. Crap. It was one of those New Agey places that were all the rage in Hollywood. The kind he could pretend to fit in with. The producer in his last movie had made them all do yoga in the morning and drink some green drink. He liked to be healthy, but to him it was pushing it a bit too far drinking kale.
Bleck. He couldn’t stand kale.
“Right this way, Mr. Knight,” said the orderly who had met him at the door while someone else valet parked him.
Today was the last possible day for him to check in. He’d agreed to thirty days. Well, the court had allowed him to make a deal in exchange for prison time for his DUI, so he supposed he should be grateful. At least that’s what his agent had told him.
His mind flashed to the dance club last night. To Kira.
Darkness had flooded him again as he’d gone back to his hotel. His security guys had chewed him out when he got out of the Uber at the hotel. He had commitments; he couldn’t be gallivanting all over. He had a career, a house to pay for, for his mother who he’d committed to. He had a life everyone dreamed of.
He’d taken another pill at that point.
Even though he was court ordered to this place, the fact was, he did feel guilty about driving under the influence. He did, after all, hit a car and that driver had been hurt. Nothing more than a little whiplash, but it could have been worse. His attorney had settled with the woman for a cool million and kept it out of the press, but how long would he b
e out of the press?
To him, the point was that he’d hurt someone because of his addiction. He’d told himself he wouldn’t be his mother, yet here he was.
He looked around. The place was nothing short of a resort. Huge, arched ceiling. Log-cabin style but not a log cabin. Reddish and white, like the brick-colored red rock around St. George he’d noted on the way into town. This place was supposed to be a secret rehab for the rich and famous. His agent told him all the stars came here when they went through something. The staff was excellent, the food delicious, and he’d be ‘well taken care of’. Problem was, he surmised, as he looked around and resisted the urge to spit on the floor just to muck it up a bit, he didn’t want to be pampered and taken care of.
He wanted pain.
Misery. To be left alone in his dark thoughts.
His thoughts had surprisingly been hijacked last night by the ethereal, beautiful, blonde women who looked straight out of the Great Gatsby movie.
That kiss. Dang. Even in his small high, which wasn’t much compared to what he could have done with more pills and alcohol, he remembered that kiss. All night he’d been thinking about her. Dreaming about her. When he woke this morning he thought of the fact, if he were a producer, he would type cast her as a spy.
She was tricky.
Yes, if he were to cast that woman, she would make a fantastic spy, running around in her high heels and black dress and vibrant green eyes. That fragrant blonde hair.
His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, seeing it was Jake, his agent.
“Hey.”
“Are you there?” Jake asked.
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
Jake sighed. “Actually, after your little stunt last night when you ditched Tom and Harry, I think you proved I do have to babysit you.”
B.C. opted for silence. He told himself yet again, this was his fault. His hand twitched to get the little pill in his pocket.
Jake continued. “B.C., you need to get through the next thirty days and get signed off or whatever and be back for the premiere. If you’re at the premiere, I have it on good authority, the producer of the new war movie, that true story about World War II, wants you.”
