by Cora Kenborn
Growing up, my mom loved to quote cheesy lines that made us roll our eyes. As Shiloh sits in front of me, holding onto my wrist with tears rolling down her face, I finally understand one of her favorites.
If you love something let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was, and it’s not meant to be.
“You have to go,” I say, gently prying her hands off my arm.
Licking a tear off her lip, she squeezes my hand. “Come with me. I promise you’ll learn to love Hollywood.”
She’s grasping at straws, but I can’t be her safety net.
“You know I can’t do that. My life is here, and the boys need me.”
“Why is this so hard?” she sobs, covering her face. “I walked away from you. This shouldn’t be this hard.”
I lower her hands and make her look at me. Her eyes are red and swollen, and tears have streaked dark lines of mascara down her cheeks. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“This is who you were born to be, Shiloh. The difference is that now, you own the world. It doesn’t own you.”
“Will you forget about me?”
“How can I? You’re unforgettable.” Running my thumbs underneath her eyes, I catch two more falling tears. “No regrets, Starshine.”
I’m not sure who moves first, but all I know is our lips are pressed together and I’m kissing her. There’s no frenzied rush to possess her. This time I’m taking my time, memorizing the way her lips move and the unforgettable taste of rain and sunshine.
Scooping her up, I hold her tightly against my chest and carry her to my bedroom. She closes her eyes and tangles her fingers in my hair, kissing me back just as slowly.
I guess she’s creating her own memories too.
Forty-Two
Shiloh
“Stop the car!” I scream.
Malcolm glances in the rearview mirror, his eyes no longer full of the compassion they held as he dragged my suitcases down two flights of stairs this morning. “Miss West, we’re already late for the airport because you’ve made me take every exit and side street in town so you could ‘soak it all in,’ as you call it. I can’t stop a limousine in the middle of the street.”
I don’t have time for this shit.
“Stop the car, or I’m jumping out of it.”
Malcolm determines I’m either serious or psychotic, because he makes a hard right and slams the car into the curb. I don’t even wait for the wheels to stop rolling before I throw open my door and tumble out onto the cracked sidewalk.
“Damn it,” I mutter, pushing off the concrete and sprinting back down the road where I’d seen her.
As I get close, I slow my pace, fighting to catch my breath. She’s squatting near the left rear of her car, staring at the blown tire like it’s an unsolvable word problem.
If Susie has twelve apples, and Bobby has four apples, how many pies can Susie make if she steals seven bananas and frames Bobby’s girlfriend for fruit smuggling?
Answer: none. Because Susie’s ass is rotting in jail.
She doesn’t notice I’m behind her, so I lean over her shoulder and survey the damage. “Now that’s a damn shame. I don’t suppose you have AAA?”
Letting out a startled scream, Taryn’s feet fly out from under her and she lands flat on her ass. “Fuck you, Shiloh.”
“I see Daddy put up the money for your bail,” I say, kicking the tire. “When’s the trial?”
“Go to hell.”
“No thanks. Already been there. Bad food, and the humidity frizzes my hair.”
Taryn snarls—literally snarls like a dog—and climbs to her feet. “Don’t you have anything better to do than ruin people’s lives?”
I narrow my eyes. How easy would it be to kick her feet out from under her and send her sprawling onto her ass again? Maybe I could get Malcolm to accidentally run over her a few dozen times. It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it.
However, I’ve turned over a new leaf, so I suppress my homicidal urges and shrug one shoulder. “Nope. This is pretty much it.”
“We were perfectly happy before you came back to town and opened your legs.” She stands, and smirks right in my face. “How many times did you offer your pussy to him before he finally caved? Is that your thing, Shiloh? You can’t get your own man so you have to fuck everyone else’s?”
All the insults. All the times she flaunted Cary in front of me. All the time I spent locked in a dark closet. All the time I spent lying on a paper-thin cot in a jail cell for a crime I didn’t commit. All that rage travels down my arm and settles into my clenched hand.
Pulling back my arm, I land a punch to the side of her face so hard that her head snaps back and she tumbles her ass hard against the asphalt.
Just like I wanted to do in the first damn place.
I said I turned over a new leaf. I didn’t say it was from a different tree.
“You stupid bitch!” she screams, sitting up and wiping the blood from her mouth. “I can have you arrested for assault.”
I shake my hand, trying to get some feeling back into it. “Look around,” I say, gesturing around us. “Nobody’s here, and even if they were, do you think anyone would stick up for you?”
She starts to answer when Malcolm appears beside me. He takes one look at Taryn sprawled out like designer roadkill and shakes his head. “Miss West, you’re going to miss your flight.”
I give him a curt nod and start to follow behind him when a green street sign catches my eye. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it when we pulled up. I read the words again, and the corners of my mouth lift up as I see two familiar outlines in the distance.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Taryn hisses.
“You broke down on Alvarez Street.”
“So? Did you sleep with someone else’s boyfriend here too?”
I look up at the sign again, my smile widening. “No. I’ve just met a few people around here. That’s all.”
Turning my back to her, I walk toward Malcolm as he waits beside my open car door. At the last minute, I glance over my shoulder and wink at her.
“Tell Mo and Kong I said hi.”
Forty-Three
Shiloh
The last time I stepped off an airplane into a crowded terminal, it was with a federal escort who maneuvered me around a savage mob of paparazzi. Now, I’m still with an escort, but I walk unnoticed through the hurried throngs of people in LAX rushing to catch their departing flights.
See, that’s the thing about Los Angeles. People here don’t get star struck. Celebrity sightings are as much of a normal occurrence as morning coffee or traffic jams on the 405. No one cares Shiloh West is weaving her way amongst them. To them, I’m just one in a crowd of a million.
Funny. I remember someone always telling me I was always one in million.
By the time I make my way to baggage claim and haul my suitcases off the luggage carousel, I’m beyond exhausted and ready to collapse. The escort is long gone, so I pull my phone from my purse, I’m just about to call Dan Goldberg when a high-pitched squeal shatters my eardrums.
“Dollface!”
I glance up just in time as a tornado in diamonds and Gucci plows through a wall of travelers while two pissed off bodyguards chase after her. Lena leaps into my arms like some kind of glamorous kangaroo and wraps her arms around my neck until I can’t breathe.
“Holy shit, how long have you been gone? A fucking year?”
In between gasping for air, I laugh. God, I’ve missed her.
“Close,” I say, hugging her back. “Two months.”
“Bullshit. It’s been at least eight.”
“Let’s go with five and split it down the middle.”
“Deal.” Leaning away from me, Lena tilts her head, circling a long fingernail in front of my face. “What’s this, honey? What’s going on here?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve had dick—and lots of it.” The look on her face i
s smug, but with the glee of a proud parent.
I stare at her in awe. “How the hell do you do that? Do you have some kind of sexual sixth sense?”
Tossing me a knowing wink, she nods to one of her abnormally large body guards then toward my bags. While her guards gather my belongings, she hooks her arm through mine and leads me through the airport exit toward a waiting limo parked by the curb.
As the glass doors open, the dry California heat blasts me in the face, and I can’t help but notice the lack of humidity. Not a bead of sweat coats my lip, and the back of my shirt isn’t immediately soaked with sticky perspiration.
“Welcome home,” she says, squeezing my arm.
“Yeah,” I whisper, forcing a smile. “Home.”
* * *
I changed outfits four times this morning before leaving the penthouse. Now, with two hours to kill before meeting with the Optimum Agency execs, I make a split-second decision. Giving Lena’s driver the address of an old friend, I close my eyes and wait for a visit ten months overdue.
“We’re here, Miss West.”
Opening my eyes, I take in the curved brick partition and simple black sign that invites us to her home.
Pierce Brothers Valhalla Memorial Park
Multicolored flowers are planted all along the length of the bricks. Just the sight of them makes me smile. They’re roses.
“Stop the car,” I choke out as the brick wall passes by my window.
“Ma’am?”
“Just stop the car.”
My knees wobble as I stumble out and kneel over the flowerbed. It’s probably in poor taste and illegal as hell to do this, but I can’t stop myself. Leaning down, I pick a yellow one from the very back. It’s small and perfect. Just like her.
Since the entrance to the cemetery is on the west end, we have to circle around to almost the complete opposite site of the property before we find the spot. My stomach knots as he pulls to the side of the road and parks the car.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“No,” I say, rolling the stem of the rose around between my fingers. “I need to do this alone.”
Slamming the car door, I weave my way through the plaques until I find the one I’m looking for. The moment I see her first name, something crushes through the wall of my chest and squeezes my heart until it bleeds. Falling to my knees, I slowly trace the letters of her name, swirling the D at the end of her name just like she used to do when she’d sign autographs.
“Hey, Kirk.” I’m not sure why I’m whispering, but it seems appropriate. “Long time no speak. I’d say you’re probably wondering why it’s taken me this long to visit you, but since you’re up there seeing everything, I guess you already know.”
A young couple walks by hand in hand, and I pause our conversation, pressing my lips against my knee until they pass. Once we’re alone again, I take a deep breath and continue.
“I’ve never apologized to you for putting you in danger that night. I guess none of that matters now. I can’t change the past. All I can do is change me, but I’m also making sure the world never forgets you. I’m in the process of creating a scholarship in your name at your old high school in Chicago. Now you’ll have two legacies that will live forever.”
I glance down at my clenched fist and realize the once perfectly shaped rose is now wilted under the constant stream of my tears. Sighing, I place it under her name. “I brought you something. It’s yellow…your favorite. Don’t tell anyone, but I lifted it from the flowerbed at the entrance of the park.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Kirkland laugh, and I smile. “Don’t even act like you’re shocked.”
My pocket chimes and, pulling out my phone, I note the time and sigh. “I have to go, Kirk. I have a big meeting and a lot of decisions to make, but I promise I’ll be back.” Climbing to my feet, I blow her a kiss before making my way back to the car.
* * *
My knees are bouncing in the backseat of the limo as I stare up the enormous glass building, and the small lump in my throat triples in size. I lock eyes with Lena’s driver in the rearview mirror and he starts to say something just as my phone chimes with an incoming text. I dig through my purse and my heart seizes when I see who it’s from.
CARY: You’re sitting in the surgeon’s parking lot, aren’t you?
I have no idea what to say, so I type back one word.
ME: No.
CARY: Shiloh…
Unnerved, I shift in my seat, glancing around the parking lot for a taxi with familiar, unruly dark hair sticking out the back window. Finding nothing, I quickly type my response.
ME: How could you possibly know that?
I wait, but he doesn’t answer. I’m about to drop my phone back in my purse when the text alert chimes again. This time, it’s not a text. All he’s sent is a link. My first instinct is to ignore it, but I can’t. My thumb is pressing on the URL before I can stop myself.
I’m immediately taken to a YouTube channel and the video for Alessia Cara’s Scars To Your Beautiful pops up. The phone tightens in my hand as women of all shapes, colors, and imperfections flash in between Cara’s soulful lyrics.
I don’t know I’m crying until tears hit my screen, splattering the faces on the video and rolling off the side of my phone.
Damn him for doing this to me right now. I’m right here. I’ve met with the agency execs. I’ve got the paperwork sitting right beside me, ready for my signature. All that’s left is for me to walk in for my consultation and schedule the procedure that will put me back on top.
Everything I’ve ever wanted will be mine again.
Damn him.
Throwing my phone in the floorboard of the limo, I step outside and slam the door to the past as the haunting melody of the song still plays behind the tinted window.
Forty-Four
Cary
Half an hour after closing the center for the night, Frankie throws a right hook that, thankfully, I’m able to block at the last minute.
“Still haven’t learned how to swing, have you, junior?” I smirk, knowing the nickname still gets under his skin.
“Still haven’t learned not to talk shit, huh, Carrick?” he shoots back, not even bothering to protect his face.
My focus is shit, and I’m pissed. I should’ve seen that hook coming a mile away. He never should’ve gotten that close to hitting me. Hell, Frankie should’ve been flat on his ass ten minutes ago.
Planting my feet, I mutter a curse and rip the tape off my hands. It’s not just today. I haven’t been able to focus for two weeks. Everything reminds me of her and it’s slowly driving me out of my mind.
“I’m done,” I announce, climbing through the ropes and dropping onto the floor.
Frankie stands motionless in the middle of the ring, a look on his face that’s a cross between irritation and pity. “Stop being such a pussy.”
“Watch it, junior,” I warn, gritting my teeth. “I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“Oh, I’m not jokin’. I’ve always looked up to you, man, but I don’t know this asshole in front of me.” He rips off the tape on his own hands, never breaking his hard stare. “Whoever he is, he’s not Cary Kincaid. He’s not my boss.”
“What the hell was I supposed to do, Frankie? Jesus, even after I promised myself I’d stop trying, I still texted her that stupid-ass song.” Tossing the discarded tape into the trash, I stare down at my pale hands, watching as the blood flow returns to my skin. “She still threw me away.”
“Are you that stupid? She wanted you to make her stay.”
I wanted to make her stay. I wanted to chain her to my bed and keep her locked away forever. But you can’t chain what you never had. She’s like a hummingbird, darting in and out of my life. Hummingbirds are beautiful to look at. But you know what happens when you cage one? It fucking dies.
“Lock up when you leave,” I say, never looking back as I turn toward the locker room, another place that’s become my person
al hell. “It doesn’t matter what she wanted. Or what I wanted for that matter. It’s too late for both of us.”
* * *
The water’s not hot enough.
My skin is on fire, and the water falling from above my head is scalding my flesh, but it’s still not hot enough. With a complete disregard for my own skin, I crank that motherfucker a full rotation, causing the pipes to scream like a dying man.
No sympathy here, asshole. The feeling’s mutual.
A cloud of thick steam envelopes me—so heavy that I have to inhale in short breaths or risk choking to death. Hell, maybe I should just suck it in, hold my breath and get it over with.
Frankie’s right. This pussy I’ve become isn’t Cary Kincaid. He’s Carrick Kincaid. I don’t know how she did it, but Shiloh grabbed a hold of time, gave it a good spin, and fucking dropped me right back into 2010. I’ve become the same mopey, sad-ass loser whose life revolved around a woman he can never have.
Draping my wrists over the shower head handle, I duck my head under the spray and groan. “What the hell am I gonna do now?”
“Well, for starters, you’re going to stop standing in my spot.”
Every muscle in my back tenses, and I almost convince myself I’m hallucinating. Still gripping the handle, a sadistic need to prove myself wrong forces my chin over my shoulder. Suddenly, the steam is no longer the reason I can’t breathe.
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed the ocean,” she says, her voice low.
“You live thirteen miles from Venice Beach.”
“Are we really going to do this right now?”
I turn completely around, and Shiloh steps forward, the steam thinning as she approaches, allowing me to set my eyes on her for the first time in two weeks. Gone are the simple white shorts and tank tops she’d grown accustomed to while she worked for me. Her face is made, her hair is curled, and a tight purple dress hugs her body in all the right places.
