At least his buddy was smart enough not to.
“She’s in Lovelock at her bachelorette party,” he said.
“And you’re keeping tabs on her?”
Walker laughed. “There are exactly three single men in Lovelock—none of them under the age of fifty. She’s with her mother, my sister, and my grandmother at the tiniest bar imaginable. I’m okay with this.”
Tyson nodded as he checked his watch. “Well, I think I’m going to head out.” He tossed enough money onto the table to cover the evening’s tab and offered a fist bump to Walker. “Congrats again. You got a good one.”
Walker shot him a look. “You had a good one too.”
Tyson just shook his head. “See you tomorrow morning at the gym. Make sure those two make it into a cab, okay?” he said, nodding toward the young fighters at the bar.
He couldn’t stay any longer, pretending to have a good time. His thoughts continually drifted to Parker and the night they’d been there together, when she’d come on to him and he’d refused her. He should have continued to refuse her—for both of their sakes.
On his way to the door, a pretty redhead touched his arm. “Hi, aren’t you Tyson Reed?”
He nodded.
“I’m a big fan,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger.
Obviously she hadn’t seen his last fight. “Thank you,” he mumbled, looking past her longingly at the door. So close.
“Do you want to grab a drink?” she asked, sliding out of the booth.
Her short skirt and knee-high boots were exactly the kind he used to take home, but tonight he shook his head. “Sorry. I was just leaving.”
“That’s cool,” she said with a shrug, grabbing her purse. “I was ready to go anyway.”
Shit. For once that wasn’t what he meant. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m leaving alone.”
She pouted. “Really?”
Really. He nodded.
“Fine, well, can I at least get your autograph?”
He wasn’t sure it was worth much anymore. “Sure.”
He waited as she opened her purse and retrieved a pen. Then almost predictably, she lowered the edge of her shirt, exposing a freckled breast. Once his former self would have kissed every inch of her into all hours of the morning. Now his body offered no reaction to the sight. Parker had somehow managed to break his heart and his dick.
Fantastic.
He hesitated, then ignoring her chest, he reached for a napkin on the table. He scribbled his name quickly and handed it to her.
She looked disgusted as she took it. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Have a good night,” he said quickly, once again dashing for the door.
This was just great. He couldn’t be with the woman he wanted, and now he didn’t want to be with anyone else.
At home an hour later, he turned on his television and flipped on his Netflix. He scanned the list of movies until he found the ones he was looking for.
When Parker’s face appeared on his flatscreen moments later, he leaned forward, not hearing the words she said, just mesmerized by her presence. Not seeing her the last few weeks was driving him mad. And if he had to watch and rewatch all of her old movies just to see her, that’s what he planned to do—pathetic and a perhaps a little psychotic—but he didn’t care.
He missed seeing her every day at the gym . . . in bed together at night. He missed the way she argued with him over everything he instructed her to do but did it anyway. He missed the laughter she brought to the otherwise intense, fierce environment of the gym. He missed the way she smelled, the way she felt . . .
Damn, he knew he never should have let her into his gym, into his life, or into his heart. Now, all three felt empty and the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that things may not ever feel the same without her made him feel desperate and alone.
He leaned back on the couch and rested his head against the cushions. She was gone and all he had were these movies to try to fill the void she’d left. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice . . . then the sound of the leading man saying, “Being with you is what makes this decision the right one. I didn’t know what it was to love—really love someone—until I met you.”
Wow, an actor’s words had never resonated with him before. But now, on screen some make-believe character in a make-believe world was saying everything he felt for real, for one very real woman.
Get better at pretending, she’d said when he’d claimed no real guy spoke this way. Well, he didn’t need to pretend. He just needed to somehow grow balls big enough to find a way to say it to her. To tell her not only what she wanted to hear, but what he wanted—needed—to say. To tell her his life had been empty without her. His days had been full and busy chasing a fleeting, cruel goal that didn’t matter in the end. That she’d changed things.
She’d changed him.
He needed to tell her he loved her and he was wrong. He was the right man for her. Because she sure as hell was the right woman for him.
The only woman for him.
Chapter 15
Tyson had been to LA a few times before, but only for fights. They’d never stayed longer than necessary to see the sights or visit the beach. He remembered asking his father once if they could go to Disneyland while they were there, but he’d said Disneyland was for kids. He’d been twelve and he’d known immediately his childhood ended in that moment. He couldn’t help but wonder how his father’s visit to Connor at the addiction center had gone. He hoped maybe they were all turning corners for the better.
That was his plan anyway as he sat in the back of the taxi driving down Sunset Boulevard.
When it stopped in front of the Chateau Marmont hotel, he paid the driver, grabbed his bag, and headed inside the magnificent building. Stepping inside the air-conditioned lobby he was surprised by the casual yet elegant atmosphere. Couches and crooked sconces and pictures of nudes decorated the space and everyone from agent-type suits to Hollywood moms catering to their impatient children lingered in the dimly lit area. The woman at the desk greeted him with a smile as he approached. “Hello, welcome to Chateau Marmont. Checking in?”
Her friendly welcome to the guy wearing a T-shirt and ripped jeans surprised him as well. He was sure he wasn’t their usual clientele who could afford five-hundred-dollars-plus a night. “Actually, I’m looking for one of your guests. Parker Hamilton?”
She gave him a blank stare.
“Parker Hamilton,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, sir, there’s no one staying here by that name.”
He frowned. This was the hotel she said she always stayed in. “Are you sure?”
She glanced away quickly then nodded. “There is no one by that name staying here, sir.”
His eyes narrowed, as he stared at her in confusion. Was this some sort of code or test he needed to figure out?
She waited.
Then it dawned. Didn’t big stars register under other names? He scanned his memory for her character’s name in the movie. It was worth a shot. “How about a Jessica Carlisle?” He couldn’t imagine not being able to use his own name to book a hotel room. Doubt over his being there started to creep into his chest as he surveyed the other people in the castle-shaped hotel. He didn’t belong in a place like this. He pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter.
The girl, whose name tag read Michelle, smiled. “Of course, sir. Let me call her for you.”
“Um, actually, can you just give me her room number?”
The attendant slowly put the phone down. “Unfortunately, I can’t give out that information. But if you want to wait in the restaurant, I can tell her there’s someone here to see her.”
The restaurant—a crowded place—not exactly ideal for what he’d come to tell her. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Great. I’ll call her room. Who may I say is here?”
He hesitated. “Tell her it’s her trainer.”
She nodded, as though that made sen
se and picked up the phone again. “The restaurant is just down the hall to the right.”
“Thank you.” As he made his way down the hallway, the urge to leave the hotel and go straight back to the airport nearly suffocated him. He hadn’t heard from her in weeks and he’d dialed six digits only to hang up about a million times, so why did he think being here now was a good idea? Showing up instead of calling or texting was . . .
The only way he could show her he was serious. That his feelings for her were stronger than any he’d ever experienced before and he couldn’t go another day without seeing her. Of course, once she was standing in front of him, he’d never be able to actually say any of that.
“Good morning, sir. Would you like a table inside or on the patio?” the hostess asked him as he entered.
He scanned the busy, noisy restaurant. “The patio would be great. I’m waiting for someone.” At least he hoped she would come down to see him.
“Of course. Follow me.” She led the way through the restaurant and as he watched her, he waited. Nothing. No reaction to the tight body and long blonde hair at all. Not even a dick twitch.
Yet, all he had to do was close his eyes and envision Parker, and every part of him responded.
“Here you are. What is the name of your other party?”
“Parker . . . Jessica Carlisle?”
The hostess smiled. “I’ll let Miss Hamilton know where you are,” she said before walking away.
Alone at the table, he took in the surroundings, not really seeing any of it. The palm trees and beautiful landscaping along the pool deck gave the place a tropical, relaxed feel, but he was anything but relaxed. His palms sweat and his mouth was dry. He took a gulp of the water on the table in front of him and spilled the liquid on his white dress shirt.
Great. He dabbed at it with a napkin, not noticing Parker coming toward the table a few moments later.
“Tyson?” The sound of her voice made him jump.
“Hi,” he said, pushing the chair back noisily and standing.
“What are you doing in LA?” Her face was void of any expression. He couldn’t tell if she was happy to see him or pissed off that he was there.
“I don’t know,” he said, feeling as though he was about to choke on his own tongue. He unbuttoned a button on his dress shirt, and pulled the fabric away from his body. Was it uncomfortably humid in LA or was it just him?
“Okay then.” Parker turned to leave.
He rushed forward and grabbed her hand. “Wait . . . that didn’t sound right.” He was no good at this. Confessing his feelings was something he’d never done before. He’d never had any to confess. And she deserved to hear how he felt, deserved an apology for his behavior. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
She folded her arms across her chest and waited.
He cleared his throat. Now or never. Just say something you moron. “I just . . . Well, I wanted to . . . The thing is . . .”
Parker’s hands fell to her sides and she shook her head in disbelief. “Jesus, Tyson, it shouldn’t be this hard.”
He touched her arms. “Yes, it should be. It should be so fucking hard that it takes every ounce of strength to board a plane and fly thousands of miles just to see the one person you can’t shake from your mind, no matter how hard you try, no matter how irritating this feeling in the pit of your stomach is. Even when you know this could end so badly . . .”
“Does this rambling get to a point? I need to be on set soon.”
She wasn’t going to make this easy. Why should she? He’d been a complete idiot. He didn’t deserve a second chance to make things right. He didn’t deserve her. He knew that. Hadn’t that been his reservation about getting involved all along? He stood staring into her dark eyes, looking for a trace of something he could grab hold of, but there was nothing but hurt. Reluctantly, he let his hands fall away from her. “I’m sorry . . . You’re right. I won’t keep you.”
A look of disappointment flashed in her eyes, but her face concealed anything else she might be feeling. “Sorry you came all this way for nothing,” she said, turning to leave.
Everything he never knew he wanted was just within reach and he was once again just going to let her walk away. “Parker . . .” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
He held her hand a fraction longer than was safe, then reluctantly released her. “Everything I can’t say.”
* * *
She should just throw it away . . .
Nothing in this letter could change the fact that Tyson Reed would never be the kind of man who fought for what mattered, for what he wanted—not in his personal life anyway. Perfect example—he’d flown all the way to LA for what? To hand her a note? What, were they twelve years old?
She balled the piece of paper and tossed it toward the trash. It missed.
But he had flown to LA.
She paced the empty makeup trailer on set, staring at the crumpled letter on the floor. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks. She was moving on. The movie was less than three weeks away from being finished and she had a stack of scripts waiting to be read, for parts in all kinds of films . . . She was back. Her career was back on track. Life was back to normal. Did she really want to complicate things by reading that letter? Over the last few weeks, she’d been successful in pushing Tyson to the back of her mind . . . where he stayed and refused to go away, Goddamn it. She sighed.
She’d been doing just fine without him. Some days she didn’t even think about him . . . except for every other minute.
Retrieving the paper, she unfolded it.
Her eyes scanned his messy handwriting as she read . . .
I hate leaving you, knowing I’ll miss you the moment I’m out the door.
Needing you and wanting you are two different things . . . I feel both and so much more.
I realize now that there is nothing else. Just this moment, just you, just me . . . just us.
Parker blinked back the tears burning her eyes. The long list of quotes from the leading men in her previous movie scenes filled the page. It was impossible to swallow the lump in her throat as she read them. He’d watched her movies . . . every single one.
Everything he can’t say . . .
She sat back in her chair as tears rolled down her cheeks. What the hell did she do now?
* * *
“So, you’ll be home for Christmas?” her grandmother asked on the phone an hour later.
Parker lifted her eyes to the ceiling as the makeup artist applied a black liner along her bottom lid, once she’d finally been successful in stopping her tears from falling. “Yes. We are filming through the weekend, hoping to wrap up early next week.”
Christmas was less than two weeks away. By the following week, filming would be done and she could take her grandmother anywhere in the world for the holidays. She certainly didn’t feel like spending them in Vegas.
In fact, she hadn’t told her grandmother yet, but she was thinking about selling the house in Vegas and moving back to LA. If the amount of scripts Ian had been receiving for her was any indication, she’d have more roles coming her way after this movie released and, well, she just didn’t want to be in Vegas.
“How is filming going?” her grandmother asked, the note of longing ever present in her voice when she asked about Parker’s work. She had accepted her forced retirement reluctantly. Parker suspected she would still audition for roles if she wouldn’t now be cast as secondary grandmother-type characters.
“Great. We’ve already filmed the fight and training scenes . . .” With a body double doing very little, she was pleased to announce. Brantley wanted them out of the way early, in case her lack of daily training meant muscle loss. He was right about that. A few weeks away from the gym, and already she could feel her muscles relaxing, the sharp definition disappearing with each day of no training.
She remembered Tyson’s offer to help her get her o
ld body back and her chest ached. That was one offer she knew she couldn’t accept. Not that she believed he would honor it. Besides, she liked her new body. She planned to continue working out on her own. Maybe not to the same extent, but just to keep her new shape. One Tyson had called beautiful, sexy . . .
As the makeup artist moved away to get her eye shadow, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was a different person now inside and out. And it was all because of him. She sighed.
“Everything okay dear?” her grandmother asked, genuine concern in her voice threatening to destroy Parker’s freshly applied makeup.
Do not cry. She’d done enough of that earlier that day after reading Tyson’s letter, and every day since arriving in LA. She had to pull it together and focus on the movie. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes, everything’s great. I can’t wait for you to see the movie.” She launched into detail about the scenes they were scheduled to film that day, but her grandmother interrupted.
“It’s losing its sparkle isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Tinsel Town. It isn’t shining so bright anymore for you, is it?”
She hesitated. This make-believe world still shined, she’d just discovered something that captured her heart more. “Of course it is, Grandma.” She loved her acting career as much now as she had twenty years ago. She loved the excitement, the chaos, the commitment to the role. Unfortunately, she was also falling in love with something else—someone who didn’t fit in her world, at least according to him.
“You know your grandfather wasn’t an actor.”
She blinked. No, actually, she didn’t. She knew almost nothing at all about the man since her grandmother refused to talk about him and he’d never been a part of her life or her mother’s. “He wasn’t?” she said slowly.
“He was the contractor that built my summer home. The year my first movie released in 1968 and I bought that run-down cottage in Lake Tahoe with the money I made from the film because I knew it would be a perfect place to bring a family someday . . .” She paused.
They’d never gone to the summer home her mother had told her about once when she was angry at her grandmother. As far as Parker knew, the summer place had been boarded up a long time ago. Yet, her grandmother refused to sell it.
Fighting the Fall Page 21
