by Penny Wylder
For Us
The Girl I Loved
Penny Wylder
Copyright © 2019 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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Contents
Books By Penny Wylder
1. Amber
2. Amber
3. Peter
4. Peter
5. Amber
6. Amber
7. Peter
8. Peter
9. Amber
10. Peter
11. Peter
12. Amber
13. Peter
14. Peter
15. Amber
16. Amber
17. Peter
18. Amber
19. Peter
20. Amber
21. Peter
Epilogue
Books By Penny Wylder
Books By Penny Wylder
Filthy Boss
Her Dad’s Friend
Rockstars F#*k Harder
The Virgin Intern
Her Dirty Professor
The Pool Boy
Get Me Off
Caught Together
Selling Out to the Billionaire
Falling for the Babysitter
Lip Service
Full Service
Expert Service
The Billionaire’s Virgin
The Billionaire’s Secret Babies
Her Best Friend’s Dad
Own Me
The Billionaire’s Gamble
Seven Days With Her Boss
Virgin in the Middle
The Virgin Promise
First and Last
Tease
Spread
Bang
Second Chance Stepbrother
Dirty Promise
Sext
Quickie
Bed Shaker
Deep in You
The Billionaire’s Toy
Buying the Bride
Dating My Friend’s Daughter
Big Man
Trapped with My Teacher
My 5 Bosses
Good Girls Say Yes
His Big Offer
Dangerous Love
The Roommate’s Baby
Perfect Boss
Cowboy Husband
Knocked Up By Her Brother’s Enemy
Flirt
Lust
Claim
The Wife Arrangement
Big Mountain
The Baby Maker’s Club
Prom King
The Single Dad Arrangement
Getting Her Back
Hate to Lose You
Drink Me Up
1
Amber
Past
I watch the trees flying by outside the car, the fingers of my left hand pressed against the skin of my left wrist. My heartbeat is there. Steady, constant, alive. I push against the sudden wave of anger that's in my chest. The only thing that's good about it is that it speeds up my heart rate, but otherwise, this anger is exhausting. I feel like I've been angry for as long as I can remember, and it's just not fair.
I'm not angry at being alive. Of course I'm not. But everything about this sucks. It fucking sucks. The last year of surgery and recovery feels like a waste of time. Not just a waste, but stolen time. I had so many plans, I was so close to realizing those plans and enjoying my success, and instead, it’s been drug cocktails and car rides to and from doctors’ offices. And every step of this reminds me of Peter. Peter who stabbed me in the back and saved my life. And even though he saved my life, I still hate him. Because I have nothing now. I'm going to all these interviews without a portfolio. No show. No proof of my talent except the plans I had.
Anyone can plan something. It only matters if you follow through.
"You okay, honey?" my mom asks.
I don't take my eyes off the road. "I'm fine."
She sighs, but I pretend not to notice. I guess I've been saying that a lot lately. We both know I'm not. And even though it's their fault that I have to stay on the east coast I'm not mad at them. They're just trying to take care of me and keep me alive. So it makes sense that they want me to be within driving distance of home.
It's not lost on me that I'm lucky enough to be within driving distance of New York City, but my heart is in Los Angeles. That's where people in film go for their start, and I'm not there. I'm here. In a car. With my mom. On my way to the city for an interview at NYU.
This is so stupid. Any other person going to interview at NYU would be fucking ecstatic. This is a dream for so many people, but I'm pissed because I'm interviewing in the wrong city.
We crest a hill, and I can see the city skyline. That’s something that New York has going for it, the skyline will always be more beautiful than Los Angeles’s. Too bad skylines don’t mean shit when it comes to film school. I wonder what Peter would say to that.
I shut down that thought as soon as it appears. Peter isn’t here. He’s not going to be here, even though we talked about going to the same city, working it out. We both destroyed that option. Dammit Peter. Why did you have to do this? If you had just waited a single day, we could have figured this out together. He could have been by my side during all the surgeries, and my parents wouldn’t be keeping me on the east coast because I wouldn’t be alone. Peter would be with me.
He tried to talk to me after, but I wasn’t ready. I was too mad. I’m still mad, but now I wish I had talked to him. I’m too young to have these regrets, but life doesn’t always play out exactly the way we hope, does it?
I flip my mind over to the interview. There are things that I need to highlight about my experiences in school, especially since I’ve been out for a year. I can’t forget anything, so I’ve been reviewing whenever I can.
My roles in every position of theater and film. I’ve done it all. So even though I want to direct, I have experience in all the other aspects, which is beneficial for directing. I took on a lot of responsibility, both within the drama club and other school activities. Most importantly, I’m still passionate about what I want to do, and my health will not be an obstacle or hold me back from being competitive in the program.
This interview has to go well. Even though I’m pissed about not being in Los Angeles, if I had to choose a school on this coast, it would be N.Y.U. It’s one of the schools that people pay attention to when you say that you studied there. If I have to change my dream, this is an acceptable alternative. I’ll go to the other interviews, but this is the one I want.
I wrap my head around that idea and visualize the interview. Visualize being accepted and moving to the city. Visualize my goals materializing down this path. It helps. A little.
My phone buzzes in my lap, and for a brief second my heart rate picks up, and my gut tells me it’s Peter. That he found out about my interview and he’s texting to congratulate me. But no, it’s my friend Laura, wishing me luck. I push aside the disappointment to examine later. Peter already cost me so much, I’m not going to let thoughts of him torpedo this too.
No, I can’t think about him right now. Not ever.
Our car slows down as we hit some traffic on the way into the city. Glancing at the clock, I’ve still got two hours until the interview. Plenty of time.
“You ready?” my mom asks.
I shrug. “I think so? I’ve gone over everything I have to say so many times in my head that if I forget it now it’s my own fault.”
“You’re going to be great,” she says with perfect confidence.
“I hope so.”
My mom clears her throat. “I know that this isn’t really what you wanted, and I’m sorry—”
“I know, Mom. I’m not mad at you. I get why this is the best option.”
I hate the pity and sympathy in her voice. “But that doesn’t make it easier.”
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t.”
We ride in silence for a few minutes. “Is there anything you want to do in the city while we’re here?”
I look over at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says with a small smile, “your dad and I knew that you were kind of bummed out, so we agreed that we could make a trip out of it.”
“You mean we get to stay after the interview?”
She nods. “All weekend. I thought that we could maybe see a show, do some sightseeing.”
It feels like a cloud lifts off my shoulders. “That’s going to be really awesome, Mom. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She’s smiling. “Do you know what show you want to see?”
“No idea,” I shake my head. “I’ll have to look and see.”
I pick up my phone but mom reaches out her hand. “There’s time for that later. I don’t want you to be distracted before your interview. We can check out the shows tonight in the hotel room.”
“That’s fair,” I say.
“Who knows, maybe we’ll be able to see two.”
I take a deep breath, and it feels easier than the ones I’ve been taking lately. Maybe walking around the city this weekend I’ll see if I can actually fit in here. I never pictured myself as a New York City girl, but I don’t really have a lot of choice, so I need to get used to it. I just need to find places in the city that I love, so that I can make it a home.
That way I can pretend that I didn’t leave my heart in Los Angeles.
The city gets bigger in front of us, and finally we’re so close that the buildings are sparkling, and we drive down into the tunnel under the East River to cross into Manhattan.
For the first time on this whole trip, I feel a sliver of excitement run through me. I’m here. I can do this. We come out of the tunnel and everything looks impossibly large and full of possibility. So many people everywhere, each trying to make it in a city that doesn’t make it easy.
I’m going to be one of those people—I decide right now.
Closing my eyes, I visualize again. I’m going to be accepted, and I’m going to thrive. Circumstances suck, and I’m going to make sure that they don’t suck my future away.
One more time, I go over exactly what I need to say in the interview. By the time I finished, I open my eyes, and we’re already there.
2
Amber
Present
It’s been two days, just a weekend, and yet it feels like these two days have taken years to pass. I can’t believe that I did this. Panic. That’s what happened. I was panicking about everything and I let him walk away. I made him feel like garbage and I can’t believe that I let myself lose it like that.
I pick up the script that he threw away for the hundredth time and run my hands over it. The cover of it is creased now from the amount of time I’ve spent worrying it.
The amount of times that I’ve called Peter’s phone makes me look like a bona fide crazy person, but I can’t help it. He hasn’t answered at all. We’re supposed to shoot tomorrow, and even if I can’t fix what I broke between us, I need to know that he’ll be there. I need to know that I didn’t destroy my career.
It would be ironic, though. In my panic over my career being ruined by being discovered with Peter, I may have destroyed it by making him quit. Fuck. This is such a mess. I’ve barely slept, and I don’t dare look at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I look like.
It crosses my mind that this probably isn’t good for my heart, but the pacemaker is just as steady as it always is. It can survive. I will survive. I have to believe that, even if this ends up with the worst outcome. I lost him once. I could probably do it again.
Maybe.
I call him again and listen to the now very familiar ring. And the very familiar voicemail. I don’t bother listening all the way through to leave a message. I’ve already left him too many and he hasn’t called me back. I don’t think leaving another message is going to make a difference. Either he’s going to pick up one of these times, or he isn’t.
Shit. I have so much to do and I can’t focus. I need to get a jump on tomorrow’s scenes, work through my process. But I also can’t imagine sitting down to do that when I don’t even know if Peter is going to walk onto set tomorrow.
I have to sit down.
My legs practically collapse underneath me and I put my head between my knees. It helps a little. Whatever methods I had of calming my anxiety before Peter came back into my life seem to be gone completely. I can’t remember them and I can’t get a grip.
I try a pep talk: Okay, Amber, you can do this. You need to take a shower. You need to sit down at your table and do your work, not matter what happens tomorrow. You’re a professional and you need to do your job. You’ve worked hard for this, and even if this is your fault, you can’t control everything. Peter is going to show up tomorrow, or he isn’t. You can’t change it.
I head into my bedroom and pull of the clothes I’ve been wearing since he left. I never thought I was the kind of woman that would fall apart this much after sleeping with a guy.
But even I can’t ignore the whispers in my head telling me it’s not just sex. This isn’t a one-night-stand that I found in some bar. This is Peter. Possibly the love of my life, and the resolution to a story that’s been writing itself for ten years. If that’s not worth falling apart over, then I’m not sure what is.
The hot water feels good. Clarifying.
Bless the first person to come up with a hot shower. For the minutes that you’re in there it seems like nothing is wrong in the world. It’s a steamy, muscle relaxing perfect little bubble.
My problems are still there when I step out, but at least it feels easier to face them when I’m clean. I pull on fresh clothes and retrieve my phone from the kitchen. No missed calls, and I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest as I dial his number again. No answer.
I dial another number, even though I wish I didn’t have to. He answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Michael? This is Amber Dwyer.”
“What can I do for you, Amber?” he says, getting right to the point.
I swallow. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been trying to get a hold of Peter for a couple days, and he hasn’t answered my calls. I wanted to make sure everything’s okay for shooting tomorrow. If something’s wrong and I need to change the shooting schedule, I need to know.”
There's silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
Michael clears his throat. "What do you mean you haven't heard from him?"
"I mean that I've been calling him all weekend so I can talk to him about some of the stuff from the edited script." That's not really true, but I don't think Michael needs to know that. "I left him a couple of voicemails too, he hasn't returned anything. Figured I could check in with you just to make sure that everything is okay, you know?"
"Of course," he says, his voice snapping back into his normal agent mode. "I apologize for any inconvenience this has coursed you, and I hope this doesn't damage the partnership that we were hoping to form with you."
"No," I say. "I'm still game if Peter is, but I need to know if he's okay or if I need to rearrange the shoot for tomorrow."
I'm not sure if I imagine the edge of panic in Michael's voice or if I'm just projecting my own panic. "I'm going to call him right away and find out what's up. I'll get bac
k to you, okay? Peter is a pro, and easily one of the best actors that I've worked with. I'm sure he wouldn't miss your calls without a good reason. I'll call you back!"
The line goes dead so suddenly that I almost jump. Yeah, Peter wouldn't miss my calls without a good reason. He wouldn't quit the show without a good reason. But I can't help but think that I gave him a pretty damn good reason. I would walk away too if someone I thought had forgiven me accused me of something like that.
I have to do this work, but my nerves are still frayed. So I pour myself a shot. Just one, and knock it back with a grimace. Just enough to take the edge off of everything that I'm feeling. Like a reflex, I call Peter again, and get his voice mail. Shit. What if something really is wrong? What if I made him so angry that he did something stupid? That he got drunk and got in an accident? What if the reason he's not answering my calls is because he can't?
