Ethan (3 page)

“So what is she going to help you with? Your movies are about social change or they’re all action no fluff. It’s either box office blockbusters or a call to arms.”

“Maybe I want something else this time. Something—” he searched for words, “more dimensional.” He was thinking on his toes, something he happened to be very good at.

Eva pursed her lips
and didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. Yep, she was definitely looking every one of her twenty-four years.

“Bull.”

“What?”

“There’s something else going on here.”

“When are you going home?”

“Tomorrow. Maybe this afternoon, if three’s a crowd.”

“This afternoon would be good.” He didn’t want his little sister sitting in on his bare-all.

“Then tomorrow, definitely.” She smiled and the corners of her lips twitched with wicked intent. “Or maybe Dylan needs to stew a little longer. Maybe I’ll stay through the weekend.”

“You’re out of here today.”

She laughed, thoroughly enjoying herself. “What are you hiding, big brother?”

He wrestled with her words. He’d decided to strip away the camouflage, to stop ducking for cover whenever the subject of Tina came up. So, even though he was reluctant, he divulged, “Tina.” And it felt right. He’d spent the past two months staring at his memories of her, of them together. There was something about their relationship that hadn’t been right. He wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know how their lives had unraveled, at what felt like lightning speed,  reduced by betrayal and desperation to a place of utter darkness. Was he responsible for Tina’s decisions?  If so, he wanted to learn from his mistakes so that he didn’t repeat them. And if not, he needed to know how to avoid a similar set of circumstances.  But first the problem had to be identified. That was the way with all targets. All enemies. Identify and obliterate.

A stunned expression bloomed on Eva’s face. It was a slow motion kind of thing. Her lips parted, almost like a starburst. Her eyes flared. But then they filled with liquid.

“You’re not going to cry, Eva.” It was an order. “You’re definitely not going to cry.”

“I’m not,
” she agreed, her eyelashes fluttering. She rubbed a hand under her nose and pulled herself together. “It’s just, you never talk about her.”

“I know.”

“Ever.”

“Not much to say.”

“Not true.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I should have dealt with it. I’m dealing with it now.”

“Why?”

“She’s holding me back.”

“Unfinished business,” Eva said. She nodded her understanding.

“Yeah, but what unfinished business?” Because it was more than unfulfilled dreams. There were times when he felt like he was wearing blinders, and he wanted to rip the damn things off and just deal with the reality and move on.

“You were so young,” Shae said. “My age when she died.”

Ethan nodded. Tina had been Ethan’s high school sweetheart. They’d started dating in the tenth grade. He had put an engagement ring on her finger before boot camp. On first leave, he’d followed through with his promise. They’d wed in a grassy park, with a sword ceremony and a catered surf-n-turf reception. And thirty days later he had left again, taking his bride with him to South Carolina, where he’d been stationed for six months for training before beginning his first tour of duty in the Middle East, and where Tina had drifted like a hot house flower among pond lilies.

He should have moved her back to San Diego, but he had no idea what that first deployment was going to be like, and by the time he returned, she’d had a job and friends.

“If Dylan died, I’d feel lost,” Eva said. “I’d feel cheated.”

“Why?”

She was silent, surprised by his question. Or by the intensity in his voice. “A whole life together, wiped out.” She waved her hand. “No happily ever after.  No starter home and fabric swatches. No children and mini vans, happy holiday meals or camping trips. . .of course, you didn’t have that anyway, did you?”

He and Tina had five years, three months. Most of it separated by miles, the end separated by something more than geography.

“No,” he agreed. “And I get all that. I felt that.” But there was something else. Probably the fall out of betrayal—Tina’s or his?

But that wasn’t something he discussed with his baby sister. In any case, she was slipping into her own situation.

“I love Dylan’s laughter. It was the first thing I noticed about him, and the most sustaining. If I had to return home to a silent house, it would kill me.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed. “You know how some people say they hear the chains of ghosts moving in their homes? I would hear Dylan’s laughter. It would haunt me. Because it would always be out of reach.”

And that was it. Ethan was haunted, not by a wife who had died too soon, but by her willingness to go so easily. Somewhere along the way, Ethan had stopped being important to her, and he wanted to know why.

Chapter Three 

Absolute Cinema Productions. Shae did a quick Google se
arch on Ethan Abrams. Of course it brought up a plethora of images, from his high school year book mug shot to caught-in-the-clinch photos of the director with beautiful women. None of them, that Shae could find, featured a starlet or a matron of the arts. In fact, he didn’t seem to go for the tall, willowy super model or the hit-me-in-the-heart singer-songwriters he rubbed elbows with. He didn’t climb to his position in Hollywood by slithering through the beds of the established elite. He’d sweated his way in, first as a consultant on anything and everything military, foreign policy, or international conflict, working with big names and in small places. He’d made his way through
Sundance
and
Cannes
and other venues with docudramas focused on just causes.  He had more than a few blockbuster, action-packed thrillers that drew in crowds and gave him clout. But he had pet projects, too, that he wasn’t afraid to explore.

In Shae’s estimate, all of that placed him rungs above many of her colleagues.

Also in his favor, as far as she was concerned, was the fact that Ethan Abrams was not gorgeous. Not pretty. Certainly not sculpted for his position by something as urban as a personal trainer and a stylist. The man was rugged, with strong cheekbones and shoulders that seemed to take up the breadth of every shot snapped of him. Ethan Abrams was intense. He had a steady gaze and, so far, two countenances—a grim smile and an open, in your face laughter. She wondered if he was a man of extremes, swinging from one emotion to another. Shae had been there, done that, and it was a ride that had left her with motion sickness.

She’d forgotten to ask Stevie about Ethan’s temperament. Would she be working with a prima donna? A control freak? A man for whom rules and propriety meant nothing? Shae had had her share of all of that while making a name for herself and she’d survived, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to waste any of her precious time with a scoundrel, though, not when she had ideas for cribs and carriers to work out.

Abrams was thirty-four years old with blond hair he’d barely allowed to grow out of its Marine buzz cut. He was more often than not photographed with a five o’clock shadow. With green eyes and a nearly perfect smile—a slim gap between his front and eye teeth gave him a roguish grin—he was almost the boy next door. Except that intensity.

It was a staple of creativity. Shae knew it could drive a person to great heights when channeled correctly. It could also ruin a person. She’d lived in L.A. long enough to witness the implosion of more than one talented artist.

That was as far as she got in her search. Not bad for a first impression. Abrams seemed like a decent guy.

Running short on time, she downloaded a list of all the movies he’d worked on and their storylines into a file on her iPhone. If need be, she could investigate more later.

She stowed her laptop in the back of her Audi Q5, dropped her purse on the passenger seat and settled in for the ride. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed a freckled nose, clear blue eyes and lip gloss as her only make up. She was, after all, on vacation. And she’d long since stopped trying to impress anyone in the business. She’d set aside three weeks to get herself up the coast and settled into her new suburban life. She had appointments with a realtor to look at houses and lots of catching up to do with family before she began her next project. The sooner she got this little detour out of the way the better.

The 101 Freeway twisted along the Pacific but gave only a few, stingy glimpses of the ocean until she neared her destination, and then it was a spectacular show of rolling waves and foamy surf. She loved the water, was raised on it by a father who was enthusiastic about surfing, kayaking and pulling yellow fin from its depths. He worked his job around his passions, and as a physician, he made enough money to do that. Her mom, on the other hand, had a job that was her passion. She was a midwife who delivered babies in the location of her client’s request—within reason. She believed in compassion as the cure for all pain and exercised it regularly.

Shae wondered again why Ethan Abrams had chosen her specifically when seeking help. He’d worked with a lot of talented writers, male and female, action and drama. So she kept coming back to the subject matter of her cable movie. It was an intimate and relentless ruin of a relationship, where husband and wife reacted rather than responded. The characters were controlled by their needs, driven by them to the point of destruction. It was easily one of her darker films, ending with both characters realizing their mistakes, but too late to do anything about them.

But true to Stevie’s word, Shae had found nothing when she searched Abrams name with ‘divorce.’ In fact, she’d uncovered only a few personal details on him  and most of it centered on his  military career—six years and a Bronze Star—and, under a heading, ‘Little Known facts About Hollywood’s Makers and Shakers,’ that he was a twin. His brother passed away shortly after birth.

Shae arrived in Santa Barbara at fifteen minutes past noon. She considered the restaurants on State Street but Stevie’s words implied that the director was going to feed her—and that he wanted her on his doorstep ASAP.

Ethan’s home was nestled in the hills overlooking the Pacific. Shae idled in front of the security gates and considered both her options and the vast stretch of manicured gardens and wildly growing foliage that made up his property. Set back from the road, the house seemed modest in size but well-maintained. She rolled down her window and eyed the coded security system with reluctance.

She didn’t like being locked in. The grounds beyond the fence line were lush and she loved the way the greenery blended into each other, allowing space for the contained and the enthusiasm of nature. Splotches of color, in vivid oranges and pinks, gave the impression of an errant paintbrush. The place was beautiful.

And she was being ridiculous, right? It wasn’t like passing through the gates she’d never get out again. But how did she know that? She strummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. Stevie knew where she was. He wouldn’t send her into hell and he’d certainly call the cavalry if a few days went by and he hadn’t heard from her.

Of course, a lot could happen in a few days. Her first feature film shot to number one in its first weekend of play. Her house sold in forty-five minutes.

And then the speaker above the security keypad crackled to life.

“Are you coming in?” A deep, disembodied voice. A hint of humor. A wave rolling casually to shore.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Shae Matthews?”

“At your call.” Literally. And she couldn’t keep some of her displeasure over the situation from entering her voice.

“And sore about it?”

His laughter was full force now and came through the speaker loud and clear.

“Only slightly,” she admitted, and
smiled
. It was stunning, how quickly her irritation with him fled. It was disarming. And, she realized, it was his voice that did it to her. Husky and full of promises. Intimate. Yes, that was the word—like the man was whispering in her ear. How the hell that could be when they were delivered by a metal box was lost on her.

“I hope to fix that,” he stated.

Another promise. It pulled on her central line, as her yoga instructor liked to call it, and the last remains of tension unraveled and disappeared into the world.

Damn, there was something potent about Ethan Abrams, and she hadn’t even met the man yet.

The thought troubled her. This was not the time for her to develop interest in a man. Not only did she have a track record that put her squarely in the position of underdog, she had plans that were already in motion.

Shae’s gaze was fixed on the speaker box, her thoughts turned inward, so she missed his arrival. She sensed movement at twelve o’clock and turned so she could and peer through the
windshield. He stood on the other side of the gate, his cell to his ear and smiling, like they were playing a game with walkie talkies. Shae’s response was physical. Something tightened and spiraled, originating in the vicinity of her heart and finishing with the melting of her most private parts.

“Damn,” she breathed. Hot. Sexy. Attraction. She didn’t get that off the pictures she’d seen of him. She hadn’t gotten it standing skin-to-skin with
People’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’
–her one regrettable affair with a leading man.

“I’m going to hang up and open the gates,” he told her.

She watched him punch a few numbers into his cell phone, and then the scrolled, iron gates opened, sliding into the stone pillars at either side of the driveway.

He was tall, which was an easy impression to make on Shae. She barely skimmed the charts at five feet two inches. He had a trim waist, arms and legs that were all muscle, and shoulders that were rugged enough they fit into the landscape. He was wearing a blue t-shirt with a small, surfer’s silkscreen of Hawaii’s North Shore above the left pec. Shae instantly flashed to an image of him in a wetsuit, holding a Darren Handley board, and knew he’d be impressive. Of course, it was totally possible the man didn’t surf at all. Anyone could buy the shirt.

He stopped at her car door and gazed at her. “You’re hesitant.” He nodded his approval. “A guy you don’t know from Adam, in a place you’ve never been.”

“Exactly.”

“I wish my sister had more sense.”

“You have a sister?”

“Two. One exercises an abundance of caution. The other,” he paused to consider his words, “is growing.”

“I read about a brother,” Shae said, and then realized she’d given away her sleuthing
. She frowned her displeasure with herself.

His smile said he caught her. “I’m glad you checked.”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of time—“

“The press always writes about my brot
her. They’re all about drama, as you know. My sisters are happy to be left in the shadows. My mom, on the other hand—I have one of those, too—would rather they left all of us alone.”

“What about a dad?” she asked, since they were going through the family tree.

“Deceased.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

He considered her with a silent gaze and it was impossible to read his expression behind his sunglasses. Shae did what she always did in a tense moment—she blurted out her biggest concern.

“Are you in the middle of a divorce?”

She’d surprised him, but he didn’t retreat. His mouth settled into that grim smile she’d seen in his photographs. “No.”

“Ever had one?” she persisted.

“Never.”

His demeanor had definitely turned chilly, or at least distant. And on a man as big as Ethan Abrams, it was a little intimidating. Gone was the open friendliness and in its place was a prickliness that warned her to tread carefully. Shae wasn’t above explaining herself a little.

“It’s just odd, you know? You wanting me and only me. You mentioned ‘When We Were One’ to Stevie and that’s all about the dissolution of a marriage.”

“Exactly,” he agreed.

And no more. The guy stood three feet away and still managed to tower over her. With his easy smile and approachable stance gone, it was like an arctic blast had moved through.

But Shae was here as a favor. She was giving up personal time—and what could be more personal than plowing through a catalog of sperm donors?
Not
. But something was clearly expected of her here, and she needed to know what that was. So she stepped deeper into what she hoped wasn’t a field of battle.

“Through divorce,” she stressed.

“I’ve been married,” he said. “We didn’t have the chance for a divorce.”

The admission didn’t come easily and the heaviness on his face added to his natural intensity. But Shae stood her ground. She waited silently for more. If the man wasn’t able to communicate his needs, then there was nothing she could do here and she’d rather find that out sooner than later.

It took a long moment, but he acknowledged her stance with a nod and she watched the features of his face slowly loosen.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders.

“I like how you handled that relationship, in your screenplay,” he said. “It was a dissection. I could feel the way character decision and indecision tore away all that was good, like taking off the skin along with the band aid. I need that kind of help.”

“For a screenplay you’re writing?”

“Yes.” But he was hedging. He hooked his hands on his hips, opening his impressive chest, and shifted on his feet.

Shae wasn’t intimidated. She’d swum with sharks and she was no longer a guppy in the big blue sea of Hollywood. She returned his gaze. She even slid her sunglasses off her nose and let them perch on the crown of her head.

Ethan threw his head back and laughed. It was unexpected. It was beautiful. Full, husky and intimate,
again
, and she felt like he had reached out and pulled her close.

He nodded and removed his sunglasses, too. He tucked them into the crew neck of his t-shirt and said, “I like a challenge.”

But she shook her head. “You’ve met your match,” she assured him. “And I’m on borrowed time.” There would be no games. And this little dance around his ‘problem’ was coming to an end. Shae would pull the plug on it herself.