Hollywood Holden: Los Angeles Bad Boys (11 page)

I
leave
the swankiest restaurant I've ever set foot in, with tears filling my eyes. My heart surges; everything inside me wants to scream.

This is so freaking
typical
of Holden.

I'm pulling out my phone, desperate to get an Uber back to his place so I can get in my Volvo and head home. Now.

Maybe I subconsciously knew this was going to happen ... why else would I have been so adamant about taking my own mode of transportation today?

Just as I'm about to press the app, Jude strides out of the restaurant, headed straight toward me.

"Awesome, so he can't even come after me himself? He sends you?" I say snidely, even though I know this guy doesn't deserve my attitude.

"Woah, honey. To be fair, he tried to follow you, but the entire table actually vetoed him chasing you down. Besides the fact that the paparazzi would kill for this story, we're all betting you'll scratch out Holden's eyes if you see him right now. And even though he's a fucker, I think blinding the bastard might be a little harsh?"

I cross my arms, pulling in my bottom lip.

"You need a ride?" he asks. "I'm guessing you need to get back to Holden's place to get your car."

"Yeah, but I don't even know the security code. The last thing I want to do is call him and ask for it. God. This is so stupid." I run a hand over my neck, upset that I let things with Holden get as far as they did.

Terrified that I'm everything he says ... and worse.

Jude hands a ticket to the valet, rests a hand on my shoulder. "I'll take you."

"Thanks," I tell him, taking deep breaths, trying to gain some sort of composure as I slide into the passenger seat of his bright red Dodge Challenger. I buckle up as he gets into the driver's seat.

"You hungry?" he asks, driving away from the restaurant.

"Actually, I am."

He nods, and turns left before getting on the freeway.

Fifteen minutes later, he and I are standing at a taco truck in Santa Monica, ordering street tacos with extra guacamole.

Sitting on a bench, looking out at the Pacific Ocean, I shake my head. "He's always been like this. Always think he knows what’s best for me."

Jude nods. "He really cares about you."

"He said he loved me today. You know how long I've wanted to hear those words from Holden?" I pause, looking at the ocean before us, trying to find the right words. "Ever since we met as freshman in high school. We’d both never set foot in an acting class in our lives, but we were randomly assigned there by our guidance counselors. We went around the room introducing ourselves, saying something about our summer."

I look at Jude, and I can tell he's listening intently.

"Anyway," I continue. "I'm sure I said something about volunteering with Habitat for Humanity—my parents are teachers, and really into that organization. We spent every summer building houses. Anyway, Holden stands up, grinning, and tells the entire class that he had spent the summer perfecting his ability to choke the chicken."

I pause, smirking.

Jude starts laughing. "He said that?"

"Right? Well, I had no idea what that meant, and neither did the teacher; Holden got lucky there. But the boys in class knew the euphemism, because they were laughing. I went home, Googled it, and found out it meant jacking off. Obviously my interest was piqued. I mean, what fourteen-year-old has balls that big, right? He could have been suspended."

Jude shakes his head. "So it was love at first sight?"

"There's always been a divide between Holden and me. I've always felt a few steps behind him. Like I'm never in on the joke. But also, I've always felt like Holden was fearless. And even though he’s done some stupid reckless things, he also gets what he wants. And I think that's what I've always been so attracted to."

"What stops you from being stupidly brave like him?" Jude asks.

I take a bite of my chorizo taco, thinking. Finally, I wipe my mouth and answer, "My parents think acting is selfish. They think it's a self-serving career. That's why I never went with Holden. The truth of it."

Jude groans, leaning back on the bench. "Fuck, that's heavy shit."

"What?" I ask, caught off guard with his exclamation.

"I bet you've never told him that, have you?"

"Well, he thinks I didn't go because I was scared ... but it basically was that. I was scared of standing up to my parents and fighting for my dream. They're good people who spend all their free time helping others, never getting attention themselves. Me? I wanted to be center stage."

"You don't strike me as a fame-and-fortune hunter."

"No?" I take the final bite of my taco, listening.

"No. I've lived in Hollywood for four years; I know the difference."

"You've known me an hour, Jude."

"An hour is a lifetime in this town. Besides, I'm a filmmaker. I make a career out of taking a few minutes and telling an entire story. I knew your angle the moment we met at TropiCALI."

"Oh yeah?" I crumple up my taco wrapper. "What's my angle?"

"You aren't being honest with yourself. I saw it in the way you looked when Holden called you out, said that you're scared to face the person you really are."

"How did I look?" I ask, somehow able to hear Jude in ways I can't with Holden.

With Holden, the words are charged and personal. But Jude's interest in this relationship working out is different than mine or Holden's. He's a third party, and I trust him.

"Your face was marked with anger, but you kept talking—sharp and cutting. Like you wanted to push Holden to the breaking point. You wanted the scene. The drama."

"I thought you said I wasn't a drama queen, looking for attention?"

Jude smiles softly. "You're not, Bexley. But I think you were hoping—and maybe it’s the same thing you hoped four years ago—to push Holden so far over the edge that he’ll reach out a hand and take you with him. Take you with him to the figurative dark side, the place you want to go. You think he's the only one who can. You want him to pull you away from the life you are living. But he won't. Ever."

His words hit me painfully hard, and I draw in a tight breath, on the verge of tears.

"Why won't he force me to go with him. Why won't he fight for me?"

"Oh, girl," Jude sighs. "Because that's true love."

"To give up on me is to love me?"

"No, it's true because he loves you enough to let you choose your own path. He loves you enough to know you need to do that part on your own."

I wipe the tears away, the ones falling down my cheeks, realizing this is the exact same logic I've been using on him all this time.

"Why do you know so much about love?" I ask him, surprised by the way he articulated things I'd never be able to put into words.

"I don't know shit."

"Not true." I look out at the ocean, at the crashing waves unfurling on the shore. A child walks hand-in-hand with an older man, squealing as the water covers her ankles. "You're a real grownup. Aren't you going to be a dad soon?"

"Something like that," he says, his eyes also on the shoreline.

I don't press, because who am I to judge anyone's word choice at this moment.

"Thank you, Jude. For all of this." I wave at the taco wrappers and the ocean and the space between us. His words are still hanging in the air:
He loves you enough to let you choose.

"Hey, anytime," Jude says. We stand, walking toward his car. "And hey, if you ever decide you want to come to town, come out of retirement, I can hook you up. I mean, I can't offer you a role in a summer blockbuster, but I’m looking for funding for a film right now."

"What kind of movie is it?" I ask.

"Modern retelling of
Gone with the Wind
."

"No one wants to help with a classic?"

Jude shrugs. "People are scared of changing what works."

"But you? You aren't scared of upsetting the general public by tainting their perception of Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler?"

"People are going to be upset in life no matter what we do, Bexley. Might as well go big or go home."

W
hen I return home
, her things are gone. Jude texted, letting me know he had her and was bringing her back for her stuff, and that I should give her some space.

I know he's right. The last thing Bexley needs is me telling her, again, what she needs and what she should fucking want.

She's her own woman. Damn, that's why I've always loved her. Even as a freshman in high school, she was set apart, in her Audrey-Hepburn-esque clothing, her red lips and complete ability to be her own person regardless of how the rest of the population of Tolling High thought of her.

Yeah, she’s flawed. She’s scared and running—and fuck, I think I know what she needs, what would be best for her. No, I'm not just referring to my mammoth cock that's so perfect for her pussy. I'm also talking about her flashing her parents the middle finger and moving to LA and giving herself a shot at what she really wants.

I hate that she's settling. I want more for her.

But she has to want it for herself.

I send her a text.

Me:
Hope you got home safe. I meant what I said. I love you Bexley. But I'm not gonna call again. The ball's in your court.

She responds an hour later:
I'm home safe. Thx for the space.

At that point I message my personal trainer, telling him I'm going to need extra sessions all week.

Working out is the only way I'm going to keep my cock from going crazy. Already, it’s wondering where that perfect pussy has gone.

But a week passes. Without a fucking word.

And at this point I'm getting pissed.

I call in backup.

Cassius and Evie are house-shopping—apparently their lease is almost up on their rental—and I follow them around from mansion to mansion, lamenting my plight. They give me pitying looks and I decide to cool it on my woe-is-me act.

They know I fucked it up with her anyway. Why the hell did I call Trenton to interview her like a piece of meat to be sold?

Their real estate agent shows them a mansion, really close to my place, and I point out why the location is so prime.

"You could walk down the beach and we could be partying within minutes."

"I thought you were done with parties?" Evie asks, eyebrows raised.

"I don't know what I am."

Evie tells the agent that we're going to look outside and discuss the property.

She, Cassius, and I walk out to the deck, where an infinity pool frames the ocean.

"Damn, this place is ridic," Cassius says, snapping his fingers as he takes it in, reminding me that he’s more of an OG than I could ever be.

"It's nicer than my dad's place," Evie says. "Can we afford it?"

"We can afford it, but it’ll max us out," Cassius says. "I can't believe it's even on the table as a place I could buy. It's a little insane, how fast our lives changed."

"Speaking of lives changing," I start.

"We need a Bexley break," Evie says, holding up her hand. "No offense."

I wave her off. "I wasn't talking about me. I was going to mention Jude. His life is seriously about to change. is five months pregnant."

Cassius shakes his head. "I don't get the impression either of them have any fucking clue what they're about to face."

"I have no experience with babies. Or kids in general," I say. "I need to step up my game, though, because they’ll need some serious help."

"Surely she'll hire a nanny or something, right?" Evie says. "Rachel doesn't come off as exactly maternal."

"She comes off as a fucking bitch who doesn't even want this kid. Or her life with Jude." Cassius isn't sugar-coating anything, which I appreciate, but I'm also glad Jude isn't within earshot.

"We need to be as supportive as possible, then," Evie says. "I mean, I know nothing about babies, but right now they just need us to be there for them. Do you guys know how Jude's work is going?"

"It's at a dead end. He has a script he's pumped about, but can't get funding," I tell them.

"Maybe we shouldn't buy this house," Cassius says, taking in the sweeping view. "We could be the investors he needs."

"He refuses my money."

"I've never offered him mine," Cassius says. "Maybe it would be different, since I'm not going to be starring in it."

"I'm not starring in Jude's movie," I say, laughing.

"I thought you said you were changing?" Evie challenges me. "Growing up and all that?"

"I can
change
without putting a nail in the coffin of my career." I raise an eyebrow at Cassius. "Would you really offer him the funding?"

"It would be sweet to be an executive producer. And damn, my mom would be proud."

Evie smiles at her boyfriend. "And your brother would shit his pants."

"True," Cassius laughs. "Then it's as good as done."

"You won't be sad, not living so close to me?"

"Eh," Cassius shrugs. "We could always move into your guest house."

"No can do. I promised it to my sister. She's moving here in a few weeks for the summer. Or forever."

"I've never met Catalina," Evie says. "How old is she?"

"Just a year younger than me. We're eleven months apart. My poor mother."

"And you're almost twenty-three? Evie asks.

"Yep. She'll be twenty-two next month."

"I can't wait to meet her. I need some friends. You two are fun and all," Evie says, "but I need a girlfriend."

"Well, Cat's your girl. She's a girl’s girl through and through. Sweet as honey and never lets people down."

"I thought she was at Berkeley?" Evie asks.

"She's transferring to go to film school."

"Man," Cassius says as we walk back into the mansion, "I wish a girl like that could have ended up with Jude, instead of Rachel."

Evie swats his arm, admonishing him. "You can't say that."

The agent looks at us eagerly. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we're going to pass," Cassius says. "We're renewing our lease and investing in a person, not a property. "

I think the agent is annoyed—but damn, how can anyone argue with words like that logic?

People over things. Friends over fame.

The words rattle in my mind as I drive home, my phone taunting me. Bexley hasn't called in a week.

When does “space” equate to the end?

I don't want to know.