Hollywood Nights (25 page)

“But better late than never, right?” Tanner broke into a reassuring grin, as if he wanted to snap the mounting tension between the two of us, tension that seemed to fill every nook and crack in the store. “Please. Will you let me try one more time?”

I took a deep breath and considered everything. All I knew about him. All the ways I felt about him. All the moments that had passed between us. Everything that hurt about him. All the things I had liked. My new life. My old life. What I wanted for myself.

And then, I had my answer.

“No,” I said after a deep exhale. “I can’t risk all of this again, no matter how much I wanted to love you the first time. It hurt too much. I can’t do it. I can’t go back to Hollywood with you.”

T
anner left me the bag. Placed it, unopened, on the counter once he realized I’d made a final decision. Mumbled something about staying for a few days in room 231 at the 21C Hotel in downtown Cincinnati. Walked out of the store and looked back once, as if he wanted me to come after him. But I didn’t.

Only it felt like a thousand tiny little pinpricks when he walked away. I could handle it. I’d felt worse pain in my lifetime.

Right?

Once I was truly alone again, I stared at the bag for a long time, wondering what was inside. Its contents must have meant something to Tanner, or he wouldn’t have traveled all that way to give it to me. I wavered back and forth about opening it.

I don’t have time for this kind of pain.

I slipped it in my tote bag and tried to forget about it. I had inventory to finish, along with some filing and dusting. All of it could take up plenty of my time. Besides, I’d made myself clear. I didn’t have a life in California anymore. That dream had died.

A few hours later, I closed up the shop and drove home. Dad sat in his familiar place on the sofa, drinking a Miller Lite. When he saw me walk through the door, he grinned and his shoulders lost some of their usual tension.

“Did you have a busy day, sugar beet?” he said.

“No.”

I threw my brown purse on the kitchen table and opened the fridge. We needed something to eat for dinner; another chore would occupy some of my time and help me forget about Tanner. I took chicken breast, spinach, a red pepper, some tomatoes, and a bottle of marinade out of the fridge.

Dad kept up with the small talk about work down at the garage and someone in town who planned on adopting a few of the foster kids from the county. While I worked on the meal, I supplied the right phrases and questions to keep the conversation going, but it didn’t change the fact that I felt dead inside.

“Let me guess,” Dad said. “You heard Tanner is in Cincinnati with that crew scouting movie locations.”

I stopped slicing the chicken breast. Dad stood in the doorway linking the kitchen and the living room. He had his arms crossed.

“You know I don’t pay attention to Hollywood gossip anymore,” I said.

“Bullshit. You’re my daughter, and I know you better than you think.” He laughed without humor. “So spill it.” He walked to the kitchen table and sat down, waiting for my answer.

“It’s nothing.”

“What did I say? Talk to me. I can tell when there’s something on your mind.”

“You’re right, there is.” I put down my knife and thought about where I’d begin. Not an easy thing to figure out.

“Are you going to contact Tanner while he’s here?” Dad said after a moment.

“He already reached out to me. He came out to the store this afternoon.” I threw my elbows on the table and covered my face with my hands. “He said the baby isn’t his. Lana’s been cheating on him this whole time.”

“Wow.”

“I know. And he wanted to apologize for everything he put me through, and what he put
us
through.”

“And did you accept that?”

I pulled my hands away from my face. “No. I didn’t. I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

I leaned back in the chair and studied my dad. “You know, I never gave you enough credit after Mom left. You’re a good man.”

“Don’t know about that.” He shrugged. “I’ve had my problems in the past.”

I knew what he meant. “Tanner has the same problem with alcohol as you do, you know. He says I make him better.”

A beat passed.

“Honey, I worried about you a lot while you lived out there. People aren’t the same as they are here. Lots of people with agendas, and not always good ones. Lots of temptations.” Dad narrowed his eyes. “But you cared about this guy, didn’t you? You still care about him. I can hear that in your voice.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t care about him anymore.”

“What did I say to you earlier? Don’t lie to me.”

My shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to do, Dad. He wants me to come back to Hollywood and give our relationship another chance, but if I go back to LA, what am I going to find? What kind of life is that?”

“You also have to ask yourself, what kind of life are you going to have if you stay here?” Dad shook his head and looked out the kitchen window. “Last time I checked, Griffin isn’t the kind of place people are hurrying to get to. They’re trying their damnedest to leave.”

“He gave this bag before he left the store. I didn’t look at what’s inside, but it’s heavy,” I said, still weighing all of the options in my head. “Said there’s something in it I need to know. It has an envelope with it, but he told me not to read it until he left the store.”

“And what did it say?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I rubbed my eyes, thinking about it all over again. “I didn’t open it.”

Dad turned his head back to me, and his gaze met mine. “Don’t you think you should?”

T
he envelope’s contents spilled out with ease. A single handwritten note in slanted script on a crisp piece of light blue paper.

“Oh, wow,” I whispered.

Dad excused himself from the table, but I made a gesture and insisted he stay. He sat back down and waited for me to finish.

Brynn,

I need you to know one thing: You’re the only person who makes me feel alive.

When we met, I wanted revenge on everyone and everything. Lana had left me a broken shell; I hated my life and all of the things in it. For weeks I thought about nothing but revenge, and I blotted out the pain with more and more alcohol, always chasing a dragon I could never catch. That night you saw me in the parking lot, I had given up, and that’s not an overstatement. I was out of control, and I’d tried to drink myself to death.

And then you saved my life.

I knew I wanted you around. You, who didn’t take my bullshit, you who didn’t let me run roughshod over her, you who seemed stronger than me in a thousand tiny ways. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, and what’s more, I didn’t want to. But you also made me afraid. I thought opening myself up to anyone after Lana would kill me for sure.

Funny how things work.

When Lana told me she was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing. I’d been raised that way
,
to take responsibility for the mistakes I made, and the dates lined up in my mind. Before I met you, Lana had a way of floating in and out my life post breakup, always teasing me just enough to keep me connected to her. The baby could have been mine, and I had no way of knowing the absolute truth. Perhaps that was what someone like me deserved.

That afternoon, I should have never let you leave. I should have been a better man. I should have stood up for you and the relationship we’d built. I should have fought for what we had.

I’m sorry I didn’t. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life.

I’ll understand if this is still not enough. I’ll understand if you never want to see me again, if you want to wash your hands and be done with whatever mess I created in your life. But I need you to know this: I loved you then. I still love you now.

Tanner

After I read the letter, I opened the bag. In the bottom, I found a small bottle from Avalon Winery. As I read the label, the glass almost fell out of my hand.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “He named the wine after me.”

There it was, stenciled in bold letters across the front, and surrounded by a graphic of twisted ivy.

“He means it,” I said to my dad. “And he loves me.”

I
had a meeting and dinner scheduled with the film commission for that evening. On the way back to Cincinnati from Griffin, I canceled it. Rescheduled it. Even if I’d attended, I wouldn’t have been there; I wouldn’t have been present.

Room 231 at the 21C hotel had a cold bed and silent comfort. I tossed my key at the valet on the street, shared a fake laugh with him about a Hollywood star renting a Toyota Corolla, and bounded up the stairs to my room. Once there, I drew the curtains, ordered a cheeseburger from room service, and turned on Pay-Per-View.

Hours passed. Room service came and went. I ate the burger and barely tasted it. Thought about booking a room at the hotel spa and decided against it. Watched more mindless TV. Some more time slipped away, but I still didn’t feel much better. I took a shower. Surfed the Internet on my iPhone. Considered ordering a bottle of bourbon. For the rest of the night, I fought the urge to get blitzed.