Noah (6 page)

Julian had done a good job of ordering furniture, kitchenware, bathroom stuff, and even some decorative crap like pillows, blankets, and drapes. I was useless in that department, but I knew gadgets.

"You're a vegetarian?" Julian scrunched his nose, and he sounded adorably British there. The faint accent he'd picked up among international scholars in Germany shone through here and there.

I chuckled. "A fake one. I eat seafood and poultry on occasion." I side-eyed him, wondering what world he lived in. "You didn't know? I was the butt of every dinner-related joke at reunions. My pop thought it was hilarious." Not to mention ridiculous, but it was all in good fun.

It was a health choice. I used to be somewhat of a fitness freak, and avoiding steaks and burgers tended to lead to healthier meals. Unfortunately, alcohol was vegetarian.

It bothered me, my new drinking habit, but I wasn't ready to give it up. Then again, when was anyone ever?

Julian ended up ordering us pizza while I shopped for tech. He would need a flat screen in his room, I wanted a desktop computer in my study, a couple gaming consoles would be cool, a Blu-Ray player, upgrading my surround sound system…

"Damn, you're buying a lot." He shifted a bit closer, intrigued. "It's strange having money. I bought a guitar last week and felt bad."

"Why?" I frowned at him.

He shrugged with one shoulder. "I didn't work for it."

Understandable. "Did you have a job back home?"

"Part time, since I was in school. I worked at a movie theater, and sometimes I ran errands for Dad."

I smiled to myself. Jobs like that took me back to when life was both harder and easier. When you worked for your next meal and the ability to pay for gas and electric. I could borrow from my folks if it got really bad, but they'd always encouraged both me and Mia to pursue our dreams on our own. Those were simple times.

A care package from Ma with cookies, a new shirt, and aftershave meant the world. Sometimes she'd sent us quarters, which had been a hint to get our asses to the nearest payphone and call home more often. Sometimes there were printouts of simple recipes.

The cookies were my favorite, though.

I swallowed down the stab of pain and the emotions rising and tried to focus on…gadgets. Which, fuck, felt empty and worthless now. Memories were cunty. They could change my mood in a second.

*

I didn't touch my pizza, and Julian could undoubtedly sense that I was done talking for the evening. I poured a cup of vodka and sipped it while staring at the TV. No idea what movie he'd picked, but I didn't care anyway.

It was a good thing I'd told him I probably wouldn't be the best company if he came out here.

Around three in the morning, I was ready to pass out. Julian was still awake, but he looked tired.

"We should get some sleep." I grunted as I rose from the bed, and a wave of dizziness took over.

"Right." He sat up. "Do you mind if we move the bed into your room first?"

"Why?" I could barely stand up. Heavy lifting could get me injured.

"Because when the furniture gets delivered tomorrow, I can get started without waking you up."

That…that was a solid idea. I didn't think I'd sleep that long, but if he could handle the delivery without me, that'd be awesome. I didn't have a single polite smile left in me, so I wanted to avoid people.

"Yeah, okay." I rubbed my eyes and tried to clear my head. "Which room is mine?"

"I picked the middle one across the hall, but I can change."

I shook my head. The middle used to be mine, so it was a relief he'd gone with that.

*

I woke up the next morning to my phone going off. The sun was fucking brutal, and memories came flooding back from yesterday. Julian was here. We'd moved the bed into my new bedroom, which meant I got the morning sun.

My mouth tasted like death, and I groaned as I rolled over to reach my phone. I blinked blearily at the screen as a headache settled in.

Four missed calls from Sophie.

"Jesus," I whispered hoarsely.

I pressed Call and ended up on my back. Julian was probably in the living room. I could hear someone moving around, so maybe the furniture had been delivered.

"Oh, good! You haven't forgotten how to use the phone," Sophie said as she answered.

I held my forehead, wincing. "Too early for humor. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just my daily check-in to see if you're alive. And two in the afternoon isn't early for those of us who don't live on booze."

Ouch. That one hurt, but I supposed I needed to hear it. This couldn’t go on. I'd slept away half the day.

"I'm alive," I muttered groggily. "I should go help Julian with the furniture."

She hummed then stopped abruptly. "Wait, Julian's staying with you?"

"Yeah." I dragged myself up, my feet thudding against the floorboards. "He got here yesterday. Looks like he's sticking around a while, so we ordered a bunch of shit."

"That’s great!" she gushed. "Holy hell, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that." It sounded like she was getting emotional. "I was worried about him at the service. I'm glad he turned to you. I think you can be good together. You're going through the same pain, so maybe you can, like, help each other heal and move on?"

Her rambling was cute, but it wasn't helping my headache. Or my conscience. I had to be the shittiest friend in history. My buddies cared a lot for me, and I was doing absolutely nothing to show my appreciation.

"Yeah, it might be good," I said to appease her. "Focus on your vacation, hon. We'll be fine."

After wrapping up the call, I stumbled to the bathroom across the hall. I downed a couple painkillers and cringed at my reflection. Looked like I'd shower today too, as if I were a normal, functioning human being. 'Cause I couldn’t show myself to anyone looking like death warmed over.

I turned on the shower and then took a leak while waiting for the water to heat up.

My skin was sensitive, another symptom of bad habits I needed to shake. Everything hurt. My mood shifted too fucking fast. I was determined one second, then ready to throw in the towel in the next. And as I showered, I warred with myself, 'cause it all boiled down to the goddamn alcohol. I had to get rid of it completely, at least for a while, and I had to do it while my mood allowed it.

It had been my crutch for a month now. Enough was enough. Quitting was already gonna be painful, so the last thing I needed was to drag it out.

Turning off the water, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my hips. The bed called, but I wouldn't cave that fast. An uphill battle was supposed to burn, so let it begin.

I brushed my teeth and hoped most of last night's bender was gone. I knew what whiskey smelled like the day after. Applying some deodorant and aftershave—even though I hadn't shaved—I left the bathroom and walked down the hall, only to come to a stop when I reached the living room.

Jesus Christ.

I didn't recognize the place. Julian must've had help. Maybe he'd checked the box for having the delivery guys help assemble everything. A few dressers and shelves were still stacked in the hallway, though the living room looked perfect to me.

"Morning." I passed the seating area first. New couch, two chairs, a low coffee table. Even a rug. I'd missed that. Old met new, mismatched colors that still fit. "I didn't know you were an interior designer."

Julian popped up from the floor where he'd been putting together the last of the dining room chairs. "I'm not. This is literally taken straight off two pages in their online catalogue."

I let out a low laugh and glanced around me. "All right, but Pottery Barn ain't getting my thanks. This is all you, kid."

An ancient-looking wooden chest had been placed behind the couch. The lid was open, and I saw Julian had put the photo albums from Pittsburgh in there. Good place for memories.

Julian shrugged, ducked his head, and pushed in the chair at the table. "We didn't wake you up, did we? The movers left a little while ago."

"No." I couldn’t stop taking it all in. It was a bit overwhelming 'cause…goddamn, he'd turned my loft into a home. I had to step up my game. "This is fucking incredible, Julian."

He flashed a quick grin. "I'm glad you like it, but you have to tell me if I've overstepped any boundaries."

"No overstepping whatsoever." I had an urge to hug him, but I pushed that aside for now. I didn't wanna make shit awkward. "Let me get dressed and then I'll order us some food." I was starving, having not eaten much yesterday, and I had an idea I wanted to run by him.

It was sometimes easier to help others than to help yourself, and my gut told me he'd be good for me. I wanted to return the favor, so whatever he told me he needed help with, hopefully, I could come through for him.

Chapter 6

It would take some serious adjusting in order to help Julian. I'd ordered bagels and cream cheese and juice for breakfast, and he had quietly spoken up about his hopes and plans while I had resisted the temptation of pouring vodka into my OJ.

Right after, I promised I'd do my best to assist him, but even now, a couple hours later, I still didn't have a fucking clue.

I stood in the kitchen and reluctantly poured all the alcohol I had down the drain. He was sorting through silverware, glasses, plates, utensils, and appliances, not-so-subtly side-eying me every now and then.

Of course, I admired him for what he wanted, but it didn't make it easy for me. He'd told me he wanted to pay rent; that was easily taken care of, I guessed. Not necessary at all in my opinion, but I knew where he was coming from.

Next, he wanted a job. He wasn't quite ready yet—understandable—but he hoped to be soon. And when he was, I wasn't allowed to use my connections. Not even to get him into some PA agency or have him pour coffee at a studio. Again, I understood where he was coming from.

Lastly, he needed a car, but he was gonna give public transportation a try first…

In fucking LA.

He was gonna regret that—fast.

All in all, my so-called
help
would come from sitting by, twiddling my goddamn thumbs.

It wasn't what I called help.

As I emptied a bottle of the finest Irish whiskey into the sink, I added stubborn and admirable to the list of Julian's traits.

"Are you addicted?"

Though I had half expected his question, his soft, apprehensive tone still packed a punch.

"No…" I grabbed the last bottle, phrasing myself carefully. "It's too soon, I think. But my mind's adapted fast enough, and it's my first escape route. Soon as anything's wrong, slightest mood change, or if memories hit too hard, I seek out a bottle."

"I understand." He carefully placed a stack of new plates in a cupboard. "I'm on medication, but if I hadn't been, perhaps I wouldn't have stopped at emptying Dad's liquor cabinet. I don't know."

I furrowed my brow. "What kinda meds are you on?"

"Antidepressants."

"Because of the plane crash?"

He shook his head and moved on to wineglasses. "It's been about a year, but I did see a grief counselor in Pittsburgh. He said I should continue taking them, and he prescribed me a mild sleeping pill, too."

My mind spun. He'd done the right thing, obviously, going to a shrink for professional help. I'd failed at that, too. But what baffled me was the antidepressants he'd been on for a
year
.

How come I didn’t know? Mia would've told me. Despite our mutual love for riling each other up and driving one another bonkers, we could still talk. I calmed her down. She explained shit to me. It was what we did.

Had done.

*

When the Fourth of July rolled around a couple days later, I used the morning to set up the last furniture in my study. I hooked up the computer and then threw my lazy ass on the couch. Julian was borrowing my car to run some errands, and he was picking up lunch on the way home.

I wanted a drink.

Instead, I watched movies and dicked around on my phone.

Julian was a musician, and I wanted to encourage him. Since he didn't want me to help him with a job or a car, I'd pull a sneaky move and place a baby grand in the corner behind the dining area. He could suck it.

Before noon, I'd received texts from my friends wishing us a good holiday, and it wasn't long after that Julian returned. And he wasn't alone. I was surprised to see Nicky with him.

"Hope you don't mind I let him in," Julian said. He headed to the kitchen with a bag from a local sandwich place.

"Of course not." I looked over the back of the couch where I was sprawled. "You not spending the holiday with family?" I asked Nicky. I didn't get up from the couch 'cause…well, I was the new me. I did everything half-assed, it seemed.

"No, but I'm going to a barbecue later with some friends." He walked over with a thick, familiar envelope. "Tennyson Wright overnighted this to me. He wants you to read it."

A script.

Persistent fucker. Tennyson thought he could get me back to work by throwing scripts my way?

"I like what you've done with the place, Mr. Collins."

I waved a hand and flipped open the script. "Julian's work. And I thought I told you to call me Noah." There was a note from Tennyson on the first page.

You're the only one I trust to direct my first production.

My brow rose.

A Tennyson Wright Production, huh? He'd produced before, but a creative producer was a step above that, and they were a rare breed these days because of the risks. They went in with only their own money and ran the entire show, from casting to final say in edits. Too much could go wrong, and someone with an underdeveloped idea was more likely to sink the whole ship than to make it float.

If he was doing this, and he wanted me to direct it, it was a huge fucking deal.

After everything he'd done for me and my career, I couldn’t ignore this.

That asshole.

I tossed the script onto the coffee table and scowled.

"He knows I gotta read it now—" I cut myself off when I glanced over to the kitchen. Well, hey. Nicky was working my nephew. Flirting and whatnot.

Julian had his back to me as he unpacked groceries, so I couldn’t see his face. Was the flirting appreciated? Reciprocated? Was he even gay? Fuck if I knew—or cared. But he and Nicky were around the same age, and if they hit it off, then great.

A rock of unease settled in my gut, though. He hadn't even been here a week yet, and he seemed to be doing much better. I was the one whining like a fucking kid. Maybe the script had arrived with perfect timing.

Ten minutes later, Nicky left, and I lured Julian over to the couch with chips, dip, our lunch, and beer.

"Are you sure the beer is okay?" he asked.

"Hell yeah." I straightened up a bit and found a music channel that actually played music. "Not enough alcohol in beer to get me wasted before I piss it all out again."

He chuckled and got more comfortable.

"So did Nicky ask you out?" I'd never been one to beat around the bush.

Julian's earlier smile vanished, and he grabbed his beer. "I'm not gay."

Oh…so that's what's up.

Way too defensive.

"There's nothing wrong with it, you know." I frowned, wondering why he kept that hidden. Sure, there was a chance he was telling the truth, but his reaction to my question raised some serious doubts. "I've had my fair share of fun, so no prejudice here." It wasn't necessary to mention my friendship with Daniel and Zane.

Julian took a long swig from his bottle and did his internal battling for a while. I was learning his tells, and he always waited with the questions until he'd gone back and forth a bit first.

Then he shrugged and averted his gaze. "I'm not gay, is all. Those who are…I don't care. S'just not me."

Uh-huh.

There was clearly something he struggled with there, but I wasn't gonna pressure him. Living in LA would loosen him up eventually.

No pun intended.

I grinned, unable to help it. Maybe my crass—sometimes fucking juvenile—sense of humor was returning.

Turning back to the TV, I ate my sandwich and watched a few music videos, and the tunes were brightening my mood a bit. Julian seemed busy with his phone, and I felt like being useful for once. We didn't have anything planned for today, and neither of us wanted to go out, but a nice meal couldn’t hurt.

"I'm gonna start on dinner." I stood up and brought my beer to the kitchen where I opened the fridge to see what he'd bought.

"We just ate! Wait…you cook?" he asked from the couch.

"Well, the old me did." I scanned the fridge and started pulling out vegetables. "The new me can't be assed to do much of anything, but I reckon it's time I get back to who I used to be." At least, as far as I could take it.

I was pretty sure I was changed permanently in some ways. Trauma did that, but I had to live.

As I grabbed a box of pasta sheets, Julian joined me and hopped up to sit on the kitchen island. "I didn't really know the old you."

"Someone was always too cool to show up at reunions." I shot him a smirk over my shoulder and then got cracking. My vegetarian lasagna was fucking stellar; even my pops had loved it. Starting now would make it even more delicious. It'd be a while before we got hungry, but that meant more time for the flavors to soak in properly.

"I wasn't too cool," he argued. "I…had m-my reasons."

"How cryptic." I finished washing the vegetables. "I can't imagine what those reasons would be, but if you don't wanna say, so be it. At least it couldn’t have been my fault you didn't show up. Otherwise, you wouldn't have flown all the way out here to move in with me."

Come to think of it, it was a shame we didn’t know each other better. I remembered him as a gangly kid back in the day. He'd adored his little brother, but he'd had a soft spot for Linda.

Julian didn't answer, and I got lost in making my sauce. More garlic, definitely. Salt, pepper, olive oil.

It didn't take long before the kitchen was smelling like good old times.

"I know
some
things about you," he said after a while. "Mr. Life of the Party."

I grinned and took a swig of my beer. "No arguing there."

I'd always been popular for getting a party started. I was great to have around for casual fun, in and out of the bedroom. It was for the heartfelt stuff I was known for bailing. Red carpets, interviews, even being chased by the paparazzi when I was out with Sophie—shoot. No issues. But when shit got serious, I didn't like attention at all.

Fuck being vulnerable. It had always made me uncomfortable to the extreme. And, of course, opening myself up and getting into a genuine relationship with Emma had worked out so well…

I added a layer of basil and sliced mozzarella in the pan, followed by pasta and some butter.

"Noah, what did you mean earlier when you said you'd had your fair share of fun?"

"Hmm?" I poured some sauce on next and then turned to Julian. "You mean…ah. I meant with men."

"Oh." He looked away and tugged on a lock of his hair. "I figured you were straight."

I shrugged and bent over a little, getting closer to the cutting board to make sure the slices of eggplant and zucchini came out perfect and thin the way I liked them. "I'm not really into labels, kid. It restricts my fun. I suppose I'm straight, yeah; I never felt anything deep for a dude. Doesn’t mean I'll turn down a threesome with a hot couple, though. And it sure as hell didn't stop me from having fun with my buddies in college."

After finishing all the layers and dumping a shit-ton of cheese on top, the lasagna was ready to go in the oven, and I was itching for another beer.

I was a bit rusty without the same enthusiasm I once had, but I could get into this again. Cooking. I still had it in me, the passion. Buried somewhere.

*

Dinner was a hit, and no bullshit, I was smug when Julian collapsed on the couch afterward in a food coma. Darkness had fallen, fireworks were going off in the distance, and I clung to my good mood.

Nothing stronger than beer, I kept telling myself.

We didn't have any liquor at home anymore, but that didn't mean there wasn’t a bar or two nearby. I'd deal, though. It wasn't a painful struggle. I just had to readjust a bit in my noggin. It was all in the head.

While watching a movie, Julian got into asking me about the actors I'd worked with. He was slightly starstruck when I told him some of my favorite memories from film sets. I doubted he was into gossip, but he did get a good laugh from hearing some actors' diva antics.

"Does the big Sophie Pierce have any outrageous demands when she works?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not really, unless you count bigger trailers. She and Tennyson sync their schedules so they don't have to spend more than a week apart. So when one works, the other is usually nearby with the kids."

"That sounds nice." Julian quirked a grin. "Are they really the American Sweetheart couple the press has us believing?"

I snorted. "You read gossip rags? You should know better."

"Some things can't be avoided," he argued in his defense.

True, unfortunately. Running mouths in LA were loud.

"They're pretty fucking perfect, yeah," I conceded. "They fight and fuck up like any couple, but they're in the same league as your parents and mine. They come out stronger, and unlike my lovely ex-girlfriend, they remain loyal."

Had Emma been right to say I always compared us to Tennyson and Sophie?

Always
was a strong word, but maybe my expectations had been too high. Then again, who wouldn't want what my friends had? I supposed I was all-or-nothing in that respect. Fuck settling. Fuck her for stepping out on me.