Chapter 8

8

Dmitri

My car is hoisted up on jacks. It’s in the driveway, because Leah’s stuff is still in my garage. A petty part of me wants to tell her to take away her shit.

The lovesick part of me wants it to stay here so she’s still tied to me.

So fucking stupid.

I drain the oil from my car, watching it drip into the drain pan, black and thick. I wish it were as easy to remove the ugly parts of myself. Remove a plug, watch the bad drain out. Replace the filter. Refill my heart with something clean and healthy.

You’re a monster, Dmitri. If I am, so are you .

I had to sit at a table with him and Patrick last night. The dinner lasted two fucking hours. Would’ve been three, but I made up a bullshit excuse and said I had to go home.

Patrick definitely wants to bring Granddad in on our venture. It’s a bad idea. Problem is, I’ve wanted the jazz club for years. I was the one who wanted to open it originally, and Patrick invited himself along. I was glad at the time. Now I don’t know what to say to get out of it. A no goes unheeded. A firm no gets me reported to the rest of the family. Then everyone gets involved.

Fuck this. I grab my phone and send a text to Patrick. If Granddad is involved, I’m not doing it .

No response, but it’s only eleven a.m. He usually doesn’t get up until after noon.

The sump is empty so I replace the plug. After lowering the car back to the ground, I move to the engine.

My phone chirps with a text. Patrick, already? My heart gives an extra kick of anxiety. I don’t know why it’s hard for me to tell him no.

The text isn’t from Patrick, though—it’s from Leah.

Danica invited me to your granddad’s birthday party.

Shit, that’s tomorrow. I almost forgot. Leah’s still typing, so I wait for her to finish.

She writes, Should I skip? I don’t want things to be awkward .

She’s probably thinking of the shitshow at the restaurant last night. I shouldn’t have gone over to say hi. But it would’ve been weird not to.

I can’t get over the fact she’s living with Gage now.

I should’ve treated her better when she was at mine. I should’ve just told Danica to forget her whole “don’t date my friend or you’re a dead man” threat. I should have gone for Leah, for real.

Instead, I went about it all wrong. And now it’s over. Chance gone.

You should come , I write back. No awkwardness. We’re friends .

She doesn’t respond for so long, I go ahead and replace my oil filter. By the time the new filter is in place, my phone chimes again.

Question , she writes. Why didn’t you tell me who Gage was? You knew, right?

I don’t want to try texting this. I add new oil to the engine, start the car, check the level. It’s fine. I almost wish it needed a bit more oil so I had more time to think. But it’s best to talk this out.

I call Leah.

For a second, I think she won’t answer, but she does.

“Yeah, I knew who he was.” I clear my throat. “I signed an NDA, so I didn’t even tell Danica. Which is shitty, I know.”

“No.” She sounds thoughtful, understanding. “I would take an NDA seriously.”

“Yeah, well, Danica is family. And I should’ve broken it for her. It’s not like she would tell anyone.”

Leah’s voice is quiet. “She probably would’ve told me.”

She’s right. Danica can keep a secret, but she has always confided in Leah.

“The other thing I don’t get,” Leah says, “is why you started me on AoG in the first place. You had to have known I would figure it out once I got to Season Three.”

“At first, I wanted you to know.” I’m not proud of it, but I wanted to out Gage. I was pissed at him.

“Then at Danica’s, you seemed like you didn’t want us to watch it.”

“I felt bad.” I close the Mustang’s hood and carry the jacks back to the garage. “He helped me find you after you were kidnapped. We worked together. I figured if Gage cared about you that much, he deserved to tell you about his past on his own time.”

She’s very quiet. I pull the phone from my ear to see if the call is still connected.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

The call is over. Just like that, my connection to her is severed again.

A part of me wants to earn back her friendship.

But will I be happy as just friends with Leah?

No.

* * *

Gage

When I walk into the penthouse, Leah isn’t sitting in the living room waiting for me.

I stifle my disappointment.

The entire time at the bar, ignoring Nic’s and Todd’s camouflaged barbs and keeping Claudia from overindulging, I was thinking of Leah. Her crooked smile when she’s mildly amused. The shine in her blue eyes when she talks about her classic books. The way she casually touches me when we’re close. She doesn’t seem to be a casually touchy person in general. It’s only with people she cares about, I suspect—and she cares about me.

All I wanted, while I was away, was to come home to her. Where is she?

“Leah?”

“In here.” Her voice floats down the hall.

My disappointment morphs into relief. I first go to her bedroom, but she isn’t there. Is she waiting in my room?

She is. Covers pulled up to her chin, the lamp next to the bed on its highest setting. She puts her book on the nightstand and grins. “Welcome home—holy shit, Gage, your beard is gone!”

“I’m aware.” I rub a hand over my smooth chin. “I’m the one who shaved it off.”

“It’s—it looks good.” She doesn’t sound certain about that.

I raise my eyebrows. “The highest of praise.”

“It’ll take some getting used to, that’s all.”

“Give it a week or so, and it’ll grow back. I didn’t want the paps to photograph me with the beard and glasses. If they did, it would be more difficult to remain inconspicuous here in San Esteban.”

“There were paparazzi? At the funeral?”

“There’s no sense of honor among them.” I pull out my phone and search online for my name and today’s date. Usually, I wouldn’t do such a thing, but I want to know what’s out there. I hold out my phone so Leah can see the recent photos.

Leah peers at the screen, a thoughtful expression on her face. “She’s very pretty.”

“She?” I turn my phone back. “Oh, Claudia. She’s a former castmate from AoG. She’s also a good friend.”

“Claudia…” Her mouth purses as she thinks. “I remember you talking to her once. I overheard her name as I was leaving your office at the club.”

“Yes. We talk fairly frequently.”

“Should I be jealous?” The question sounds lighthearted, but I detect a thread of vulnerability.

“No, baby. It’s friendship only. That’s all it has ever been or will be.” I move to sit on the bed next to her, so she slides her legs over to make room for me. She’s still under the blankets. I touch her cheek. “There’s nobody for me but you. How was your day?”

“I mostly read a book and people-watched at the coffee shop down the block.”

“Did you see anything interesting?”

The corner of her mouth tilts up as she remembers. “A guy was typing furiously at his laptop. I think he was writing either an epic fantasy novel, a treatise on world hunger, or a blog post titled ‘Ten Reasons Cats Will Take Over the World.’”

I can’t help but laugh. “What else?”

“A group of dad friends spent a good thirty minutes humble-bragging about their babies. Things like, Oh, Suzie sat up at four months old. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything but everyone in the family is convinced she’s going to be in the Olympics . And, Yeah, I don’t know why people talk about milestones at all, because they’re meaningless. Carlton is eight months old and speaking in full sentences. I’m sure it isn’t the big deal his daycare is making it out to be .”

I snort.

“It’s ridiculous, right?” Leah laughs. “But also kind of sweet. Like, they’re really invested in their kids’ success. Not all parents are like that.”

Mine certainly were. They were over-invested. I consider saying so, but I’m more curious about Leah’s background. “Were your parents invested?”

She scoffs. “Fuck no.”

I wait to see if she’ll elaborate.

“My dad took off when I was little. My mom remarried when I was twelve, and my stepdad is an asshole. He didn’t want kids, and he made that abundantly clear throughout my teenage years. I lived with Danica’s family toward the end of high school.”

All of that, and she still seems so bright and happy. I can’t imagine not feeling wanted by my own parents. I spent most of my teenage years trying to escape the stranglehold they had on my work as a child actor, and on my personal life as well.

My esteem for Leah has shot up. Everything I learn about her only increases my admiration.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but your stepdad didn’t deserve you.”

“Yeah. Well.” She fusses with the edge of the blanket.

I take her hand in mine, stilling her nervous movements. It’s time to redirect the conversation; I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. “What else did you do?”

“I met Danica at the ice cream shop where she works.” She brightens somewhat. “I took her out for lunch with your card—I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not in the slightest. That’s why I left it for you—for a treat.” A mention of the card and treat reminds me of the note I left her with the map to the lingerie store. Holding back my grin, I ask in mock concern, “Did you go anywhere else today?”

She grins. “Maybe.”

“Hmm.” I look her up and down. “Why are you all covered up? Are you cold?”

She shakes her head and smiles.

“What’s under this blanket?” I tug on the edge.

Giggling, she holds the comforter in place.

“Leah. Did you go shopping with your underwear allowance?”

“Maybe?” She draws the word out.

“Let me see.”

“What if you don’t like it?” She looks up at me through her eyelashes. “It’s very…scandalous.”

As a rule, I don’t like scandalous things. I’ve had enough scandal in my life. But scandalous lingerie, on Leah? I would love to see that.

I stand up. The lamp throws my shadow over her. “Show me.”

She shivers. Sometimes she does that when I lower my voice. And because I like the reaction it brings, I do it more often.

“Leah.” I go deeper.

Her blue eyes stare directly into mine as she lowers the edge of the blanket.

I catch a glimpse of a sheer blue strap adorned with scalloped ivory lace.

My baby girl is here to play.

I shrug out of my suit coat and toss it to the other side of the bed, my gaze never leaving hers. I unbutton my shirt and remove it as well.

Leah openly stares at me. While I can appreciate her admiration and I logically know that my bedroom is safe, I stop at removing my shirt. My pants will remain on for now.

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m waiting to see more of what your allowance bought you, princess.”

Her smile turns mischievous and she slides the blankets all the way down.