7. Orson

Chapter 7

Orson

As I survey the wreckage of my apartment—my eyes grow wide with shock. How could such a small person do so much damage? Kim asked for the truth, and I gave it to her—at least my version of it. I said nothing new. And whatever words managed to escape my lips in the heat of battle hardly merited this much destruction. She’s always had a nasty habit of overreacting—it’s an actress thing.

Shattered glass crunches under my shoes as I pass through the debris. The paintings that once adorned my walls are now ripped and mangled, their vibrant colors bleeding into each other. Even the throw pillows, the ones my mom painstakingly chose the last time she was in town, lay gutted and torn. It's a fitting metaphor for my relationship with Kim—tumultuous, destructive, and now over.

Despite the chaos, there's an overwhelming sense of relief now that she's gone. The air seems clearer somehow, as if her stormy departure has swept away all the pretenses we've been clinging to for too long. The tension is finally gone, and I couldn’t be happier.

With a tired sigh, I sink onto the only chair left unturned in the room. My head pounds from the loud noises, screams, and insanity of the night, still amazed at how it got so bad so fast. But beneath it all, another sound lingers—a soft, nagging whisper that won't let me be. It's the memory of Winter's expression when she caught me looking her way, a mix of surprise and disappointment. Despite everything, I can't help but feel a strong desire to explain myself to her. The person I was with Kim is not who I truly am.

The memory of Winter's gentle smile, illuminated by the soft glow of the screen, flashes through my mind. Despite the madness surrounding me, her serene composure remains crystal clear, a sharp contrast to Kim's fiery temper.

Winter deserves to know the truth—that I never should have let her go and should have fought harder to keep her. The thought of starting over with a lie or tired excuses gnaws at me, urging me to act quickly. I can't bear the thought of waiting until Christmas, fearing that she may bring someone else to the wedding to ensure I'm not the only one with a date, even though it was never my intention.

Picking myself up, I walk toward the kitchen and step over a tangle of broken vases and flowers smashed into the floor. My phone is where I left it, tossed carelessly on the counter next to my keys. My fingers hesitate above it as I consider calling Winter’s mom and begging her to give me her daughter’s digits. Fortunately, it’s late, and tonight’s drama has made me gun-shy. It’s probably best to wait before I make things worse.

Instead, I turn toward the little notepad beside the phone and pull it toward me. Picking up a pen, I start writing everything I want to say to Winter. Not just about tonight, but everything—if only to see it spelled out before me.

"Winter, I’m sorry you saw me with Kim tonight…”

“I’ve missed you and forgave you the moment you left me.”

That sounds horrible. Insulting. Audacious. Winter would tear this up and set me and the note on fire. And I’d have it coming.

My pen hovers over the paper as my thoughts scatter again. How do you put a plea for understanding into words without sounding desperate or insincere? Maybe this isn’t something to write down—perhaps it needs to be said face-to-face. As difficult as that will be, Owen has given me the best possible Christmas present by inviting me to his wedding. It’s the perfect opportunity to correct the mistakes of the past.

I drop the pen and grab my jacket by the door. If I hurry, I may catch Winter at the premiere after-party. Her friend, Chelsea, will probably want to network and most likely dragged Winter with her. It’s a great career move. She’ll get far more attention if the reigning pop queen is by her side. I only hope they stay long enough for me to find her.

I push through the crowd, my heart pounding so loud, it echoes in my ears. The air is thick with laughter and the clink of glasses, but I barely notice. All I can think about is finding Winter and pleading my case.

I scan the room—my eyes roaming over celebrities draped in silk, sequins, and velvet, directors mulled in deep discussion, and producers schmoozing executives hoping to secure funds for their next project. But there is no sign of Winter. Every glance that meets mine is either a knowing smirk or an oblivious flutter of lashes that doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever. After eight years of looking for affection and validation in women who left me feeling emptier than before we met, I finally realized what I’ve needed all along. I need my Winter back—preferably sooner than later.

My frustration mounts, knotting my stomach. I grab champagne from a passing server and down it faster than I should, hoping the bubbles will ease this tightening frustration. That’s when Jeff Ferguson—more of a frequent co-star than a friend—saunters over with a slick smile plastered across his face.

"Orson! Great work today, man." Jeff slaps my back with unnecessary force. "That climax was completely unexpected.”

"Thanks," I mutter, my eyes still darting around the room. “But I wasn’t in the movie, dumbass. Did you catch any of it, or were you looking for your next hookup?” The longer he lingers, the more I remember why I’ve never liked him.

"Speaking of hookups…" Jeff leans in closer, his breath tainted with alcohol and arrogance. Ignoring my accusation, he continues, "Did you see Winter Knight during the screening? Holy shit, that dress of hers could have gotten her arrested for indecent exposure." He exaggerates for effect, triggering a possessive streak I haven’t felt since high school.

Every muscle in my body tightens, fury simmering beneath my skin like lava waiting to erupt. "Watch your mouth, Jeff."

Jeff chuckles obliviously, taking a swig from his glass before returning to his crass appraisal. "I mean, if I’d known she?—"

"That’s enough. Get rid of whatever pornographic images you have in your mind and change the subject." My voice slices through the chatter around us—sharp and laden with warning.

Jeff raises an eyebrow and scoffs as though I'm being over-sensitive. "Come on, man. We're just talking here. She’s gorgeous and has the kind of body that could keep me hard for days."

"We're done talking. One more fucking word, and I’ll lay you out and leave you for dead.” The threat in my voice is unmistakable. I clench my free hand and mentally prepare to knock the shit out of him. If I get arrested, then I’ll deal with the consequences. It would be worth it.

Jeff takes a step back and holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get violent. I didn’t know you had a thing for her. Let me know when you’re done with her, and I’ll happily take sloppy seconds."

For a moment longer, I consider following through with my earlier threat—but no punch could adequately express the disgust coiling inside me or soothe the anger at hearing Winter spoken about like she's nothing more than an object for his pleasure. The thought alone makes me want to put him in a coma. But then I might miss the wedding and a chance to see her again.

Turning away from Jeff with a shake of my head, I decide to bolt before I do something I’ll regret. Winter isn’t here, and I have no reason to stay.

I need air. I need space. I need Winter.