Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  I close my eyes when he takes out a needle and numbs the area. By the time he leaves, I have twenty stitches in both feet. “He needs to stay off his feet for at least a week,” he tells Sylvia. “I have to see him before then.”

  He takes off his gloves and tosses them in the trash near the bed. “A full week?” Sylvia asks. “What if he uses crutches or a wheelchair?”

  “He needs the skin to heal correctly, or it’ll be worse in the long run.” She just nods at him, and he walks out.

  “Jesus fuck,” she says, taking out her phone and calling someone. “He’s out minimum a week,” she tells the person. “I would make all the arrangements to film everyone else but him.” She listens as the person talks. “Yeah, fine.” She ends the call and looks up at the ceiling. “Why? Why me?”

  “I don’t have the answers for you,” I tell her. “I’ve been asking myself that since I was eight years old.” I tell her, closing my eyes and just letting the darkness take over.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Erin

  “You don’t have to go anywhere, honey,” my father says to me when I tell him that it’s time I go back to my own place. “This is your home, too.”

  “Dad, it’s been two weeks,” I tell him, cutting up the chicken that he just made for us. He’s been home all week, and I know for a fact he’s canceled three business trips. “Besides, you need to get back to work.” I point my fork at him.

  “I am working.” He tries to hide his smile. It’s been different at the office ever since they found out that I am his daughter, something that I didn’t want anyone to know until I proved myself. He told Sylvia without me, but when he told Carter, I knew the cat would be out of the bag, so he announced and introduced me. Everyone was surprised, to say the least, but none have treated me differently.

  “You canceled three trips east,” I tell him. “You have to visit the set in New York, and you haven’t.”

  “That’s because I have everything under control from here.” He tries to lie, but I know that the only reason he’s been so successful is because he’s the front man of his company, and everyone knows it. He doesn’t just stay in his office. He goes to the sets, talks to the crew, feels everything out, and people can talk to him.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “Tomorrow, I’m going home.”

  “But it’s Saturday. Why don’t you stay until Monday and then go home?” He tries to change my mind, but I know he needs to be in Atlanta on Sunday.

  “I want to sleep in my bed and do my own laundry and just chill out,” I tell him, and he frowns at me. “Dad.”

  “Fine.” He puts his hands up, and I smile at him. “But I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone.”

  I nod my head at him. “I know I’m never alone,” I tell him the truth. If anything, they have been around me now more than ever. My mother FaceTimes me twice a day, and then my father is there for breakfast. He orders my lunch and then makes sure he’s home to make me dinner. The pain is there; it’s always there lingering. It’s like a piece of my heart is missing, and I don’t know how to fill it. I don’t know if I will ever be able to fill it. I’ve been in love before; hell, we all have. I thought my boyfriend from high school was going to be the one I would marry and have kids with, but this is so different.

  “I know how much you love him,” my father says softly, and it doesn’t slip past me that he used the present tense of the word, “and I can honestly say that he feels the same way.”

  “Don’t,” I say loudly, dropping my fork onto the plate. My stomach feeling queasy again. “I don’t want to hear it.” My father told me about the conversation he had with him. Not so much a conversation but nonetheless, he said that regardless of what he did, he loves me.

  “Erin,” he says quietly, and I shake my head and get up, going to the sink.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Dad,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to sit there and dissect what he did or why he did it. He did it because that is who he is.” I put my hand to my stomach when it feels like a wave just went through it. “I was the stupid one who fell for it.”

  “You weren’t stupid for falling in love,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I fell in love with your mother when I was eighteen, and it was the best decision I ever made.”

  “You have to say that only because I was the outcome of that.” I try to joke around.

  “No, I don’t have to say that.” He gets up. “She was the love of my life,” he says softly, “and no one after her ever measured up to her.”

  “Dad,” I say his name softly, and he shakes his head.

  “I love my life, I love that I have you, and I love that I have your mother. I wouldn’t trade that for all the money in the world.” He turns to me. “Now, do you want to go and watch a movie with me?”

  I nod. “I’m going to go change, and then I’ll meet you in the movie room,” he says, walking away, and I think about what he just said. I wonder if I will be like him and never get over Carter.

  “Day by day,” I tell myself, going into the movie room and starting the old-fashioned popcorn maker that sits in the corner of the room. There are ten huge brown recliners that sit in two rows in front of a projection screen.

  He comes in ten minutes later wearing sweats and a T-shirt. “What are we going to watch?”

  “Well, we have a couple to choose from,” he says, going over to the DVDs that were delivered to him tonight. I follow him, and he flips through them, and I see the one of Carter’s. He tries to hide it, but I stop him.

  “Let’s watch it,” I tell him. I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself, but maybe it’s like ripping the Band-Aid right off.

  “We can watch something else,” he tells me, but I grab the DVD from him and walk over to the player. I put it in and meet my father by the second chair in the front. Sitting in it, I curl my feet under me. “If it gets too much . . .”

  “Dad.” I roll my eyes. “Just press play,” I tell him, and he grabs the remote, pressing play and dimming the lights. The movie starts with the title of the film, and then his name flashes on the screen, and the wave in my stomach starts again. It’s been a week since I’ve seen him in person. I do check his Instagram every day, telling myself it’s just because of my job. His face fills the screen, and I stop and just look at him. His hair is pushed back, and you can see where his fingers ran through it, his eyes are crystal blue with the dark blue rim around the outer part. I watch him play his role to perfection. The movie isn’t done, not even close to it, but for an hour, I’m under his spell and feeling every single emotion he is feeling for his daughter.

  “Oh my God,” I say when it comes to the end. “Dad.”

  “I know,” he says. “I hate him for hurting you.” I shake my head. “But I have to give it to him, he is really going to make a name for himself with this movie.”

  “I agree,” I tell him, getting up and walking out of the room with him. He turns off the projection screen. “I’m going to hit the hay. I’m exhausted. These days, I swear it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open after three o’clock.” I kiss his cheek. “Luckily, I can’t get fired.”

  He shakes his head. “Good night, sweetheart.” I walk to my bedroom and get under the covers. Turning on my side, I stare at my phone and see no one has called me. I find myself checking my phone more often lately, my subconscious maybe hoping he’ll call. Or he’ll come by and explain why he did what he did. But nothing. I get nothing. I mean, is there really anything that he can say to explain why he did what he did? It’s pretty self-explanatory that I wasn’t enough for him. We weren’t enough for him. I was just his safe place to use me, keep his job, and improve his image. I close my eyes and fall fast asleep within minutes, another thing that comes easily these days. In my dreams, there is no pain, and in my dreams, there are no mistakes. It’s just me and him and his arms around me. I hear his voice, his laughter, and I feel him close to me. Then in the morning, I get to mourn him all
over again.

  I keep pretending I’m okay. I get in the car and make my way home and walk into the room. Again, I look around the quiet house and walk to open the curtains and the windows. I unpack the bag that I brought to my father’s, and when I carry the things to my closet, I see his shirt. I stop in my tracks, afraid to get close to it. I drop the clothes in my hand and walk to the white shirt. The cotton feels so soft in my hands, and I do what everyone would do. I close my eyes and bring it to my nose and smell him. The tear escapes without warning, remembering when I wore this back home after he tore my shirt off. I take off my shirt and replace it with his, then walk to the bed and slide into it. I watch the outside, my eyes falling closed with the smell of him settling my heartbeat for the first time in over a week. It’s all a daze; it’s all just going through the motions.

  I get up, go to work, come home to sleep, and then repeat five days a week. Sleeping is my escape from everything, but even with all the sleeping I’m getting, the dark circles are still around my eyes. I’m sitting in my office on a Friday afternoon when my phone rings from an unknown caller.

  “Hello,” I answer on the second ring.

  “Hey, Erin, it’s Jessica.” I drop my pen that I was writing with. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “No,” I answer her. “Not at all. How are you?”

  “I’m good, a little sick, but hey, that’s to be expected when you’re knocked up.” She laughs nervously.

  “Oh my gosh, I had no idea,” I tell her. “Not that I’ve been reading the tabloids lately.”

  She laughs. “We haven’t announced it yet. But I was calling because I finally was able to finish the story.” I take a deep breath. “I am just about to send it to you for your approval, and then I’m going to be publishing it.”

  “I’m actually not the one doing the PR for Carter anymore,” I tell her, “but I can send it to Sylvia, and if she has anything she would like to change or add, she can get in touch with you.”

  “That sounds great,” she says. “Whatever it is, just let me know.”

  “I will and congratulations again,” I tell her, and we disconnect. I scroll on my phone list and dial Sylvia.

  “Hey, Erin,” she says, answering the phone on the third ring.

  “Hey, Sylvia,” I reply, “are you busy?”

  “Not right now,” she says. “We are waiting for the car to come and get us.” I try not to think about who the we are.

  “I just got a phone call from Jessica about the piece she wrote for Carter,” I tell her. “I’m going to forward you the email, and you can check it out.”

  “Perfect. You can send it now. The plane takes off in an hour, so I can look it over on the plane.” I check my email and forward the email to her. “I will be back in the office Monday morning.”

  “Perfect,” I tell her. “Have a great weekend.”

  “Thank you, Erin. You, too,” she says and disconnects. I do what I shouldn’t. I open the document and read the article. It’s baffling to me that it’s already been three weeks since that day.

  I open the calendar and write in a couple of items that I need to take care of next week. I schedule a meeting with Sylvia on Tuesday to go over the game plan to take care of the movie premiere in two months. I turn the pages and see the red circle around the date and then flip through the pages. My neck starts to burn, and my stomach flutters. I flip the pages again and count backward. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. I get up, grabbing my purse, and rush home, suddenly feeling sick.

  When night comes, I don’t sleep. I sit on the couch in the dark wearing his shirt. When morning comes, I slip on my clothes and get into my car.

  The drive goes faster than I want it to go, my heart speeding up a bit and my hands holding the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. When I pull up to the house, I get out and walk down the step, ringing the doorbell. I stand here holding my purse in front of me with both hands. My head’s down as I count to twenty when I hear the lock click, and the door swing open. I thought I was ready for it. I was not.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Carter

  “I can’t wait to be home,” Sylvia says from beside me, getting into the car. We are in Montana, where we have been for the whole week, and on our way home.

  After the doctor ordered me to stay on bed rest, Jeff came over and brought a male nurse to help me around the house and do things for me since I couldn’t be on my feet. Not only was this guy my shadow, but all the booze was taken out of my house like I was a child. Facing everything sober is worse than you think. Facing the pain in your chest day in and day out, thinking it’s going to get better, but instead, it gets worse, so much worse, and at times, you think your heart’s going to either come out of your chest or stop beating. I spent most of the time either on the couch or in bed, trying to shut off my mind. It replayed everything that I wanted to forget. My mind replayed everything that I missed and everything that I loved yet couldn’t have.

  I got back on set, and it was go time. They had filmed pretty much everything that they could without me, and now it was crunch time. Usually I would hate it, but it made me focus on anything but her. Every single time I saw Sylvia, I wanted to ask about her, but I didn’t have the right to know anything.

  Going back to Montana was not only the knife in my chest, but it was the knife being twisted. That was when the memories were the strongest. The pull toward the mountains, toward the house where I fell in love with her. I got in the car one night and drove there. Luckily, it was empty. I sat on the chair in the back without the fire lit and just let it go. Let myself have all the memories. I let myself look at the pictures, and I let my heart experience the pain I was feeling.

  Every day, it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, and I was happy to go home, thinking that the elephant would stay there. I am sitting next to Sylvia when I hear her name, and my heart speeds up, faster and faster. I can’t even concentrate. I close my eyes, hoping that somehow I will be able to hear her voice. If I listen close enough, will I be able to hear her?

  “Perfect. You can send it now. The plane takes off in an hour, so I can look it over on the plane,” Sylvia says and looks out the window, waiting for the car to come get us. “I will be back in the office Monday morning.” I wait to hear what else she will say. “Thank you, Erin. You, too.” She disconnects and then looks at her phone.

  “We got the interview that Jessica did,” she tells me.

  “I guess Erin can’t take care of it from New York,” I tell her, turning to look out the window.

  “She isn’t in New York,” she says, and I slowly turn my head. “She’s in the L.A. office.”

  “I thought after she was done with me, she was taking the job in New York?” I say, my hands suddenly clammy. She shakes her head.

  “No, she turned that job down,” she says, and my mouth suddenly gets dry, my heart hammering in my chest. “She was never going to New York. I mean, at first that was her end goal, but halfway through your assignment, she emailed the team and said she wasn’t interested in relocating.”

  “But I thought . . .” I start saying, and Sylvia looks over at me. “I thought she wanted the job in New York.”

  She shrugs her shoulders like her answer isn’t the one that I’ve been waiting for. “No, she turned that option down when she got back from Montana.”

  It can’t be is the only thing I think. It can’t be; this can’t be happening. “But . . .” I say, and I honestly can’t focus on anything except the pounding echoing in my ears from my heart. “But she was going to take New York.”

  “I have no idea. It was never actually decided really,” she says and then gets up when she sees the car pull up. I walk to the car, my body going through the motions, but my head spinning. But Jennifer told me that she was going to New York. She told me that.

  What the fuck did I just do? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? I don’t bother talking to anyone on the flight.
I get on, go sit on the couch, and lay my head back. We land, and it’s almost eleven p.m. I get in the car and instead of going home, my car goes toward her house to see if she’s home. There aren’t any lights on, so she’s probably sleeping or out on a date. My stomach burns thinking that. I get home and walk upstairs to the guest bedroom and kick off my shoes, my feet still stinging. I lie in bed the whole night, looking up at the ceiling. The darkness outside fades into gray, then into light, and I get up, going downstairs.

  I have to go see her; I have to explain. I just have to. There isn’t a way around it anymore. I fucked up, and I did it in such a colossal way that I don’t think anything will be good enough, but she has to know. I grab the coffee cup in my hand and bring it to my lips when I hear the doorbell. My eyes go to the clock on the stove, and I see it’s a little after nine. Who could it be? I put down the cup and walk to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open, and there standing in the doorway is the only person who can make my heart beat normal. My first thought is how beautiful she is. Her hair blows in the wind while she holds her purse in front of her. “Erin.” Her name on my lips makes everything okay. It’s like my life was spinning, but now it’s back on its axis.

  “Hi,” she says, her voice soft, and I look at her. She looks like she’s lost weight and hasn’t slept, and I did that to her. But my God, she’s still fucking gorgeous. “I’m sorry. I should have called before I came, but I didn’t even think.”

  “No,” I say sharply. “Please come in.” I move away, and I hope she comes in. If she doesn’t, I wonder if I could just grab her and lock her in the house. Never let her leave so I can finally fucking breathe.

  “I won’t take up much of your time,” she says, walking in and waiting for me to lead the way.

  “You can take up as much of my time that you want,” I tell her. All my time, all my time forever almost slips out, but I stop myself. “Is this okay?” I say, pointing at the couch, and she nods her head.