“Even better!” Bridge agreed. “That’s the spirit, show her what she’s missing.”
“How am I the one dying alone?” I wondered out loud.
Bridge opened the door and wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, man up with some of that Tennyson grit, and go troll her social media.”
I stared him down. “I can’t decide if this is the best pep talk or the absolute worst.”
He winked and shut the door behind him.
And I stupidly took his advice, grabbed my phone, and immediately started following her on Instagram.
Along with seventeen and a half million other fans.
Great advice, Bridge. Great.
Defeated, I tossed my phone against the couch and went in search of clean clothes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
KEATON
My hands would heal.
I wasn’t going to lose any digits.
And I was no longer trapped by a killer elk and three feet of snow.
And I was sad.
I told my parents not to fly in and sent them a nice little proof-of-life photo. I filled them in on the need-to-know details and told them I was camping out in their lavish apartment until I figured out my next move.
The only problem?
He was in the city.
And because of that, I found that I didn’t want to leave.
To make matters worse, the words were gone.
I stared at my laptop the very next day with a fresh cup of coffee in my hand and a strong feeling that everything was going to be okay. I just had to tell the story.
Except, the minute I started typing, I wasn’t thinking of Noah. I was thinking about Julian.
About his mouth.
The way he kissed me.
Every all-consuming smile he flashed my way, the teasing, and the look on his face when the ambulance pulled away.
I didn’t have his phone number, I hadn’t even thought about it. And now I felt weird just randomly looking him up and going, “Oh hey, remember me? The girl who coerced you into sex after chocolate chip cookies?”
I frowned at the laptop screen.
I hadn’t exactly coerced him.
It had been a joint decision, right?
I thought back about the hesitation in his eyes, the way he licked the chocolate from my lips and waited like he needed permission from me, and the embarrassing way I basically threw myself at him with wild abandon.
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. It would be fine. I was alone in my parents’ Manhattan penthouse, and all I kept thinking was how I missed the cabin.
But I missed Julian more.
I put my hands on the keyboard and took a deep breath, just as my cell started to buzz.
Thank. God.
I didn’t recognize the number, but took it as a sign from the universe and quickly said, “Hello?”
“Keaton?” The feminine voice sounded familiar. “Keaton Westbrook?”
Great, another fan found my number. I was going to have to change it again. “Yeah, that’s me,” I said with fake excitement.
“Oh, good! Your publicist said this was the right one, but I wasn’t sure since she said you’ve had to change your number so many times. Anyways, I was calling to see if you’d like to go to the surprise party.”
“Surprise party,” I repeated like a parrot. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Oh God, I’m such an idiot. In my head I already told you. Ugh, pregnancy brain. This is Izzy Tennyson.”
My mouth went completely dry. “Oh, h-hey there.” I gulped and squeezed my eyes shut.
She laughed. “So the party is next Friday, they rented out the entire Met for Bridge and Julian’s birthday. It’s going to be incredible, and neither of them knows it’s happening, mainly because they’d both bail and get drunk in a closet somewhere rather than show up, and we can’t have that. Please say you’ll come!”
“Um . . .”
“It would mean a lot to Julian,” she said softly, apparently pulling out the big guns. “He was forced to take some time off, you know . . . at least three weeks. He’s going to be a grumpy bear, and it might be nice to have someone he likes there so he doesn’t scare everyone away.”
“He has you.” I said it without thinking.
She was silent and then, “Hard to believe, since we were friends first, but I’m not Julian’s favorite person, and I refuse to force forgiveness where it’s not earned. I deserve it, I made the choice, not Bridge, not Julian, but me. When love finds you, true love, it doesn’t give you the chance to say no, and you realize that you would rather suffer the rest of your life with your decisions than suffer without it.”
I sighed. Well, when she put it that way. “I’ll be there.”
“Great!” I could practically feel her beaming through the phone. “I’ll get the rest of the details over to your publicist. It’s a gala, so obviously wear a gown. If you want to know the designers that are helping sponsor the event, I can let you know so you can wear one of their pieces, or wear whatever you want, but I know since it’s you they’d jump at the opportunity to dress you.”
I smiled at that. “How about you pair me up with the designer who needs the publicity the most?”
She was silent.
I waited.
“Izzy?”
She sniffed. “Sorry, I’m so hormonal. That’s really sweet, I knew I liked you. You’re perfect for him.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “Thank you. I’ll see you next week.”
“Can’t wait!”
She hung up.
And I stared at my computer and quickly wrote down what I was thinking.
Noah was my first love.
He was someone who made me think about the world differently.
Noah was my world.
Cancer consumed him the way he consumed me.
After our first date, we were inseparable. He entertained me with stories about his childhood, and the second day we were together, he told me he was going to kiss me.
His kiss felt unlike any kiss I’d ever had.
Until two days ago, when Julian Tennyson kissed me and stole the only fragment of my still-beating heart.
Love doesn’t always end with death. Sometimes, that’s where it takes root.
I was happy with what I had written, but a part of me was still conflicted, like I was writing a story that should be written with Julian. It was ridiculous. I snapped a picture and posted to Instagram, knowing that my fans would be excited. I was just about to close out the app when I noticed several hundred new comments on one of my last posts.
It was a picture of me sitting by myself smiling into a cup of coffee. The caption talked about moving on with life even though it’s difficult.
The comments, however, were scathing.
It seemed everyone was there for me when Noah was struggling, but even hinting at moving on had set people off. Comments about cheating, and it being too soon, and calling me a whore.
My stomach dropped.
I quickly set my phone down and tried to suck in some air. Why hadn’t my team told me about this?
I felt nauseated as I paced the apartment. It was like going through Noah’s struggle all over again as panic seized my lungs. I started hyperventilating and quickly moved to the kitchen to grab a paper bag.
I tried breathing into it so I wouldn’t pass out, then went in search of the Xanax my doctor had prescribed for my panic attacks.
They’d started when we were told Noah’s treatments weren’t working.
I’d had a horrible nightmare that he’d died in my arms while we were sleeping and that I never got to say goodbye.
It was always harder at night.
And rationally I knew that there was nothing different at night, just the absence of light, but for some reason that absence just reminded me that he was gone and that I was all alone, living without him.
I popped a small pill, but it did no
thing to ease the anxiety twisting my stomach into knots—because if they knew about Julian, the brand that I’d built would be in jeopardy and even more so, it would impact the book.
The one thing I had promised to do.
Write our story.
And it could all go up in flames with one social media post holding Julian’s hand.
It wasn’t fair.
To either of us.
Then again, it wasn’t like it was going to go beyond just that one time, right? I gulped. The problem was that I liked him, I liked his raw honesty, his sensitivity, and the way that he made me feel when I talked about Noah. He didn’t cut me off or start talking about himself; he was eerily quiet and made me think he wanted to know more.
But we weren’t in the cabin anymore, secluded away from the real world. I mentally prepared myself for all of the media at his surprise party. I’d thank him for his help at the cabin and I’d move on.
I would not repeat the same mistake of leaning into his cologne or letting my heart slam against my chest every time he smiled at me.
I’d say happy birthday, and I’d bolt.
Perfect plan.
If only I had confidence that I could stick to it without falling for his lethal charms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JULIAN
The city was always my favorite place at night, something about the lights made me feel alive even when I was in a bad mood and bored out of my mind. And not just that, but torturing myself with images and memories of my night with Keaton, like reliving it in my head was going to be anything like the real thing. The car pulled up to another stoplight. I was probably going to be late, and I really didn’t care.
If I had it my way, I’d make an appearance, shake hands, drink one glass of champagne, then go back to my apartment and creep Keaton’s Instagram like I’d been doing for the past week and a half.
I’d yet to grow a pair of balls and message Keaton, but I’d done a really good job of looking over every single picture she posted like a madman, and when I came to the pictures of her and Noah, some sick curiosity took over.
My forced vacation was turning me into a stalker.
And not even a really good one.
We’d gotten back into the city late on a Wednesday, it was already a week and a half later, and all I’d done was convinced myself that Noah was superhuman and that no man would ever compare to him.
Literally.
I wasn’t even exaggerating; that’s the caption she wrote beneath the last photo of them a year ago.
I was driving myself crazy.
Hadn’t done anything except work out and watch TV, and Bridge wouldn’t stop calling me to remind me about the business dinner I was en route to.
I didn’t even bother with a tie.
I almost laughed, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. Last year I wouldn’t have been caught dead going to a business dinner without running a lint roller over my suit, and today I’d gotten ready in ten minutes and called it good.
When the car pulled up to the curb, I realized that was most likely a grievous error on my part.
Paparazzi lined a red carpet leading to the stairs and all the way up into the entrance, and hanging from the building was a banner with the largest picture of my face I had ever seen. Seriously, billboard-sized.
Scrawled between our two photos, in letters probably ten feet tall, was Happy Birthday, Julian and Bridge!
I was killing Izzy.
This had her written all over it.
I gritted my teeth until my jaw hurt and ran my hands through my hair before the door opened and, like an out-of-body experience, like walking through mud, I slowly made my way up the stairs amidst screams from the media.
“Is it true you cheated on your fiancée and she left you for your brother?”
“Are you gay?”
“Did someone murder your mother?”
“Julian, are you still on drugs?” Seriously?
“Your father said you have a drinking problem . . .” Oh good, let’s talk about him on my birthday.
My plan had been to celebrate with a quiet dinner at the apartment followed by Jimmy Fallon.
God, I was a mess.
I forced a smile I didn’t feel as cameras flashed and more questions were fired toward me. I felt old, so old in that moment, older than my thirty-two years as I finally made it to the top of the stairs to see Izzy waving wildly at me. She was in a sleek black dress that hugged every curve, including her rapidly growing stomach.
A baby.
His baby. Not mine.
My ex-fiancée.
I almost turned around and bolted.
Would I ever get used to it?
To them?
I was already exhausted, and the night had just started. “Izzy, I take it this is all you?” I leaned in and pressed a kiss to each cheek.
She didn’t let me get away without a hug.
Ever since the beginning of her pregnancy she’d been emotional. She’d even called me, bawling and apologizing—yet again—for everything during the coma.
I told her I forgave her.
And I did.
But that didn’t mean it was easy to hug her then return her to my brother.
“Bridge.” I shook his hand.
He too pulled me in for a hug, then whispered in my ear, “They locked all exits, I checked.”
I laughed. “She actually let you out of her sight?”
He glared. “I can be stealthy.”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Easily defeated, both of you. Now, go inside, sip some champagne and—” Her eyes lit up. “Actually don’t go inside. Julian, count to three and turn around.”
“Izzy, swear to me you didn’t get a giant cake with a person in it.” I groaned.
Bridge’s eyebrows shot up. “Not a giant cake.”
Izzy beamed. “Before you get mad at me for meddling . . . know that I didn’t even have to convince her.”
“Her?”
“Three seconds is over, bro.” Bridge grinned just as someone tapped me on the shoulder.
Slowly I turned, and then I nearly had a heart attack on the stairs.
“Keaton.” Stunned, I gaped at her as though I’d never seen an attractive woman before. Her golden hair cascaded in loose waves around her heart-shaped face. Her big blue eyes were lined with the barest hint of makeup, and her lips were a bright hot pink that instantly made me hard, because I suddenly associated bright pink with her underwear and ripping them off. Her white off-the-shoulder dress was so pretty I was afraid to touch it—to touch her.
“Hi.” Her smile was shy.
I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
I wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked.
I wanted to ask her if she regretted the cabin.
“Keaton! Beautiful! Turn around. Who are you wearing?” Media shouted louder for her than they had for any of us, and I knew if I kissed her, touched her, did anything that would show that I’d seen her naked—that I wanted to see more—they would have a field day.
I reached for her instinctively and didn’t miss the flinch on her face as she turned away.
Rejection slammed into me. It’s not like I was going to maul her on the stairs. I was going to kiss her cheek and tell her she was beautiful. Instead, one slight move from her was all it took to ruin the entire night and remind me yet again what people thought of me. What she thought of me.
Julian Tennyson, bad boy of the finance world, did not touch pure Hollywood royalty. Lesson fucking learned.
Keaton looked over her shoulder and waved while people screamed louder and then faced me again. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I was just about to offer her my arm when a man I didn’t recognize walked up and grabbed her hand.
Seriously? I can’t even kiss her cheek and this bastard gets to touch her? My eyes narrowed into tiny slits. I’d never been the kind of guy that resorted to violence to get what I wanted—
I had too much money to need to.
But right then? I was ready to shove him down the stairs.
“Sorry I’m late, K. It was madness getting in here.” He bent over and kissed her cheek then faced me with a wide, way-too-attractive-to-be-touching-her smile. “Hey! Happy birthday. You Julian or Bridge?”
I couldn’t keep my lips from pressing into an irritated line as I shook his hand and looked between them. “Julian.”
Defeat didn’t even cover it.
“Well, thanks for inviting us, this is great publicity for Keaton’s new charity, and I think it will—”
She elbowed him. “Don’t mind Rob. His sole focus is business.”
“Like someone else we all know.” Izzy laughed softly. “So Rob . . .” Bless her, she glided right in, took his hand, and led him into the building. “What is it you do?”
Bridge followed, leaving me and Keaton. I held out my hand and she hesitated, briefly looking uncomfortable as people shouted questions about us being together.
And that was when it hit me.
She didn’t want people to assume anything about us.
I wasn’t a man she would be proud to have on her arm, was I?
I’d never been a dirty secret until that moment.
And I’d never felt so low in my entire life, not even when I woke up from that coma. Not when I saw my brother and my fiancée kiss.
Nothing compared to the pain I had in my chest when Keaton looked at the media before tentatively grabbing my hand like she was afraid touching my skin would transfer all my sins to her.
Anger swiftly replaced the hurt as I gripped her soft fingers, careful not to hurt the tender skin that was still healing. “Had I known you’d be embarrassed to hold my hand, I would have let my brother do the honors. After all, we have the same taste—”
I barely had the words out when I suddenly tripped.
Keaton smiled through her clenched teeth. “Don’t insult me, it’s beneath you.”
“Did you just trip me?”
“Yup.” She popped the p as we walked into the Great Hall. Dark purple lighting made it hard to see. It didn’t help that the centerpiece of each table had a water feature at least three feet tall. Izzy had clearly spent a fortune, and I was still so mad I could barely register how nice of a gesture it was.
Finding Him Page 12