Already Famous

by Heather Leigh

  “Yeah, sure thing.” I stuff it in my pocket and storm out of the room after he leaves. Sydney is asleep. Thank fuck for that.

  A couple of hours later, Leah comes in and drops on the couch next to me. “Hey, how’s she been?”

  “Crappy. The police came by to take our statements. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

  Leah narrows her eyes. “For you or for her?”

  She knows me pretty well already. “Both.”

  Leah nods at my answer and turns back to watch Sydney sleep. “Has she been out long?”

  “Not real long, a few hours, maybe. She was pretty upset so I’m not surprised she passed out.”

  “Speaking of sleep, are you getting any?” Leah asks, patting my knee compassionately.

  “I get enough.”

  “Yeah, it shows. You’re just the glowing picture of health,” she replies.

  “Don’t start,” I warn. “My moods haven’t exactly been even lately.”

  “Oh, I know. That’s why you need to go get some sleep. It will help you feel better and less edgy.”

  “Leah, the only thing that will make me feel less edgy is beating the shit out of the fucker who did this,” I snap.

  “Drew? Leah?”

  We both turn to see Sydney watching us from her bed.

  Leah slaps a giant fake smile on her face and jumps to the bedside, “Hey! You’re awake. Good, because watching you sleep is getting so old.”

  Sydney smiles. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there. Seeing it makes me feel better. Not much, but it’s a start. It gives me hope that maybe we can both be whole again someday.

  “Babe, Leah’s right. You need to go back to the hotel and get some sleep,” Sydney says, her sharp stare penetrating through my rough exterior.

  “I’ll sleep later,” I tell her.

  “No. You’ve been an angry beast. Go. If not to sleep, then to work out or spar or whatever. You’re going to explode if you don’t get out of this hospital for a few hours.”

  Shit. I want to go, but I want to stay. I wasn’t there for her and she was attacked.

  “Drew,” Leah says, “go. I’m here, the guard is outside, and Syd’s mom will be here soon. We’re fine without you for a little while. Take care of yourself before you snap out and do something stupid. Bruce is waiting out front.”

  I need this.

  “Alright, if you’re sure.” I fix my gaze on Sydney’s and realize that she wants me to go. Her face is so easy to read. She wants what’s best for me and she knows if I don’t let out my anger, it will get a thousand times uglier than it already has. She probably needs a break from my constant state of fury, it can’t be good for her either.

  “I’m sure. Like Leah said, my mom will be here in a little while,” she says, her big blue eyes pleading with me to take care of myself.

  I lean in and kiss her gently. “I’ll be back soon,” I whisper. “Call me if anything happens,” I insist, looking at Leah as I say it.

  Leah pushes me towards the door, “Go! We’ll be fine.”

  I grab my hat and sunglasses and duck out of the room. My mind elsewhere, I go directly down to the lobby and out the front doors where Leah said Bruce is waiting with the car. When I step outside, I’m instantly pissed at Sydney’s best friend. Leah could have warned me that there was a gigantic mob of paparazzi in front the hospital.

  I exit the building right into the shitstorm, alone and completely unprepared. The cameras click relentlessly and bursts of light hit me in the face.

  “Andrew! How’s Sydney?”

  “Is she going to be released soon?”

  “Did Reid Tannen offer to donate a kidney to her?”

  “Is it true a priest give her last rites?”

  “Are you suing the theater chain where the attack happened?”

  Fuck! They crowd around me, and I can’t move. This is not the day for them to do this. My hands have literally been itching to beat the shit out of someone or something. Having these parasites in my personal space, shoving and yelling… they’re asking for it, practically begging for me to hit them.

  I clench my fists and pull one back, planting my feet shoulder width apart on the sidewalk.

  A loud voice addresses the reporters. “Move out of the way!” Then a hand clamps down on my shoulder, “Don’t do it. C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he says to me.

  I turn and see an LAPD officer has joined me in the crowd and he’s pushing his way through the swarm of paparazzi as their flashes blind us. The urge to strike out at one of the locusts is overwhelming, so when we reach the car and I jump in, I’m beyond irritated and my level of agitation is at an all-time high.

  “Hotel, now!” I bark out at Bruce. I need to change and get to the gym, ASAP.

  I pull out my phone and dial Damien. He answers immediately, having called me several times since the incident. I haven’t returned anyone’s calls, including his. “Drew? How is everything going?”

  Before he can ask about Sydney, I interrupt. “D, I need you to call Brian at the gym we use in Santa Monica and let him know I’m on my way and I want someone ready to spar with me.”

  “Okay, but can you…”

  “Not now, Damien!” He knows me well enough to know that I’m not going to talk about the shit that went down at the theater.

  “Okay, okay. I’m calling him. Just, well…we’re all thinking about you and Sydney. That’s all.”

  I let out a sigh, running my hand through my hair. “Thanks man. I can’t…” Fuck, I start choking up. “I gotta go. Call Brian at North Hollywood. Tell him I’ll be there in thirty.”

  I disconnect and shove the phone in my pocket, curling my hand into a fist.

  Thirty minutes, you can make it until then.

  I’m not sure that I will.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Kicking the heavy bag isn’t releasing the giant knot of stress that’s sitting heavily on my shoulders. I glance at the clock on the wall of the fancy Santa Monica gym. My sparring partner should be here any minute. Turning back to the bag, I switch to combination punch/kicks.

  Thud. Thud. Smack! Thud. Thud. Smack!

  By the time I hear someone coming up behind me, sweat is dripping off of me and onto the floor. Not as private as Damien’s gym, this is a place to see and be seen in L.A. They do hard core training, even have a few MMA champs, but it’s a much higher profile place than I would prefer.

  “I think you’re waiting for me.”

  I stop kicking and turn to see a guy in blue fighting shorts and gloves. He’s smaller than me, but looks like he could be lethal. Scar on eyebrow? Check. Tattoos on torso? Check. Crooked nose? Check. Lean, ripped muscles? Check.

  Good, he knows his way around the cage, because today I don’t want anyone babying me or treating me different. I want to fight.

  “Yeah, I am. Do you need to warm up?” I ask him.

  “Just give me ten and I’ll be ready. I’m Keith, by the way.”

  “Drew.” I nod since I’m already gloved up I can’t shake hands. “I’ll meet you in the cage.”

  Keith nods and goes to warm up. I can feel dozens of sets of eyes on me as I grab my water and chug it down, glancing around the huge space. North Hollywood MMA and Fitness isn’t remotely the same as being in Damien’s dark gym in New York. This place is well lit, popular, and full of gawkers and winning professional fighters. The big names draw lots of attention, sometimes even paparazzi out front. Thankfully, not today.

  Right now, I don’t give a shit what everyone looks at. Brian, the owner, promised me that no one would take photos or videos, so that’s better than nothing.

  I wipe off and head over to the cage where Brian is helping one of his fighters perfect his body lock takedown. My skin is crawling to jump in with them as I watch them fall to the mat again and again. Frustration and anger is pouring off of me in uncontrollable waves.

  I shouldn’t fight like this, unrestrained and emotion
al. But nothing and no one is going to keep me out of the cage today.

  “Ready?” Keith grabs his sparring pads and makes his way towards me.

  “No pads,” I tell him. He cocks his head and stares at me in disbelief. Scowling, I climb up into an empty ring adjacent and face Keith. “I want a real fight. Are you in?”

  “Do we need a ref?” he asks, lifting one scarred eyebrow.

  “Nah, I just don’t want the fucking pads. We can keep it clean. So let’s do this.”

  Keith shakes his head but hops up into the cage. “Alright, man. I have to say, I’m surprised you want to fight without gear, but I’m game.”

  I put my mouthpiece in and we tap gloves.

  Keith doesn’t do much at first but watch me. He’s unsure of my ability, probably thinking I’m full of shit, not a real fighter. Some spoiled celebrity who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow in the ring.

  I dart forward and strike him with a jab from my right hand, then a quick punch with my left, catching his jaw. Following with a solid roundhouse kick to his waist. Keith stumbles back and narrows his eyes at me, then smiles.

  That’s right fucker, this is a real fight. Not a Hollywood bullshit session.

  Keith throws a cross/hook combo and I’m able to block both punches. He doesn’t know that I’m a southpaw yet. That always fucks them up.

  We go at it for a while. He lands a few good ones, including one on my ribs that hurts like a bitch. The pain makes me happy. At least I’m feeling something besides the oppressive mental anguish of the last few days.

  We’re both drenched with sweat and slowing down when he lowers his guard and I get him solidly behind his right ear. Fuck! He goes down, hard.

  A nearby trainer sees Keith hit the ground and jumps up into the cage with us. Keith comes to before either of us can get to him.

  “You okay?” the trainer asks.

  Keith sits up, stunned for a moment. “Yeah. Damn, nice strike. You fucking knocked me out.”

  I help him to his feet. “I guess I did.”

  “Great fight, man. Thanks for the opportunity. I thought you’d be easy. Shit, was I wrong. How long you been doing this?” Keith asks, rubbing his head with his hand.

  “I know you thought I’d be easy. I could read it on your face.” I watch his eyes widen at my assessment. “And I’ve been practicing for eight years. Can’t ever get anyone to actually go at it with me, so thanks. You know, for treating me like a normal guy.”

  “Fuckin’ lefty, huh?” Keith laughs.

  I smile for the first time in days. “It always takes people by surprise.” I throw my gear in my bag and pull on a shirt. “Thanks for the fight.”

  “Anytime.”

  Bruce is waiting out front and I slide into the back seat. “Hotel, please.”

  “What happened to you?” Bruce has turned around in his seat, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your face? You’re…you’re all banged up.”

  “Oh. Nothing. Just sparring. I need to get back to Syd, can we go?” I feel like a dick for dismissing his concern, but I’m not answering to anyone.

  When the car pulls up in front of the Sunset Marquis I tell Bruce to wait and leap out. I yank my hat down and walk as fast as I can to my villa, avoiding anyone and everyone that might see me. Once inside the suite, I head straight for the bathroom and take a quick shower, wincing when I wash my left side where Keith kicked me repeatedly.

  In a hurry to get back to Sydney, I wrap a towel around my waist and grab my clothes, struggling to pull my jeans on before I’m completely dry.

  Based on Bruce’s reaction in the car, I decide to check myself in the mirror before I leave for the hospital. The sight in front of me is shocking. I have a swollen, split lip, a large bruise on my left jawline, and my right ear is red and inflamed. My entire left side, from chest level to the end of my ribcage, is black and blue.

  My reaction? I laugh. I can’t stop laughing. My fucked up, mangled face and body is so funny to me that the ridiculous laughter keeps coming until I can’t laugh anymore.

  I always have to worry about how I look, be extra careful not to get sunburned or damaged physically in any way, so to not give a shit and let someone beat on my face… it’s feels fucking incredible. Sydney’s going to be pissed when she sees me, but it was worth it. For the first time in a long time, I feel normal. No hiding shit, no protecting my precious face or image…it’s unbelievably freeing.

  Now, back to my shitty reality and my broken girl.

  CHAPTER 34

  The last thing I expect to see when I walk into Sydney’s room is Brandon Eastlake, sitting next to her bed, chatting like they’re old friends.

  That fucker is so lucky that I just punched the shit out of someone for the last hour, or he’d be dead.

  “Eastlake, what are you doing here?” I breeze past him and over to Sydney, placing a kiss on her lips as I glare at him. Her eyes bug out when she sees my face, but I know she won’t say anything in front of an outsider.

  Yeah, she’s still mine asshole.

  I can tell that he’s embarrassed I caught him here, but has the common sense not to say anything. He knows my reputation for being somewhat volatile and he knows that I’m well aware of his reputation for being a man-whore. Plus, I’m sure I look intimidating as hell with my fucked up face.

  “I felt bad about what happened to Sydney. It feels like it was my fault for having her on the show.” He shrugs, an automatic response to hide his nervousness. “I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  Wait… he thinks the attack was his fault?

  “Why would it be your fault? You weren’t even there?” I ask, dumfounded by his rationale.

  Sydney interrupts before Eastlake can speak. “I told Brandon he had nothing to do with it. Once my mom went back to acting in a few months, that media and that crazy man were going to find me.” She turns and looks at the shocked TV host. “Whether it was your show or some other show, an obsession like that wasn’t going to go away and I was tired of hiding.”

  “What happened to you?” Eastlake asks, staring at me incredulously.

  “Nothing.” I blow him off easily. “When did all of these flowers get here?” I ask Sydney, tired of Brandon Eastlake already.

  Sydney’s pale cheeks flush bright crimson. God, it’s good to see her with some color in her face. “Ummmm, the nurses brought them all in a little while ago. They said they’ve got a bunch more, but these are the ones from people we know. I guess Leah went through the cards earlier.” She shifts on the bed, self-conscious with receiving so much attention.

  She’s so used to being invisible that she doesn’t know how to handle having people other than her mom and Leah care about her.

  “Well, I better get going,” Eastlake says awkwardly. “We film in a couple of hours.” He stands up and pats Sydney’s hand. If he had tried to kiss her cheek I would have had to take him out in the hall and punch his face in. Then we’d have matching bruises.

  “See you later?” he asks me, putting out a hand for me to shake.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you will,” I respond, reluctantly shaking his hand so I don’t look like a dick in front of Syd and stress her out. Plus, if I fuck up my relationship with Eastlake and his show, Quentin will have a fit. I give him Andrew Forrester’s best smile.

  “Bye Sydney, get well.” He turns and leaves the suite.

  It only takes two seconds for her to start.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I told you I was going to the gym. You wanted me to punch something, so I did.”

  “I didn’t tell you to get punched back. You look like shit.” She folds her arms across her chest and scowls.

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes from me, she’s almost back to herself. Leaning in, I trace her cheekbone with my finger. “What? Am I not sexy anymore?”

  She grunts and waves a hand at me as if I’m ridiculous, “No, you are. O
f course you are…” she pauses, biting her lip. “Actually, it makes you more sexy, if that’s even possible.”

  I smile and give her a quick kiss. “You’re not mad?”

  Sydney relaxes into her pillows. “No, I’m not mad. I know you needed it. I’m just glad you didn’t break any bones.”

  That went better than expected.

  I don’t notice the phone lying on her lap until it’s shrill ring scares the shit out of both of us.

  “I thought you had it off?” She said she didn’t want to talk to anyone, not that very many people have her number. But I would guess it’s pretty easy for unscrupulous people to get their hands on it.

  “I did. I only turned it on today.” She picks up the phone and answers it. “Adam?”

  The peace and happiness I felt from this morning’s workout takes a sharp nosedive at the thought of that prick calling my girl on her phone. Where the fuck does he get off?

  “Hold on….” Sydney covers her phone with her hand and looks at me, flicking her gaze from my face to my hands which are balled up tightly in front of me. “Drew? Are you okay?”

  I can’t stand here and listen to half of a conversation with him, and I can’t take her phone and break it in half. Instead, I spin on my heel and storm into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Asshole move, but I fucking can’t believe that jerkoff has the nerve to call Sydney.

  I crash on the bed and check my email. I haven’t looked at it since before the premiere. My voicemail is full too. Rhys keeps pestering me for a statement. I know I have to release one, I just have no desire to think about that shit.

  Knowing I can’t avoid him any longer, I dial Rhys’ number.

  “Drew? How’s Sydney?” I haven’t seen him since the attack, letting Jane do all of the communicating for me so I could focus on Syd. Besides my family, Jane’s the only person I’ve spoken to.

  “Better. I wanted to get the statement out of the way.” I pull my feet up onto the bed and lean against the headboard.

  “Okay, what did you want to say?”

  Damn! “I was kind of hoping you had something put together already,” I admit.