To My Future Number 1 Fan

by L. A. Witt

  Still shaky and brittle, I clipped the seatbelt to Lola’s harness, got in the driver’s seat, and backed out of the driveway. She panted happily while I drove, probably unaware that I had no idea where to go.

  We couldn’t go to the park we’d gone to with Adam. Lola loved that one, but… not tonight. Right now, I just needed to go play with my dog and try to get my mind off things in a place that didn’t have Adam’s memory all over it.

  And maybe, if I was lucky, a place that wasn’t crawling with reporters.

  Chapter 33

  Adam

  For a city this big, Los Angeles felt way too small. Too little space and too many people. Everywhere I went, the press was breathing down my neck. Even a tourist’s camera or iPhone made me cringe. They made me think of the relentless paparazzi hounding us to the point Brian couldn’t take it anymore, and when it wasn’t a tourist with an iPhone, it really was a paparazzo. And for God’s sake the guy with the iPhone could easily be one of the assholes who’d commented or contacted Brian directly.

  “Fuck.” With one hand on top of the steering wheel, I jammed my elbow against the Camry’s window and rested my temple against my fist. I had a rare day off from filming, and couldn’t relax because I was hurting too much. There was no escaping all the reminders of Brian and everything that had sent him running. I couldn’t go anywhere. The assholes with cameras were even getting aggressive about following me home, though so far no one had actually trespassed.

  Give them time, I thought bitterly as I pulled up to a stoplight down the street from the studio. I’d just come from a meeting about filming, which started next week, and it was a damn good thing Vanessa had been there with me. I was pretty sure I’d only caught about five percent of what was said, and half of that had been about coffee.

  As I waited for the light to change, movement caught my eye. I turned my head just in time to see a long lens swing toward me.

  “Motherfucker,” I muttered, and shielded my face as best I could. Usually I didn’t bother. It just made them try harder. Today—fuck it. If they wanted a picture of me, they were going to have to work for it.

  You scared away the man I love. What more do you people want?

  The light turned green and I accelerated hard through the intersection. Up ahead was the turn that would send me toward home, but I drove right past it. Forget going home. Forget going… hell, anywhere. I didn’t care where I was or where I was going as long as I shook off these stupid photographers.

  It only took a few blocks and some random turns before I left them at a red light. Even after that, I kept driving aimlessly. It took all the concentration I had to pay attention to traffic signals and other cars. Where was I going? Didn’t really matter. Wasn’t like I could get away from all the assholes who seemed to think my life and I were public fucking property.

  I didn’t blame Brian for calling things off. I wasn’t angry at him. I didn’t hate him, not even when I really, really wanted to. I hated that the realities of my job had driven him away. My high profile had been a reason I’d shied away from dating at all—did I really want someone gossiping to the tabloids that I was a virgin in my twenties? And now that I’d finally met someone, my job had kept me too busy to focus on my relationship while the media attention had driven him away. The things they’d said about him while I was MIA… Jesus fuck, who wouldn’t jump ship?

  I didn’t regret my job, and I was grateful for everything my career had brought me, but damn if it wasn’t a double-edged sword.

  Another red light turned green, and I continued driving with no destination in mind. At least, that’s what I thought I was doing. My subconscious had other plans, apparently.

  I didn’t know where I was going until I turned left at a familiar corner. The shops, restaurants, and shoddy apartments along this road hadn’t changed much in half a decade. Names and advertisements had changed, but the bodega on the corner still had the same wrought iron bars on the windows, partially obscuring the Camel cigarettes sign. The gas station was a Shell now, but it still had the same rusty propane cage beside the same ice machine. The dry cleaner’s sign was gone, the shop empty with a FOR LEASE sign in the half-boarded window, but the shady bar next door was still alive and well.

  I passed all the familiar-but-changed landmarks to the place I’d gone more times than I could count in the past.

  But when I got there and parked on the street, the diner was gone.

  It wasn’t just closed. It was gone. Demolished without a trace. In the crook of a cracked asphalt L with faded stripes was a dirt crater, and jutting out of that dirt were the pipes, rebar, and broken concrete that were all that remained of the diner. The little house next door that had once been a bail bondsman’s office was gone too. Chain link fence surrounded the two properties, and a sign announced that this was the future home of a Walgreens.

  Fresh tears stung my eyes. Five years ago, a part of me had secretly hoped I’d come to work and find a smoldering wreckage where the diner used to be. Anything to get out of having to slog through another miserable shift at that place.

  Showing up now and finding that it had been demolished was… shit, it was actually heartbreaking. I’d had no idea what had brought me out here today, but now I realized it was because I’d needed to reach out and touch something that had existed on the same plane as Brian and me.

  But I couldn’t touch it. Because it was gone. The place we’d met—the place where he’d unknowingly put my dreams back on the rails—was gone. Brian was gone. I didn’t even have any pictures of us except for the ones all over the internet, and I couldn’t look at those without feeling sick over the attention that had driven him away from me.

  There was nothing left of anything. A few articles that were invasive enough to make my skin crawl, but would be forgotten in a week or two. Internet trolls who thought it was funny or necessary for them to make their opinions known. People who felt compelled for God knew what reason to fill Brian’s email and social media with poison that probably took them two minutes to write and would leave him hurting for a long time to come.

  I rubbed my eyes and sniffed. It wasn’t fair. Brian was the reason my career had gotten off the ground, and my career was the reason we didn’t have each other anymore.

  I stared at the crater where the diner had once stood. What if I had just asked him out that day and blown off my audition? Maybe I wouldn’t have my career or my house or that stupid award, but maybe I would still have Brian. Maybe I’d have had the last five years with him, and we’d be living someplace other than Los Angeles, working mundane jobs and playing with our dog and laughing about what was in the tabloids because it didn’t affect us.

  I loved my career and the life I had, but it all seemed empty now that Brian was gone. Like it was all pointless if it was the very reason I’d lost him.

  What do I do now?

  Not stay here and mourn a demolished diner, that was for sure.

  I pulled away and drove, thinking for just a minute that I didn’t have a destination in mind.

  Then I realized I was heading for Orange County.

  And I drove faster.

  ~*~

  “Adam.” Geri opened the storm door and gestured for me to come inside. “This is a surprise.” The pinch of her brow and the subtle grimace told me she knew what had happened, so her surprise wasn’t just that I’d shown up out of the blue. Oddly enough, there was no who the hell do you think you are? or why the fuck should I let you in? in her voice or expression. Genuine concern was all I could see.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I said as I stepped past her. “I was driving, and I—”

  “It’s okay, honey. Do you want some coffee or anything?”

  “No. No, thanks.” I hugged myself, suddenly not quite sure why I’d come here. If it was just another stop on the Salt My Wounds Tour, or if I thought I’d actually gain something.

  Geri touched my shoulder. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

  I
sighed, almost collapsing under the light weight of her hand. “Not so good.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me, and Jesus fucking Christ, I needed that so damn bad. What was with the Stewart family and knowing exactly what I needed before I did? I hugged her back, fighting a losing battle against more tears. Could I just be done crying for five minutes? Seriously? This wasn’t me.

  But then, I’d never been through something like this before. Maybe this was me when my whole world felt like it had been upended.

  Geri loosened her embrace. “Why don’t you come in and sit down?”

  Nodding, I sniffed. “Thanks.”

  In the living room, I tried not to remember how nice it had been to sit in here with Brian’s arm around my shoulders. Geri and I sat on the couch, and she met my eyes. “Brian called last night. He told me what happened.”

  I struggled to hold her gaze. “How is he doing?”

  The wince said it well enough. “It’s hard. He’s…” She took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if that could somehow soften the blow when she whispered, “He didn’t want to. You know that, right?”

  Nodding, I swiped at my eyes. “Yeah. I know. I’m not mad at him. I just wish there was a way I could fix this. But I’m gone so much I barely have time to breathe, never mind be his boyfriend, and then there’s all this media bullshit, and all I want is—” I glanced down, and froze. “Oh my God. I forgot to take off my shoes.” I started to get up. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Adam.” Geri tightened her grip on my hand. “Sit.”

  “But I—”

  “Sit.”

  I sat.

  Geri patted my hand and smiled. “I don’t care about your shoes, honey. I care about you.”

  Staring at her in disbelief, I whispered, “Really?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Because my own parents wouldn’t care?

  I swallowed. “Because I hurt your son.”

  “No, you didn’t. He knew being with someone like you meant being in the spotlight. He even told me that last night because he’s beating himself up for not being able to handle it.”

  “He is?”

  “Of course. Honey, listen.” Geri took a deep breath. “Brian doesn’t like being the center of attention because he was bullied a lot in school. He was shy for a long time, and he was a bit of a late bloomer. There was this group of kids who were just mean. They picked on him about everything. His height. Being skinny. His acne.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It was rough on him. When he came out, it got worse, but college helped a lot. He made some better friends, and most of his classmates were too busy studying to give him grief. So things got better for him because no one was paying attention to him.”

  My shoulders sagged. “Right up until he came out as my boyfriend.”

  Geri pursed her lips. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. And I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. What I want is for you to understand that this isn’t about you. He wants to be with you. I know he does. But everything that’s happened—that’s hard for him to take after everything he went through as a kid.”

  Wincing, I broke eye contact.

  “Just give him time,” she said so softly I could barely hear her. “I… I don’t know if he’ll change his mind or not, or if he’ll decide he can handle this after all. I don’t. But with as heartbroken as he sounded when I talked to him, all I can tell you”—she squeezed my hand—“is don’t give up on him.”

  I released a long breath. “I won’t. I haven’t. And I can’t decide if I want him back, or if I want us to stay apart because being with me means so much stress for him.” Just saying the words brought fresh tears to my eyes. “I love him, Geri.” Christ, it hurt to say that out loud. “I love him, and I’d rather not have him at all than have him be miserable because he’s with me.”

  To my surprise, Geri smiled. She reached up and brushed a hot tear off my cheekbone, then gathered me in her arms again. I wasn’t used to being hugged, especially not this much, but it was so easy to just sag against her and let her hold me.

  “I think you’re both miserable when you’re not together,” she said. “And anyway, this tabloid nonsense isn’t going to go away just because you’ve broken up.”

  “It’ll get worse if we’re together.”

  She gave my back a gentle pat. “Something tells me the tradeoff would be worth it.”

  Never in my life had I wished so hard for something to be true.

  Chapter 34

  Brian

  OMG. Have you seen this?

  The text came from my sister. I didn’t even have to look at the attached picture because I knew damn well it was the same one half a dozen people had already sent me today. I’d barely been at work for an hour, and everyone was talking about that picture. I assumed so, anyway. People kept asking me about it, and whenever I walked into a room where a conversation was happening, everyone went quiet and stared at me.

  Alicia, the nurse who shared the office with me, shut the door behind her and studied me. “Are you doing okay, sweetie?” Her tone suggested she was pretty sure I wasn’t.

  “I’m fine.” I avoided her gaze, but I could feel her watching me. Sighing, I turned to her again and hoped my expression conveyed I don’t want to talk about it.

  She managed to look both concerned and irritated, but thank God, she let it drop.

  After she left our office again, I pressed my elbows into the desk and rubbed my eyes. It was kind of ironic how everyone and their fucking mother knew Adam and I had split up, but somehow failed to consider that maybe I didn’t need every last one of them sending me the latest gossip. I didn’t care if the tabloids mentioned me. If they did, I sure as shit didn’t want to know about it. Even if they didn’t, I really, really, really had no desire to torture myself with pictures of the man I already couldn’t get out of my head.

  As much as I tried to ignore all the media attention, I wasn’t completely oblivious to it. People knew we’d split. There’d been speculation about why we’d broken up. No one had caught on to the part where being hounded by the press might have had something to do with it. Or maybe the part where so fucking many people had added their two cents about why Adam deserved better than me. And here I’d thought high school ended on Graduation Day.

  Throughout my shift, people kept… asking, but not asking. Phoebe beat around the bush a little, hinting that she knew something was going on but was going to make me say it. My friends kept sending benign texts, as if they thought all they needed to do was keep a conversation going, and eventually I’d break down and say something. Patients gave me The Look. The same one people gave when you showed up on crutches or with a conspicuous bandage—I want to ask, but I won’t, but please tell me.

  Curiosity was admittedly getting to me. I’d only glanced at the photo earlier to see what it was, but I’d flinched away as soon as I’d realized it was a candid shot of Adam in his car. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Why the hell did people keep sending it to me? Word of our breakup had gotten around as fast as word of our relationship, so why were they all trying to torture me with it? I didn’t want to see pictures of Adam. Not now. I wanted him back in my life, but there were things that made that impossible, and seeing him just hurt.

  Finally, though, I got tired of the looks, the calls, and the messages, and I bit the bullet. I logged onto the computer and opened one of the emails someone had sent me with the same attachment. With no shortage of trepidation, I waited for the attachment to open.

  And then it did.

  And I couldn’t breathe.

  It was Adam in his car. That much I’d expected. Not the Maserati—the one he drove when he didn’t want to be seen.

  Someone had seen him, though.

  It didn’t look like Adam noticed the photographer. He was focusing out the windshield, one hand on the wheel.

  With the other hand, he was wiping his eyes. And he looked utterly
heartbroken.

  God, Adam. I am so sorry.

  Because I was a fucking masochist, I kept scrolling and read the article.

  The image comes days after Jacobsen’s publicist released the following statement:

  Adam confirms that he and Brian have ended their relationship. The split was amicable, and Adam requests that Brian’s privacy be respected while they move forward. No further comment will be made regarding this matter.

  My breath stopped in my throat. I read and reread the publicist’s message, and every time, it was a fresh kick in the balls. I’d been the one to break things off. Adam was the one who lived in a swamp full of paparazzi. He was the one who’d be hounded by the press even more than I would.

  And he’d still asked for my privacy to be respected.

  You’re fucking scum, a message had informed me earlier. Adam deserves better than a loser like you.

  My stomach turned to lead. Maybe the trolls were right after all. Maybe I was a loser. Adam definitely did deserve better than me. Or at the very least, better than what I’d done to him.

  I scrolled back up to the picture and stared at it, my throat tight with emotions. This was wrong. All wrong. Not the relentless bullying from strangers, but me looking at a photo of Adam, both of us hurting like hell.

  All because some assholes behind computer screens thought I wasn’t good enough for Adam.

  Yeah, this was wrong. I’d let the assholes win. It was no different than when I’d let my middle school tormenters chase me off the wrestling team or let the homophobic assholes in high school scare me off the baseball team. Or when, believing the classmates who’d convinced me I was stupid, I’d declined to take a test for Honors classes. Except it was different. This was way worse. I wasn’t just missing out on a sports team or an advanced class—I was missing out on the man I loved.