Forever With Him

by Stacy Travis

  I supposed a third plan could be had if I dumped the upper contents of the jar into a bowl, scooped out the ones I wanted from what remained in the jar, and reintroduced the peanut variety afterward. If I was honest, I had to admit I’d already spent way too much time on the M&M problem.

  So I did what any self-respecting chocoholic would do, and I walked away from the rainbow candies and went back to my office by way of the vending machine that sold Twix bars. I bought two.

  The candy fix seemed particularly necessary, because my nerves were starting to fray over the ex-girlfriend and the pregnancy. That’s how I referred to her, as the ex-girlfriend, as though she was the main character in an eponymous mystery novel like Nancy Drew and the One Hundred Steps, only without the threat of death at every turn.

  For the most part, I’d done a good job of keeping my wits about me while Chris sorted through the legal and professional implications of his ex-girlfriend’s pregnancy, all things considered. Yes, I was referring to it as a pregnancy—not a scam or a scandal or a ruse to bilk him out of an outrageous fortune. Not yet. I had to assume she was pregnant, alone, probably scared, and trying to figure out the best road forward. I also had to avoid unfairly accusing her of intentionally dragging her heels and not getting her blood test done immediately. Maybe she was really busy, not simply avoiding the truth.

  Women had to stick together, even women who were involved with the same man and who most definitely didn’t share a common objective. As far as I or anyone else knew, she was doing what she thought was right and what she thought was best for her unborn child. I felt strongly about it.

  Until I had all the information, I couldn’t judge his ex or call her a money-grubbing whore skank who was looking to exploit Chris for money and fame. Not unless the paternity test came back negative and she continued pursuing Chris and the tabloid news. Then, all bets were off.

  When Chris called me later that day, I assumed it was to tell me he’d gotten the results. Once his ex had finally taken her blood test, the turnaround time was supposed to be quick.

  Unfortunately, he had something else to say. “The goddamned lab lost my sample. I had to go give another one.”

  Okay, these things happen.

  I decided not to get too worked up about the delay or imagine any nefarious plotting.

  Maybe that made me open-minded. Maybe that made me a patsy.

  “If they can’t keep track of this one, I don’t know who I’m gonna strangle,” Chris said, his hoarse laugh sounding like a lunatic about to go off the reservation.

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Are they expediting the testing?” I thought that if I kept repeating the words “it will be fine,” either it would become so, or at least I’d start to believe it.

  “They bloody well better be,” he said, having apparently spent enough time filming in the UK to have picked up some linguistic twists.

  “Did they tell you when they’ll have results?”

  “No, because they’re a bunch of wankers who don’t know their eyes from their asshole,” he said. He was making me laugh, despite my lingering unease about the whole situation. It seemed a little suspicious that the lab lost his sample, given the lawyers breathing fire all over the place and his high profile.

  He still didn’t seem concerned, and his mind was clearly too occupied with work to think devious thoughts.

  I wasn’t going to be the one to go there. It was better not to put those thoughts into his head. “Is there any chance they’re repeating your test because it came back positive?” I asked. Apparently, I couldn’t help but go there.

  He was silent for a moment, and I wondered if he was thinking about how to answer or distracted by something else. “I… hadn’t thought of that. Do you… wouldn’t they have said if that’s what they were doing?”

  “I have no idea. You have lawyers and people who know how to handle everything, but you know me. I tend to overthink and prepare for the worst.”

  “Now I really hope the lab is manned by wankers.”

  “It probably is. I don’t know why I asked you that.”

  He sighed, and I could hear footsteps on the other end of the line, so I knew he was pacing in his trailer. “Look, I know this hasn’t been easy, and you’ve been great… I really hope to put it all behind us soon.”

  I wanted to reassure him that it was fine. I wanted to promise that it didn’t matter either way, but the reality was… it did. If he ended up being the dad of his ex’s child, there was no denying it would change things between us. I hadn’t wanted to think about the possibility, and with the quick initial paternity test, I didn’t give myself time to worry. But it had been a week, and I couldn’t keep the errant thoughts at bay. “It’ll be okay.”

  “It’s a lot to ask… but if the test comes back positive—if I’m the dad—will you please give me time to figure everything out? Please don’t cut and run.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t like that he was giving voice to the possibility that there might have been truth to his ex’s accusation, but he didn’t really have a choice. He had to at least consider what life would look like after that. It would look messier. And if I wanted to be with Chris, I would be part of it. “I won’t. I won’t cut and run. I promise. But can you use your pretty face and celebrity influence to expedite the new test results?”

  He chuckled. The sound warmed my heart. “Darling, I will do my best.”

  I didn’t hear the news from Chris, because Page Six got to me first. “Can you comment on the news that Chris Conley is the father of his ex-girlfriend’s child?” a reporter asked me the next morning. I was at my desk. At work. I was also surprised, because it was the first I’d heard that the paternity test had come back with a positive result.

  “I have no comment. Can I return your call in a bit? I’m at work,” I said. I tried to sound much calmer than I felt, which was brain-exploding, not-at-all calm. As soon as I hung up, I texted Chris: WTF? Page Six reporter just called me to comment on your daddy-hood.

  Chris’s immediate reply: WTF!! The test results aren’t back yet.

  Me: U sure?

  Chris: Hundo P. I would know!!!

  Me: So why are they calling me?

  Chris: Dunno. Fishing expedition, prolly. PLEASE don’t let it get to you.

  Me: I love when you use shouty words.

  Chris: Sorry. I’m not shouting. I miss you. And Page Six can go fuck themselves.

  Me: Okay. I won’t call them back. <3

  I left my desk and went to the kitchen. I found a large paper bowl, put two metal scoopfuls of peanut M&M’s into it, and walked back to my desk—that was how unnerved I was. I had tried to keep calm and chalk the pregnancy mess up to normal celebrity fare, but it wasn’t at all normal for me.

  I was also thinking about what Annie had said—that I felt differently about Chris than anyone she’d seen me with before. I was afraid she was right. I was trying to hold back my tender heart and keep it from hurtling over a cliff where it would thud to its death. Maybe it was the pregnancy issue. Maybe I would feel free to love him—to really fall in love with him—once there was some resolution on that front. Or maybe Annie was right, and I was hedging my bets and holding tightly to my heart because I couldn’t bear the thought of loving him and getting crushed.

  Do I have to know?

  I shoved a handful of M&M’s into my mouth and crunched them, making a decision. I wouldn’t keep holding my feelings back from Chris. I would tell him as soon as I knew for sure what was up with the ex. That was surely the problem. Knowing the truth would surely open the floodgates of my emotions.

  I was so busy talking sense into myself that I didn’t notice my phone had vibrated with a missed call from Chris.

  I didn’t bother listening to the message. I dialed him back, and he answered right away. “Hey, did you hear my message?”

  “No, I just called. What’s up?”

  “Got the test results. It’s all good. They’re negative.�
�

  “Wow, seriously? That’s great news. Have you talked to her? Does she have any idea who the father might be?”

  “No, I haven’t talked to her, and I don’t intend to.”

  “I thought you might be curious.”

  “Not at all. Not even a little bit. I’d be sympathetic if she hadn’t chosen to go to the tabloids before talking to me, but I’ve got nothing to say to her now. My legal team cautioned me against it anyway.”

  “Makes sense. I still feel a little sorry for her.”

  He was silent, and I wondered if he’d heard me or gotten distracted by something else. That was the problem with not being with him in person. “Hey, you still there?” I asked.

  I heard him exhale. “You amaze me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re such a good person. You’ve never met Ashley, my ex, even though she’s made your life stressful and unpleasant… your first instinct is empathy.”

  “She’s a human. Of course I have empathy.”

  “Most people wouldn’t. You’re… you’re special. And it’s just one of a hundred reasons I’m stupid in love with you. I hope you’re okay with that.”

  I was stunned, but also a little bit elated. “I’m okay with that,” I said quietly.

  Say it back. You love him. Tell him.

  And… fail.

  “Good. Because it’s a nonnegotiable truth.” He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice. It was a welcome change. “Listen, I’ve gotta run, but I wanted to make sure you knew as soon as I knew.”

  “Thanks. I wish I was with you so we could celebrate.”

  “I wish you were too. I miss you. And I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He didn’t wait for me to say it back. Maybe he was in a rush.

  Or maybe he knew I still couldn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  Santa Monica - Two Weeks Later

  Nikki

  My heart had been doing somersaults all day in anticipation of Chris’s quick LA boondoggle. “This is lunacy. It’s such a short trip,” I’d said when he confirmed his travel plans.

  “Believe it. And get ready. We have a lot to fit in.”

  My initial thought when he said that was a long seduction in my bedroom, but Chris had other plans. He wanted to go to the beach.

  After his plane landed, he had his driver take him to Santa Monica, where we met in front of Shutters Hotel, an all-white sprawling Craftsman bungalow with a roundabout for valet drop-off. I met him in front of the hotel, and we walked due west to the deep beach south of the pier. The driver said he would be available to take us back to my condo whenever we were ready. I started to object and say it wasn’t that far and we could walk the mile or so back to where I lived, but I caught the exhausted look in Chris’s eye and decided to acquiesce.

  As soon as we reached the sand, we took our shoes off and padded through it until we’d left the more crowded bike path behind us and were nearing the crashing waves. Once we were alone, Chris dropped his shoes and pulled me into his arms. “The whole plane ride, all I could think about was you,” he said, kissing me tentatively at first, our lips getting to know each other again. Then, as if he was experiencing the first drops of rain after a drought, he kissed me more urgently, hungrily. It wasn’t want. It was need.

  I wrapped one arm around him and ran my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. My other hand was pressed flat against his back, holding him to me because I didn’t want to let go. He took my face in his hands and pulled me to him, angling his lips against mine and pressing a little harder.

  I felt it in my bones. A chill ran over my skin as his lips grew more desperate and insistent, and I gave back with my own need and relief at feeling him against me.

  Three weeks had been too long. The languid hands of time had hurt me, and I needed to feel his lips and his skin in order to heal. I wasn’t going to forgive the unkind slowing of hours into days any time soon.

  “I missed you,” he said quietly, leaning his cheek against my temple, then kissing me there.

  “I missed you too. So much.” I wanted him to know that being apart for three weeks wasn’t okay with me, even if I wasn’t going to come out and say it. I couldn’t tell him that. But I still hoped he’d know.

  He brought his lips to my cheek, my chin, the tip of my nose. Then I reached for him and insisted on another long kiss. I’d give him his beach time, but I needed my kissing time.

  After a few minutes—or an hour; who could tell?—we came up for air. Chris curled a few errant strands of my hair behind my ear, and I watched his eyes take in my face. “It’s so hard to be away from you. I’m so happy to see you,” he said.

  “I’m happy too.” I was more than happy. I was a wild streak of emotion filling a desperate heart. I knew I’d missed him, but I was assaulted by how much I needed to see him when he exited the car and I looked at his face. It wasn’t normal, at least for me.

  I felt a strong, beautiful ache in my chest that I couldn’t control. There was no question I was falling in love with him, but I still couldn’t put my feelings into words. I was still afraid.

  The ocean had a bright sheen across the flat expanse of water, broken only when the waves welled up and crashed in a white churn of salt and sand onto the beach where we walked. Chris had tied his Converse One-Star laces together and was carrying them on his shoulder. My flip flops dangled from one hand while we walked along the shore, Chris’s arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist. The bottoms of his pants were getting wet with the occasional waves, but if he noticed, he didn’t care.

  The waves lapped gently at the sand at high tide, the water reaching an inch farther with each wave, as if hoping to capture a tiny bit more of the beach and a few more grains of sand before the tides reversed and the water receded.

  “This is ridiculously pretty,” Chris said. “New York City might be the center of everything, but there’s no getting around this view.”

  “It’s the one thing New York doesn’t have. That and maybe good Mexican food.”

  “Eh, not sure I agree with the second point, but I’ll give you the sandy shores, hands down.”

  “We try to keep quiet about it so you all stay in your tiny fifth-floor walkups in the snow and don’t crowd us out of our beaches.”

  “Ah, a conspiracy.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chris held my hand as we walked south, with the Santa Monica Pier in our line of sight but still far enough away that we couldn’t hear the screams from the roller coaster or feel the crush of people who crowded onto the boardwalk. The sun was dropping lower in the sky, but it was still high and bright enough that it forced me to squint behind my sunglasses when I looked out at the ocean. I didn’t mind the inevitable crow’s feet I would have someday. The view was worth it.

  Even though I had physical evidence of Chris with his fingers laced through mine, I kept stealing glances at him to convince myself—to reassure my moaning heart—he was really with me. We’d talked on the phone every night, but despite our attempt to get my work schedule to jibe with flight schedules and his call times on the set, this was the first time we’d been able to line up enough free hours in a row to make a trip seem worth it. And even then, the brief trip was crazy.

  I’d gotten as far as planning to fly out on a Friday night after work and had brought a packed bag to the office when Chris’s assistant called to say they’d be shooting late, and he probably wouldn’t have the empty block of time he’d thought. Work had been intense that week. She was sorry. I told her it wasn’t her fault.

  “He feels really bad about it. He wanted me to make sure you know he wishes he could change the shooting schedule, but…”

  “I know. It’s not up to him.” I felt like it was on me to make her feel better about delivering bad news. I hadn’t met her yet, but lately, I felt like she and I had more of a relationship than I did with Chris. We certainly talked on the phone nearly
as much as Chris and I did.

  “Right. Thanks for understanding.” She seemed sympathetic, and I got the impression it was a big part of her job to apologize to people for things she couldn’t control.

  “Sure. It’s cool.”

  “And I have him down to be in LA next Sunday night, so he’ll see you then,” she said, her voice friendly and soft. She would have been great at reading a bedtime story.

  It was strange to think that helping Chris manage our relationship was part of someone’s job.

  For the moments we stood there, wrapped up in each other, the frustration and longing from the past three weeks ebbed away. I was fully in the present, not thinking about how we got there or where we were headed. I just wanted to drink in the moment, the feeling of being back with Chris for as long as it lasted.

  In that case, we had just under twenty-four hours.

  Until the moment he boarded the plane, Chris had been working hard, cramming his lines and working on a character study for the role. It wasn’t a superhero movie. It was a historical drama, and he was struggling to find ways to identify with the character. “It’s not going to be good—hell, it’s not even going to be passable—if I can’t get this guy down,” he’d told me one night when we talked. It was almost two in the morning in New York, and I felt a little guilty that he was talking to me instead of sleeping.

  “I know you take your work seriously. You’ll get it,” I said, trying to be reassuring even though, as usual, I didn’t really know what he was going through.

  “I know. I’m just worn out, and this whole thing has been a fire drill, pushing up the schedule.”

  All the time apart meant that our time together needed to encompass a lot—a lot of kissing and sex and sex and kissing, yes, but also a lot of talking and connecting and moving our relationship forward.