A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2)

by Jennifer Probst

  Yes, they only had two more nights together, but she refused to mope around until he got on the plane. She’d grab every precious second with the man she loved and not waste any of it.

  His footsteps echoed on the stairs. He walked in, studying the beautifully set table, and gazed hungrily over her figure. “What is this?”

  She smiled. “You finished the script, and we have a big meeting to celebrate. I wanted to cook you a special dinner.”

  Those forest-green eyes lit with a fierce love and adoration he didn’t try to hide. “You didn’t have to do this.” His voice came out husky.

  She walked to him and pressed a kiss to the curve of his lips, breathing in the spicy scent of musk. “I wanted to,” she murmured. “The end of a story was always an important event. As you once told me, beginnings are necessary and cherished, but it’s the endings that will make a person remember you forever.”

  He jerked, his gaze flashing a gleam of emotion. “Yes, I guess I did say that.” He reached for his wine, handed her a glass, and they clinked the crystal together in a toast. “To our own happy ending.”

  She took a generous sip, then slid into the chair. “Shall we?”

  They feasted on the meal while they gave each other long, heated stares laced with the realization that their time was limited. “Ethan wants to have a family dinner tomorrow night to give you a proper send-off.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Are you going to say goodbye to your father?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I keep going over what his sponsor told me. That AA was about second chances—not as much for the other person, but for yourself.”

  She nodded and reached across the table for his hand. “Yeah, I never thought about it like that. But if you can’t forgive yourself for your own mistakes, how can you possibly be ready for a true second chance?”

  Their gazes met and locked. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Having you back in my life is everything. And if you hadn’t been willing to try, I would have lost the only woman I ever loved.”

  The connection between them surged to life, crackling around them like a lit fuse. She sucked in her breath at the sheer intensity and watched him rise from the chair. He never let go of her hand.

  “I need you, Ophelia. I need to make love to my wife.”

  Without a word, she followed him into the bedroom. He kissed her long and slow and deep, with a shattering sweetness that made tears burn her eyes. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she fell into him and the kiss, letting her body take the lead and show him all the things in her heart.

  He undressed her slowly, lovingly. He laid her out on the mattress, and his hands ran over her naked body, his tongue following the path of his hands to linger between her thighs. He tasted her in slow, long licks that coaxed shudders from her body. She grabbed at his shoulders, ready to explode, desperate for him to slide inside her, but he only lifted her higher, opened her wider with his thumbs, and devoured her whole.

  The pleasure was sharp and bold, and it simultaneously ripped her apart and put her back together again. His lips sucked on her swollen clit, and his fingers sunk deep inside her, urging her over the edge.

  She gave in, writhing her hips, spilling his name into the darkness.

  He rose up and pressed inside her with slow, deliberate precision, his possessive gaze pinned on hers. He buried himself to the hilt until there was no space for anything but him in her body, and heart, and soul. Then he began to move.

  He was both sweet lover and wild warrior. Each deep stroke pushed her further toward oblivion as he gave himself to her with his mouth and tongue, with his fingers and body, wringing out every last ounce of pleasure, those burning forest-green eyes never leaving her face.

  The orgasm shattered her, claiming the very last of her soul. He followed her over, shouting her name, gripping her hips with a fierceness as he claimed her for his wife.

  They drifted down together. Still shuddering with the aftereffects, she pulled the sheets around them and held him tight.

  “The time we’ve spent together has changed me, Ophelia,” he said quietly. “I need to know you trust me and believe I’m coming back.”

  She propped herself up on an elbow and stared into his beautiful face. Her fingers traced the soft scruff hugging his mouth, the sharp line of his cheekbone, the ridge of his brow. She sensed the truth radiating from his figure, could see the intensity of determination in his eyes.

  How she ached to believe him. But deep inside, there was still fear. Fear that, if faced with the choice between producing the story of his own heart and coming back for her, his career would win again.

  Her hand dropped to his chest. Right now, in the quiet of her bedroom, with his heart beating under her palm, she gave him the words. She needed to take the final leap and let him go. She needed to believe he would come back.

  “Yes, I trust you.”

  He kissed her. She kissed him back, pushing away the worry that they were doomed to repeat the past all over again.

  For the second time in a week, Kyle knocked on his father’s door.

  This time, he recognized the open pleasure on Patrick’s face when he opened the door and saw Kyle on his front porch. The responding rush of satisfaction told him no matter how deep he’d buried his resentment regarding their relationship, it felt good to have his dad finally welcome him.

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” Patrick said, motioning him in.

  Charlie trotted over. Kyle got down on his knees to rub his head. “He looks better. How’s he doing?”

  “Good. He’s eating and drinking again. Doc cleaned out his ears, too, so he seems to hear better.” His father gave a quick grin. “He’s a tough one. Manipulative, too. Stands by his jar of gravy bones and gives me a pathetic look, but I know his game.”

  “You still give them to him, don’t you?”

  “Hell yeah. At his age, he should eat whatever he wants. He deserves it.”

  The affection on his dad’s face hit him hard in the chest. His open love for the old dog was so unlike anything the man he once knew would have shown. He unfolded himself from the floor and cleared his throat.

  “I came to tell you I’m leaving.”

  Disappointment flickered over his father’s face. “Back to Hollywood, huh? For the new screenplay?”

  Kyle nodded. “Got a big meeting to try and sell it.” He paused. “Alan Bell.”

  Patrick gasped. “No shit? He won an Academy Award, right? Wow, this is the big time. You’re a hell of a writer to get that kind of respect. Congrats.”

  The rush of pride he felt from his father’s praise was foreign, and it took him a few moments to even recognize the emotion. “Well, I haven’t sold it yet, so fingers crossed.”

  “Don’t worry, you will. How’s Ophelia taking it?”

  Kyle rubbed his head. “Fine. She knows I’m coming back. It’s just a short trip to get things in order.”

  “So you’ll move back permanently? Help run the inn with her?”

  “Yeah, I can do my writing anywhere. There’s really no need for me to be stuck in Hollywood full time at this point.”

  “So you have everything you ever wanted.” Patrick laughed. “That’s amazing, son. Well done.”

  Kyle turned away, not comfortable with his burgeoning emotions. He hadn’t told the full truth.

  Yes, Ophelia had given him the words, but already he sensed her pulling back. A distance in her eyes. As if she didn’t truly believe he’d put her first this time.

  “I had it all before,” he finally said. “But I lost it.”

  “You were young. You weren’t sure yet about what you wanted. Now you know.”

  “Yeah.” He gave him a tight smile.

  “Did you look in the box yet?”

  “Yes. I read the letter. Looked through the pictures.”

  “They should have been with you in California. K
eeping you from your mother’s memory was sick. I was sick. I’m sorry, and every damn day I ask for your forgiveness. I don’t drink. I do my best. That’s all I got left.”

  His heart squeezed in his chest. Hearing the truthful words helped soothe a bit of the raw wounds, allowing extra space in his lungs to breathe. He rubbed his head and shifted his weight.

  “I never thought I’d be back in this house, talking to you. I’m not ready for most of this, but I wanted to see you before I left. Tell you I’m glad Charlie isn’t sick. And that I appreciated the letter.”

  Patrick nodded, clearing his throat. “That’s more than I imagined. Thank you.”

  Kyle bent and patted the dog’s head. “Bye, buddy. Take care of each other.”

  Then Kyle drove away, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time.

  Ophelia lay in his arms and tried desperately to hide her heartache.

  In a few hours, he’d be gone. His stuff was cleaned out. His luggage packed and waiting at the door. Their final dinner together with Ethan and Mia and Harper was full of chatter and laughs, and an emotional goodbye. He kept promising he’d see everyone soon, once the script was accepted and finalized. A few weeks, tops. Then he’d be back.

  If only she believed him.

  “Do you want me to go to the airport with you?” she whispered.

  “No. I want you to sleep—no need for you to wake up at four a.m.”

  “I’m glad you spoke with your dad.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “Me, too. Somehow, it felt right.”

  “Make sure you call me when you land.”

  “I will.”

  “I made you some scones for the trip. Just press the button on the coffeemaker when you wake up and you can take a fresh mug of coffee with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I also left that Airborne stuff out, because the last thing you need is to get sick. Planes are horrible with germs. And I—”

  He kissed her hard and deep, his lips curved upward in a smile. “It’ll all be okay. I left you a copy of the book on my desk for you to read. Not the script. I want you to read the full book—the way it was originally written.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Call me after you read it. I want to know what you think.”

  “I will.”

  He stared at her for a while, as if glimpsing her real worry. “Truth or dare?”

  She forced a smile. “Truth.”

  “Do you believe I’ll be back?”

  She tried to avert her gaze, but he held her chin and forced her to look at him. Finally, she gave him the only truth she could. “I hope you will be.”

  “I’ll just have to prove it to you, then.”

  Her heart ached, so she pressed a kiss to his full lips. “Truth or dare?” she whispered.

  “Dare.”

  This time, her smile was real. “Prove it to me now.”

  With a low growl, he reached for her, pinning her body with his, taking the kiss deep and long and slow.

  Afterward, she slept.

  When she woke up, he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kyle sat back in his chair in the lush conference room and rested his hands on the polished mahogany table. His agent flanked his right, and Alan Bell joined two producers to his left. The script was open on the desk, along with scattered laptops, cell phones, pens, and a crumbled pack of Marlboros because Bell had failed with the patch and reverted to his old ways.

  “I love it,” Bell said simply, shaking his dark head. The powerhouse looked more like a blue-collar guy who eschewed fancy suits and too much coddling. He was well known for showing up at the most prestigious functions in jeans or leather pants. His energy whipped like a mini cyclone around his body, sucking everyone else in, and he was reputed to be a bully on set, but brilliant. “When Robbie told me it wasn’t an action flick, I was intrigued, but this surpassed my expectations. I think we’re poised to make something fresh and exciting.”

  Kyle grinned, muscles relaxing in relief. Though his agent had parroted the same sentiments, until it came from the director’s mouth, nothing was real.

  Robbie smoothly cut in. “We’re not interested in an option at this point. We want a straight sale with a team in place. Plus producer credits. Who are you thinking of?”

  In all his years of work, Kyle had never been able to secure producer credits. It would change the entire project and bump up both his expertise and responsibility. He’d have a bigger hand in his own movie, instead of being stuck on the sidelines.

  Carlson—the red-headed producer who was known to be a real shark—spoke up. “I heard through the grapevine Liam Hemsworth is looking to delve into a romance and beef up his credits. He’s a big draw.”

  “You think he’d be able to bring enough sensitivity to the role?” Kyle asked doubtfully. “I have a list of suggestions for the cast here.” He passed over the papers. “What did you think of the ending?”

  “Loved it,” Bell said. His hands stroked his pack of cigarettes, and his leg jiggled up and down. “Very Jerry Maguire. I like that she was the one who came back to him.”

  “You don’t think it was cliché?” Kyle ignored the scathing look Robbie shot him.

  One of the golden rules was to never doubt your work. You needed to have a big dick in this business, and if you didn’t, you’d better be the greatest bluffer in the world.

  Bell waved his hand in the air. “No way. People like cliché with their romance. I think with a few tweaks we can get this deal going before I take off. We just need to amp it up.”

  Carlson flipped a few pages of the script. “Definitely. It’s too straight-up love story to carry now, but all the elements are there. You thinking a murder, Bell?”

  Bell slammed his fist on the table. “Fuck, that’s brilliant. We have the drunk father murdered when they’re out in California so they have to fly back together for the funeral. This gives time for the heroine to miss her farm, and the hero to realize he hates the place and belongs in Hollywood. Ratchets up the tension, too.”

  “Who murdered the father, you think?” Carlson asked with a frown, his pen furiously scribbling notes.

  “The girl’s mother?”

  “I don’t know—could you make that work, Kyle?”

  He stared at them. Was he suddenly writing a fucking sci-fi movie? Were they honestly telling him they loved the script, a full-on love story, but wanted to add a murder to it?

  “No, I’m not making that work,” he snapped out. “I’m not looking to turn this into a murder mystery.”

  Robbie shot him a glare and jumped in. “Kyle’s not interested in having the purity of his vision muddled,” he said. “You can’t go screwing with the genre and audience this is meant for.”

  “I hear you. I do,” Bell said. “But unless it’s Fifty Shades, with sex, or someone dies, a straight romance needs a bit of a bigger element. Plus, this isn’t a rom-com. We don’t want to change your vision, Kyle. We just need to tweak it to add a subplot that can interest the audience. I did the same thing with my last two movies and got an Academy Award. See where I’m going with this?”

  Carlson agreed. “We don’t want it unless we can bring it to the next level. It’s perfect, but Alan is right. If we’re even thinking about offering producer credit, we need you to work with some bigger elements. We’ll work with you on it, and we can be open. Maybe a close friend gets murdered and the heroine goes back alone, then decides she wants to stay?”

  “Or we add in a love triangle,” Bell suggested. “The girl goes back to the inn because of her friend getting murdered, meets a guest there, and begins to fall for him while she’s away from the hero. Now she has to choose one. Another spin on The Choice, right?”

  Carlson nodded. “I love it. Kyle?”

  He shifted in his seat. A warning voice whispered deep inside his gut, telling him to close out the meeting now and walk away. Already, he realized it would not be the story he’d origi
nally conceived. Of course, he also knew they changed everything in Hollywood, and he needed to be reasonable. Maybe if he came up with his own revisions he could live with, it would be a win-win.

  Ophelia’s voice echoed through his mind. “Don’t let them take away the heart and soul of your story, no matter what they promise. It’s too important for both of us.”

  “You willing to work with us on this?” Bell asked. “’Cause if not, I gotta know now. I’m getting on a plane soon. You give me what I want in a reasonable way, we’ll get it done. I’ll give you producer credit.”

  Something he’d been wanting for years. Something no other director had been able to offer him.

  Reasonable. Compromise. Wasn’t that the necessary element to turn creativity into true success? Was he willing to scrap the best script he’d ever written and a chance to change his reputation? He could still do it on his terms. He could make it work.

  Robbie rapped his knuckles on the table. “Let me talk to Kyle. We’ll get back to you in a few.”

  Bell shrugged. “You got it. But make it fast.”

  They left the conference room. Robbie made some notes on his pad and looked up to study his face. “What do you think? You’ll never get producer credit from anyone else. Bell is willing because he sees something big in you.”

  “I think it’s bullshit,” he said. “I don’t want to change a damn thing.”

  “You know that’s not how it works here. It never has.”

  “I know.” He rubbed his head and spit out a curse. “I need to have final say in everything. Can you get me that?”

  “Difficult, but not impossible. What about cast?”

  “Right to reject in a reasonable way. I’ll work on the pages right away and find a compromise I can live with.”

  “Then I’ll get it done.” He thumped Kyle on the shoulder. “You’re making the right decision. Starving artists are starving for a reason. I’ll let them know.”

  Kyle watched his agent disappear back into the conference room. He leaned against the wall and wondered why this time felt different. The thought of telling Ophelia and having her be disappointed bothered him, but he had no other recourse. He was determined to make it work.