by Tessa Teevan
But, now, I was hoping like hell I could get the second chance Trevor did. Hoping like hell my story would turn out differently than his. But, either way, I was putting myself out there, as terrifying as that was. She finally, finally would hear the words I couldn’t say all those years ago.
Now, I just had to wait to see what she’d do about it.
AS I STARED OUT THE window of my downtown Toronto hotel, I didn’t see the twinkling lights or hear the hustle and bustle of the city. Instead, I was focused on the reflection staring back at me, wondering how I’d gotten there.
There was Toronto. I was on location, filming an upcoming romantic made-for-television movie. You know, one of those sinister stories that’ll play on the Lifetime network for years to come. It wasn’t exactly a Hollywood blockbuster, but it was my first starring role after numerous bit parts and commercials. I should’ve been more excited about it. But, for some reason, now that I was there, I wasn’t.
Lately, I’d been wondering if this was my dream. If I was pursuing my dream or if I’d just thought I’d wanted to do it for so long that I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Don’t get me wrong. I loved acting, and I still had to pinch myself when I thought of how fortunate I had been to get the roles I’d landed thus far. It’s just… I was lonely.
Perpetually, incredibly lonely.
“When are you coming home?”
The question resounded loudly in my mind. It’s one I was asked every single time I phoned home. One I got in a text at least once a week from any given family member. It’s one I never answered.
For my own selfish reasons, of course. You see, my parents had always been incredible, and my three little brothers were awesome, even if they were pains most of the time. Our family was close. I missed them all the time, but it’d been four years since I’d set foot back in Cincinnati.
The reason I was lonely—and refused to go back to my hometown—was a boy. Isn’t there always a boy? Anyways, like most impetuous teenage girls with stars in her eyes, I’d left that boy behind to go to California and become the next big star. I mean, my name was Ava for a reason, and I wouldn’t have been doing my namesake justice if I hadn’t at least tried to make it on the silver screen.
But the truth was I’d been missing that boy ever since I’d driven off into the proverbial sunset. Missing was probably too weak of a term to describe how much my heart ached for the boy I’d left behind. I had thought time and distance would help me heal, but it’d been five years and the pain only multiplied with each passing day.
It’s a story I’d never wanted to tell.
You’re probably wondering who I am and why you care at all about my woe-is-me story. So, before some crazy tabloid can get ahold of the rumors and run with them, I may as well give you the down and dirty of how I got to where I am now.
Hello, world. It’s me, Ava Banks. I was born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, to Jeremy and Sierra Banks, loving, crazy-ass, goofy parents. I have three younger brothers, whom I adore. I’m an avid Reds fan and, in high school, was the leader of the thespian club. I earned the lead role in every single play during my four years of school. At the young age of eighteen, I moved across the country to attend UCLA, where I majored in film and television. I worked as a waitress while going to countless auditions before eventually landing a supporting actress role on a sitcom that spawned other various small roles. I am now twenty-three and far from being considered a Hollywood sweetheart, but I could pay my bills and live comfortably. Okay, with a roommate, but still. I’m not a struggling or starving actress.
But I digress. You’ve probably already read all of that on my Wikipedia page. Thanks, tabloids! But here’s the real story. My story. After all, you can’t believe everything you read. Except this. Since, you know, this is an actual authorized story.
Okay, where were we? Oh, yes. The boy. And how I ended up there, in Toronto, without him.
I grew up believing in fairy tales. My aunt Lexi showed me The Princess Bride when I was a little girl, and I knew I wanted to be Buttercup when I grew up. After seeing Titanic at the probably-too-young age of ten (Mom freaked out, but Dad shrugged it off, figuring a couple of bare breasts wouldn’t scar me for life), I wanted to be Rose, minus that whole letting-Jack-go thing—when she’d specifically said that she wouldn’t. Sure, maybe it was metaphorical, but still. She let him go. WTF, Rose? Dad was right. That’s what scarred me. Not the boobs.
No matter the film or the content, I’d been captivated while watching each and every love story play out before my very eyes. So much so that, after my eleventh time watching Olivia Newton-John find her happily ever after in Grease, I was desperate for my own.
On the silver screen, that is.
I wasn’t a romantic because of the love aspect. It was the acting that fascinated me. Getting lost in the role and the story and bringing the characters to life. I can’t count how many times I created an audience with my stuffed animals and acted out my own rendition of Tangled. Or that time when I was six and we were visiting the beach, I pretended I was on the set of Jaws. Heck, I was so good that I scared tourists and nearly got my parents banned from Navarre Beach. What could I say? I had talent. I hadn’t meant to induce panic.
I knew, from an early age, I wanted to be an actress. I didn’t just want a fairytale. I wanted them all.
The thing is that I had no idea that, by following my dreams, I’d risk missing out on the greatest fairy tale of them all.
My own.
And, as I continued to look at the lonely girl staring back at me, I remembered exactly how I’d lost it.
“I’m not your dad, Ava. I’m not chasing you until you realize we’re meant to be together. If you choose to leave, you’re doing so knowing exactly what you’re giving up.”
I’d had no idea just how much Tucker’s words would haunt me.
You see, Tucker wasn’t just some boyfriend. He was my best friend, first love, and so much more. Until I’d left for college, I couldn’t remember a single day passing without him in my life. Now, I’d somehow managed to exist for five years without seeing his warm, crooked smile. Five years without staring into those blue eyes that had danced with delight every time he’d stolen a kiss. Five years without feeling his precious, full lips on mine, his exploring hands on my skin, his arms holding me protectively, as if I were the most precious thing in the world.
Five years without him and it was all my fault. Five years of loneliness that were all my doing. And for what? I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t living my life the way I’d thought I wanted. Sure, I was going after what I’d thought were my dreams. I was completely miserable and lonely while doing it.
He had done nothing wrong. I think maybe that was the hardest part of all of this. Maybe, if he’d been the heartbreaker, I’d be okay. I’d be able to move on. But that wasn’t the case. I was the one who’d left him. I was the selfish cow who’d expected him to chase her when he had been completely honest with me about why he couldn’t.
He hadn’t let me go. He’d had no choice. He couldn’t chase me. And yet, I’d still expected him to.
So it couldn’t be any surprise to me that there I was, alone in Toronto, still heartbroken, still lonely, but still too stubborn to do anything about it.
“When are you coming home?”
Even though my heart ached—and if I were smart, I’d jump on a plane and be right back there, begging him to take me back—I knew I couldn’t do it. I didn’t deserve it, and if I was honest, I couldn’t take seeing him with someone else. So, instead, I’d continue to live my lonely, pathetic life and avoid Cincinnati.
Because, if I had my way, the answer to that question would be never.
THREE MONTHS HAD PASSED SINCE my time in Toronto. The movie was in the final production stages, and while I’d felt a bit melancholy when spending time alone in my hotel room, I’d actually ended up having a fantastic time on set. It was a romantic suspense film in which I played an undercover agent who’d naturally fal
len in love with the enemy. But, naturally, there was a plot twist. My character wasn’t merely a silly damsel believing the lies of the handsome stranger. I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say she was always one step ahead, and I loved how empowering I’d felt while playing that role. I had fallen right into character, throwing myself into my work, and by the time I’d gotten back to my hotel at night, I’d been too exhausted to be lonely. Heck, I’d even learned to do some of my own stunts, and from having taken kickboxing lessons when I wasn’t shooting, I was in the best shape of my life.
Fortunately, the film had set me up pretty well financially, so I had some breathing room now that I was back in California. I’d been shooting commercials here and there, waiting for my next role, but not really worrying about it when I got the call from my agent.
I was lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching my nearly worn-out copy of About Time, when my phone rang, interrupting the most pivotal scene. Sniffling, I wiped my tears and hit pause before hopping up to grab my phone from where it was charging on the coffee table. Picking it up, I saw Martin Calling. My stomach flip-flopped, as it always did when he called.
“Hey, Martin,” I said, waiting to hear whatever latest film rejection I was going to get.
“Ava, dahling, are you sitting down? Please tell me you’re sitting down. You’re going to want to be sitting down for this.” His thick British accent was rushed and excitable.
Something in his tone told me I needed to listen to him, so I sat on the edge of the couch, wondering why I needed to be doing so. “I…I’m sitting, Martin. What’s going on?” I asked, my wide gaze racing to Tawni’s curious ones.
“What’s going on?” my roommate mouthed.
I shook my head, having no clue.
“Sweetheart, I just received a call from Jonathan Myers’s office.”
My heart nearly stopped beating. Jonathan Myers was one of Hollywood’s hottest producers. In the past ten years, he’d been associated with at least seven blockbusters that had knocked those countless superhero movies off the top spot at the box office. At only thirty-four, he was a legend—not only in Hollywood, but all over the world. I’d have probably fainted if I’d even spotted the man across the aisle in the grocery store.
“Uh huh…” I replied dumbly, unable to formulate actual words.
“The newest New York Times best-seller, that romance novel that’s been making waves for months? His studio bought the rights. They’re adapting the book to film, and he wants you for the starring role!” He was practically gushing.
Words my brain couldn’t wrap itself around.
“Ava? Did you hear what I said?” Martin asked.
I shook myself out of my stupor. “He wants me to come in and read?” I asked, attempting to make sense of what he was saying.
Holy crap! Only a select few read for Jonathan Myers, and the best of the best were chosen for his movies. And he wanted me?
“No, dahling. He doesn’t want you to read for the part. He wants you for the part! Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“I… I…”
“Ava! This is it! This is what we’ve been waiting for. It’s your big break. Your road to becoming the next Hollywood sweetheart starts with Jonathan Myers and this film.”
“Oh my goodness,” I breathed, barely registering the rest of Martin’s excited ramblings. I listened, giving yes answers when necessary, and then hung the phone up after Martin’s promise to e-mail me all the details.
I slid down to the couch cushion and set my phone on the coffee table in front of me. My eyes were blinking rapidly as I tried to process just how momentous this was.
Wine. This called for copious amounts of wine.
What the heck just happened?
I realized belatedly that I hadn’t thought the words. Tawni had said them. I glanced across the room and saw her eying me.
She anxiously waved her hand in the air. “Well?”
“I got a starring role in a major motion picture. Without even auditioning for it.”
The words sounded ridiculous coming from my mouth. But, if Martin was to be trusted—and he’d never joke about this—they were true.
Holy crap. I just got a starring role.
“What?!” she gasped, her eyes rounding in amazement.
My head bobbed up and down in a slow, deliberate nod. I stared at her as the shock began to fade and reality set in. “A starring role in a Jonathan Myers film. Some book they’re making a movie.”
Tawni was an avid reader, so I wasn’t surprised when she asked, “Which book? I wonder if I’ve read it. This is so exciting!”
I racked my brain, trying to remember the details Martin had given me. “Umm… Those Three Words? And I’m playing someone called Abigail. Have you read it?”
“Oh. My. God. Shut up!” she exclaimed as she crossed her hands and held them over her heart.
“Umm, I guess that’s a yes?” I asked.
She leaped off the chair and launched herself at me. “That’s only like the best book ever!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and waving them like a lunatic. “Do you know how huge this is for you?! For your career?! Oh my god, you’re playing Abigail! The Abigail,” she sighed as if Abigail were this generation’s Allie Hamilton.
Which would be completely fine by me, because if I had to admit to a girl crush, Rachel McAdams circa her The Notebook days would definitely rank high up on that list. Hence my overly watched copies of About Time, The Time Traveler’s Wife, and, naturally, The Notebook.
My nose wrinkled. “Well, yeah, it’s my first major motion picture starring role. I appreciate the magnitude of it, Tawni.” I laughed, shaking my head that she’d even ask such a crazy question.
With her hands on my shoulders, she pushed back, staring at me. “No. I mean, HUGE. HUGE. Like, you’re on your way to becoming this generation’s Rachel McAdams.”
See? I knew it. Still, I laughed her off. “Okay, let’s not go that far. I haven’t even read the script. I know nothing about it. What if I don’t do this Abigail character justice? What if I hate it?”
Tawni rolled her eyes and then darted down the hall and into her room. Moments later, she reappeared, shoving an obviously well-read book into my hands. “Did Martin tell you nothing? This is the biggest book of the year. Heck, maybe even the decade. It’s so…incredible, Ava. You have no idea!” she exclaimed, sighing wistfully as a dreamy-eyed expression formed on her face.
To Tawni’s utter disappointment, I’d never been much of a reader. I’d always been more into romance on film rather than in books. So, while Tawni was often found with her e-reader or a worn paperback in her hands, I preferred spending my time at the theater or in front of the television. Therefore, when I studied the cover, I hadn’t the slightest clue who T.A. Bankman was other than the guy who had written Those Three Words—and who, per Martin, had signed on to write the screenplay for the movie. A good sign for any novel-to-film adaptation.
I blinked, which caused Tawni to release an exasperated sigh.
“Ava, girl, if you read one book in your entire life, it needs to be this one!” She paused, appraising my blank face. When she got nothing, she continued. “It’s incredible. It’s romantic. It broke my heart. I can’t remember the last time I cried so hard while reading a book. It destroyed me.”
“I don’t get it. Why do you want to be sad when you’re reading?”
“Why do you watch About Time over and over again when you know you’re going to cry? It’s the same thing! Because it makes you feel! I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s almost therapeutic, reading these stories and knowing that life isn’t perfect, not even in fiction. And this book? Gah! It killed me. Literally killed me.” Her eyes narrowed. “You better not ruin Abigail!”
I laughed. “I haven’t even read the script yet, Tawni, but I’ll do my best not to ruin your precious Abigail. And, if I need any help, I’ll make sure to ask you.”
&
nbsp; “Are you going to read it? You must read it. Go to your room and don’t come out until you’re done!” she ordered playfully.
“I don’t know. I’d like to read the script fresh, but I’d also like to understand who this T.A. Bankman originally intended Abigail to be.”
“Well, keep it just in case. I wonder if you’ll get to meet him. That would be ah-mazing!” she exclaimed. “He’s so mysterious. He doesn’t do any interviews on camera, and no one knows who the man is behind the pen name.”
Tawni’s practically swooning over the man—if he even is a man—at this point.
I shrugged. “If I get the chance to meet him, I’ll be sure to get him to sign this for you,” I teased. Once again, I didn’t really get how star struck Tawni got over her favorite authors. To me, he was just a guy who had written the book that had inspired Jonathan Myers to hire me.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do my research. Three hours later, I realized Tawni was right. T.A. Bankman was a complete and utter mystery. The Internet knew zilch about him, which was pretty shocking considering how voyeuristic we’ve become in the twenty-first century.
My gaze flicked to my bedside table, where Tawni’s copy of the book was sitting. The cover was beautiful, and the tagline was intriguing.
She never forgot her first love. He was counting on it.
The words hit far too close to home, but I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over, grabbing the book, and telling myself that I’d only skim through it.
Instead, I was instantly sucked into the beautiful, heartbreaking journey of Abigail and Trevor. Hours passed, dawn broke through, and after countless fallen tears and crushed tissues, I’d finally come to the painstaking end.
It wouldn’t quite be enough, but that was okay. Nothing ever would.
The End.