by Taylor Hart
Shifting away from him, she scooted closer to the door.
The driver turned onto the dirt road toward her cabin. “Thank you.” She tried to sound polite, not personal. “But this … it would never …”
A few uncomfortable minutes went by, but she chose to ignore them. Ignoring hard situations was something that came easily to her at this point in her life.
The limo stopped in front of the cabin.
“Hold up.”
Before she knew it, he’d climbed out and was on his way to her side of the car. She quickly got out before he could reach her door.
“Hey,” he said in a disappointed tone. “I was going to get that.”
She straightened, and they were face to face again. “It’s … good night, Sterling.”
Without warning, he took her hand as she walked away and tugged her to a stop.
She saw the emotion shimmering in his eyes.
“Don’t you feel this … this …”
“No,” she said firmly, not giving him a chance to put it into words.
Before she even saw it coming he pulled her into him, gently holding her against him. His lips touched hers.
Soft. Like a whisper.
Sayla was stunned.
The world stood still.
In order to move, Sayla would have to make a decision. As long as she let the world rotate around them, the moment could last without any choices and without any consequences.
Sterling pulled back, smiling and out of breath.
Sayla had to fight against the urge to lean toward him as if caught by gravity.
His lips tilted in a half grin. “That was good.”
All the memories of her last kiss flooded back. The one with Rob outside of the restaurant on their anniversary. Before…
She smacked him across the face. “How dare you!”
Chapter 6
One Week Later
Sterling sat in his gallery looking out over Jackson's Main Street and watched throngs of tourists crowd up and down the street. A couple with a baby on the man’s shoulders stopped to pose in front of some moose antlers. The mom leaned into them, and the dad put bunny ears over the mom. He grinned, thinking that when the mom realized there were bunny ears in the photo she would probably laugh about it.
Leaning back into his chair, he propped his feet onto his desk. A few years ago he’d starred in a romantic comedy as this fun-loving guy who was experiencing fatherhood for the first time. His co-star wasn’t just soft and fun and friendly in real life, she was even more so on camera. Everything about the movie had ended up being fun. He felt like he’d actually got to experience what a father or a husband with a new family would feel like.
The actress had since married and had definitely not been interested in anything but friendship with Sterling. It was a really great role, but thinking back on it, it kind of made him sad.
It didn’t help he couldn’t get the kiss with Sayla out of his head.
Not to mention the stupid mask.
The one he wanted to take off, so he could see her.
No matter what he did, the kiss replayed in his mind too often.
He’d wanted time to relax in Jackson, but now he found himself wanting something to keep him busy again.
So he wouldn’t think about her.
Those beautiful green eyes.
The eyes that had seen him.
The real him, and the him playing a part.
It’d been ridiculous, he told himself over and over. He’d deserved the slap for the kiss, but it had been worth it. Until he’d seen the awful, stricken look in her eyes.
His workouts in the morning and evening were the only thing that was remotely helpful. He’d taken to doing double workouts to try to distract himself. Having a workout room in his home helped. He simply started up the regimen he would have done to train for any kind of military role.
They were intense and kicked his butt, giving him momentary relief. But in the end, his thoughts came back to her.
The stupid mask was driving him crazy. Why couldn’t she have just taken it off?
From where it sat on his desk, his phone buzzed, startling Sterling back into his gallery office.
Another text from his brother. “Bro, call me. It’s important. Dad’s in the hospital.”
Sterling hesitated. His father had made sure the press didn’t know about his heart condition. It was funny to him that his father had used his mother’s illness as some press stunt, but his own heart problems couldn’t be divulged. Sterling hadn’t told anyone, not even Kim. But he’d told Sayla.
Why?
Hating himself, he pressed his brother’s number.
“Nice of you to concern yourself with us.”
He didn’t respond.
“Sterling?”
“I don’t do guilt trips, remember?” Sterling kept his voice semi-calm.
“You need to come. The—”
Sterling cut him off. “Is he dying?” Honestly, Sterling didn’t know if he’d go even if his father were dying or if he would just wait until the funeral. His mother’s pain and his father’s lack of concern for her resonated through him like a slow burning ember that stoked to a fire whenever he thought about his father.
“He’s weak.” His brother sounded concerned. “Weaker than I’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t want this to interfere with his campaign, but I don’t see it getting better.”
“I don’t care.” The words were cold. He meant them.
His brother sighed. “Look, I know you think we all should have swarmed mom for the last six months of her life and done what you did, but life doesn’t stop.”
“No, it doesn’t. So it doesn’t stop for dad either.”
His brother sighed again. “I’m just asking for a couple days. I think it would help dad to make peace with you.”
Without warning, Sterling’s hand began to shake. “I may have promised not to ever go public with my thoughts on mom and their relationship, but that man doesn’t deserve peace.”
“Sterling—”
He hung up, standing and sucking in gasps of breath.
No. No. No. His brother couldn’t do this to him. His father couldn’t just mess up his life. It wasn’t fair to bring back those feelings of anger and loathing that he’d worked the past two years to let go of.
The cesspool of hate.
Running a hand through his hair, he used an acting tactic he’d learned to help change his focus quickly—thought replacement.
Of course his thoughts went back to Sayla.
The kiss.
The look in her shattered green eyes.
Where would she go in Rome? What surgery did she need? For a week, he’d fought the driving instinct to find out, but his resilience was worn down. He had to know.
Without thinking, he picked up his cell phone and called Caleb.
Caleb didn’t even say hello. “You are not going to believe what your next role is.”
“No.” It was always his typical response to Caleb’s enthusiasm and never ending search for the next thing. A big reason he kept him as his agent, but the very thing that burnt him out.
“It’s the end of the world. You’re living in a colony on the moon. You’re the anti-hero … the guy who has walked away from everything, but shocker, you have to save the world. Man.” He sighed. “It doesn’t get better than this.”
Sterling didn’t respond. He hadn’t planned on working for a few months, but the idea of throwing himself into something was kind of appealing.
“Are you there?”
“Oh, yeah.” He pressed on. “Hey, the woman I went out with the other night, Sayla. What surgery did she need?”
“What?”
Sterling could imagine the dumbfounded look on Caleb’s face. “Sayla. You said the guy mentioned a surgery she needed. What surgery was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He … uh. Why are we talking about that girl? You haven’t seen her have you?” His voice took on a
worried tone. Caleb always worried over image, which, again, was what he was paid to do.
“No.”
“Good,” he said with finality. “You have big things coming. You don’t need distractions right now. I think we could get thirty million for this movie. Thirty million. That’s more than Tom Cruise in his last Mission Impossible movie. That’s…”
“I want to direct.”
Caleb didn’t miss a beat. “You will.”
“Have you heard from Harold?”
“Not yet.”
Sterling put his feet down and sat up, staring out the window. That couple was still taking pictures. Now they were holding ice cream cones. The girl was still on the father’s shoulders. Sterling could imagine the next scene in the movie. The daughter dropping the ice cream on the dad’s head. The mom screeching and taking it in her hand and throwing it to the ground. Then all three laughing hysterically.
“Sterling,” Caleb said loudly.
Brought back to the moment, Sterling stood, knowing what he was going to do. “I gotta go. Send me the script.”
“Okay.”
Sterling shut off his phone and moved to the double doors in his office, throwing them open and heading down the stairs, hollering back to his assistant. “I’m out for the rest of the day.”
When he got to the little cabin in the woods off the beaten path from the road to the marina, Sterling got out of his red Porsche and took the stairs in a quick jog. There was no turning back now.
He knocked, taking note of the rustic wind chime next to the two rockers on the front porch that overlooked the lake.
Nobody answered.
He knocked again and then moved to the window to peek inside. He could see a small table next to a kitchen bar with stools. He looked at the walls and could see what looked to be posters on the wall. All the things he knew about her fell through his mind. Her husband was dead. She thought she’d killed him. She wanted to go to Rome. She was a foster kid growing up.
He wanted more. More pieces of the puzzle. More of her … character.
Turning around, he stared at Lake Teton. Out of the blue, it felt funny to him. He’d never been to the lake before. He’d driven by it on the road to his house, but he’d never come out to hike the trails or boat or do anything that most tourists did every summer in Jackson. When he’d contemplated buying a home in Jackson, the lake had been a big draw for him. At the time, he had imagined spending much of his Jackson time in, on, or around the water.
Shaking his head, he thought of all the things he’d gotten to do due to being a movie star and travelling the world, but how it felt like they didn’t mean anything because he didn’t have anyone to share it with.
Somehow he thought Sayla would understand this.
Which was stupid, idiotic, and ridiculous. For heaven’s sake, he’d only spent a couple of hours with the woman.
Not to mention she’d slapped him.
Moving around the cabin, he noticed the row of cabins up the lane. Hopping back into his Porsche, he decided to follow the signs to the marina. That’s were she worked after all.
When he got there, he parked and then quickly worked his way down the dock to the little shop. On the porch he saw a rustic wind chime. It matched the one at the cabin.
The heavy screen door brushed the wind chime as he walked in. The shop was quaint with displays of different fishing, boating, and camping goods. The soft aqua green color looked recently painted. He liked it.
Immediately, he recognized Henry, the owner, as the man at the counter.
The guy had a fishing hat on and a worn vest and seemed pleasant. “Well, hello, what can I do for ya? Fishing trip? Supplies?” Putting down the piece of paper he was reading, he pulled his glasses off.
It was strange, but Sterling was nervous. “Hi. I … I’m actually looking for Sayla.”
The guy crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”
It was almost comical how defensive the man’s body language shifted. Like he would grab a shotgun and run him off if he was given the chance.
“I …” He looked around. “I just wanted to see her.”
Henry still didn’t move. “Your agent said it was one date.” He scowled.
Obviously, Henry knew who he was. Sterling put his hands up to surrender. “Hey, listen—”
“No, you listen,” Henry said gruffly. “The deal was one date.”
How long had it been since Sterling had to face a protective father before being allowed to date his daughter? As laughable as the situation was, Sterling wasn’t stupid enough to crack smile. “I … I want to see her again, and I didn’t get her phone number.”
Henry snorted. “Suspect she didn’t give it to you for a reason.”
The scene felt like an awkward encounter from a rom-com. “I …”
“She doesn’t have a phone,” he barked out, roughly moving around the counter and went toward the front of the store. “I’m closing. Gotta get going.”
Sterling was dumfounded. People didn’t treat him this way. Never had. Most of his life he’d grown up, well, privileged was the word for it. There had been his father’s clout as an attorney then his political career. Then Sterling’s acting fame. He’d never gone through the part where people treated you poorly. Well, not the kind of people that had no contacts and owned a marina. There were the Hollywood types that treated everyone poorly. He’d only recently been upgraded to the top of the A list and been able to move freely within that circle. Flummoxed, Sterling followed Henry. “It’s barely five o’clock. You’re closing?”
Henry went out the door and held the screen open. “Yep.”
Sterling walked out, and Henry pulled a wooden door shut and used an ancient looking key to lock it. “So do you know where Sayla is right now?”
Henry rushed away from him. “I’m going to get her right now. Didn’t realize I was running late. Good thing you stopped in.”
Sterling was confused. “Where is she?”
Henry shook his head and kept walking. “Have you ever heard about curiosity and the cat?”
He followed Henry to the little parking lot, getting more ticked off with every step. “Are you trying to be rude?”
Henry stopped in front of an old Chevy truck and yanked on the driver’s side handle. He turned and glared at Sterling. “I figure I don’t have to try very hard, it just comes easy for me.” A small smile played at the man’s lips.
Sterling watched as the man climbed into the truck and took off.
Without knowing why, Sterling hopped in his Porsche and followed him.
Chapter 6
Sayla tried to focus on Henry’s face and ignore the fuzziness of the pain meds.
The doctor sat next to the bed, his face grave.
“What is it, doc?” She’d been in recovery for almost an hour, waiting to talk to him.
Glancing at Henry, he asked, “Do you want me to speak freely?”
Her heartbeat raced. She’d purposefully tried not to think of this procedure all week and what it could mean. “It’s fine.”
The doctor put on, what she could tell, was a forced smile. “Sayla, we knew going in there was trouble with your right ovary.”
Sayla’s heart beat quieted, and she felt herself go completely still. “Yes.”
“I had to take out some fibroids. There was some endometriosis that grows next to your ovaries. The left ovary was fine. But, the right one might be too far gone. You never know.”
Her mouth felt dry. “What does that mean?” Her lips stuck together.
The doctor reached over and grabbed a plastic cup with a straw sticking up and held it to her.
She gingerly lifted it to her lips and took a sip.
He frowned again. “It could mean you’re fine. It could also mean you may have problems getting pregnant.”
The sound of a flat line went off in her head. The same flat line that went off that night in the ambulance when they’d revived Rob, then lost him again on the wa
y to the hospital.
“Sayla?”
Turning back to the doctor, she felt him take the cup out of her hand.
“Sorry.” She put one hand over her stomach, fluttery and not feeling any pain yet because of all the pain meds and numbness from the surgery.
The doctor flipped some pages back onto the chart and stood. “Overall, it was a good surgery. I think we got everything we needed to get. You shouldn’t have pain with your menstrual cycles. You should be fine. Only time will tell about children.”
Hesitating, her mind flashed to Rob. The way he’d held her hand the first time they’d tried to get pregnant. She felt numb. “How long do I need to wait to travel?” She asked, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. Annoyed, she swiped it.
His brow furrowed. “At least two or three weeks. I want to see you follow-up in ten days.” He handed her a prescription. “This will help keep the pain under control.”
“Okay.”
After twenty minutes of the nurse helping her get her clothes on and into a wheelchair, Henry insisted he push the wheelchair as they headed out of the hospital doors and straight toward his truck.
Abruptly, she worried about getting into the truck.
As if sensing her concerns Henry said, “Don’t you worry, Sayla. If I could get Ethel into the truck after her chemo treatments, I can help you.”
Usually Sayla never worried about her health. Except when she was on her period and had pain, but at the moment she felt extremely weak and slightly dizzy, even sitting. Of course she would worry about trying to get into the truck. More than anything, she worried about Henry helping her. “Maybe you should go get one of the hospital workers, Henry. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Oh, hush now. I’m fine. Just because I’m sixty-five doesn’t mean I can’t help a pretty girl into the truck. What are you saying about me, you don’t trust me? Huh, Sayla?”
She knew Henry was trying to be kind about it, but she could feel herself going in and out of awareness. Sort of like she was floating, unable to be completely in the moment. “Henry, these pain meds make me unsteady. Let’s go get some help.”