by Tracy Ewens
When he turned back to her, the expression on her face was unlike anything he’d seen in the twelve years he’d known her. It was pity. Christ, she was looking at him like some poor idiot about to be mauled by a bear. West collapsed into the chair across from her desk.
“I know you are upset, but issuing a statement will do nothing. It’s not going to protect her, West.”
“She doesn’t need my protection.”
“Oh, then why are you here yelling at me?”
He took a much-needed breath and said nothing.
“You love her, I understand that.”
“Yeah? And how would you understand that?”
“Don’t be a prick. I’m trying to help you.”
After a brief stare down, West nodded and hoped that was enough of an apology. He wasn’t capable of much more right now.
“Do you think they are going to read a statement and say, ‘Oh wow, we didn’t know Westin Drake wanted us to treat him and the ones around him with respect and dignity’? You and I both know that’s not how it works. They don’t give a shit. They’re the downside, the intrusive part of the job. Some statement isn’t going to change that, West.”
He sat forward in the chair, face in his hands, and accepted defeat as he replayed his conversation with Patrick from the day before. He’d said if it meant letting her go to protect her from the insanity of his life, then that’s what he would do. What a fool he’d been saying that with such ease, as if he could somehow turn his feelings for her on and off. Now, sitting across from the woman who had been the cold shower on almost every shred of emotion or compassion he’d ever had, West threw the switch that would break his heart, and Meg’s. Standing without another word, he left the office.
He’d fly back to LA in the morning. He’d finish Full Throttle and then he’d probably take the $20 million since it was clear no one wanted to see him as anyone other than Nick Shot. He’d fall back into a routine and go right back to where he was before he stepped backstage at the convention center. West had made his choices long ago. He’d tried to change it up, do things differently, and he’d failed. Climbing into the back of yet another black sedan, he heard his Aunt Margaret’s words anytime he protested chores or the hand-me-downs from his brothers. “You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.”
West closed his eyes and for the first time in a long time, he cried without the cameras rolling.
Meg woke in the Tony Bennett bed sometime around eleven. The sun was filtered to a soft glow by the heavy curtains, but she could still tell it was almost afternoon. Rubbing her eyes, she reached across the bed for her phone, which she’d left charging on the nightstand, and saw West. He was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room watching her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
It looked as if he attempted a smile, but the weight of his expression barely allowed a twitch of his lips. “Nothing.”
She sat up, leaving her phone where it was. After what they’d been through last night, she wasn’t sure where to begin. They’d barely said two sentences to one another once they arrived back at the suite. They’d showered, fallen into bed, and clung to one another as if it was the last time they were ever going to make love. From the look in West’s eyes, Meg had a feeling they’d been right.
“It’s not always going to be like this. Remember, you said that,” she said.
“When was the last time you walked down the street, Meg? Remember our first lunch and you wanted to walk?”
“I walked the other… when we were at your parents’ house. We walked then. Things will die down, West. We will get moments of normal.”
He nodded. “You’re right. There will be moments and you’ll be fine with those until you want to really walk. You know, until your feet are sore, grab a falafel, and spend the day taking pictures of doors or bicycles. Until you want more than moments. I can’t give you normal, Meg. I’m not normal. I made my decisions. No one forced me into my life, but you didn’t choose this.”
“I chose you.” She stood from the bed where she now felt too vulnerable. Scanning the room for her clothes, she thought she might be sick. West rose from the chair and they were a few feet apart, suspended in the inevitability of the situation.
“I know you chose me and I chose you too, but that’s not enough. I knew what I was bringing you into, and I did it anyway. It was selfish and I’m sorry.”
“What does that mean? You didn’t bring me anywhere. I came willingly and what happened last night was part of your life. I’m not some wilting flower, West. I can take care of myself.”
She pulled on her clothes, not bothering with her hair, and went to leave the bedroom as if she could somehow outrun the pain. He held her gently by her shoulders.
“You have a whole life, and I won’t see that destroyed.”
“Then don’t. We were fine last night.”
“Don’t you see? I can’t protect you. It’s a fundamental part of any relationship. I protect you and you protect me. I can’t do that, not against what’s on the other side of that door.” He closed his eyes, arms dropping to his sides. “I can barely protect myself. I won’t survive with my heart out there for everyone to step on until it finally stops beating.”
“What are you talking about? I think you do an excellent job of ignoring it. You don’t need to—”
“Meg, you are my heart now. You are the best pieces of my life, and I need you safe. I have to know that you aren’t always looking at the ground. That you’re out in the sunlight taking pictures and protecting the animals you love so much. All of that, all that’s good with us, will die in here.”
“What about you? Don’t you deserve all those things too? Who’s going to look after your heart?”
“Mine has been locked away for a while now. Until you.”
Meg squirmed from his grasp. She didn’t want this, she wasn’t going to survive an “I love you, but we can’t be together,” ending.
“I’ll just put my heart back where it was. I’ll be fine with the piranhas, but I can’t be that person when I’m with you.”
She was going to cry. Her heart was sending the rest of her body a warning. Everything was going to break down any minute, but she stood frozen. “I don’t want to do all of that without you. Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
Meg felt as if everything crashed around them and pulled back in shock. “You’re sorry? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’ve decided you can’t protect me or keep me under your wing, so now we’re done because you say we’re done? Is that like dismissing room service?”
Anger was always better than pain, she thought. Anger was survivable.
He stood in front of her like a child in trouble, and Meg allowed the anger to boil to the surface until she forgot to cry. Moving to the living area, she put on her tennis shoes and laced them so tight her feet would undoubtedly be numb by the time she made it home.
Home. The word echoed in her head like a beacon in the storm of her mind. If she could just make it to her apartment, her life, everything would be fine. She would be on steady ground. He didn’t want her. Enough with the fluffy explanations, that’s what it came down to and she’d be damned if he got to leave first.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing left to say.” She grabbed her bag and spun to leave.
“Wait.” West put his hand on the door.
Christ, she was so tired of closed doors. He was right. This wasn’t her life; she wasn’t this kind of person and since he’d chosen his celebrity over his love for her, she would choose too.
“Get out of my way.”
“We need to talk about this first.”
“You don’t want me,” she yelled, her voice cracking. “You arrived this morning to tell me that you can’t handle the swarm around us and it’s time for me to leave. It’s like I’m a prop or an extra in the movie that is your life. Who does that? Just decides something like that? We have nothing left to discuss, West. Le
t me go.”
He kept his hand where it was and for an instant, she thought he was going to pull her into his arms, tell her he’d lost his mind, and he would move heaven and earth if it meant they could be together. But, the instant passed and when their eyes met, Meg finally experienced what it was like to act in a scene with Westin Drake. His expression was cold, a mask he could hide behind. In fact, there wasn’t one trace of McNaughton left in him at all.
“We are going to go down through the lobby. Towner is waiting, as is extra security. I need you to smack me or finish stomping all over my heart down there.”
“For an audience.”
His jaw flinched, but he continued as if he were reading her toaster manual. “Some indication of a breakup will make this easier for you.”
“And for you. Oh, I’m sure Hannah will want a front-row seat.”
“Things will play out in the lobby. My security will then escort you to the car waiting in front. Vince will take you home. I will have plainclothes security outside your apartment until things die down. I’d like you to stay in your apartment if you can for at least a couple of days. You’ll have a few rough days and then things will return to normal.”
There it was, that word, normal. The memory of them at Anna’s wedding slammed right through her aching chest. “Tonight we’re normal,” he’d said. Meg held the wall as her heart practically tore open.
“I hate you,” she cried and wanted to smack him before the lobby.
“I’m sure you do,” he said.
“Why does it have to be like this?”
He didn’t even acknowledge the question. She was going off script. She could see that now. He had steps and a plan. Meg wondered if that somehow helped ease the sting.
“I’ll start dating someone else right away.” He wasn’t looking at her now.
“You have Victoria’s Secret on speed dial? West, what are you doing?” She reached out to touch him, and he recoiled. A tear hit his cheek and he wiped it away so quickly Meg wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.
“I don’t know any other way, Meg. Please trust me.”
“And leave you.”
“Yes.”
“What if I don’t want to leave?” Her voice was weak now that the pain had traded places with anger.
“Then I’ll leave you.”
Meg gasped for air and for the last time allowed herself to be guided by security. West stood on the opposite side of the elevator and didn’t look up again until they hit the lobby. There, among the buzz and flash, he gave the performance of his life. When it was clear the man she loved had firmly locked his heart back behind his dangerous charm, Meg made her exit. The moment the car door closed she collapsed into a ball and cried.
“Are you okay?” Vince asked form the front, his easy familiar voice seemed out of place.
“I am not.” She pulled her body closer as if her heart needed every layer of defense.
Meg never liked romantic movies. Sage and Annabelle were the sappy ones in the family. She preferred comedies and now, sifting through the memories of a man she didn’t know how to forget, she knew why. Romantic movies lied and she hated liars.
Chapter Thirty-One
After what felt like months, but was only three weeks, West sat in the corner booth of the hotel bar. He was approaching drunk when Towner removed his glass, handed it to the bartender, and set a tray in the center of the table.
“It’s almost four o’clock. Would you like to join me for tea?” she asked.
He would have cried at the gesture, but the numbness from the whiskey didn’t allow the memory to hit him as hard as it might if he were sober. Thankful for small favors, he nodded and Towner scooted in across from him.
“I had a thought,” she said putting a cup in front of him. “Perhaps you need some healing time with your family in… Petaluma, is it?”
Through the thrumming single malt buzz, West tried to curb his aggravation at anything remotely happy. “Healing time? What are you up to?”
“I was simply acknowledging that downtime can be healing. Since you’ve been nothing short of a train wreck since your arrival back at the hotel yesterday, I thought you might need some advice. And, I have this new meditation app on my phone. Twenty minutes a day. The voice that leads the exercises is British, so I imagine I’m greeting the day with Jude Law. Not a bad way to start things off. Shall I pour?”
He nodded again. She served their tea and West added sugar. Aunt Margaret used to add milk and sugar. Towner took hers black. Variations on the same theme, he thought.
“Anyway, Jude Law uses ‘healing’ a lot in my meditations,” Towner continued.
“Huh,” West managed to say as he relished the warm tea sliding down his throat. “Wait, it’s Jude Law?”
“No. I wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”
They sipped tea in comfortable silence, nothing but the occasional voice or pre-happy hour bar sounds surrounding them.
“You’ve been gone quite a bit,” she eventually said. “Is the movie almost finished?”
“Three more weeks starting on Monday, not including ADR,” West said, stuck between polite conversation and wanting to be left alone.
“ADR?”
“Audio digital replacement,” he said.
Towner still seemed confused, so West added, “There is a lot of loud noise in action movies. Sometimes pieces of the dialogue are lost. They replay the whole movie with the music and sound in and we fill in anything that’s not clear.”
“Interesting.”
He sipped his tea. To be honest, not much was interesting these days, but there was no point in telling Towner that. He was sure she could see it all over his “train wreck” of a life, as she so aptly put it.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I went skydiving?” she asked.
West managed a smile. “No.”
“Oh, well, first you don’t skydive alone. They strap you to someone more experienced. I did not know that, so I was surprised when they strapped me to this young man with impressive arms.” She poured herself another cup of tea, and West felt the tea and her story cutting through the whiskey.
“So, that was a treat, but what I found most interesting was the instruction that when you jump, you need to hold on to your partner and ride the wind. No matter how crazy it seems, you must give in because if you fight it, you can hurt yourself.”
“Is there a metaphor in here somewhere?” he asked.
“No. I’m simply telling you a story. Do you see a metaphor?” She pushed up her glasses. She was wearing the blue ones this time.
“No.” West added more sugar to his tea. “Okay, so you hold on to your partner while the two of you are plummeting to the earth. Then what happens? Mr. Bulging Biceps pulls the parachute and you two float to earth on a little piece of rainbow?”
“Well, that’s the interesting part.” She didn’t even comment on his snarky response and kept going. “I thought it was the instructor’s job to pull the parachute. After all, he’s the most experienced, the strongest as I’ve already pointed out. He should be the one to save us at the pivotal moment, right?”
“Makes sense. That’s what you’re paying for.”
“I pulled the cord.”
She glanced at him and West knew the metaphor had arrived.
Christ, what was the name of the meditation app?
Towner nodded. “It’s a trust thing and it builds my confidence. My instructor has faith in me to save us both. I’m given that opportunity and I’m stronger as a result. Kind of beautiful, isn’t it?”
Finishing what was left in his cup, West busied himself with a refill. It was either that or admit that he’d screwed up. He realized the mistake about a week after Meg left the hotel lobby in a flurry of dramatics. When they stepped off the elevator, she’d chosen not to smack him for the cameras. Instead, she rose to his ear and whispered, “Take care of your tender heart, Westin McNaughton. I’ll keep an eye on mine.”
> Yeah, he wished she’d slapped him, or punched him even—that would have been easier. He had watched her leave and gone back to a room Towner had arranged since there was no way in hell he was ever setting foot inside the Tony Bennett Suite again. He flew back to LA the next morning and stayed there until yesterday. He needed out of LA but wasn’t quite ready to deal with the inevitable questions from his family. He snuck into the Main Building Corner Suite a little after midnight on Friday. No 180-degree view, no iconic song. There was a bed and a wireless Internet connection. He was miserable and now, true to form, Towner was explaining to him exactly why.
“I didn’t let her pull the cord,” he said running his hands over his face.
“No. No, you did not.”
“And because I didn’t let her save us, or even help save us, I broke her heart.”
“And your own from where I’m sitting.”
Saying everything he’d been thinking for the past few weeks was strangely liberating. West could feel his whiskey-soaked mind coming back to him.
“Any idea how I can fix this?”
Towner pursed her lips. “This is a tough one.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t go all mortal on me now.”
She smiled and he sent up a silent prayer that she was Yoda, that she could somehow guide him out of the mess he’d made. West was willing to work for it this time. Turned out the path of least resistance sucked.
“Have you tried to contact her?”
“That didn’t seem fair.”
“Good boy. Do you love her?”
West held Towner’s gaze and employed every acting skill he had to keep from crying. “Very much.”
“What if she’s no longer in love with you?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“That’s the spirit. She’s still in love with you.”