by Julia Bright
“We can schedule around that. I think you’ll be great for the part. And yes, you have this one. We’ll begin filming in about a month. I’ll have the schedule for you in about a week. We’ll send the contract to Andrew.”
“I got the part?” Rose squealed.
Rob blinked twice, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes, you did.”
She looked to Cam who was giving her two thumbs up. She had the part, her first real part in a real movie. She would be speaking, and she would get paid. She wouldn’t have to work as a waitress. She and Cam had talked about their schedule, and they’d agreed that they wouldn’t work on films at the same time, especially once the baby came, and this film fit perfectly with Cam’s schedule.
Cam came over and shook Rob’s hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
“I heard your latest film is going to be amazing.” Rob’s eyes were sparkling again.
“I hope so.” Cam laughed.
“You’re too modest. It’s going to be a smash. I have it on good authority that it was excellent, that you did great. How is your brother?”
“He’s doing well.”
Rob nodded and glanced away before meeting her gaze then Cam’s. “Good. Maybe he can come back and do some serious work instead of what he was doing.”
Cam nodded, and Rose caught a wistful look in Cam’s eyes. “I hope so.” His words may have been few, but Rose knew her man. Cam needed his brother.
Rob shook her hand again and stepped away. “You two have a good day. Congratulations, Rose. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
“Thank you, Rob. It was wonderful meeting you.” Rose took Cam’s hand and followed him out of the room and down the hall, trying like crazy to keep calm and not freak out. She had a part in a movie and it was only the beginning.
They were outside, and Cam wrapped his arm over her shoulder, walking her to their car. “It doesn’t get better than this, babe.”
Her heart felt light as excitement buzzed through her. “What do you mean?”
“Having the woman I love, a baby on the way, and both of us being able to live our dreams. Life is good.”
She nodded, thinking about his statement. “You’re right. It doesn’t get better than this. I’m so glad I ran into you at that party.”
Cam stopped walking and turned to face her before cupping her cheeks. “Meeting you was the best thing to ever happen in my life. I would give everything up to be with you.”
She shook her head and cupped his cheeks, staring at his beautiful face. “You don’t have to give anything up to be with me, my love.”
Cam brushed his lips over hers and then gave her a smile that stopped her heart. “I may not have to give up anything, but I would, Rose. For you, I would give this all up just to be with you.”
With the words coming from Cam, she knew it wasn’t lip service. It was real. He would give it all up, and so would she, because being with Cam was better than anything else she would ever experience in life. Cam Harris was her heart, her soul, and the man she would raise a family with. She really had found her dream and was living it, which for her was more than she’d ever expected.
Not quite the end…
Rose stood in front of apartment 7B, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. The door opened and Presley paused, staring at her before she glanced over her shoulder and called out.
“It’s Rose.”
Kady stepped up behind Presley and started shaking her head. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry,” Rose said.
“Really, that’s all you have to say?” Kady asked.
Rose would understand if Kady and Presley never wanted to speak to her again. She’d acted crazy, pulling an insane stunt, leaving without a word, and now she was coming back at a time when it may look like she was just trying to butter them up so they wouldn’t talk.
“Can I come in?”
“Should we?” Kady asked Presley.
It took a few seconds before Presley rolled her eyes then nodded. “Fine. Come in.”
Rose followed them into the small apartment and she glanced around, feeling a little nostalgic.
“Talk,” Kady said.
Presley slapped Kady’s shoulder. “Be nice.”
“She ran out,” Kady complained.
“But she paid rent for two spots for months, giving us time to find Jessica.”
“How is she working out?” Rose asked.
“Good,” Kady said. “She has no clue who you are.”
Rose nodded. “Listen, when everything happened, I didn’t know what to do.”
“What actually happened?” Presley asked.
“The day after the party, the one where that photo came from, Amanda was over here asking for money. She found the photo and sold it to TMZ.”
“You should have busted her ass,” Kady said.
“But that would have made Cam look bad.”
Presley shook her head. “I’m sorry everything happened the way it did. You should have told us.”
Rose nodded. “I know, but Amanda was still a part of your life.”
“That bitch hasn’t come around in months,” Kady said.
Rose shrugged. “I should have said something, but it was complicated.”
“I know about complicated,” Presley said.
“How is everything going?” Rose asked.
“It’s getting better. There might be a light at the end of the tunnel.” Presley’s lips twisted up on one side and she nodded. “Yep, I think maybe something good will happen.”
“I could—”
Presley cut Rose off. “No, if I can’t make it on my own, I don’t deserve to be here. Thank you for the offer, but really, life is starting to look better.”
“Okay. But if you need anything, I’m here. Kady, I’ll feed you scoops when I can.”
“Like are you going to have a baby anytime soon?” Kady asked.
Rose’s face heated and she glanced away before looking at Kady. “When we’re ready to announce, I’ll give you the scoop.”
“Yes!” Kady pumped her fist and danced around the small den.
This apartment had seen a lot of heartache and happiness. She’d grown since moving here, and maybe the time spent in 7B had brought her to this place, to her happiness. Maybe she would have achieved everything if she’d lived in another apartment in another complex across town or down the street, but perhaps being here had changed her luck.
Whatever the case, she had Cam, and a baby on the way. Life was good, and her dreams had come true.
The End
I
Chapter One of Roan
May 2010
Roan Westfield pushed through the double saloon-style front doors, coming to an abrupt halt, squinting to give his eyes time to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. For a bar that closed approximately three hours a day only to get a formal hose-down before opening again, the Rusty Cow was unusually quiet this afternoon. He scanned the room, committing every single detail to memory. His heart twisted as the magnitude of the moment sank in. Today marked his formal passing of the torch. No more daily trips to the place where everyone knew his name. After tonight, some underclassman would claim his regular seat at the bar as their own. The Rusty Cow would become theirs, no longer his. Nostalgia swam in his gut. He’d come to this bar just about every day for the last four years. The sights, sounds, and distinct smells of greasy bar food were as familiar as his own face.
There wasn’t much to the place. The actual bar took up about a third of the building. A few tables and chairs were scattered around a couple of pool tables, and a huge vintage jukebox sat along the outside wall, playing nothing but seventies country music. Pine coated every major surface: pine tables, pine chairs, pine bar top, and pine walls. Outside of that, lots of neon brightened the place up. Every neon beer sign ever made found a permanent home at the Rusty Cow. The bar didn’t rest on any sort of formality, and for Roan, this had been a second home to him well before he’
d even been legally allowed inside.
About the time his eyesight fully adjusted to the darkened interior, Roan made his way to the bar, grabbed his regular stool, and took a seat. He glanced around, taking in the familiar faces. He nodded at a couple of his former teammates while pushing his sunglasses back on his head.
Finally, he anchored his forearms on the bar’s edge and waited for Lucky, the bartender, to turn his way.
Once he had Lucky’s attention, the older guy stopped what he was doing and swaggered good-naturedly to his side of the bar. With his thick head of gray hair and long handlebar mustache, he looked like a cross between John Wayne and Sam Elliott. Lucky was country through and through. Those engrained southern manners had him extending his hand across the bar top for a shake. “Wasn’t sure I was gonna see you before you headed out. Want the usual?” he asked in that deep Texas drawl.
“Yup,” Roan answered, giving a toothy grin to Lucky who’d been a friend as well as a father figure since Roan’s freshman year.
“Figured you would.” As Lucky lifted a mug to pour his beer from the tap, Connor Kilpatrick, a redheaded Irish linebacker, left the game at one of the pool tables, sidling up next to Roan at the bar, bumping him good-naturedly in the shoulder.
“I’ll take another, Luck,” Connor called out before draining the mug in his hand. He pushed his empty glass toward Lucky before Connor turned his attention to Roan—the guy clearly had his priorities, which made Roan chuckle. “Finish exams?”
“Yup.” Roan gave an affirming nod.
Connor’s freckled hand lifted for a fist bump and Roan obliged.
“That’s cool, man. Chicago. Who’d have thought?”
“Not me,” Roan answered truthfully. For the last month, he’d had this same conversation repeatedly. Hell, he got everyone’s confusion. Much to the shock of the entire campus, he’d been picked up in the NFL draft—second round even. Chicago said they saw potential. He wasn’t the fastest out on the field, but he’d consistently racked up a significant number of yards and touchdowns in his college career, and Chicago wanted to take the risk, give him a shot to see what he was made of. Since that unexpected day, he’d been on a whirlwind ride, trying to keep his feet planted on the ground long enough to graduate from college.
He took the beer Lucky slid his way, clinking Connor’s newly filled mug in a toast.
“When you leavin’?” Lucky asked in his gravelly drawl that felt more like home than any place he’d ever lived.
“In the morning. I’m driving straight there. Gotta report in on Monday and then find a place to stay,” he said, a giant grin spreading, unable to hold back his excitement. It became a challenge to take that first drink with such a big smile on his face.
“Shit, that’s cool. You better stay in touch. NFL. That’s big,” Connor said then downed a hearty gulp of his beer.
An old Hank Williams song blared from the jukebox, sending an unexpected spike of aggravated violence up Roan’s spine. Only one person ever played that dumb song, and if to prove himself a glutton for punishment, Roan glanced over his shoulder to see Blaine fucking Daniels eyeing some women sitting on barstools set around the pool tables. Dammit, he’d have thought the douchebag Blaine would have been with his pretty girlfriend tonight since he was leaving her behind for summer break.
Roan’s brow dropped as a scowl formed. He lifted the mug, taking a long swig because it completely sucked on every level that he even knew that last bit of information. His clinger-like fascination with Blaine’s girlfriend had only increased his aversion to the guy over the years. He seriously hated that arrogant prick who finally stopped eyeing the females and lifted his gaze, spotting Roan and Connor at the bar, then immediately sauntered their way. Shit. Roan adjusted in his seat, turning his head forward again, facing Lucky with a cringe.
Blaine was a loudmouth know-it-all who pretty much stayed in your face the whole time he was around. Literally, in…the…face. He got so close he would spit while bragging about his latest greatness—whatever the hell that was. The ladies didn’t seemed to notice the spit flying or seemed to care that Blaine had had a committed girlfriend for the last two years. The female co-eds on campus had dubbed Blaine Prince Charming, and he sure had a way of charming the panties off any girl around.
Roan’s scowl pinched his face. Resentment was a bitch, and Roan resented the hell out of Blaine. The douche had swooped in, gotten to Roan’s girl before he’d even had a chance to make his move. That was one year, nine months, and thirteen or so days ago. Roan still hadn’t managed to get over that missed chance or the snooze-you-lose attitude he’d gotten back from Blaine.
Fuck him.
“Hey,” Blaine called out too loudly for a guy standing less than a foot behind him then whacked him hard on the back, before sliding his palm up, clamping his hand around his shoulder. As if he couldn’t be heard or felt, Blaine cocked his head around Roan’s shoulder, getting right in his face, reaching across his chest to fist bump Connor. Roan moved back as Blaine pushed up against him and still somehow managed to tip Roan’s beer mug. Roan barely kept the glass from dumping over, only sloshing some of the precious liquid out the side.
He used his beer-soaked hand to shove Blaine back and away, not hiding his irritation in the least. The guy didn’t notice his aggravation, and to add further insult, though Blaine had the whole damn bar, he chose to sit right next to Roan. Augh.
Well, fuck. Didn’t that just piss him off that much more.
“Hey,” Connor said, all happy and engaging, turning to get right in Roan’s face from the other side in order to talk to Blaine. “Headin’ out soon?”
“Yeah. In the mornin’,” Blaine answered with his own overly exaggerated southern drawl. Roan caught Lucky’s smirk as the old man positioned a hip against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d figured out Roan’s distaste for Blaine long ago. A topic of many conversations between the two of them. Lucky knew that jealousy drove Roan. Hell, Roan knew it too, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake his ever-growing disdain. The grin spreading across the old man’s lips proved Lucky was getting way too much pleasure out of Roan’s current predicament.
“And you. Heard you’re leavin’ before graduation. I figured you’d stick around for that with how hard you been tryin’ to get your classes in,” Blaine said, bending, now able to look him straight in the eyes.
How did Blaine even know all that? Yes, Roan had been working hard to finish the semester before he had to be in Chicago. Who knew if he’d even be able to make a career out of the NFL, so he wanted that degree, but technically, Blaine was the last person in his life who should know that bit of information. Roan always avoided the guy at all cost. Blaine’s creep factor just increased, making Roan shift closer to Con.
Hell, he’d rather lay sprawled across Connor than share air space with Blaine.
“I gotta report in on Monday.” That was all Roan said with the guy leaning forward to stay in his face. So. Fucking. Annoying.
“Well, I’m headin’ to Baja Saturday for a couple of weeks. Then goin’ for a European tour. I need some time to think. I gotta figure out what I’m doin’. It’ll be my first year not suitin’ up, but I’m tired as fuck of this school,” Blaine said, his eyes casting down to the bar in some forlorn look of despair.
“Huh.” Not really the question it might sound like. Honestly, he didn’t give a shit one way or another what Blaine did.
Connor knocked him in the shoulder, and he looked over at the grin on his buddy’s face. Maybe he’d said that response with a little too much snark. While the campus was abuzz with Roan’s draft-pick status, there was a much more hushed conversation flowing around campus about Blaine having been formally cut from the university football team. The guy had talent but lacked focus and discipline, and that reached out to every aspect of Blaine’s life.
Like always, if Roan ever allowed himself to think too much about Blaine, his thoughts automatically shifted to his gorgeous gi
rlfriend, Presley Adams. More specifically, to an image he’d never been able to get out of his head—Presley playing in the ocean in a string bikini last fall, in Hawaii, after one of their away games. His eyelids drifted closed and his body hardened with the pent-up desire the mental image always brought. God, he was so pathetic. Presley just did it for him. A tightening in his shorts forced him to push Presley from his head. He willed himself to calm down as the scowl on his face turned fierce, and he gulped at the cold beer, draining half the mug.
He barely noticed the cheeseburger and fries Lucky slid in front of him.
“Need anything else?” Lucky put a bottle of ketchup at the top of the plate, staring him straight in the eyes. That look meant he spoke of something other than the question he’d just asked. Lucky lifted his hairy eyebrow to a severe arch, making it clear Roan needed to get over himself—his jealousy was showing.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he finally answered, averting his gaze. Mechanically, he reached for the bottle, dumping a load of ketchup on his fries. His destructive thoughts drowned out any response from the guy jabbering away beside him. Instead, he worried about his unhealthy fixation on a girl he’d technically only talked to a few times since he’d first seen her, yet he felt like he knew her better than anyone else he’d ever met.
The problem was that Presley Adams had rocked his world. He remembered their first meeting so clearly. He had been starting his third year playing ball. A seasoned running back. A starter. Totally living the college life, hitting it and quitting it every chance he got. Everything changed from that life-altering moment. Yeah, those carefree years now mocked him.
The team had been at a citywide pep rally for the first pre-season game of the year. The whole town had turned out. The stadium had been full of fans, and his ego high. They had a solid chance of getting to a bowl game that year. He’d absently watched the cheerleading team tumble across the field—something he’d seen hundreds of times before. They’d been to every game he’d played since starting college. His life had been so freaking easygoing and happy until a short, stacked, muscular little female had ended her tumbling pass in his lap.