by Magan Vernon
“What are you trying to get at Trish?” I growled.
“Come to L.A., do the part. Make Cheyenne happy. It’s that simple. If not, well, then I guess all our contracts and NDAs stay in place.”
I let out a deep breath, trying to think about her words.
Thinking my life would ever be normal was bullshit.
This was what it all boiled down to now. I could either stay in Dallas and pretend like none of this happened and abandon Cheyenne.
Or I could do the right thing for the daughter I never knew.
“So, what’s it going to be, Lennox?”
Chapter 11
“That’s a wrap,” the director called from behind the camera.
“Finally,” the young blonde in front of me muttered, wiggling out of my grasp and finding her discarded scrub top on the floor.
We were smashed against a prop filing cabinet against the backdrop of a hospital pharmacy. The cameras were so close I swore one of them poked my rib cage as I had to take my shirt off about thirty different times for the “hot grieving dad gets it on with the doctor” striptease.
Exactly how it was worded in the script and would supposedly get the thirty-something women set all hot and bothered.
Glancing at the director, seeing he was occupied watching the playback, I then grabbed my discarded white T-shirt, slipping it back on.
I forgot what it was like to be on my feet, on set, for twelve-hour days. By the time I got back to the hotel Trish had set me up in, I’d pass out, not getting to talk to Juniper unless I set my alarm for six a.m. and called her before school.
That left me getting about three hours of sleep every night. When I wasn’t trying to text Rachel.
Who still wasn’t responding to me.
God, I may have really fucked it up this time with her.
I should have called or messaged her as soon as I got off the phone with Trish and told her.
But like a chicken shit, I just called and spoke to my parents and told Juniper I had to go on a business trip.
Now I was here, camped out in my hotel room.
True, I probably could have used more of a social life in L.A., but after only being there a week, I hadn’t even seen Cheyenne once. The girl who I said I was doing all of this for.
Eventually, I’d have to get out, but after spending the last six hours grinding on a girl who referred to me as “the old tattooed guy” when she thought I couldn’t hear her, I was ready to go back to my hotel room, and hope that maybe this time Rachel would answer when I messaged her.
“Hey, Len, right?” the young actress, whose real name was Edith Smith but went by Eve Starr, asked, sliding on her top and looking at me with her head tilted.
“Yeah. That’s me,” I said. We’d just been having a fake relationship for the past week and spending twelve hours a day together; she should have known my name.
She took out her long blonde ponytail, fluffing the curls with her fingers. “I know you’re a lot older than us, but some of the other cast was going to go out tonight, and Maddie wanted me to ask if you’d come. She said her mom wanted an autograph and a selfie or something.”
Normally, I would have winced and muttered some excuse. And even though there was still a sliminess that crawled over me, I nodded.
Maybe it was the long days, or that her comment made me feel like the old man really needed a drink, but either way, I had agreed.
One drink couldn’t hurt, right? A busy club, I’d sweat it all off and not need to worry about everything else going on in the shitty predicament I put myself in.
“Yeah. Text me the details.”
“Awesome.”
We’d see just how awesome.
***
The last time I was at an L.A. nightclub, well, I didn’t really remember most of the night. Which was probably a good thing or else I would have never crossed the velvet rope tonight.
Even though our group was at a small table underneath a set of blue lights, the scent of liquor and sweat mingled in the air from the dance floor.
Sipping on a watered-down rum and Coke, I tried to keep up with the conversations with my castmates. But being there, scrunched on a leather ottoman next to a girl who had asked for my photo for her mom, I’d realized exactly what I was missing in L.A.
There was nothing I wanted anymore. This used to be my place.
Well, not this exact night club, but where I’d go. Who I’d be hanging out with.
The it celebrities of one of the hottest shows on television, complaining about who had more Instagram followers so they’d get the latest commercial campaign or superhero franchise.
I thought about sitting the young guy with the shaved head and fake prison tats down to discuss if he had a 401K or was using all of that on bottle service. But I didn’t. I kept quiet in the background. Watching. Wishing I would have just stayed home.
Until something caught my eye from the dance floor.
My fists clenched around my glass as I stood. Not something, but someone.
Cheyenne.
There she was, underneath the strobe lights, a slinky silver dress clinging to her small frame as a group of half-dressed men and woman had their hands disappearing in flashes around her.
“Be right back,” I muttered to the girl next to me.
But she probably couldn’t hear me over the bass of the music and didn’t even look up from her phone anyway.
I sat my glass down before gliding through the massive tangle of sweaty bodies.
The blinking strobes lit my way as I squinted, trying to distinguish one duck face from the other. Until I was standing right in front of her.
Her head tilted, long black curls cascading down her back and swaying to the beat of the music.
Then I spotted a pair of tattooed hands curled around her waist.
My teeth ground together as my vision focused on nothing but this guy’s hands on my daughter’s waist.
Then they traveled lower, and I saw nothing else but red.
“Cheyenne,” I spat her name, grabbing onto her arm and pulling her out of tattooed boy’s grasp.
Her eyes flew open as she started to yell, then stopped when our gaze met.
“Hey, is this creeper bothering you?” a girl yelled over the music.
Cheyenne opened and closed her mouth before shaking her head. “No. He’s, um, a friend of my mom’s. Gimme a minute, ’kay?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her friend in an equally shiny, slinky dress that matched her braces.
Seriously, who was letting these girls into a night club? On a school night? I’m sure Rachel would have a smartass comment about that one.
Rachel.
God every time I thought about her, my heart seized up. But now wasn’t the time to go pining after the woman who hated me. I had another problem staring me in the face.
“Can we talk?” I yelled, leaning in closer so Cheyenne could hear me.
She nodded then turned, whispering something in braces girl’s ear.
The girl narrowed her eyes at me before Cheyenne pulled back and followed me off the dance floor.
Scanning the crowd, every table was occupied and a lot of booths filled with groping couples.
Seriously, was this what people in L.A. did on a weeknight? I should have never come. To California or this club. I should have stayed home in Rachel.
But if I didn’t…what would happen to this girl in front of me?
Cheyenne edged her way in front of me and tilted her head, pointing me toward a glass door with a view of the hills outside. Finally, I could breathe, kind of, as we stepped onto the patio.
A bunch of kids that were half my age stood outside, blowing smoke rings, but at least it was better than the sweaty, techno mess outside. At least this was semi-quiet.
Cheyenne leaned against a wall covered in ivy, her arms across her chest as she huffed.
“You’re not going to call my mom, are you?”
Letting out a dee
p breath, I shoved my hands in my pockets as I sat down on a stool.
“No,” I said honestly. “But what are you even doing here?”
She rolled her heavily made-up eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Coworkers on the show wanted to get out. I thought maybe it might help with the chemistry on set.”
She smirked. “Yeah, Mom told me you were doing a guest role. Thought the former teen heartthrob was done with the acting biz?”
I sighed, shaking my head as I tried to ignore the pounding in my chest. “I made an agreement with your mom…”
“What? That you’d do her show so that you could keep your happy little home life in Texas?” she spat; her words filled with venom.
Clearing my throat, I tried to tamp down the adrenalin coursing through me. How I wanted to spit my words back at her.
And I did.
“I’m doing this for you, Cheyenne.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she took the seat across the bistro table from me. “You drinking in L.A. and dry humping that diva blonde on the show is for me? Really?”
A growl formed low in my throat as a low pulse ached in my temple. The same it did whenever Juniper back talked. “Yes, really. And it’s more than just that.”
“Please, I know my mom. Though I don’t know you, do I?”
“You know why that is, and I’m here now okay? I took this job because…”
“Because why?”
“Because your mom said if I did, I could see you again, and you could apply to Tisch. If I didn’t, she’d keep all of the NDAs in place,” I said it all in one breath, waiting for her reaction.
She blinked hard. “You’re serious?”
I nodded. “Yeah. But after tonight and well…being here…Are you really sure you want to go to New York?”
She laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “This is coming from you? The former child actor who is now reliving his glory days out at a club?”
The pulse was now a full-on banging roar. “Cheyenne.”
“What? You think just because you banged my mom, you can now tell me what to do?”
I opened my mouth then closed it again. Staring at the hard, narrowed lines of her eyes. What happened to the sweet girl from Texas? Maybe this was all a mistake.
“You can do what you want, but you’re still underage, and your mom will still have a shit fit if she sees you here.”
She rolled her eyes. God, I hated that.
“Unlike her actors, Mom doesn’t go out to nightclubs. She’s probably still in her office, going over some paperwork.”
She stomped; her breathing escalated as her words rose. “You can’t boss me around, you know. And then throw a bombshell like that on me? You’ve been here a week, and I haven’t seen you, so do you really care about me or your job?”
I gritted my teeth. “I care about you, Cheyenne. I’m doing what I can to make it right for you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as her breathing came out in even shorter gasps. “I just…I just…”
She stopped mid-sentence, putting her hand to her chest.
“Is it hot out here? Is it? Oh God, I can’t feel my hands. Do you feel yours?” She clapped her fingers together, her eyes darting between her outstretched palms.
“Fuck,” I sprang forward. “How much have you had to drink?”
Her breath quickened as I went to her side, leaning down to see tears clouding her eyes.
“I don’t know. Probably a lot. I’m so stupid,” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking.
“No, you’re not,” I whispered, pulling her to me. Her wet face crushed against my chest, her entire body shaking.
“Look, we’re going to get you and your friend out of here before either of your moms see these blasted all over some blog,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.
Her breath quickened as she bent over, rubbing her temples. “Last time this happened, Mom put me in the bathroom, turning on the shower while she got my meds.”
I raised an eyebrow, wondering what the hell she was talking about. Did this often happen with Trish letting Cheyenne go out to the bars?
A cold chill swept over me, even in the heat of the night as anger seeped through my body.
How the hell was she raising her?
Cheyenne sucked in slow, quick breaths. “Anxiety. Sometimes I get overworked in stressful situations. Mom always knows what to do, but it’s been a while since I’ve had one, so I don’t carry my prescription in my purse anymore.”
“Oh.” The adrenaline dropped from my body, and instead, I slumped my shoulders before lightly squeezing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she muttered.
She was probably right, but it still didn’t make the situation any better. Or cause the guilt to subside.
“I’ll go get your friend then we can head out the back. Sound okay?” I asked, wondering if I should leave the girl outside.
Luckily, she answered my internal fears, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Her shoulders continued to shake as her fingers furiously banged on the screen. “I just texted her. She should be out soon.”
Even in clunky heels, the teen friend moved fast, the door slamming open behind us as she busted through in a flurry of glitter and hairspray.
“Oh em gee, Chey, are you okay?” the girl, pushed her way between the two of us, her hands on her friends shaking shoulders.
The girl whirled her head around, her eyes narrowed. “Did you drug her, you creepy old dude?”
“Creepy? Old?” I asked, taking a step back. I didn’t know which one to be more offended by.
Or the fact she assumed I drugged the girl. Is this what happened now in the L.A. party scene?
Still happening, that is...
Cheyenne slowly let out a deep breath, her words a strangled gasp. “No, Carmen, he’s a friend. He didn’t do anything.”
Carmen obviously wasn’t still convinced if her scrunched up nose and curled lip were any indication. But she went back to facing her friend, bending over her.
“Chey, we can’t go back yet…Mom’s still watching the news. But, like, we could maybe hit In and Out or something. Get some food in you. Then head there.”
“You two can come back to my hotel,” I blurted, immediately regretting my words as the two girls turned to face me wide-eyed.
“Um, didn’t I make perfectly clear the whole creepy, old guy thing?” Carmen asked with her hands on her hips.
“He’s not a creepy old guy, Car,” Cheyenne spat between breaths.
Then my eyes met hers across the small span of space. Her pupils dilated. Her lips slightly parted as she licked them. “He’s. My. Dad.”
“What?” Carmen screeched, looking between the two of us.
“It’s a long story,” I muttered, keeping my head down and away from the scrutinizing of a teen who was still staring daggers at me I assumed.
Cheyenne slowly stood up, and I caught her around the waist before she could topple on her heels. “You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded slightly, her head resting against my shoulder. Flashes of memories of Juniper doing this same thing as a baby. How right in that same spot above my chest was where she would rest her head before she’d lift her forehead slightly to stare with those big blue eyes.
The same color blue as mine.
And Cheyenne’s.
“I will be,” she whispered.
“There’s a back stairwell.” Carmen’s words sliced through the air.
“All right, we’ll follow you,” I said, helping Cheyenne fully to her feet.
The few people milling about the outdoor patio didn’t even look at our direction as we hobbled by.
Maybe the creaking of the rusted metal steps beneath our feet should have been a sign that something ominous was about to happen.
I thought it would be more like my boots going through the metal.
Not a hoard of cameras and cell phones flas
hing as soon as we got onto the sidewalk.
“Lennox Reign? Back from the dead?”
“Lennox over here!”
“Who are these lovely ladies with you?”
The reporters’ questions all blended together as I tried to keep my head down, moving Cheyenne forward with me.
“Hey, Zaddy, is that your new girlfriend? Daddy issues of her own maybe?” A high-pitched voice screamed over the crowd.
A low growl rumbled in my stomach, and I sharply turned toward the voice.
“Oh, that one got a reaction. How old is she, Lennox? Was she even born when the show started?” A short, older man with black slicked back hair and an even slicker smile stood, holding out his camera.
“You need to slow your roll, man,” I said, holding my hands in tight fists at my side as rage seared through me.
“Well, looks like you’re really trying to play up your role. Back in L.A.? New young girlfriend? What else is going on in your life? Has your daughter met her?” He fired off question after question as I turned around.
But there was only so much I could take.
“Does her mother know her daughter’s hanging out with a former child star?”
Before I could let my brain fully understand what I was doing, my hand cocked back, pain searing all the way up my arm as it connected with the guy’s smug face.
His camera shattered on the ground between us in a loud bang.
Then one set of lights after the other pinged.
This would be all over gossip sites within a matter of minutes.
So would my face.
And Cheyenne’s.
If I thought I was fucked before, that was only the beginning.
Especially when Trish found out.
Chapter 12
“Oh my God, Mr. de la Peña. I still can’t believe you punched that guy,” Carmen said for about the hundredth time.
“It’s Mr. Reign, but like I said, you can call me Lennox. And you can really stop talking about that at any time,” I grumbled the last part.
She plopped down on the sofa where Cheyenne had her head propped against a throw pillow. Both girls looked like tiny dolls dressed up in their sparkly dresses, the beige couch of the suite’s sitting room swallowing them up in its cavernous cushions.