Over the lake, the first enormous firework exploded in the night sky. Bailey didn’t need to look, she could hear it.
How could he ask this of her, ask her to break up with him this way? Brandon had never been anything but kind to her. He had showed her what love looked like, after all. She’d have to have ice in her veins to look in his loving eyes and end things.
“Bailey … please. Look at me.” His tone was compassionate, as if he understood her struggle and, even more, he’d intended it. Because if she couldn’t look him in the eye and break up with him, then what had really changed between them?
Finally she did what he asked. She opened her eyes and with all the strength remaining in her, she lifted her head from his and looked at him. Straight into the eyes that had talked to her on Skype and surprised her at the Empire State Building and danced with her at a rooftop prom. The eyes she had fallen asleep thinking about every night since their last time together.
Slowly and without looking away she shook her head. “I can’t.” With the sound of the fireworks, even she couldn’t hear herself. His eyes told her he understood her, but she needed him to hear her all the way to his heart. “I can’t look at you and break up with you, Brandon. Not when I’ve missed you with every breath.”
He seemed to relax, as if her words had allowed little bits of his heart to return. “Okay, then.” He worked his fingers into her hair and brought her close again, kissing her once more. “See?” His smile started in his eyes. “That’s what I thought. Nothing’s changed between us.”
“Except I’m living here.” She put her hands over his and lowered them. Then she linked her fingers with his. “I like this. Sitting with you. Hoping the morning never comes.”
He faced her and held both her hands in his. She tried to think of an easy way to say what she still needed to tell him. But there was none. “We need to talk.”
“I know.” The light in his eyes refused to waver. “That’s why I’m here. Because you suddenly have something against your phone.”
She laughed and the release felt wonderful. It was impossible to stay completely serious around Brandon, even now. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.” She exhaled, the laughter still in her tone. “We could sit here and joke and kiss and pretend tomorrow isn’t coming. That would be better.”
A sigh came from him and he leaned closer. When the teasing was completely gone from his face, he spoke with a sincerity that surprised her. “I’m sorry. I want you to tell me. Really.”
The breeze from the lake made the air cooler here, but with Brandon near her Bailey no longer felt cold. She took a long breath and for a moment they both turned and watched the fireworks. These were the best ones, triple shots of red and white and blue. But they didn’t have time to take in the show. She looked at him again. “I’ve been praying, every day since I came home. I left because I was afraid.”
“I know.”
“But perfect love drives out fear. You and I already talked about that.”
“Exactly.” Relief seemed to come over him again. “That’s why it didn’t make sense when you left.”
She hesitated, choosing her words with the care he deserved. “Fear wasn’t the only reason, Brandon. I wanted to direct the show for CKT.”
“And I wanted to see it. Every show.” He shook his head. “There was no way I could leave the set. We had to get the movie shot.”
“I know. That’s okay.” She held tighter to his hand. “Anyway, as I’ve prayed, God put a new passion on my heart.” She paused. “I want to buy CKT, Brandon. Katy and Dayne are looking to sell it, and this weekend I showed them a business plan.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall again. “They loved it. We’re talking about making the sale final before fall.”
Her words couldn’t have caught him more off guard if she’d told him she was taking a job in Devin’s imaginary circus. “Baby … there’s gotta be theater groups in LA where you could teach or direct. You could even start your own.”
Pain radiated across her heart and into her veins. “That wouldn’t be the same. I believe God wants me here. Running the same theater group I loved as a kid. It’s everything I could possibly want for the future.”
“Everything except me.” Tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t look away, wouldn’t back down from the mountain that had just thrown itself between them. “Is that it?”
She wanted to stand up and scream her frustrations across the lake. “It’s not how I want it.” Her tone filled with the impossibility of the situation. “You have to know that, Brandon. I want you. But you’re in LA, and no matter how many times I try to imagine it, I feel like God’s calling me to stay here.” The tears were hers now, and they came in a quiet wave. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“There has to be a way.” His tears came as if he refused to acknowledge them. “I need you. I don’t care if I have to fly here every weekend, I need you.”
For the first time since she stepped foot on the plane a month ago Bailey felt a glimmer of hope. Real hope. “You can’t do that. Fly here every weekend.”
“People do it. Lots of actors spend weeks in LA and weekends in New York. I’ve seen it.”
She wanted to ask him if he’d seen it work, but she didn’t want to dim the flicker of possibility when it had only just ignited. “What about your contract? You’ll be busy making movies, right?”
“Planes go everywhere.” He exhaled, and his eyes were already drier than before. “And the contract … they’re supposed to make a big announcement the first of August.”
“So … they worked out the problems?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “August seems awfully soon. But Luke Baxter is working with my agent and manager. My guys keep telling me everything’s on track.”
She let the reality sink in a little more. Seven movies over five years. Maybe more — at least according to the things West Mark had told Brandon initially. There would be location shoots and editing and reshoots and publicity and red-carpet events. Leaving LA or anywhere else to fly into Bloomington seemed unlikely. But then, he’d flown in today. Even just for a handful of hours. “We can’t count on you having every weekend.” Her voice was soft, and she realized the fireworks over the lake had stopped. The air was more still than before. “Even though it sounds amazing.”
“We can count on God … and we can count on this.” He moved in closer and once more he kissed her. When he drew back, when they both were breathless, he spoke words that calmed her soul. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll fight for you, Bailey. Until you can look me in the eyes and tell me it’s over.”
She tried to breathe, tried to remember even a single bit of logic. But all she could do was breathe against his skin and hold onto the moment. “Okay … deal.”
“All right then. Enough of that.” He took a full breath and laughed. “Now that my heart’s beating again, tell me about Peter Pan. Don’t miss a detail, baby. I mean it.”
The flicker of hope became a flame. Bailey wasn’t sure if it was the magic of the moment, the fireworks, the Fourth of July, or the fact that he’d surprised her with this visit. But suddenly everything that had felt final and finished seemed at least possible. Maybe they didn’t have to have all the answers right now. If Brandon loved her this much, if he wasn’t angry with her for wanting to purchase CKT and stay in Bloomington, then maybe they could somehow figure out the rest.
Or maybe they wouldn’t figure it out, but they could at least have today. Here and now. In this moment with him, Bailey didn’t care about tomorrow. They could live for the day, love for the day. The ending that might eventually come was somewhere off in the distance. For the first time she believed all of this and the feeling changed everything. She snuggled up to him as she told him about Peter Pan and her time with the CKT kids, holding on to every feeling Brandon’s presence stirred within her.
Even if her feelings only lasted for tonight.
Eighteen
 
; BRANDON HEADED NORTH ON THE 405 FREEWAY TO THE WEST Mark offices. The past two weeks had been crazy busy — studio meetings and postproduction on his last two films — but even so he barely acknowledged that he was in Los Angeles. Not when his heart and soul were back in Bloomington with Bailey.
The idea of surprising her on the Fourth of July had come up suddenly. He arranged his flight that morning with a few phone calls and wondered the whole way there and back why he hadn’t flown to see her sooner. Back when she was moving to New York he’d taken a plane to Indiana just to help her pack. But with his last two months in Montana and the constant meetings at West Mark Studios, somehow he’d forgotten that with even as little as a single day’s time he could find a way to see her. Even if their time together lasted only a few hours.
Brandon gripped the steering wheel and checked his rearview mirror. Two cars full of paparazzi were on his tail. Another day in Los Angeles. Brandon stared straight ahead and tried to forget them. Matthew West’s song “Strong Enough” played on the radio and he let the words and music speak straight to the center of his being.
He had to credit God alone for giving him the inspiration to fly to Indiana a couple weeks ago. By then it had been so long since he’d talked to Bailey that he could barely focus. He could feel their relationship slipping away and he had been desperate to connect with her again, to convince her they still had a chance. Only God had given him the strength to make the plan and carry it out so quickly. And now with God’s help he would figure out a way to do the next thing pressing on his heart.
Take a trip to Bloomington and have a talk with Bailey’s father.
But like the song playing on the radio there was no question about one thing: He could only take this next step with God’s help, with the Lord speaking peace and assurance to Bailey that somehow they would figure out a way to be together. He would fly to see her as often as he could, but that wasn’t the permanent answer. The schedule he’d kept for the last two weeks was a preview of how his life would be once he signed the contract with West Mark. He’d be lucky to find a couple days a month to fly to Indiana. Work on her heart, God … change her mind about Los Angeles. I can’t live without her for the next five years.
Not when all he wanted with every waking moment was to marry her.
A screeching sound came from behind him and he looked over his shoulder in time to see the two cars full of photographers jockeying for position beside him. Was it really that important, getting a picture of him driving on the LA freeways? He exhaled, forcing himself to listen to the song. He needed God’s strength for this too. Since returning from Montana he hadn’t slipped into his LA life the way he thought he might. He was beyond annoyed at the intrusion of having paparazzi jockeying for position, cameras aimed at him wherever he was, whenever he stepped outside of his home. He glanced at the cars chasing him. No, he was more than annoyed. He was angry.
He needed a more private way of getting around — not just so Bailey would think about moving back here — but so that he himself could stand it. Back when he was journaling his thoughts and writing letters to Bailey in Montana, five years in Hollywood hadn’t seemed like too long to ask of her, not too long to deal with the paparazzi. But here on the freeway this morning it felt like an eternity. Yes, he would definitely have to find a more private place to live, a better way of avoiding the constant chase.
The drive wore on, and Brandon hit traffic before he took the off-ramp for the West Mark offices. In the sanctuary of his car, another song filled his senses. “Walking Her Home” by Mark Schultz. The song told the story of a couple who had fallen in love young and lived out every day at each other’s side. Small town guy and girl, love bigger than the skyline in New York City. The pleasure of simple nights together and raising a family and long walks through a local park. That was the sort of life the song made him think about.
Another loud screeching sound came and to his right one of the cars with paparazzi ran the other one off the freeway. Brandon sucked back a quick breath, careful to keep his car steady. In a cloud of dust, the second car veered off the road and down an embankment. From what he could see, the vehicle didn’t flip, but it skidded broadside into a cement wall doing what must have been serious damage to the side of the vehicle.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Brandon uttered the words out loud, trying to focus on the halting freeway traffic. All around him people stared at the wreck, bringing the traffic to a nearly complete stop. Brandon peered through the passenger window and saw the photographers piling out of the damaged car, while the other carload lurched into the lane next to Brandon. The guy at the wheel was laughing, and two more in the back still had their cameras aimed at Brandon.
Rage ripped through Brandon and for a long moment he wanted to pull over and yell at the photographers, tell them what they were doing was insane. Instead he picked up his cell and dialed 9-1-1. He told the operator his name and how two cars had chased him, how they’d tried to run each other off the freeway and put everyone on the road in danger.
“And now one of them crashed into a wall.”
“Is anyone injured?”
Brandon wanted to throw something. Only me, he wanted to say. But no one could know what it felt like to be hunted every day. He steadied himself. “They’re out of the car walking around. But someone needs to be arrested over this. If you could send the police, I’d appreciate it.”
“Yes, Mr. Paul.” The woman promised to have authorities check out the incident and as the call ended, Brandon tossed his phone on the passenger seat. A conversation came to mind, one he’d had with Dayne when the two of them first became friends.
“I called the police all the time at first,” Dayne’s defeat sounded in his tone. “Most of the time the problem’s too big for them. They could arrest a car of photographers, but there’d be two more taking that one’s place fifteen minutes later.”
The only time the law had helped Dayne was after his horrific accident — but even then the driver who caused the wreck only served a year in jail. Considering Dayne almost lost his life, the law wasn’t enough of an answer to really help.
“Use a driver, get tinted windows, wear disguises,” Dayne told him. “Even then there are no guarantees. But calling 9-1-1 only helps when something serious happens. And by then it’s usually too late for us.”
The memory of the conversation faded, but Brandon’s frustration did not. Traffic inched along moving them further from the wreck, further from whatever police responded to his call. And all the while the second car stayed at his side, snapping pictures. Brandon wanted to flash an angry look their direction, but that would only give them something to sell. Instead he kept the practiced smile firmly in place. That way they couldn’t say he was grieving the loss of Bailey or living in anger and reclusion. Of course, they could say what they’d said when they ran a picture of him talking to his costar Molly at LAX the day they returned from their shoot. Brandon Paul, Happy and Loving the Single Life.
Suddenly — in a way that had never hit him before — he was sick of this. Sick of being chased and photographed and described in any of a dozen untrue ways by the tabloids. As soon as the traffic let up, he cut in front of the paparazzi car and took the next off-ramp. Surface streets would be better than driving on the 405 with a camera aimed at his face. Mulholland was a two-lane option, so the photographers could stay behind him, but not beside him. That was at least a little better.
The ride to the studio took another ten minutes, and then he left his car with a valet attendant and ran up the steps and through the glass doors. He missed Bailey with every step, every heartbeat. But he put those thoughts aside for the next hour while he met with the studio executives. His manager Stephen Chase met him at the door and whispered a quick warning. “They’re presenting you with the new contract. Luke Baxter’s already given his approval.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. “This is the moment when you act really grateful, Brandon. It’s celebration time, okay?”
> “Luke approved it? You’re sure?” Brandon definitely had his doubts. Luke hadn’t called, and usually he would hear from his attorney first.
“Look,” Chase’s patience seemed especially thin. “You hired me to manage your career. You either trust me or you’ve got the wrong guy.” The conversation was still in whispered tones, just outside the boardroom.
“Fine.” Brandon hadn’t seen Chase act like this. “If Luke’s okay with it, then we move ahead.”
Chase stood a little straighter and smiled. “Perfect.”
“Yeah.” Brandon tried not to see dollar signs in the guy’s eyes. “Let’s get it over with.” A heaviness weighed on him as he entered the room. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the walls were closing in on them.
He took his seat, but as the conversation began his mind went back to the night of the Fourth and how it felt to sit beside Bailey, the feel of her fingers soft between his, the sound of her voice filling his soul. The taste of her kiss on his lips.
“Brandon?” Across from him, his agent Sid Chandler cast him a strange look. “Did you have an opinion on that?”
Panic pushed through him. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to talk about the contract. Why hadn’t Luke called him? And shouldn’t his lawyer be here if he had approved of the contract? That way he’d have absolute certainty that the new contract gave Brandon the creative control he wanted. He cleared his throat and leaned closer to the table. “Sorry.” He looked at Jack Randall, the top guy at West Mark. “Lots on my mind.”
Randall hesitated, but then he gave Brandon a slightly condescending smile. “I guess I can understand that.” He smiled at his assistants and at Brandon’s management team. “This is without a doubt the best deal we’ve ever offered any actor.” He chuckled, but the tone was more frustrated than humorous. “I guess I’d be a little distracted too.”
“Yes.” Brandon felt the heat in his face. If the guy was trying to humiliate him, it was working. Everything about the meeting felt out of control, like he was merely a puppet watching other people make decisions about his life. Dayne had warned him about this. Something similar had happened to him years ago, right? Brandon blinked, trying to focus. “What … what were you saying?”