The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

  “She’s doing all of this because she thinks it will benefit you, not because she wants to. I bet she’s as forlorn as you are and not talking to you is her attempt at easing her own pain.”

  “Wonderful. So, what the hell do I do about it?”

  “I have an idea. It involves me intercepting information that is more sensitive than classified CIA communications, so if I manage to pull it off it has to stay between us, okay? Otherwise, I’ll be drawn and quartered.”

  “Dude, if your super-secret information can help me make things right, I’ll sew my mouth closed until you hand me the pair of embroidery scissors I’ll use to open it.”

  A shadow of amusement washes over him. “You’re a funny girl, have I ever told you that before?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you are.” He stands up and kicks a few bottles out of his way. “A funny girl who’s living in a goddamn pigsty. Praise the lord you’re going to come out—another month’s worth of you trying to party away your pain and this place would be a towering garbage heap. I’m getting a team of housekeepers over here pronto.”

  “Thanks,” I smile. For everything.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  A bitter chill charges down my spine as our limo pulls up to the Providence Theatre, the highly revered venue for this year’s Elite Awards. Tonight is the most crucial night of my life, and I have never felt closer to coming unglued. There’s a knot roughly the size of Rhode Island in my abdomen, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve wished for the gift of clairvoyance as much as I’m wishing for it now. I’ve rubbed my rabbit’s foot, stuffed my lucky penny into my handbag, and prayed to every deity known to humankind. But what if that isn’t enough?

  “Are you going to be sick?” Lawrence asks, his voice quivering with atypical agitation. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  “She’s fine!” Gunner asserts through gritted teeth. “Jesus, man! Leave her alone. She’s nervous, that’s all. You would be, too, if you were in the running for an Ellie.”

  I wish I could tell him ‘being in the running’ for an Ellie is not what I’m anxious about. But if I told him that, I’d have to explain what I am anxious about—and then Lawrence would execute me slowly with a dull butter knife.

  “I’m nervous for her,” Lawrence murmurs under his breath.

  “What was that?” Gunner questions sternly.

  Clearly, everyone is on edge, which means tempers are running hot. It’s only serving to intensify my uneasiness. “Both of you shut up! Just keep quiet and let me do my thing! Okay?”

  “Okay,” they say in tandem, each of them pouting like little boys who’ve been scolded by their mother.

  The chauffeur opens the rear passenger-side door. “Ready to do your thing?” Gunner offers his arm. I nod, giving him the go-ahead to lead me on to the red carpet.

  We step into the cool night air. The photographers begin their pictorial blitzkrieg. They remove their fingers from their triggers just long enough to bark directions at me. All I hear is Kendall, Kendall, Kendall! I’m beginning to hate my own name, if that’s even possible.

  “Kendall?”

  “What?” I whirl ferociously on Gunner.

  “Payton is here,” he says, gesturing behind me with a subtle flick of his head.

  “She’s where?” Here, as in, on the red carpet? Oh my god, this was not part of the plan! She’s supposed to be home watching the show on TV! Better yet, she’s supposed to be home, not watching at all! If someone were to relay the details to her later, that would be perfectly fine… but to be able to watch her reaction to tonight’s proceedings in real time? These are not things my heart can take.

  Sure enough, Payton is a few feet behind me, looking superb in a black and dark maroon asymmetrical cut Westfield and posing for photos with Lauren. She’s become a natural, talking and giggling coyly with reporters as if that’s what she was born to do. She knows how to handle these barracudas better than I do—by being herself. I feel like I should be taking notes so I can learn by example.

  Gunner protectively takes hold of my hand. “If you need to, we can bunk off the Press Q and A and head inside.”

  He is such a good friend, in spite of how coldly I treated him the other day. I should really apologize. “No, I’m fine. But listen, I wasn’t very nice to you at lunch. It was uncalled for. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “It’s water under the bridge.”

  “There’s something else I need to apologize for in advance. I’m going to do something tonight that’s sure to change my life—and maybe even yours.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s why we have publicists, isn’t it? We make messes, they clean ‘em up. Don’t worry about it. Just do what you gotta do.”

  I throw my arms around his neck, pull him into the tightest embrace. “You’re so awesome.”

  “I know,” he smirks as I release him. “Now put your brave face on and let’s go do this.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Payton

  Lauren and I just finish up our first lap around the Press Q and A box when I catch my first glimpse of Kendall. She’s in a wispy, iridescent taupe gown, and she looks sensational. The makeup and hair people did an amazing job at faking her hallmark glow.

  “You’re a real sickly shade of gray,” Lauren says.

  Of course I am. It hurts me to think about her, let alone be physically near her. To make matters worse, she’s still the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. “When can we go inside?” I wonder. “It’s getting a bit too hectic out here for my taste.” I definitely don’t want to be standing here when Gunner and Kendall arrive to make their rounds.

  She consults the PR guy who’s standing next to her. “We can go inside now, if you’d like. I’m done here.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Arm in arm, we make our way into the theater.

  We’re hot on the Maître D’s trail. The deeper into the gigantic, glittering banquet hall he leads us, the wider Lauren’s eyes get—until we finally arrive at a table only yards away from the stage.

  “Oh my god,” she gasps. “I didn’t know I merited a table so close to the stage. I thought I’d be lumped in with the peanut gallery.” She snatches two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and giggles. “We are so VIP, and I am so not complaining.”

  I relieve her of one of the glasses. “You’d better not be complaining. This is a dream come true for most people, I imagine.”

  “It is. I can only hope to be nominated someday. But this is a helluva good start, for sure.”

  “Well, cheers to a helluva good start,” I raise my glass to hers. They make a louder clink than either of us anticipates.

  “Thought they might’ve broken there, for a second,” she beams. “You can’t take me anywhere.”

  My amusement is interrupted as Kendall enters my sightline again. She follows Gunner down the aisle to their designated table, which is rather inconveniently located diagonally across from ours. She notices that I’ve seen her and brandishes an ill-at-ease smile. I return the gesture, pretending to be unaffected by her presence. Great. She’s gonna be three feet away from me all night, smack in my view.

  “Christ, I’m sorry,” Lauren says, motioning her head at Kendall’s table. “That has to suck for you more than words can express.”

  “Kinda,” I affirm. “It’s okay, keep that champagne coming and soon I won’t care.”

  “I got this.” She signals to a roving server holding an uncorked bottle. He scurries over to us faster than a rat on speed. “Please make sure my friend’s glass is full at all times,” she says and slips him a hundred dollar bill. He nods graciously as he pours more bubbly into my flute, then returns to his place at the end of the aisle. I take a sip, but nearly spit it out after realizing he is eyeing me like a hawk.

  Lauren also notices that he is focusing penetratingly on my flute. She erupts into a booming fit of laughter. “Tonight is gonna be awesome,” she says, then t
aps her imaginary wristwatch and mouths to the waiter, “every twenty minutes.”

  An hour and three alcoholic beverages into underage drinking night at the Elite Awards, and I’m feeling quite fine. I do, however, decide to cut myself off after the third glass. Both Lauren and my vigilant waiter frown at me, but I shoo them off good naturedly. The plan was to drink enough to loosen up, not enough to get tanked—and at this point, Kendall’s occasional peeps in my direction aren’t bothering me half as much as they did in the beginning of the ceremonies. In fact, we locked eyes a moment ago, and my stomach didn’t lurch one bit.

  She isn’t looking so well anymore. She’s tense and panicky and utterly unable to hide it. She tried to play it cool by saying that winning an Ellie wasn’t important to her, but I know in actuality it’s one of the most significant things that could happen to an actor. I never thought she would be freaking out as badly as she is though. I want to go over there, drape my arms around her, and whisper the most relaxing things I can think of into her ear. However, I know that would be a detriment to the mental health I’ve been working so hard to repair this last month.

  “Best Actress is coming up in ten,” Lauren murmurs.

  I clamp my gaze on Kendall again. “Cool.”

  Lawrence notices me eyeing her up, but doesn’t alert her to it. Instead, he excuses himself from the table and starts very gingerly making his way toward me. Kendall doesn’t track him with her eyes, just continues to gawk uneasily at the stage.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He squats down in front of me, resting his elbows on his knees.

  Oh, a good scolding! That is exactly what I need right now. “If you’ve come over here to remind me of how I should be staying as far away from Kendall as possible, I’m sorry. This is where Lauren and I were told to sit,” I reply to his greeting with a hint of brazenness.

  “On the contrary, I’m here to encourage you to go wish her luck. She could use some support.”

  I thought I was supporting her by keeping my distance. “Isn’t that what she has you for?”

  “Yes, but I know she would much rather have you than me sitting next to her.”

  “What about…”

  “You’re not a box of rocks, so stop being dumb.” Lauren chimes in. “The man told you to go talk to her. Best get to steppin,’” she shoos me off.

  “All right, jeez.”

  Lawrence escorts me to the table. I make myself at home in the seat he previously occupied, and he moves over to a vacant chair. Kendall doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve arrived; she’s stuck in some kind of eerie stupor. I clear my throat. She turns her head. I watch her scrap through the tears clouding her irises so that she can focus on me. Oh, to hell with doing the right thing for her. I’m going to do what’s right for me for a change. I take hold of her hand and squeeze it tight. “It’s okay. No matter what happens, you’re going to be fine. Win or lose, you will always be the best actress in the business as far as I’m concerned. But you’re going to win so don’t worry.”

  “Thanks,” she whispers as the presenter takes the stage.

  He clears his throat and begins reading from the teleprompter. “The Elite Awards Nominees for Best Actress in a Leading Role are…” After each name he calls, he gives a short speech about the actress’ career. Four names are announced and four speeches are made before he gets to Kendall. “Kendall Bettencourt,” he starts, “this is your first Elite Awards nomination, though it surely will not be your last. You bring the enthusiastic passion of youth to every role you play and particularly to your breakout role as Heaven in In Heaven’s Arms. All of Hollywood looks forward to watching you grow throughout what is sure to be a long and impressive career.”

  Kendall smiles bashfully and mimes an earnest “thank you” to the announcer as a round of applause rings throughout the room. Then she looks at me stolidly. “Please don’t cry. If you do, I won’t be able to get through it without crying myself,” she murmurs.

  I don’t get the chance to ask her what she’s talking about before the presenter opens the velvet envelope. “And the Ellie goes to Kendall Bettencourt!”

  The crowd roars to life with a standing ovation and wild cheering. We stand up simultaneously, and I’m in her arms, hugging her gleefully without the slenderest hint of foot-dragging. “You won!” I shout, both of us still cleaving tightly to the other’s shoulders. I repeat myself in immeasurable elation as she releases me from our embrace. “You won!”

  “I know,” she counters my excitement with a staggering soberness and a tepid grin. Lawrence leans over, gives her a light cuddle, a kiss on the cheek, and an anemic “Congratulations.”

  I watch her take off toward the stage. As she ascends the stairs, I turn to Lawrence. “Why isn’t she ecstatic? Why aren’t you ecstatic?”

  He answers with a shrewd smile and a wink. That’s when it hits me: They already knew she was going to win. Both of them knew it as certainly as they know that the sun rises in the east.

  “Here comes the interesting part,” he utters once he realizes I’ve figured it out. “You’ll want to pay close attention.”

  Of course I want to pay close attention! It’s her acceptance speech! I watch intently as she takes the golden statuette into her hands and steps up to the podium. The audience takes a seat and quiets down in anticipation of her address.

  “Okay, I’m going to try and get through this as quickly as possible. Firstly, I’d like to thank the Elite Awards Council for this amazing and kind of terrifying moment,” she begins and the crowd chortles collectively.

  “Lawrence Mackin, James Sovkov, and everyone at the Sovkov Agency, thank you so much for helping me achieve this. To the In Heaven’s Arms cast, crew, and director Michael Jarvis—thank you for putting your faith in me; I appreciate it so very much. To my dad, David Bettencourt, thank you for being a voice of reason in my life. Mom, I want you to know that I love you. A huge thank you to all my friends and all my fans for being awesome, and lastly,” she pauses and scans the crowd. She finds me and gestures to me with an outstretched arm and open palm. A thousand pairs of eyes target me and a vast silence blankets the room. I feel the heat of blood furiously whooshing to my cheeks. “To Payton Taylor, the woman who taught me how to use that thing in my chest commonly referred to as my heart—thank you for always, always being there for me.” She stops again to wipe away a tear that has rolled down her left cheek. “I love you more than words can say. Letting you walk out that door was the biggest mistake I have ever made. I hope that someday we can start again.”

  Music pumps through the sound system signaling the end of her oration. The usher motions for her to exit stage left, but the audience explodes into Fenway Park style applause—complete with loud whooping and wolf whistling—before she can leave the stage. She folds her hands around her trophy and takes a cordial bow then withdraws backstage.

  I witness it all, but none of it penetrates. I’m in an advanced state of dumbfoundment or something. Did she just out herself on prime time television, and tell the entire universe that she loves me? Yes, she did. And you cannot breathe. Breathe, Payton!

  “Payton,” Lawrence grabs my shoulder, gives me a gentle shake that brings me back to earth.

  “Yeah,” I exhale. “Why is my face wet?”

  His brows furrow. “Because you’re crying.”

  “I am?” I touch my fingers to the skin below my right eyelid. “I am.”

  He chuckles, then removes his VIP lanyard-badge and places it around my neck. “Follow me.” He takes my hand and leads me through a side door out of the auditorium and into a long, bright hallway.

  “Where are we going?”

  He shakes his head and pushes open another door. This room is bustling with reporters, photographers and recording devices. I’m under fire as soon as my arrival is noticed. People are tossing questions at me and cameras are snapping pictures in automatic mode. “All right, everyone back off!” Lawrence yells. “She’s not going to answer any questions.” We cut t
hrough the sea of press and stop at a roped-off area. There’s a hairy, muscular security guard standing next to a sign that reads ‘Awards Staff /Award Winners and Handlers Only.’ Kendall is standing in the distance with her back to me.

  Lawrence takes me by the shoulders. “The ball is in your court, sweetheart. But if I were you, I’d go over there and tell the girl you love her, because honestly, outing herself to the entire world on television took more courage than I can imagine. And she did it because she can’t live without you.”

  With that, my mind makes itself up. I make a beeline for Kendall. I reach out for her shoulder and spin her around. We stand vis-à-vis, but remain silent until I can no longer stand the sound of my own respiration. “I cannot believe you did that.”

  “I had to. I never should have let you leave in the first place. All that fear and confusion I was feeling… it was like a dark cloud blocking out the sun, it just needed to pass so I could see things clearly. Payton, I love absolutely everything about you. You are the kindest, most thoughtful person I have ever met. You’re smart, and brave, and beautiful in every way. And I love that I can be myself with you; I love that you let me be a dork who makes lame puns.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, but you’re a cool, sexy dork.” That’s the last thing I say before I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into the most fervid kiss—the kind of kiss that makes your lips go numb, lingers on your tongue and on your mind long after it’s over. She rests her hands on the back of my neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” she whimpers softly into my lips.

  “Shhh,” I mutter. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she beams. “There’s nothing keeping us apart anymore. Will you please come home?”

  Home. I miss everything that word involves. “Yes, absolutely.” I say. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”