A Brand New Ending (Page 55)

“Just play the game a little bit,” he begged. “Why do you have to be so narrow-minded? What’s wrong with looking hot onstage and singing Miley Cyrus? Why are you such a damn snob?”

She sucked in her breath. Tension simmered amid a bunch of other emotions too raw to decipher. How had this happened to them? How had they grown so far apart?

“I already made my decision,” she said quietly. “I need you to be there for me. Understand this is best for me.”

“But it’s not,” he muttered. “Crap, Robbie is gonna shit—he’s the one who got you the audition.”

A chill raced down her spine. “That’s what you care about? That your agent will be pissed off at you?”

“I’m not like you. I’m grateful for the opportunities I get. Do you have any idea what you want to do next? Got something else lined up besides extra shifts at the diner?”

“I’m not sure. I just want to remember what it’s like to sing for me. To enjoy the gift of my voice without all that empty packaging. Maybe I can sing at a restaurant or small club. Maybe even theater.”

“But you don’t like to act. You did those high school plays because they were fun and no pressure,” he said coldly. “And do you really want to sing in front of a chattering crowd who’s too drunk to care or listen?”

She flinched at his meanness. “Why are you doing this? What is so wrong with realizing this world isn’t for me?”

“Because I like this world!” he shouted. “I like who I’m becoming and I’m afraid of—” He broke off, his face telling her more than his unspoken words. Her heart was beating, but her blood felt so cold it seemed to numb her from the inside.

“Afraid of leaving me behind,” she finished.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at the carpet for a while as if it held all the answers. “I don’t know who we are together anymore,” he said. “And I don’t know how to get back to the way things were. I feel like every step I take, you’re judging me. You’re unhappy all the time, but this is what we both signed up for. What we both wanted.”

“And I feel like you’re slipping away,” she said, caught between the desperate urge to go to him and hold him tight, to weep against his chest, to let their embrace take care of all the problems. “I love you. I thought we came to California to get married and be together forever. Yes, we wanted to achieve our dreams, but mine has always been to be with you, Kyle. All the rest is secondary.”

She knew that was the moment everything changed.

He looked up and met her gaze, and her world crashed down around her under the startling, raw truth.

He didn’t feel the same way.

“I love you,” he said softly. “But I’m tired of feeling like a piece of shit for wanting this. I’ve dreamed of being a famous writer my whole life. I took my father’s abuse for years because I knew, one day, I would prove him wrong. I’d be something and make the world take notice. Everything I ever wanted is coming true, but I can’t make a choice between you and my career. Don’t ask me to.”

Because his choice was already made.

He turned. “I’m going to bed.”

She watched him disappear into the bedroom. Heard the shower go on. Saw the lights go off. Heard the rustle of sheets and the creak of the mattress.

And knew she had to leave.

Kyle stared at the page. His heart was crashing against his ribs, and his neck had crimped, sending a shooting pain down his back.

He stood up and stretched. The words he’d splashed onto the page haunted him, dragging him back into the past to a memory he’d spun so differently.

Is that how she had seen things? Is that why she had finally left?

He’d been so caught up with his own dreams, he’d believed he was giving her tough love. Her refusal to bend to everyone else’s demands when it came to her singing frustrated him. Looking back, he realized she’d been the only one who knew who she truly was.

Now, years later, he was famous, but he’d trapped himself in a world where he no longer belonged. He was a robot—the Hollywood scene was shallow and old, his words the same as he drafted script after script of the same formula.

He was coming alive again. Writing this book. Being back home. Loving Ophelia. All of it gave him a deeper sense of peace and belonging he hadn’t experienced in too long.

But he knew he had to return eventually. To get the movie made. To secure enough interest and funding to make it a reality. Were they racing toward another climax of him needing to choose between staying with her or chasing after his career again?

This time, would he choose differently?

He had to. Now that she was back in his life, nothing would make sense without her. He had to find a way to claim it all.

But how?

The questions ran on an endless loop in his head for a long time.

Chapter Twenty

Ophelia took a deep breath and prayed she’d be able to convince Patrick to keep the dog a bit longer.

Harper had a friend who’d be willing to foster the shepherd soon, but she had to place her current foster pup first. Ophelia had already begged Patrick for a previous extension, plying him with baked goods to help ease the pain. Now it was way past the original deadline she’d promised. She had a bad feeling he would be cranky about another delay.

Which is why she’d brought him blueberry scones.

She pulled up and was surprised to see a freshly tracked path leading from the front porch to the back. The paw prints beside the boot imprints confirmed he’d taken the dog for some fresh air. She hoped they were getting along. The last few times she’d checked on him, she’d heard constant complaints about the dog’s age, his smell, and his talent of pooping on the newly shoveled walkway. She’d threatened Patrick to be nice to the poor thing, terrified if the dog was yelled at he’d die of a heart attack. Enough had happened to cause him to be half-catatonic. When she asked Patrick how she could help him continue fostering and being nice, he’d grumbled a request for banana-cream pie and her lasagna.

It had taken her hours, but she’d baked it and schlepped it over. Now, she hoped her scones would buy her another week.

She traced the path through the towering pine trees. She stopped short a few feet from the duo. Her jaw dropped.

Patrick was smiling.

He had some half-chewed tennis ball in his hand, and lobbed it high in the air. The broken-down lab limped after it with sheer joy, barking and shoving his nose in the snow, then bringing it back to Patrick. The dog was slow but steady, his gait awkward.

The older man laughed and patted his head. Patrick’s voice echoed in the quiet air. “Good boy. You’re a fast learner. Who cares if it takes you longer to get the ball? No rush—it’s just there, waiting for you. Now don’t forget to look pathetic when Ophelia checks in on us, okay? I’m gonna ask for chicken parm next—with her garlic bread.”

The dog barked.

“Yeah, I’ll ask for some of those gravy bones for you. Okay, enough play for now. It’s too cold out here for me. Let’s go, Charlie.”

Charlie?

She watched Patrick trudge toward the back entrance. “Charlie” limped behind him, tail wagging. The realization slammed through her, and she leaned against the icy bark of a tree, still reeling from the scene.

He’d only been pretending to hate the dog. Pretending all this time in order to score baked goods and hearty dinners. And that dog was in on the whole thing! They looked like full partners, pretending to dislike each other and looking pathetic.