A Brand New Ending (Page 67)

Yes, Ophelia had given him the words, but already he sensed her pulling back. A distance in her eyes. As if she didn’t truly believe he’d put her first this time.

“I had it all before,” he finally said. “But I lost it.”

“You were young. You weren’t sure yet about what you wanted. Now you know.”

“Yeah.” He gave him a tight smile.

“Did you look in the box yet?”

“Yes. I read the letter. Looked through the pictures.”

“They should have been with you in California. Keeping you from your mother’s memory was sick. I was sick. I’m sorry, and every damn day I ask for your forgiveness. I don’t drink. I do my best. That’s all I got left.”

His heart squeezed in his chest. Hearing the truthful words helped soothe a bit of the raw wounds, allowing extra space in his lungs to breathe. He rubbed his head and shifted his weight.

“I never thought I’d be back in this house, talking to you. I’m not ready for most of this, but I wanted to see you before I left. Tell you I’m glad Charlie isn’t sick. And that I appreciated the letter.”

Patrick nodded, clearing his throat. “That’s more than I imagined. Thank you.”

Kyle bent and patted the dog’s head. “Bye, buddy. Take care of each other.”

Then Kyle drove away, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time.

Ophelia lay in his arms and tried desperately to hide her heartache.

In a few hours, he’d be gone. His stuff was cleaned out. His luggage packed and waiting at the door. Their final dinner together with Ethan and Mia and Harper was full of chatter and laughs, and an emotional goodbye. He kept promising he’d see everyone soon, once the script was accepted and finalized. A few weeks, tops. Then he’d be back.

If only she believed him.

“Do you want me to go to the airport with you?” she whispered.

“No. I want you to sleep—no need for you to wake up at four a.m.”

“I’m glad you spoke with your dad.”

He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “Me, too. Somehow, it felt right.”

“Make sure you call me when you land.”

“I will.”

“I made you some scones for the trip. Just press the button on the coffeemaker when you wake up and you can take a fresh mug of coffee with you.”

“Okay.”

“I also left that Airborne stuff out, because the last thing you need is to get sick. Planes are horrible with germs. And I—”

He kissed her hard and deep, his lips curved upward in a smile. “It’ll all be okay. I left you a copy of the book on my desk for you to read. Not the script. I want you to read the full book—the way it was originally written.”

“Thank you.”

“Call me after you read it. I want to know what you think.”

“I will.”

He stared at her for a while, as if glimpsing her real worry. “Truth or dare?”

She forced a smile. “Truth.”

“Do you believe I’ll be back?”

She tried to avert her gaze, but he held her chin and forced her to look at him. Finally, she gave him the only truth she could. “I hope you will be.”

“I’ll just have to prove it to you, then.”

Her heart ached, so she pressed a kiss to his full lips. “Truth or dare?” she whispered.

“Dare.”

This time, her smile was real. “Prove it to me now.”

With a low growl, he reached for her, pinning her body with his, taking the kiss deep and long and slow.

Afterward, she slept.

When she woke up, he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kyle sat back in his chair in the lush conference room and rested his hands on the polished mahogany table. His agent flanked his right, and Alan Bell joined two producers to his left. The script was open on the desk, along with scattered laptops, cell phones, pens, and a crumbled pack of Marlboros because Bell had failed with the patch and reverted to his old ways.

“I love it,” Bell said simply, shaking his dark head. The powerhouse looked more like a blue-collar guy who eschewed fancy suits and too much coddling. He was well known for showing up at the most prestigious functions in jeans or leather pants. His energy whipped like a mini cyclone around his body, sucking everyone else in, and he was reputed to be a bully on set, but brilliant. “When Robbie told me it wasn’t an action flick, I was intrigued, but this surpassed my expectations. I think we’re poised to make something fresh and exciting.”

Kyle grinned, muscles relaxing in relief. Though his agent had parroted the same sentiments, until it came from the director’s mouth, nothing was real.

Robbie smoothly cut in. “We’re not interested in an option at this point. We want a straight sale with a team in place. Plus producer credits. Who are you thinking of?”

In all his years of work, Kyle had never been able to secure producer credits. It would change the entire project and bump up both his expertise and responsibility. He’d have a bigger hand in his own movie, instead of being stuck on the sidelines.

Carlson—the red-headed producer who was known to be a real shark—spoke up. “I heard through the grapevine Liam Hemsworth is looking to delve into a romance and beef up his credits. He’s a big draw.”

“You think he’d be able to bring enough sensitivity to the role?” Kyle asked doubtfully. “I have a list of suggestions for the cast here.” He passed over the papers. “What did you think of the ending?”

“Loved it,” Bell said. His hands stroked his pack of cigarettes, and his leg jiggled up and down. “Very Jerry Maguire. I like that she was the one who came back to him.”

“You don’t think it was cliché?” Kyle ignored the scathing look Robbie shot him.

One of the golden rules was to never doubt your work. You needed to have a big dick in this business, and if you didn’t, you’d better be the greatest bluffer in the world.

Bell waved his hand in the air. “No way. People like cliché with their romance. I think with a few tweaks we can get this deal going before I take off. We just need to amp it up.”

Carlson flipped a few pages of the script. “Definitely. It’s too straight-up love story to carry now, but all the elements are there. You thinking a murder, Bell?”

Bell slammed his fist on the table. “Fuck, that’s brilliant. We have the drunk father murdered when they’re out in California so they have to fly back together for the funeral. This gives time for the heroine to miss her farm, and the hero to realize he hates the place and belongs in Hollywood. Ratchets up the tension, too.”

“Who murdered the father, you think?” Carlson asked with a frown, his pen furiously scribbling notes.

“The girl’s mother?”

“I don’t know—could you make that work, Kyle?”

He stared at them. Was he suddenly writing a fucking sci-fi movie? Were they honestly telling him they loved the script, a full-on love story, but wanted to add a murder to it?

“No, I’m not making that work,” he snapped out. “I’m not looking to turn this into a murder mystery.”

Robbie shot him a glare and jumped in. “Kyle’s not interested in having the purity of his vision muddled,” he said. “You can’t go screwing with the genre and audience this is meant for.”