Her eyes soften. “You’re sick?”
Clearing my throat, I step away. “I’m not sure. I think I might just be run down from shooting. Ever since we finished filming, I’ve been a little off. It’s nothing.”
Cringing over the absolute bullshit I’m spewing, I walk into the bathroom to get ready for my day. When Lena appears in the corner of my eye, she studies me with narrow eyes. “Yes, how did the movie go?”
She isn’t really asking about the movie though. She rarely asks about work, just when I’ll be done with whatever I’m filming at the time. I learned a long time ago that she only asks questions that benefit her. Nothing more.
“Fine.” I flush the toilet and walk over to turn on the shower. “Buchannan seems happy and told us he’d call when he got it pieced together for an early viewing.”
She moves to the sink, playing with her hair and adjusting the loose waves she always spends hours styling to perfection. “And what about the author… What is her name again? Kelsey? Kerry?”
Though I’m not proud of the features Kinley and I have had in tabloids, there’s no way Lena or her parents haven’t seen it. They have copies of everything I’m in, especially if I fuck up. Her father never liked me, her mother simply tolerates me, and everyone else only cares about the fame.
“What about her?” I ask, not wanting to feed the fire that I know is sparking in her eyes. I’ve seen Lena angry and don’t want that wrath to come out.
You deserve it.
The shower begins steaming the room, causing the mirror to fog over. She moves away from her reflection and turns to me. “How does she think the movie turned out?”
“I couldn’t be sure.” I grab a towel and place it on the hook near the shower. “She left early. Work or some other reason.”
She hums out a reply, not quite believing me with good reason. “I’m sure she’s a very busy woman. Hopefully she wasn’t too star stuck. I hear people like her tend to attach themselves too easily to celebrities. They get hurt that way.”
Celebrities like us, is what she fails to say. It’s woven between her words, and I suddenly realize why Kinley was so pissed off at me for implying the same thing once upon a time. It makes us sound like entitled assholes.
“Kinley isn’t like that.”
Her blue eyes flash with victory. “Ah, that’s right. Kinley. Very unique name, no? It seems fitting for her.”
Something tells me that isn’t a compliment but defending Kinley won’t make this conversation end any quicker. “I’ve got a lot to do today, Lena. Do you mind?”
When she sees me gesturing toward the door, her lips part. “I’ve seen you naked more times than I can count. You want me to leave?”
I don’t want to point out that she spends what little time she has in California at her house, not mine. That tidbit obviously seems lost on her since she let herself in without telling me she was coming.
“I’d hate for you to get sick.”
Her eyes pin me.
Wetting my lips, I say, “Why don’t we go out for breakfast after I’m finished getting ready? We still have a lot to talk about. Neither one of us can avoid the conversation much longer.”
For a long moment, she just watches me. Based on the distance in her eyes, I can tell my offer isn’t welcome. “As you said, I’d hate to get sick. I’ll call you later, Callum.”
Callum. Not Corbin.
When was the last time my wife called me by my first name? She’s always used the same title the world chose for me. Callum. Hollywood heartbreaker. If only the press knew how right they are. Other than my mother, only one other person uses my actual name and she hasn’t gotten any of my messages.
The door slamming closed behind her has me cussing into the steam-filled room. Peeling off my boxers, I step into the shower and let the water drown out my thoughts. Like always, Kinley finds her way back in.
With my breakfast shake in hand, I settle at my kitchen table and scroll through the undelivered emails saved in my inbox. Each one is addressed to the same person, as if one will magically get through the outdated email address provided on her website.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Little Bird
Little Bird –
You haven’t used my number which means you either didn’t get the notebook or haven’t wanted to give me another shot. I can’t say I blame you if it’s the latter, but we should talk.
Call me.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Little Bird
Little Bird –
You might have noticed the email address. Knowing you, you rolled your eyes. I watched the remake and liked it better than the original. I remember your reaction when I put on IT and still laugh. I’m pretty sure you asked me if Stephen King was known to smoke crack before writing his novels. I still don’t know the answer to that, but I’m guessing no.
I need to know you’re okay.
I love you, Kinley.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Little Bird
Little Bird –
Remember what I said before I left the hotel that night. This isn’t goodbye. Not again.
Call. Me.
Brushing a hand through my hair, I don’t bother reading the rest of them because the lack of response will just batter me more. I want to believe the post office lost my gift, but I have a feeling she received it. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth wondering if she made the final decision about us without me.
Grazing the keys of my cell, I exhale a heavy breath and type out one last email before resorting to new measures. Our history is a record of cycles that bring us back to the same outcome.
Corbin and Kinley.
Actor and author.
Two dreamers.
I’m not ready to break that cycle, but to form a new one. One without pain. One without heartache. One where there’s nobody but ourselves to stop us from finding that feeling that kept us soaring in the past.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Little Bird
Fly with me, Little Bird.
Sending the email unsuccessfully, I switch to social media and track down one person who might be able to help without asking too many questions. That is, if I didn’t burn that bridge too.
When I click Zach Russo’s name, I hold my breath and type out a quick message hoping not everyone from Lincoln hates me.
To my surprise, he replies. It gives me hope that it’s not too late for me to patch up old relationships no matter how many years have passed. There’s only one I want to focus on, and I’m staring at her phone number and a message from the very friend I thought I’d lost her to.