Noah (2 page)

I didn’t know why we were still at it. There was no way I'd forgive her cheating ass. Looking at her made my skin crawl.

I was blown away by all of this. I knew we had shit to solve, but the thought of her stepping out on me…it was unbelievable.

"Am I not allowed to change my mind?" she spat out.

"Not every five minutes," I snapped. "You can't encourage me to go after my dream gigs when I'm at home and then call me when I'm on the road and complain about me not being here."

At that, she had nothing.

*

More bags of fancy brands piled up in the hallway. Clothes, keepsakes, a mountain of beauty products.

I was over the fight. Sitting down in the living room, I poured a whiskey and took swigs as she continued turning the house into a war zone.

What was she waiting for? Me to ask her to stay?

"Who's the guy?" I asked.

She cringed and took down a photo of us from the wall. "A mistake. I met him at the grocery store."

I grinned bitterly and poured another drink. "How long has it been going on?"

Turning to me, a glimpse of the old Emma appeared. She was in pain. It wasn't fake. But her big, expressive eyes, freckled nose, and everything I'd once found pretty was just…ruined.

"I swear it was only a few weeks, Noah. I—"

"You can stop right there." I didn't need to hear more. I was oddly calm. The whiskey worked. "I hope it was worth it."

Standing up, I walked out to the hallway and grabbed her keys.

"It was a mistake!" She started crying for the umpteenth time. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" I took the house key as well as the keys to her car and the loft in LA.

"I'm going, okay?" She snatched back what was left on her Dior key ring. "I'll drive down to my mother's in Sacramento, and then we can talk in a few days when we've cooled off. We'll work this out."

That was…the most ridiculous thing I'd heard in a long time.

"Work this out?" I smiled down at her. I had a feeling I'd be a mess for months to come, but right this moment, she was a stranger to me. Everything ours was mine again. I'd paid for it. "You should've thought about that before you fucked around on me. We're done, Emma."

"You can't mean that!" She gripped my arms, and the panic was back. "Are you just going to throw away four years?"

"
You
did that. When you hooked up with some bastard you met at the fucking store, you threw away four years." I opened the door and began tossing out her bags. "See, I knew we had some shit to talk about. That’s why I'm off this summer, so we could work things out. It's what people do
before
they get hitched and bring kids into their lives."

She hiccupped on a sob and walked out of the house. "I-I believe we can get on the right track. I b-believe in
us
, Noah."

"I don't," I said bluntly. "I'd never be able to trust you. This is over."

She swallowed what she was about to say and fiddled with her keys. "I need the car key."

"You mean the nice car over there that’s in my name? Tough shit."

I almost broke my resolve at the despair that flitted across her face, but all I needed was to remind myself of what she'd done. The mere idea of her
fucking
another man in the bed we slept in was a punch in the gut. Had she moaned his name? Had she sucked his cock after getting off the phone with me?

"I have nothing, Noah," she croaked.

I blinked back the emotions and grinned faintly. "I suggest you get a job, then. And you can always call your new boyfriend if you need a ride."

After closing the door and locking it, I headed straight for the phone to cancel her credit cards. I knew she always carried some cash, and she had a couple cards in her own name, too. That was enough.

I was done.

Time for more whiskey.

Chapter 2

I woke up the next morning with the mother of headaches. And as expensive and huge as the couch was, sleeping on it wasn’t recommended. I groaned and rubbed my neck, surveying the destruction in the living room.

There were Post-it notes on some furniture, a few of the pictures on the wall, and various knickknacks. It was fuzzy, but I was pretty sure I remembered deciding last night to get rid of the house. Everything marked was shit Emma could keep, and the rest would be donated.

I couldn’t stay here.

"Fuck." I stood up, nausea and a new wave of fresh pain bolting through me. I felt fucking dirty. Not the kind a shower could fix, either. "That cunt." I scrubbed at my face. I despised her. She'd turned everything about this house into pain and ugliness.

Padding over to the kitchen, I got coffee started and then checked my phone. I squinted at the display. My inbox had blown up with messages from my sister, Sophie, Brooklyn, and even one from Tennyson—Sophie's husband and probably the guy I'd call my best friend.

My sister… Brooklyn… Sophie…

It jogged something in my memory. Mia had mentioned them last night before I walked into this clusterfuck.
"Don't let Sophie and Brooklyn be right."
About what? Emma? How in the actual fuck…?

I wasn't sure it mattered, but I called Sophie. If I wasn't mistaken, Mia was in the air now.

"Finally, I've been so worried, Noah!" was Sophie's greeting. "Are you okay?"

"How…" That didn't work. Maybe I'd been a pussy and cried a bit last night. Maybe I'd emptied a bottle of whiskey. My throat was raw. "Emma's fucked around on me. Did you and Brook know?"

She cursed then sighed softly. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I wanted to be wrong. It was just a theory."

I rubbed my eyes tiredly and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. Theory, she'd said. Nothing else made sense. We were tight. If she or anyone else in my group of buddies had known for sure, they would have told me.

"Mia called me before they got on their flight," she went on. "She filled me in about the truck outside the house. We've been trying to reach you all morning. Are you okay? So it's really true? She's been cheating on you? God, that bitch! I'll cut her!"

Painkillers. I needed them.

Blinking blearily, I headed for the medicine cabinet in the guest bath and swiped a bottle of Advil.

"I walked in on her and some motherfucker."

Sophie cursed up a storm and made promises that no cop should hear. I appreciated it, but I had no desire whatsoever to talk about Emma anymore. I assumed Sophie and Brooklyn had become friends with my sister at my birthday bash in February. Women talked, eh?

As I poured coffee and downed two painkillers, I listened to Sophie going on and on about what she wanted to do to Emma's body parts. It was…colorful. On a good day, I'd have gotten a laugh out of it.

I felt like a fucking idiot instead. It took a hit on my pride, not gonna lie. But I knew I didn't have to hide shit or be ashamed in front of my friends. They were good people. Sophie, despite being ten years younger than me, was a fierce li'l chick. Protective and loyal.

She'd learned the hard way by growing up in Hollywood. Child star gone diva, who got knocked down. Once off her high horse, she'd rebuilt her life. She'd earned her status as a real star, and even though she was the youngest in our group, she was the momma—no doubt.

"Noah? You still there?"

I took a swallow of my coffee and nodded to myself. "Yeah." The sun was shining outside, not really mirroring my mood. Wasn’t it supposed to rain or some shit? "I'm selling the house. And getting my dick checked." I couldn’t say I trusted Emma when she'd said it had only been going on a few weeks. Either way, I wasn’t taking any risks.

Sophie choked a bit. "Uh, okay. Ha." She snorted a chuckle. "I'm delighted you told me that last part."

I smiled faintly at the floor and scratched my bicep. "I figured. I can't stay here, though. And there's no word to describe how much I don't wanna go to Florida now."

The thought of all the questions from my family…

Tennyson was one of the biggest directors in the world, and I'd been his assistant director a few times now. There was a reason why we clicked. He was simple like me, and we both enjoyed flying under the radar. But with all this…my family would give me every shade of attention I despised.

Sophie hummed. "Well…they're gonna be in Orlando for two weeks, right? So how about you come down to LA for a couple days? We'll chill out. You get your head straight and rest up. Then you can see your family when the wounds aren't as fresh."

Didn't sound half bad, though I suspected the wounds would be raw for some time.

"Staying at the loft sounds better than this hellhole," I admitted.

To my friends, Mendocino would remain a fairy-tale getaway. Tennyson and Sophie belonged up here and lived in what they called domesticated bliss when they weren't working in LA—or elsewhere. But I was done. I had a feeling I'd lose my mind if I didn't find any distractions, stat.

"Can you agree to something before I tell you what it is?" Sophie asked.

I grunted and took a sip of my coffee. "That’s not my thing. I know you broads. That’s how guys end up going to the salon or the mall to hold your purse."

She laughed. "I promise, no malls or salons. This is because we love you and want you here as soon as possible. Feel free to even call it selfish, but I'd sleep better tonight with you across the hall."

She'd just given it all away, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I'd always loved my loft in Pacific Palisades, and with Sophie and Tennyson as neighbors, I wouldn’t have to go far to get distracted. Tennyson and I could catch a game, I could bring greasy food and watch movies with Sophie, or I could teach their kids shit Mommy and Daddy didn't approve of.

"Okay, call your pop, hon," I said.

Peter Pierce, former big shot in the film industry. He lived in nearby Fort Bragg these days and had a private jet on standby. His cottage-style house probably hadn't cost as much as it did to keep that jet fueled for a week.

"How did you know…? Never mind." She sighed, though there was a smile in her voice now. "Thanks, Noah. I know you don't like to take advantage of your Hollywood perks, so I appreciate it. Now, get your ass back down to LA, all right?"

I managed a chuckle. "Yes, ma'am."

*

Exhaustion kicked in halfway to LA. It offered a blanket of numbness, but the roller coaster of emotions was never far away. I had to do my best to think of anything other than Emma looking freshly fucked by someone else.

I failed most of the time, but that was what booze was for.

I'd left everything behind that reminded me of her. An hour was all I had needed to box up personal belongings from my childhood and the few awards and memorabilia items I'd collected from film sets throughout my career. The rest, I couldn’t care less about.

Closing my eyes, I struggled to get comfortable in the luxurious leather chair. I tried to come up with shit I could distract myself with while I got over Emma. Work would probably suit me best. I'd been somewhat of a casual player before her, but women were the last thing I needed in my life at this point.

I was
single
.

Kinda difficult to comprehend. Four years wasn't that long in comparison to many, yet the fact remained: I'd thought I was done. Re-fucking-gardless of recent issues in our relationship, I'd considered myself off the market for life.

No, I would simply go back to being married to my job. Perhaps it was time to listen to Tennyson. He was only in his late forties, but he'd accomplished a fuckload, and he'd been a mentor to me in many ways. He liked to tell me I should get out of the shadow of being an AD and direct something on my own.

Directed by Noah Collins
.

Maybe.

It could be the perfect time for me to step out of my comfort zone. A new challenge, a more time-consuming one. There'd be more publicity and pressure, but I'd deal.

I stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet to pour myself a drink. It was five o'clock somewhere, right? Then I figured I could use social media as my next distraction. It was a plan. Moving from one distraction to the next. No stopping.

Sitting down again, I took a swig of my drink and punched in the WiFi password on my iPad. The pilot announced we'd be landing on time as I dicked around on Twitter a bit. There was a hashtag about some plane crash that was trending rapidly, so I muted that one. No need to fucking jinx myself.

Sophie, Daniel, his husband Zane, and Brooklyn weren't online as far as I could see, so I moved on to Facebook where I mostly had my family.

And Emma.

I rolled my eyes and ignored the stab in my chest at her juvenile change in her relationship status.

It's complicated?

Nah, I don't think so, toots.

I had half a mind to change mine to single, but it felt ridiculous. I moved on instead and was thankful when Brooklyn called me.

"Hey, gorgeous. I have no interest in talking about Emma, but anything else goes," I told her.

She didn't laugh, as I'd expected. She was married to Tennyson's brother, and I'd known her since she was a makeup artist to soap opera stars and I was a lowly PA. We'd come far in fifteen years, but I hoped she hadn't lost her sense of humor along the way.

"You're in the air, right?" she asked.

"Yeah." I didn't like the edge in her tone. As if she was hiding something upsetting. "What's up?"

One of the ladies in Peter's cabin crew joined me briefly to say we were about to land. I nodded in response.

Brooklyn cleared her throat. "Tennyson and Daniel are on their way to meet you at the airport—"

"I'm not a fucking child, hon." I got a bit impatient. I needed my friends to distract me and be there, not coddle me. "If something's happened, tell me right now, Brook. Don't assume what's best for me or whatever. Just spit it out."

She was mumbling something to someone else. I couldn’t hear what it was, and I was getting more and more frustrated. The flight attendant came in again and smiled apologetically, saying they were shutting off the WiFi for landing.

"Sweetie," Brooklyn said, "I need you to turn on the news. And please wait for Tennyson and Daniel to get to you. Stay on the plane."

I frowned, confused, and I was out of time for now. It couldn’t be so important that it couldn't wait until I got to the loft. With Emma's recent Facebook change, maybe she'd done something dramatic elsewhere on social media. Much like she'd grown fond of expensive things, she'd also developed a flare for diva antics. They were mild in comparison to what was out there, but for a laid-back Pittsburgh fucker, I disliked the smallest amount of drama.

"I'm about to land," I told Brooklyn. "We can talk later."

I disconnected the call and set it on airplane mode, then buckled my seat belt and spent the following twenty minutes nursing my drink. Vodka was my buddy, too.

*

After getting off the plane, I realized I'd clearly underestimated the power of alcohol. I needed to take a piss, so instead of going straight home to the loft, I grabbed my bag and headed into the lounge where other rich fuckers were waiting to board their private jets.

I nodded hello to some industry folk I knew and ducked into the bathrooms. I'd barely zipped up my jeans and moved over to wash my hands when my phone went off.

"What the fuck is wrong with everybody today?" I muttered. The phone went silent as I dried my hands, only to ring again two beats later. "Jesus Christ." I pulled the damn thing out and barked out a "What?" before I could even look at the Caller ID.

"Where are you?" It was Tennyson, and he sounded out of breath.

"I'm in the private lounge." I exited the men's room and looked around. "I'll order car service. See you soon—"

"We'll be there in five," he said quickly. "Stay there, man."

I was in no mood for this. There was no goddamn rush, was there? But I saw the fancy bar some twenty feet away and figured I could keep working on my buzz while I waited.

Dropping my bag next to a stool, I sat down and ordered an Old Fashioned. The bar wasn't packed by any means, besides a few businessmen and one man who looked like a rapper without an entourage.

"Turn that up, please." One of the businessmen nodded at the flat screen behind the bar.

The bartender complied and then finished making my drink.

I removed the orange slice and threw half of it back, a nice burn sliding down my throat. The TV had nothing interesting to show. It appeared to be about whatever plane crash…

Wait
.

I checked the headline scrolling past and felt bad for my folks. The plane had crashed near Orlando, so I could only imagine the delays they'd have down there.

Taking another swig of my drink, I listened to the reporters and the experts they'd already called into the studio. No survivors—that sucked. The footage showed a massive area of destruction. Debris everywhere. Experts were ruling out causes based on how the plane had gone down and how much fire there was.