Redwood Bend (Virgin River #18)(45)

And he had to get over it. Fast. She was moving on. A kind man would not do anything to hold her back.

He drove to that small airport in Arcata, talked the manager into storing his bike in a hangar and hitched a flight to Santa Rosa where he’d pick up a nonstop to Los Angeles. A month ago he’d packed for a seven-day ride with his friends and everything was getting pretty worn out even though he’d done laundry; he intended to spruce up his scant wardrobe. He wasn’t going to try to impress anyone, but he would have the courtesy to look civilized for business meetings.

Dylan was completely miserable about setting Katie free, but kept telling himself it was necessary. She might be disappointed in him for a while, then maybe a little angry, but ultimately he believed she’d be glad she didn’t have to worry about how her future would turn out with someone like him, some actor with a bad track record. A fling, she’d said. And as she’d said from the beginning, she could do a lot better.

There was one significant problem—he’d never met a woman like her before and probably never would again. Better? He wouldn’t. Not a chance.

“Okay, so I want Katie,” he muttered. So what? he asked himself. He’d get over it. He’d gotten over other things he wanted but couldn’t have.

The minute he got on the ground in Santa Rosa and turned on his phone, it came alive. There were voice mails and missed calls. He checked the call log while he waited for his flight to L.A. to depart. His mother? His MOTHER? And his half brother, Bryce? His stepsister, Blaine? There must have been twenty calls and he’d never given anyone this phone number. Lang, knowing his family history, would never have shared his cell number. He’d had a few calls from family members over the years, either at Childress Aviation or the Montana house, but they always wanted something from him, not looking for ways to reach out in friendship or, God forbid, affection.

He couldn’t resist and listened to the first message. And he thought, This is exactly how you get reeled in, by letting them in your ear, your head. Even though he hated his mother, he loved her and had always wanted her to act like a mother.

“Dylan, darling, I heard you’re going to be in town to talk about a movie and I have to talk to you first, because, well, the business hasn’t been real nice to me in the past few years and I’d like to…”

He clicked off. He didn’t even want to know what Cherise would like—a part? A job? A loan from his grandmother? A contact? She had a script he should read? A little party at which she would like him to appear to show the public they were still family? The possibilities were endless.

He called Jay Romney. “It’s been twenty-four hours since I made an appointment with you and I have twenty messages on my phone from family members. I never gave them this number. I thought we agreed—no one would be told about the potential for a movie.”

“Are you f**king kidding me?” Jay asked, genuinely shocked. “It just figures. Listen, kid, with all due respect, your family has a lot of friends in low places and your call came into my office. Delete them. I can’t control everything.”

“You’re saying you had nothing to do with this?” he asked.

“Absolutely not! Why would I? I want you for a movie! You think I’d screw that by handing out your personal cell number? Here’s mine, log it. You call me on my cell only. And if you want to reschedule to avoid these people, I’ll do it. Just say the word.”

He keyed in the cell number and then, after a moment of silence, he asked, “No one’s dying, are they? Because I didn’t listen to the messages.”

“No one’s dying that I know of. But in your family…”

“I listened to my mother’s voice mail—she said she heard I’d be in town about a movie and the business hasn’t been kind to her the last few years…and that’s about where I deleted,” he said.

“You’re a sweet kid, Dylan, but you can cut ’em loose. You’re on your own here. I’m not dealing with anyone but you.”

“If any of them are involved in this…”

“I’m not dealing with anyone but you, Dylan. That’s it. On my word.”

His word was probably worth a cup of coffee and little more, but of all the people he had worked with in Hollywood, Jay was probably the most honest and trustworthy. He said, “I’ll see what happens. If this gets out of hand, obviously there won’t be a movie with me in it.”

And then he traveled the rest of the way, with his phone off. He made it to L.A. in the late afternoon, rented a car, found himself a nondescript hotel and watched TV, something he did rarely. He spent Saturday at a mall, buying more appropriate clothes and shoes. He checked his call log and messages, looking for one in particular, but the only one that mattered to him wasn’t there. And of course it shouldn’t be—they’d said goodbye.

Sunday night he drank a little more than usual and when he slept he dreamt of Katie, her warm body against him. Not a sex dream… It was much worse than that—it was more intimate than sex. It was the kind of closeness he had with her. She was there, soft and sweet and laughing, saying smart-ass things, holding him against his worst childhood fears of loss and abandonment.

On Monday when he went to Jay Romney’s office, standing in front of the door, waiting on the street, was Cherise. His mother.