Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
It was fucking Christmas, and now I didn’t even have family to celebrate it with. Ever again.
I raced into the bathroom and threw up. Somehow, Kit managed to get me through the next half hour, helping me pack a second suitcase with fucking funeral clothes and clothes for spending more than just two days in LA.
Kit had already arranged for his own plane to be ready, and once we were in the air, he forced a bowl of oatmeal on me.
“I’m not eating that,” I said in a dead voice. “I’ll vomit again.”
“What will you eat? Because you have to eat something.”
“Vodka shots.”
Kit stared at me from the opposite seat. “If you eat that oatmeal, I’ll let you have a shot of vodka.”
I began eating.
The only thing I hated more than the relentless sunshine of Los Angeles was the oppressive artifice. Everyone was posturing. Everyone was beautiful or at least trying to be. And absolutely nobody seemed sincere.
A Hollywood funeral was a game, just like anything else in this town. It was all about seeing and being seen. Being included. People vied for a spot at my father’s funeral because it meant they were someone.
While I was in enough of a dark mood to accuse everyone here of being a shallow, grasping viper, it wasn’t true.
My closest friends were there. Somehow Kit had gotten in touch with them and now Sam and his partner, Griff, were here taking care of everything so I didn’t have to. Jason had offered to fly in from Kentucky, but I’d tried to talk him out of it.
His kind voice over the line had been exactly what I’d needed to feel less alone. “I’m coming, babe. And when I tell you not to come to Kentucky when it’s my turn, you won’t listen either.”
Many people came up to give me their heartfelt condolences and relay fond memories with my dad, including his agent, Ira, and Ira’s wife, Patrice.
They were both crying. “He loved you so much, honey,” Patrice said. “Talked about you all the time.”
The lie only made me feel more hollow and small, as if I might blow away if there were ever any hint of a breeze. “Thank you.”
Dad’s second wife, Sabine, gave me a hug, clouding me with a once-familiar combination of cigarette smoke and Chanel perfume. “Oh Robbie, dear. When was the last time you saw him?”
I forced a smile. “I just saw him at Halloween. He came to my school dressed as Sable Nova. My students went nuts for it.” It was true, and it had been amazing.
“He always did look like a treat in that costume,” she said with a wink, squeezing my shoulders. “Listen, honey, if you need any help with the house or anything here in LA at all, you call me, okay? I know it’s a lot for you all on your own now.”
My tongue felt like it didn’t fit right in my mouth, so I simply nodded.
As soon as she wandered off, one of Dad’s old leading ladies appeared for a hug and a shared memory. While I liked her a lot, I wasn’t sure I had the energy for many more of these. I swayed on my feet and felt Kit’s strong, solid hand on my lower back. It had been there all day as he stood quietly over my shoulder, keeping an eye on things and taking care of me.
I both loved and hated it. I loved that I could count on him. That he was going out of his way to remind me that I wasn’t completely alone or without support. But I hated that he wasn’t more to me than a close family friend. That I didn’t have him as my life partner, whose hand I could squeeze when yet another person called me Robert instead of Robbie or asked me what I was going to do “with all that money” or whose arm wasn’t wrapped lovingly around me while I stood in front of the gravesite and watched the first shovelful of dirt fall onto my father’s casket.
But I was wrong. Because by the time I stood at the lip of my father’s gravesite, the only way I was able to remain upright was with Kit’s strong arm wrapped around my waist and his solid frame pressed tightly against mine.
Both Jason and Sam had tried to be the ones by my side, but it hadn’t felt right. I hadn’t wanted to lean on them when they’d barely known my father.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Kit murmured softly enough that only I could hear. “Few more minutes, then we go, okay?”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You can. You once carried a scared and hurt student a mile to the nearest emergency room while he was bleeding and screaming. You’re stronger than you think.”
I wanted to laugh, to point out that it was different when I was the one in pain. But I knew his point was only to distract me, and overblowing the account of my poor student’s worst day was an easy way to do it.