Page 80 of This Changes Everything

“That’s right. You’re Ellie Fucking McCain. You took ninety-fourth place in the Women’s Long Drive when you were fourteen, goddamn it.”

I wanted to laugh, remembering the first time Ben tried to pump me up, back when we were just friends. A sob slipped out instead.

“Why didn’t we get married? Why didn’t we do that?” He let his words linger, then softly said, “I wanted to marry you, Ellie.”

I pressed my hand over my mouth and nose. I couldn’t breathe. My focus blurred through my tears. I looked out at the Los Angeles skyline, and I saw my life split in two. I saw everything I was running toward, and everything I’d left behind. I saw everything I wanted, and everything I hated. I saw all my dreams, and everyone I’d sacrificed for them.

I closed my eyes, dropped my hand, and whispered, “I wanted that, too.”

His inhale was jagged. “Come back . . .”

“I want to.” Silent tears poured down my face. “Come to me.”

I knew he wouldn’t leave New York, and he knew I wouldn’t go back. I didn’t know what in my life or my career I was still fighting for in Los Angeles, but I knew I wasn’t done fighting. Zoë had been right. Within a year, I had found more opportunities and built a more extensive network in LA than I could ever have imagined in New York. And Ben’s career was thriving there. He’d been right, and he was turning into exactly who I’d always known he would be. He couldn’t chance messing that up. His life was too big. He was too close. The only thing I had in New York was him. And the only thing he had in LA was me.

“I want to.” His voice was quiet.

My heart cracked open. Ben knew me better than anybody. He was a dreamer, like me. He still knew what made me tick, because it made him tick, too. We were the same. I couldn’t go back to New York, and Ben couldn’t come to LA, because we couldn’t let our dreams break us. That’s not who we were. It’s what we loved about each other. It was also the reason we couldn’t be together.

When I opened my eyes again, they landed on my golf ball sitting in the cup holder. I didn’t want to admit that I thought about Rory, but I did.

I always did.

Chapter 32

LAS VEGAS 29 years old

I SHOWED UP AT VEGAS’S TOPGOLF WEARING CUTOFF JEAN SHORTS and a black T-shirt. I wondered if I’d match Rory, considering that his day-to-day uniform, including the night before at Manor House, was always some sort of black shirt and a black hat. I was wearing minimal makeup again, with a pop of lip color, and my hair was down underneath my blue LA Dodgers baseball cap.

I’d tried to beat Rory to the entertainment-venue-meets-restaurant-meets-sports-bar-meets-driving-range by showing up ten minutes early, but he was already waiting for me when I arrived. He was sitting on a small couch inside our private bay, leaning back and typing into his phone. No hat. Perfect, messy, curly brownish hair that was magically pushed away from his face. My guess is he had spent some time watching YouTube tutorials on how to tame his wild hair. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, which seemed fitting considering he had been, including Men’s Health. I lost my appetite for three days when I stumbled across that issue at my local Ralphs grocery store.

Rory saw me walking up to him and placed his phone down on the coffee table, flipping it over so I couldn’t see the screen. He stood, saying, “Hey.” He smiled sweetly and moved around the crowded furniture.

I opened my arms, assuming we should hug. I saw him hesitate as he stepped toward me, and I regretted my life choices. He hugged me regardless. I felt every sharp point on his body poking uncomfortably into mine. I took in a deep breath, and after a moment, he did the same. His arms dropped from holding me across my back like the Tin Man and wrapped around my waist, sinking into the hug. After our bodies relaxed, I could have drowned in that hug.

I cleared my throat and pulled away after I realized too much time had passed with us in this position to be considered acceptable.

“This feels familiar.” I gestured to the bay and the clubs laid out for us. “Haven’t had enough golf for the day?” I knew he had already played eighteen holes for the Celebrity Pro-Am.

“Oh.” He frowned. “I thought you would like this. We can do something else if you want. Do you want to go to dinner somewhere? Or we could see a show?”

I smiled. “No, no. It’s just . . . all a bit surreal. You must be a big deal at a place like this, huh?” I shifted toward two Titleist bags that were set up for us. They were decked out with top-of-the-line clubs, one left-handed and one right-handed. I lifted my eyes to see Rory watching me move my hand carefully over the clubs. His eyes followed my hand, moved along my arm up to my shoulder, neck, and mouth, then flicked up to my eyes.

“No one cares that I’m here.” Rory shook his head but didn’t shift his stare.

“They care.” I lifted my hand and pointed to the group of twenty-something guys in one of the bays beside us, all pretending not to sneak photos. “Rory Campbell!” I called out to them while popping out my thumb toward Rory. “You boys better be good, or it’s gonna be hella embarrassing.”

Rory swiftly moved to block my view of the guys. He clasped his hand over my pointed finger and pressed my arm down. “Well, you’re still you. That’s good to know.” His smile dipped. “Also, ‘hella’? You’ve been in LA way too long.”

“I don’t think an Angeleno has said that word in the last twenty years. It just came out of me, from some untapped darkness. I think I was possessed.”

“Your voice did change into something demonic with that word only, so . . .”

“Checks out. I forgot about that time I sold my soul at Duke’s in Malibu.”

Our smiles lingered, and we held our stare just as the music ringing throughout the sports bar shifted to “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”

“Whooooooaaa!” My eyes went wide, and my voice dropped. “Guns N’ Roses? Did you do this?!”