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Cameras are quickly set—two handhelds, plus one hovering above me. Gary says we’ll capture Rob’s face in close-up next, but for now, this run-through is all about Private Sherman’s emotions as he says his dying words.
“Stand by!” the assistant director yells, and I try to get my mind right as I wait. I try to imagine what it’d feel like to know, for a fact, I was dying. To know my life force was rapidly draining out of my body and I had mere seconds left to live. I think about knowing I’ll never see my family and friends again. I think about the things I’ll miss out on because I’m dying so young. No wife. No kids. No more Amy.
What?
Amy.
Amy.
Amy.
She’s my dying thought.
My only dying thought.
I’ll never get to have a future with Amy.
What the fuck? I’m supposed to be thinking about my parents’ divorce right now! That’s what my acting coach told me to do, after we talked about various emotional triggers in my life. But out of nowhere, as I look into Rob’s blue eyes, I see Amy’s green ones. I’m going to lose my chance with her, forever.
“Action!” Gary says, prompting Private Hawkings to frantically shout his line.
Tears prick my eyes as my best friend holds me and I choke out my last words on this earth. I tell Private Hawkings to find the girl I love back home and tell her I love her. Tears flood my eyes. “Tell her to get married and have babies and live a long and happy life,” I manage to say, struggling to get the words out, as tears roll down my cheeks. “Tell her not . . . to live the rest of her life . . . in love . . . with a dead guy.”
Twenty-Six
Amy
“What an adorable house!”
As Colin parks his Range Rover in front of it, I’m looking at a small, ivy-covered home in North Hollywood that’s enclosed by a rose-covered white picket fence—a house owned by none other than Keane “Ball Peen Hammer” Morgan and his wife, Maddy. We’re visiting the couple on our way home from Colin’s third day of shooting, after being invited to come meet the newest member of the Morgan clan: little Billie Morgan.
As it turned out, Maddy went into labor the night of Laila’s birthday party, mere hours after we hung up from that FaceTime call at Dax and Violet’s. And now that the exhausted new parents have made it home from the hospital with their bundle of joy, they’ve invited Keane’s little brother, Dax, and his two best friends to come by.
When Keane and Maddy’s front door opens, we’re greeted not by Keane or Maddy, but by a strikingly handsome hottie with ocean-blue eyes and charisma for days. A man who looks like an older, tattooed amalgam of Keane and Dax Morgan, albeit with slightly darker hair than both of them.
“What are you doing here, Ryan?” Colin blurts, confirming my suspicion. Colin wraps the hottie—Ryan Morgan, I presume—in an enthusiastic hug and the two men laugh and pat each other’s backs.
“I’m in LA for business—getting stuff lined up for another bar location,” the man replies enthusiastically. “I figured I’d come meet my baby niece while I’m in town. Someone’s gotta sit Keane down and explain the daddy gig to him, or that poor little girl’s gonna grow up thinking he’s nothing but a Jungle Gym.”
Colin guffaws. “There’s no better man to explain the job. It’s so great to see you, Rum Cake. You look great.”
“You too, Colinoscopy. Congrats on the movie. I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“No worries. We’re both busy. Yeah, it’s been a blast.” He motions to me, as I stand next to the men fidgeting excitedly. “Speaking of the movie, this is my good friend, Amy O’Brien. She used to live next-door to me, growing up. She’s been on the set with me this week, keeping me from having a nervous breakdown. Ames, this is the coolest guy you’ll ever meet, Ryan Morgan. Captain Morgan. Rum Cake. My Master Yoda. I told you about him.”
“Yes, I remember. It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.” My brain is racing with a thousand thoughts, all at once, including the following ones: He’s gorgeous. Oh my God, he’s the one who figured out The Sure Thing! Holy shit, his dick is pierced!
“You, too, Amy,” Ryan says, shaking my hand. “Thanks for taking care of our boy.”
“It’s been fun.”
Wait.
Hold up.
My racing thoughts skid to a stop, as my brain rewinds and fixates on the words Colin used to introduce me to this scrumptious man.
Good friend.
Used to live next-door.
Keeping me from having a nervous breakdown.
It’s all true. Nothing false there. And some of it is complimentary. So, why does all of it, put together, feel like a punch to my gut? Didn’t Colin say he only felt the need to hide what he’s been doing with me from our families? So, why did he call me something as platonic as “good friend” while introducing me to one of his best friends?
