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25
Chris got into his car, drove straight to the airport, where he returned the rental and made his way to the terminal. A male flight attendant with platinum blond hair and a thick South Carolina accent addressed him by name. “Mr. Cunningham, we’re happy to have you on our flight today. Can I get you anything before takeoff?”
From his seat in the front row of first class, Chris shook his head, and the man retreated toward the galley to begin his spiel about safety. Regretting not driving back to California, Chris closed his eyes. Not only did he have to try to ignore his fear, but now he had to contend with the memories of the last time he was on a plane. There was no comforting blue-eyed stranger next to him this time. His only hope was that the double dose of melatonin he took before boarding would take effect soon.
It was almost midnight in Los Angeles when Chris shuffled out of the airline gate. He yawned, exhausted from the flight and change in time zones, and yanked his baseball hat out of his back pocket to cover his head. The airport was relatively quiet, and he had an easy time finding his luggage, although there were always one or two paparazzi hanging around outside.
Wes was waiting at the curb to pick him up, and as soon as the sliding doors opened, the camera lights turned on.
Chris took a deep breath and held his guitar close to his side as Wes reached for his bags to help him to the car.
“Hey! CJ! Hey, how was your vacation?”
“Rumor has it you were in rehab?”
“Where’s your girlfriend? You meet her in rehab?”
“CJ, over here! You look a little rough, man!”
“She break up with you?”
“Nice hair!”
“Come here, come talk to me for Hollywood Magazine!”
Chris ignored them and kept his head down as he hopped into Wes’s car.
“Nice to have you back.”
“Yeah,” Chris said rather apathetically.
They were quiet for a few minutes until Wes maneuvered them away from LAX and back onto the highway. “You’re booked with Yanni on Thursday, and Sandra tomorrow.”
Yanni was a personal trainer who specialized in boxing, and Sandra was one of his first acting coaches, whom he still kept in touch with. She helped to prep him for every new project. “Great.”
“Are you excited to get to work again?”
“Yeah.”
“Should be good. Did you enjoy your time away?”
He had found family and love there, and this time, he answered with more than one word. “It was exactly what I needed.”
“I knew it’d be good for you. Get a new routine, remember what life outside of LA is like.”
Chris nodded. His new routine was Bronte. Life outside of Los Angeles was Bronte.
Wes turned on the radio. Some slow country song was on, and Chris put his head back, too exhausted to talk.
“You’re home.”
Chris woke up with an elbow into his side. He swiveled his head to the window. It was pitch black, except for the single porch light waiting for him. Wes popped the trunk and held out Chris’s bags for him, but before they could change hands, Wes deposited them on the ground and hugged his friend. Chris reluctantly gave in when Wes said, “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too.”
Wes slapped him on the back a few times. “Didn’t sound very convincing.”
Chris picked up his stuff. “I had to come back eventually, right?”
