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Chapter Three
Dylan
It’s quiet out here…
Without Charleigh’s laughter.
Without her unique ability to pull me out of my despair.
I’m sitting on one of the White’s fancy patios behind the house. Can’t really call it a patio, I don’t think. It’s more like an extension of the house.
The ground is covered in flat natural stone, stone that meets the back of the house but otherwise, isn’t a “patio” by normal standards.
The edge is lined with boulders and goes right to a small bluff-type cliff. There is more natural stone that lines stairs, stairs that would bring a person either up toward the main level of the house, or down toward the pier and lake.
I’m lounging in one of the Adirondack chairs with my feet propped up along the edge of a giant fire pit—a fire pit made out of, you guessed it, more stone.
The fire is starting to die down, which is fine.
I should head in soon.
But it’s so pretty out here, when the sky is still a rich navy blue and is making its way toward black.
The moon is full tonight and is currently hanging low and large—looming over the lake, right over the beauty that is the pine tree skyline.
My eyes are fixed to its creamy reflection over the smooth, inky-black water, and my mind is racing.
Hell, it hasn’t stopped racing, not once, in the last five months.
I can only hide for so long.
My agent is going to get pissed with me after a while.
My parents don’t understand why I avoided going home for my birthday.
The fucking world is pissed at me for being a woman set out to ruin one of Hollywood’s best marriages.
The marriage everyone’s been rooting for since Grant Maxwell hit the acting scene, five years ago.
If this is how Tatum wants to make her transition from television to big time films, she’s doing it wrong.
No one will respect her.
She should have stuck with her boring television dramas. No one has time for that shit to be real life.
There’s no way Grant would cheat on Aja. They’re middle school sweethearts! So floving cute! Tatum is such a bitch.
I try to swallow past the large lump in my throat, but it doesn’t budge.
The anxiety is getting to be too much.
I close my eyes, even though blocking out the beautiful view does nothing for the words echoing in my head.
The words that ping pong back and forth.
I’d had a bad anxiety attack last week.
And if it weren’t for my best friend, I don’t think I’d be sitting here right now.
