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She told him about the show and Jake’s betrayal, and the pressure she felt to make this property perfect for everyone, for weddings and for a marriage, for her own hopes and dreams. She poured her heart out to her dead brother on a soaking wet roof as a wildfire crept even closer. She closed her eyes against the acrid smoke.
“And now I have to wonder, was it worth it? I've worked so hard to have it all go up in smoke, and it feels empty."
She could hear the snapping and sparking of the fire now as it flanked the back access road.
"Gabe, if you’ve got any pull up there, I could really use a hand right now. And if you don’t, well, I guess I’ll be seeing you soon. I’m so sorry I let you down.”
She eyed the drop to the ground and her head spun. Or maybe that was from dehydration. Either way, it was now or never. She gathered her courage to try the pipes, but paused when she heard something else.
Sirens.
She ran over the roofline to the front of the house. God bless the cavalry. Two red fire trucks, lights blazing, were racing their way up the curving front drive.
“Thanks, Gabe.” She smiled and waved like a fool as the professionals piled out of the trucks and got to work.
CHAPTER28
Jake pressedhis phone to his ear, desperate for things to be different this time.
But she still wasn’t answering. No surprise there. She hadn’t taken his calls all week. It hadn’t gone straight to voicemail before though. He’d always gotten a few rings in before she hit ignore. Somehow knowing she knew he had called made him feel better.
He’d reached a new low. He was dissecting the probable cell phone actions of a woman for clues about how she felt about him, while sitting in an airplane waiting for the doors to close. He'd wanted to tell her why he was going to LA. He'd wanted to share his nerves and his excitement over the reunion project. He'd wanted her to care.
Pitiful.
Where was the confident king of the Hollywood teen scene with girls falling over themselves to be noticed by him?
Oh yeah. He’d left that asshole behind years ago. And good riddance.
But he could use a bit of that confidence walking into a room of people he'd thought had left him behind. He turned his phone to airplane mode for the hour-long flight. He'd just have to muscle through this on his own.
He was thankful that Britt had arranged it so they would have a private reunion at Martin's home first, instead of meeting for the first time on set again. His stomach was in knots and his heart beat thickly in his chest, anxiety setting him off his rhythm. He'd been a good actor, but he doubted he'd be able to cover his nerves if this first meeting was going to be televised.
* * *
Walkingup the path to Martin's palatial estate, Jake felt about twelve years old again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the feeling of helplessness and insecurity he'd thought he'd gotten past.
It wasn't too late. He could still walk away. He could still maintain the illusion that everything was fine.
But he wasn't fine. He desperately wanted the family he'd lost to be magically waiting for him behind that door. The desire to be welcomed and loved by people who knew him was strong. His parents hadn't been capable of this. He'd come close with the crews he'd built, but they only stuck around as long as the show did. It was too tenuous. He'd thought he'd been building that with Frankie and the Valentis, but that had all gone sideways.
The people he'd see tonight had known him his entire childhood. If Brittani was right, and they did still care… Well, that was worth this risk of walking through that door.
He rang the doorbell. As the chimes echoed off the terracotta tiles, cold sweat beaded on his forehead and he straightened his cuffs compulsively.
Ever since he’d talked to Britt, he’d been beating himself up for not seeing it sooner. It had been ridiculously easy for him to believe the worst in them. He was positive his mother had kept them apart, pushed them away, all so she could maintain her control over him and his career. Swamped with shame and regret, Jake saw that he’d been the one to leave them, and he hadn’t even realized it.
Today was his day to make amends.
The door was opened by a small woman in a well-tailored uniform.
"May I help you?" she asked.
Jake wanted to bolt, but her kind eyes kept his feet still. "I'm here for the barbecue?" His voice shook as he forced the words out.
A deep voice that made him feel twelve again boomed down the hallway.
“Jake? Is that you? Mary, let him in! Britt said you were coming, but”—Martin Milton, his brawny frame attesting to his continued popularity as the aging hero in action films, pulled him into a bear hug—“I couldn’t believe it. How the hell are you, son?”
