Landon & Shay - Part Two: (The L&S Duet Book 2) Page 4

  My answers had started out pretty small. I had breakfast that morning. I had a bed to sleep in. I had a therapist. Then, each week, after unloading some of the stuff in my head, it seemed like we were making more room for me to see the good in every day.

  Coming back from my time with Shay made it easy to think of my three good things.

  “Shay, Shay, and Shay,” I said, swiveling in my own chair.

  “You said the same thing three times.”

  “Yup.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “That doesn’t count. I need three different things.”

  “But Shay is good enough to fill all three spots.”

  “While I’m sure that’s true, that’s not how this works. Come on, think hard. Three different good things.”

  “All right. Shay, Shay’s kisses, and Shay’s grandmother’s cooking.”

  Dr. Smith smiled. She slid her feet on the floor and rested her arms on it as she leaned in toward me. “I bet I can guess what we’re going to be talking about today.”

  That was an easy enough thing to figure out.

  “But didn’t you say you planned to see your father when you headed back to town, too? Do you want to talk about that?” she asked.

  My hands formed fists, and I twitched a bit. “Do we have to?”

  Dr. Smith studied me with narrowed eyes and care in her stare. The way she looked at me reminded me of how Mrs. Levi used to look at me, as if she really cared about my well-being.

  “You know the rules, Land. We only talk about what you feel comfortable discussing.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, shifting in my seat. “So, about Shay…”

  December 8th, 2004

  Satan,

  I can’t believe it’s been seven months since I last held you in my arms. Still haven’t won the lottery, but I keep buying scratch-off tickets every time I go to the gas station. Fingers crossed!

  My first semester of college is almost over, and I’m still amazed I didn’t chicken out of my creative writing major. Just promise that if I end up homeless down the line with a creative writing degree, you’ll stop by me and still give me chocolate? That will help my troubled heart.

  The other day, Raine, Tracey, and I were watching TV, and would you believe it? We saw someone with a striking resemblance to you on a Calvin Klein commercial. Jesus, Landon! You’re in commercials! Commercials! My gosh, I’m so proud of you. Raine started shouting when she saw it, jumping up and down on the couch like a monkey.

  Me? I started crying because I’m so happy and inspired by you. I’m so proud. Also, I cried a little because now the world knows about the magic of those abs beneath your shirt, and I am going to have to fight off the fangirls more and more. I’ve been lifting in the gym lately to get ready. I’m not afraid to pull out a woman’s extensions if she crosses a line.

  Seriously, though, you’re amazing. Watching you live out your dream is so amazing to me.

  I miss you. I miss you so much, and I feel like we are both even busier than before with school and you taking over the acting world, but man, am I happy when one of your letters appears in the mailbox.

  I know we have our calls and our text messages, but these letters feel special to me. I like having a collection of things I can reread whenever missing you becomes too much. I can feel your love through the words, and you know how much words mean to me.

  Speaking of words, I finished my favorite script of all time the other day, and I am insanely afraid to let go of it just yet. I’m not ready for the rejection of something I’m so proud of, not yet, at least. I’m going to sit on this one for a bit and hold it close to me before I release it to the wolves.

  Oh, also the girls and I are renting a townhouse next semester. I’m looking forward to more space. It’s a hole in the wall, but it will be our hole in the wall. I hope you can come see it soon.

  But yes, I’m happy, and proud, and desperately missing you, but not enough to request your return while you’re living your dreams. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to have someone to miss. Makes the reunion that much sweeter.

  Love you times two.

  -Chick

  P.S. I tossed in some Starbursts. Only the pinks and reds because that’s how much I love you.

  P.P.S. My father called me a number of times this week. I didn’t answer, but almost wanted to a few times. I’m working through that in my head right now. I want to know what he wanted to say, but also I want to know why I even care.

  March 17th, 2005

  Chick,

  Happy St. Paddy’s!

  I hope you’re at some totally cliché college party and drinking green beer in celebration.

  Today we are filming in Amsterdam. It’s my first real big role, and we’ll be out here for the next few months. It’s crazy how beautiful it is over here. When I get a chance, I’m going to bring you to Europe. I’m going to take you everywhere. I want to show you the whole world, Shay.

  I want to say that everything about the acting world has been amazing, but some days, it’s hard. I miss not having my therapist here, but we have Skype calls whenever we can fit them in. Some days, my anxiety takes over, and I worry about my mind slipping away again, but I’ve learned some pretty good coping techniques to tame my nerves.

  As far as the acting goes, I’m not perfect. Every time I mess up, I get really down on myself, thinking I’m wasting people’s time and money, which, I probably am doing. Everything in the world of Hollywood is about those two things—time and money. After each shoot, I go back to my hotel room and overthink how I could’ve been better.

  Dr. Smith says that’s a bad thing to do, trying to rework the past when I can just apply what I’ve learned to the future. Still, I struggle. One second at a time, I guess.

  It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake in this place, in the world of actors. It’s hard to tell if people really like you, or if they are just acting, if they are just trying to network or build an actual authentic connection and friendship. Everything comes with a layer of mystery to it, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I miss real. I miss raw. I miss you.

  Speaking of you, in the last two letters I sent you, I asked for your screenplay to read, and I get the feeling you casually ignored that request. I know it’s great, Shay, and maybe I can figure out a way to get it in the right hands of someone in the industry.

  I know you’re afraid of giving it to the wolves, but remember, I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I’ll take care of your baby.

  I tossed some Belgian chocolate into the package, and I’m praying they don’t melt. I also added some chocolates from Switzerland for Raine, seeing as she claims to be Switzerland and prides herself in keeping her nose out of other people’s business.

  When I get back to the US and get a real break, I’m coming for you.

  Looking forward to tasting your lips. Looking forward to holding you. Looking forward to *you*.

  Love you x2.

  -Satan

  P.S. I can’t believe your dad’s still calling you. If it’s bothering you, maybe it’s time to change your number.

  4

  Shay

  Twenty years old

  “Hello?” I whispered late one night in May as I lay in bed. The ringing phone awakened me, and I sat up alert when I saw Landon’s name flash across the screen. It was past midnight, and we hardly ever called on a whim without letting each other know ahead of time, so of course worry was the first thing that came to mind.

  “Hey, Chick,” he said, sounding calm. That allowed me to ease up on the nerves a little.

  “Hey. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Sorry, I know it’s late, but I was feeling a little homesick, and I just needed to hear your voice.”

  My heart did that pitter-patter thing in my chest as I lowered myself back down to my pillowcase. “You’re missing me, huh?”

  “So damn much. Something’s going to have to give soon because man…I miss having you in my arms.”

  �
��Well, stop being so famous.”

  “I’m not famous,” he said, yawning into the receiver.

  “You’re sleepy.”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice. I was hoping I could fall asleep with you on the other end of the line, listening to you talk to me.”

  “Anything in particular you’d like to hear?”

  “You could recite the ABCs, and I’d love it. Honestly, anything.”

  “Like how my father showed up to my college campus looking for me?”

  I heard the alertness in his voice. “Wait, what?”

  “Yup. I noticed him walking around campus. This was after me ignoring a solid number of his calls over the past few months and changing my number.”

  “What did you do?”

  “He saw me before I could run, so I ended up talking to him.”

  “What did he want?”

  My stomach flipped from remembering the conversation. “Money. He said he found himself in a tough spot and needed money to get by for food and stuff. I told him I was working a small campus job and couldn’t help him, but he insisted I ask my mom for money and say it was for me. He wanted me to be a liar like him.”

  Landon blew out a breath of air. “What’s with our fathers being complete douchebags?”

  “Well, we needed to have something in common,” I joked.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I wanted nothing to do with him, and he shouldn’t come back.”

  “I’m proud of you,” he said. “I know that was probably hard for you.”

  “A part of me wanted to hug him…why is that?”

  “Because you’re human and understand that emotions are complex, but just because you feel a certain way doesn’t mean you have to invite said person back into your life.”

  That was exactly what I needed to hear.

  I rolled onto my side and kept the phone pressed to my ear. “So, what do you want me to say next, seeing how I don’t want to talk about my father anymore.”

  “How about your screenplay?” he suggested. “I’d love to hear your words.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “It’s not that great.”

  “Bull crap. You said in your last letter it’s your favorite thing you’ve ever written.”

  “I talk too much in those letters,” I joked.

  “If you don’t want to share it, that’s fine.”

  “No, I will. Nobody has read it yet, so if it sucks, please don’t tell me.” I laughed. “But I’m pretty sure after you listen to it for five minutes, you’ll be snoring in no time.”

  “Doubtful.”

  I grabbed my script, turned on the lamp beside my bed, and began reading. As the words rolled off my tongue, I fell more in love with the story I’d created. Every now and then, Landon would laugh at the dialogue, or say “Wow,” making me feel even better about my work.

  I’d expected him to fall asleep pretty early on. I thought he’d be deep in sleep by act two, but he wasn’t. He was listening closely as if he fully enjoyed the read.

  When I finished, he applauded through the phone, making my cheeks heat. “Did you really like it?”

  “Are you kidding? I loved it. That script is just like the person who created it,” Landon said. “It’s a masterpiece.”

  I chuckled. “You’re so corny it’s disturbing.”

  “Very disturbing. Trust me, I creep myself out,” he agreed. “Are you tired?”

  “No, not really…not after reading the script.”

  “Good. So…can you read it again?”

  I fell asleep reading him my words, and I couldn’t have imagined a better way to slip into my dreams.

  “Carol is going through a divorce,” Mom remarked, speaking of her co-worker during our Sunday dinner.

  Mima’s casserole sizzled as she set the pan down on the dining room table. Steam rose as my grandmother began using her slotted spoon to scoop into the dish. The aromas of perfectly cooked beef noodle casserole filled the space as my stomach grumbled in anticipation.

  The three of us shared dinner every Sunday. During the week, we were all too busy to meet up. I was only able to get away from school on the weekends, Mima’s yoga studio was taking off and expanding to different locations, and Mom’s nursing schedule had been switched to night shifts. Sundays were the only time we were able to get together and catch up on life.

  For the past few years, Mom’s catching us up on life had involved a bit of bitterness on her tongue.

  She snarled as she told the story about Carol and her woes. “Can you believe the jerk slept with Carol’s sister?! Her sister! I tell you, men are pigs. They will do anything and everything to ruin a woman’s life. If I’d had any sense, I would’ve never dated in the first place.”

  Mom and Dad’s—correction, Kurt’s, because he was no father of mine—divorce proceedings had been completed for a while, and needless to say, Mom had never recovered from her hatred of the man. Ever since Kurt’s betrayal of our family, Mom had turned into the leader of the WWLTHMC—Women Who Love to Hate Men Club.

  With a premium membership, you received weekly chocolates, a Lifetime channel subscription, and a cat.

  Sign me up ASAP—mainly for the chocolate, somewhat for the cat.

  “It’s not all on the man, honey. The sister did have some part in the betrayal,” Mima added. “Plus, there’s probably more to the story that Carol is leaving out. We shouldn’t judge.”

  My grandmother never waded into the world of judgment when it came to other people’s affairs. I assumed with age came experience, and with experience, one learned how not to judge others from the outside looking in.

  Mom was too wrapped up in her own experience at the moment. She was having a hard time not being judgmental of others. I was learning that most of the people who were hurting, judged others’ lifestyles just to make themselves more comfortable with their own story.

  At least Mom could say her husband hadn’t cheated on her with her nonexistent sister. I was certain Carol had her beat on that front.

  “I’m sure the cheater seduced the man somehow. Men are snakes, vicious beasts with venom. I, for one, will never trust one again. I mean, honestly—if Jay-Z has the ability to do Queen Bey dirty, what hope is there for us commoners?”

  Mima raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Queen Bey?”

  “Beyoncé,” I said, stuffing a forkful of noodles into my mouth. Most of the time when Mom went on her rants, I kept quiet. Lately, it seemed as if she wasn’t looking for a reason or input on her hatred toward men—she simply wanted to rant. If I had to hear how Bill did Hillary wrong during a meal one more time, I was going to pull my hair out.

  “What’s a Beyoncé?” Mima questioned, making me smile.

  Oh, to be so disconnected from the world of celebrities that you didn’t even know who the queen of music was.

  “I’ll teach you when you’re older,” I joked, nudging my grandmother in the side.

  My phone dinged, and I hurried to check it. A smile slipped across my lips as Landon’s name flashed across the screen.

  Landon: Are you around this week to reconnect? I’m in Chicago for some work and would love to see you.

  My fingers rapidly began typing as my cheeks ached from the depth of my smile.

  Shay: Definitely will make time for you.

  Landon: I land late tonight. Can I drive up to you?

  My mind began racing, thinking about the current state of the townhouse I shared with Tracey and Raine. My bra and panties from my quick change that morning were probably still scattered across my bedroom floor. There was a sky-high pile of dirty laundry in my laundry basket, and I was pretty sure the wine stain on my comforter was still quite visible, even after using a Mr. Clean eraser. Word to the wise: Don’t watch adorable videos of dogs getting adopted while drinking wine out of the bottle in your bed. You’ll cry happy tears and awkwardly spill the wine all over your lap.

  Plus, the common area of the house was a
war zone due to three girls living together.

  Needless to say, my place was a complete disaster and in no shape to have company, but never doubt a woman’s ability to speed-clean when the prospect of cuddling Landon Harrison is on the table.

  Shay: Sounds good! I’ll see you soon.

  “Sorry, ladies, it looks like I’ll have to cut dinner short tonight,” I explained, standing up from the table.

  Mima smiled. Mom grimaced.

  “Was that Landon?” they both asked in unison, each with a completely different tone beneath her breaths.

  “It was. It turns out he’s in Chicago for a few days, and he’s planning to swing by tonight.”

  “And of course, you drop all your plans to fit into his,” Mom griped. “I don’t like this, Shannon Sofia. I’ve been watching you over the past few years, dropping everything to make time for this boy. What exactly is he sacrificing for you?”

  If I’d had a dollar for every time Mom grumbled at the idea of my complicated love story with Landon, I’d been rich enough to open an amusement park.

  I walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead. “I would love to engage in this conversation, really, but I have to go clean and get ready. I love you ladies. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Send Landon my love,” Mima exclaimed. “Tell him I saw him on that commercial, too—the toothpaste one. I had a client of mine pull it up on that YouTube site, and we watched it fifteen times!”

  That made me smile. For all the annoyance Mom had toward Landon, Mima had pride.

  Landon had to have been the luckiest boy in the world. He hadn’t even had to do the painful search for an agent. Three of the biggest acting agencies in the world came to him, offering to represent him at their firms. Could you imagine? Not having to experience the daunting task of getting down on your knees and offering up your firstborn child to an agency in order for them to even think about giving you a chance?