Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

23

Brynn,Red, and Zigalicious follow me out the door and I find a golf cart waiting for me.

No Dakota.

When Red moves to sit in the driver’s seat, I dart around him and throw myself into it before he can get to it. He raises a brow, so I raise one right back. He sighs and reroutes to the back bench, patting the seat for my dog while Brynn climbs up next to me.

“Know where he’s at?” I ask Brynn as I put the cart in drive.

“Yeah. In the back lot. They’ve got to add some New York thing.”

That’s right. Our filming schedule had to be moved around, so some of the on-location filming was changed to the studio. Something about contract negotiations. Now, instead of filming next week in New York, we’re filming here before we have to film on location in Oakport. The turnaround is tight, but from the sound of it, the crew is going to be done in no time.

I head to the back lot, past the Italian village courtyard and into the downtown New York alleyway. I slow down when I see one of the builders, and he waves politely at me before turning his attention to Brynn.

“Hey, Boss. What’s the word?”

Brynn doesn’t miss a beat.

“Vicissitude,” she says. “Noun. A favorable or unfavorable event or situation that occurs by chance.”

She watches the guy expectantly, so I look back at him. His lips are pursed in concentration and he’s squinting at his feet. When he speaks, it’s slowly, as if he’s trying to work something out in his head but doesn’t quite know how to articulate it.

“Sometimes...life...Sometimes life can have a rude vicissitude.”

“Ehhhh,” Brynn says, tapping her chin. “C minus, Luke.”

The guy grins.

“That’s better than last time,” he says proudly, and Brynn beams back.

“It is! Great job!”

I hear a chuckle come from Red, and I’m opening my mouth to inform Luke that I, too, was a C minus student, when a very angry, very booming voice, cuts through the set, and I get goosebumps. I have to temper my smile.

Showtime.

“Brynnlee,” Levi calls, and Brynn’s back goes ramrod straight.

“Oh, curse it,” she whispers, and I can’t hide my snort.

By the time Levi marches up to us, I’ve lost the battle with my smile, and he looks pissed about it.

Pissed, but also stupidly sexy. All rugged and roughed up. There’s no tool belt, thank god, because if there were, I’d probably lose my nerve.

A plain blue t-shirt stretches across his chest with some sort of white logo on the breast pocket. His arms strain the sleeves. His beat-up blue jeans hang low on his hips and mold around his thighs, then taper off around brown work boots. And on his head, covering his light brown hair, is a fucking backwards UNC ballcap.

Kill me dead. Levi Cooper is even sexier than I remember, and I fucking hate him for it.

“Hi, Daddy,” Brynn says sweetly, snapping me back to reality.

“Hi, Daddy,” I repeat, matching her tone, and Levi’s nostrils flare as he flicks his eyes to me.

“Ms. Loveless, may I have a word,” he grits out, and my smile grows.

“No, I believe you may not.”

“Savannah,” he growls, and I have to keep myself from squirming. “Now.”

“Ugh, fine.” I stand up with a fake huff and Ziggy immediately comes to my side. I give her head a pat, then raise my eyebrows at Levi expectantly. “Lead the way.”

He turns and stalks off, so I follow him, but I take small, slow steps. He disappears behind one of the fake buildings, and I bend down so I can untie and retie my shoe. Slowly.

“Savannah,” he shouts.

Oh, he’s so pissed right now. Good. Asshole. I stand and follow his voice, and I don’t bother trying to hide the bounce in my step.

The back of the set piece is just a bunch of two-by-fours and nails and unpainted space. It’s crazy how real the other side looks.

“I told you to stay away from her,” Levi says as soon as I set foot in front of him. His patronizing tone pisses me off, and I meet his eyes with equal fire.

“She came to me, Levi. What did you want me to do, kick her out? Be rude? I thought you didn’t want me to disappoint her.”

He’s silent for a breath, and I give myself a tally in the ME column in my head. He steps closer, dropping his voice lower.

“You should have let her come back with Dustin. He shouldn’t have brought her to you.”

I wave him off and roll my eyes.

“Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve. And if I’d refused to give her an autograph? How do you think that would make her feel?”

He doesn’t say anything again, so I plow forward.

“I brought her back as soon as I finished the last S in my name.”

His eyes are still hard, his teeth still clenched, and my anger spikes higher. I take a step closer to him.

“I’m not a fucking bad influence, Levi,” I whisper-yell, my voice shaking with fury in self-defense. He has the audacity to scoff in my face.

“Like I’m going to take the word of someone who’s spent the last several years in and out of rehab. Someone engaged to Torren Fucking King.”

He spits Torren’s name like it’s acid on his tongue, and I suppose based on what he thinks he knows, it’s understandable. Doesn’t mean I don’t see red because of it, though.

“I am sober, you prick,” I say through my teeth. “And I’m not fucking engaged to Torren King.”

“And how do you explain this, then?”

His hand shoots down and takes my left ring finger, rubbing the base of it where my emerald would be if I were wearing it. The way his touch burns and sends sparks up my arm makes me suck in a breath, and I yank my hand from his grip.

“It’s complicated,” I seethe, and he fucking laughs.

He throws his head back and barks out a sardonic laugh that makes me want to knee him in the balls. When his eyes meet mine again, though, he goes silent.

He glares at me a moment, but then his gaze rises to my hairline. His eyes flare, he blinks twice, and his eyebrows furrow. I reach up and touch the place where his stare is burning into my scalp, and it dawns on me.

“It’s a wig,” I explain, and he nods.

“It looks so real.” His eyes drop back to mine, searching for something I feel in my chest, then scanning my face. “It looks so fucking real.”

I don’t know what to say, and I hate feeling vulnerable, so I hop back on the offensive.

“Brynn’s going to ask you if I can give her guitar lessons.”

The weird emotions from seconds ago disappear from his features.

“Savannah,” he says, but this time it’s more irritated than angry. “You can’t.”

Now it’s my turn to scoff.

“Fine. Tell her no, then. You can be the one to disappoint her, because I refuse. It won’t be me.”

I’m still grappling with the fact that I’ve disappointed hundreds of thousands of fans. Little girls just like Jessica from our last show at the Garden. Fans just like Brynn. I hate being the cause of it all, but I don’t know how to fix it in a way that won’t lead to my own permanent destruction.

A voice sounds out over a speaker, and we both look in the direction of the cameras. We’re going to start shooting again. I have to go get my makeup touched up.

I glance down at my outfit. I probably should have changed out of it before break, but thankfully it looks fine. It’s just jeans, a white tank top, and a black bomber jacket. I’m supposed to be running through the streets of Portofino in search of my sister who has been kidnapped, so it looks better a little rumpled.

“Break a leg,” Levi grumbles, and part of me thinks he might mean it literally.

He turns to stalk off, but just before he disappears around the corner of the set, I let myself ask the question that’s been bugging me since the café. It comes out bitter and hurt.

“Where is she? Your once. Your one. Where is she?”

He stops, but he doesn’t turn around.

I watch every muscle in his back tense under his plain blue t-shirt. For a moment, I think he might answer me, but then he steps around the corner without another word. Without even looking back.

I feel just as small as I did in my dingy rental house in Florida. Only then, I told him to leave. This time, he’s done it on his own.

It’s not until Levi’s gone that a wet nose nudges my hand, and I realize Ziggy followed me. My girl has been here the whole time. She probably sensed my distress. That or she smells club sandwich on me. Either way, I fucking adore this rude, mannerless, super loveable jerk of a dog.

“C’mon, ZeeZee,” I say to her, scratching quickly at the spot just above her tail, and we head back to set.

Red takes Ziggy, Tatum and Pax take fifteen minutes to fuss over my makeup and “fluff” my hair, and Levi and Brynnlee are nowhere to be found.

Then, I nail my crying scene.

The sobbing, the snotting, the full-on ugly cry. I’m actually afraid to see it on the big screen. I know for a fact it looks authentic because it was authentic.

Levi is dredging up all sorts of shit I’d rather not deal with again. Shit that’s always sent me on a fucking bender in the past. This is how it would begin. I’d feel inadequate and lonely, and I’d start to replay everything. Start to blame myself. Then, to shut it all up, I’d use.

I’d use drugs to make me think less. I’d use Torren to make me feel wanted and special. I’d use music to disconnect. I’d black out, write music, and play up the chaotic artistic rockstar angle because it was the only tangible thing I had.

I have to cut it off at the root before it takes me over completely.

Like I’m going to take the word of someone in and out of rehab.

God, what a prick. He’s right, but he’s still a prick. It makes me even more determined to keep it together. Out of rehab, yeah, but not back in. Not again.

I change, wash my face, then head back to my rental and take an hour-long shower. I make myself one of those mocktail old fashioneds with black tea that I hate, and I take it to the roof to sip as I sit around a small fire. I listen to the cars and the breeze and the cicadas and frogs.

Without overthinking, I pull up the nearly abandoned group text with the band and send a photo of my view. I make sure my drink isn’t in it. It’s a mocktail, but I don’t feel like having to clarify that.

Mabel and Torren react immediately. Torren likes the photo and Mabel sends a text that says, “sick view.” I wait a few seconds for Jonah’s text, but it doesn’t come.

And then, on a hunch, I go to my text thread with just Mabel.

Could you ship me my Yamaha?

The black one that’s in the corner of my music room at my house.

Mabes

Sure. What for?

I sit on the question for a minute, contemplating if I should lie. Mabel knows everything about everything. That’s why it hurt so bad when she started to hate me. I keep fucking up the most important relationships.

I decide to go with the truth.

Levi is here.

It’s a long story, but I’m going to teach his daughter how to play.

You good?

A smile curves my lips. She asked not even a second later. She’s concerned for me. She cares.

For now. I’ll let you know if that changes.