Chapter 40 La La Land
la la land
DUKE
I definitely left my heart on the ground in Colorado and can’t help but watch out the window as the ranch gets smaller and smaller.
Charlie is predictably silent now that there’s no one new to perform for.
I hear ice clinking in two glasses, and Charlie hands me a glass of bourbon.
Normally, I’d refuse, but I could use a drink right now.
Charlie sits back and takes a sip. “Mom didn’t mention you had a girlfriend.”
“I don’t.” I do not want to discuss Roxanne with him.
His eyebrows tent. “That’s not what I saw.”
“Yeah, well, it’s complicated.”
“How?”
I groan and set my glass down in the cupholder beside me. “Are we really going to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend that we’re all good and what happened didn’t really happen?”
Charlie eyes me over the rim of his glass. “I was kind of hoping it might go like that.”
“Well, I’m not as forgiving as the rest of the fam.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve made that very clear during the last two years of your silence.”
“Why did you really want me to come with you this week?”
“I want to help.” He takes a sip of bourbon and grimaces. “Damn, they need to stock better shit on these birds.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Hey,” he sets his glass down and runs a hand through his perfect hair.
“I know I haven’t exactly been Mr. Reliable.
I missed Grandma’s funeral. Didn’t come home for Rusty’s surgery, and I haven’t set foot on the ranch since the day you took it over, but I want to be better. I want to make things right.”
I glance at him, but I don’t say anything and let the silence stretch.
Charlie shifts, more restless now. “I used to think that if I didn’t show up, I couldn’t screw anything up. That if I stayed out of the way, kept to my own orbit, I couldn’t disappoint anyone.”
“And yet, you did anyway.”
“Yes, I know, Mr. Perfect.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Right, we all know you’re the family favorite. I’m the family fuck-up who couldn’t hack it in the military, so I try my best now to play a soldier on TV.”
I purse my lips. I don’t want to admit that I hear the hurt in his voice.
“Anyway, lately? It’s felt … empty. I have all this shit and yet, I have nothing, really. And now, now, my agent wants me to find someone to have a fake relationship with so I can drum up more publicity.”
“That sounds fucking terrible.”
“Right. My house, my career, all the premieres and late-night interviews. Everyone knows my name, but no one knows a damn thing about me. When I think about the ranch, when I think about you out there building something that means something, I realize maybe I want to be part of something real, too.”
I sit up, trying to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re serious?”
He meets my eyes. “I want to help, Duke, and not just with a check. Let me use what I’ve got. If I can get information about Firebird in front of the right people, raise money, get support, that’s worth something, right?”
I stare at him, unsure whether I want to punch him or hug him.
He cracks a sheepish smile. “Maybe I also wanted a few days with my big brother before I start a new shoot in Italy.”
“I appreciate all that.” I shake my head and laugh despite myself. “I still think you’re an attention-seeking little shit.”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling wide. “But I’m your attention-seeking little shit.”
I sigh, feeling a yawn coming on. I’ve been up since five, had a hell of a day, and I’m too tired to keep fighting tonight. “I guess I’ll say cheers to that.”
“Cheers,” he says, leaning over and clinking my glass.
We travel the rest of the way in silence and then transfer to Charlie’s private jet that had been waiting for us at Centennial Airport.
Charlie tips the staff and settles in onboard.
I take my coat off and use it as a blanket.
All I want to do is sleep, and I don’t open my eyes until we land at Van Nuys.
By the time we touch down, the city’s all lit up like it’s trying to outshine the stars. Neon signage glows like it’s pulsing with its own heartbeat, and every street we pass looks like it’s gearing up for something wild, even though it’s well past midnight.
I lean my head against the window as the jet taxis to a stop.
It’s been years since I set foot in LA, and the second the door opens, I remember why.
The air smells like exhaust and perfume.
The breeze is warm, but nothing about it feels natural.
Charlie’s already on his phone, rattling off a joke to someone named Lexi about bringing home a mountain man.
I don’t ask.
A sleek, black SUV waits on the tarmac. We load in, and I spend the drive watching the buildings blur past. Billboards flash familiar faces I don’t recognize. Until we get to one with someone on it I do recognize.
There it is, a three-story-tall billboard, lit up with my baby brother on it. He’s shirtless, smoldering, and wearing nothing but Calvin Klein boxer briefs.
I nearly choke. “No.”
Charlie glances out the window, utterly unfazed. “Oh yeah, that one finally went up.”
“Can’t believe you’re good with putting your bits on display for the entire city.”
He shrugs. “It’s a tasteful campaign.”
“It’s a thirst trap on a billboard.”
Charlie sips from a bottle of sparkling water like this is just another Tuesday. “Welcome to LA, brother.”
I shake my head and mutter, “If only they knew you once peed your pants at Space Camp and cried until London gave you her ice cream when we came to pick you up.”
He smirks. “Character building. The foundation of a leading man.”
I dip my head back and laugh. Maybe it’s the jet lag, maybe it’s the bourbon, but something about seeing my brother practically naked looking like a dumbass over the 405 rips the tension out of me.
By the time we roll through the gates of his place in the Hollywood Hills, I’m dead on my feet. His house sits up high on the hill, all glass and steel, overlooking a city that never shuts the hell up. Infinity pool out back. Fire pit glowing. The kind of house built to impress, not to live in.
Charlie opens his arms wide as we step inside, like he’s unveiling a magic trick. “Well? Whaddya think? Not bad for the runt of the litter, huh?”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’ve come a long way from the bunkhouse.”
He grins, flipping on lights with some voice-activated command that makes half the house glow. “Damn right I have.”
He shows me around, pointing out all these small details and luxuries that I couldn’t care less about.
“You hungry?” Charlie asks, opening a refrigerator that’s bigger than my truck.
“No thanks. Where can I crash?”
He waves for me to follow him up the floating staircase.
Charlie throws open the guest room door like he’s unveiling the damn Taj Mahal.
“This is you for the week. California King. Egyptian cotton sheets. And! A pillow mist that optimizes true restorative sleep by calming your vagus nerve. Got it in Singapore.”
“My … vagus what?”
Charlie touches my head. “Your vagus nerve is—”
I swat his hand away. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s important to lie on your right side for better sleep, and this spray is very calming.”
I flatten my lips. “You should know by now that none of this shit impresses me.”
“You could humor me.”
“Nah.” I toss my duffel down on the bench at the foot of the bed and peel off my suit jacket. “So, what’s the plan for this week?”
Charlie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Tomorrow night, we’re hitting a benefit gala for Veterans in Media & Entertainment. I’ll introduce you to some folks from Sony, Netflix, maybe even that ex-Navy SEAL who consults on every movie where a guy jumps off a roof and somehow survives.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“That’s the warm-up,” he continues. “Wednesday, there’s a private dinner at Jolene Fox’s place. She’s a retired A-lister with a heart for horses. Big-time philanthropist. Think movie star crossed with an heiress and a splash of the eccentric.”
“Ugh.”
“Trust me, by the end of this week, you’re going to appreciate that pillow mist.”
His phone pings in his coat pocket, and he smiles when he looks at the screen. “I’m going to head out for a bit, but I’ll see you in the morning. Rest well.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Charlie finally heads downstairs, leaving me alone in this penthouse guest suite that looks like it was styled by Architectural Digest.
Fine, so the pillow mist smells nice.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, staring out at the skyline through a floor-to-ceiling window. The lights stretch all the way to the ocean. It’s beautiful, dazzling, and completely not me.
I tug off my shoes, strip down to a T-shirt and boxers, and then brush my teeth. Once I wash my face and turn out the bathroom light, I plop down on the bed again, elbows on my knees. I wish Roxanne were here.
I grab my phone. Just holding it makes my chest tighten. I scroll to her number and hover over the message box. I’m forty-two, for God’s sake, and here I am staring at my phone like a kid with his first crush.
Finally, I start typing.
Hey, Trouble…
Delete.
Made it to LA. How’s Jameson?
Delete.
Miss your face.
Ugh. Delete.
I drag my hand through my hair, then type again.
So, funny thing. Made it to LA. Turns out Charlie has a billboard on Sunset. In his underwear. Last time I saw him in his underwear, he was about to jump in a pond.
I pause, then smirk and add:
Send help. Or distractions.
And then, just to push my luck—because I know she’ll laugh:
My thumb hovers over “send,” and I shake my head. “You’re an idiot,” I mutter … but I press it anyway.
A beat later, I type one more message:
Miss you already.
I drop the phone on the nightstand, flop back on the ridiculous thousand-thread-count bed, and stare at the ceiling. I already know sleep’s gonna be hard to come by without her beside me.