Chapter 40
CHAPTER
FORTY
MYLO
The landscape sprawling below the private jet shifts from ocean to coastline to mountains to desert to plains.
The plane belongs to Christine’s friend Morgan, apparently.
I hardly remember any of how I got on it—just Christine taking charge, weaving some convincing cover story to placate Lana’s worried voice on the phone.
There are flashes of being in the shower—there’s one on the plane, somehow—then wrapped in clean clothes. My clean clothes, fetched from my hotel room along with the rest of my belongings, probably by Christine’s PA.
Then I’m sat in one of the plane’s leather seats, and a warm, lingering kiss brushes my forehead.
Christine, I realize—but only as she disappears from the plane, and the door shuts behind her.
The pilot, Cassandra, comes out soon after to introduce herself. She’s a Black beta woman sporting close-cropped hair, a smart navy pantsuit, and a calm, grounding aura that almost hides a sharp edge of ambition. No wonder she runs with female alphas.
She asks me where I want to go.
I tell her.
Then she draws up the flight plan, and we’re in the air.
I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Haley or Bella. Or Gabriel, or Andy, or any of the other members of the crew that now feel like family.
Maybe it’s better that way.
I wouldn’t have to promise that I’ll see them again, that we’ll work together again, when I know that we won’t.
When I know that life is over for me.
While on the jet, time seems both frozen and to happen all at once. When the plane touches down, I expect to be at the same city airport where I bought my ticket to LA all those years ago.
But instead, I emerge amongst familiar fields on a small private airfield only a few miles from the address I gave Cassandra.
She sends me off with well wishes and directions to find my driver.
The black SUV screams luxury, but at least it’s not a limo.
I mumble the address again, and the syllables so automatic I hardly register them.
Then, all of a sudden, I’m standing outside my childhood home.
Once again, time warps strangely around me.
The little brick house with cream siding looks almost exactly the same as it did when I left.
The Japanese maple tree in the front yard is a couple feet taller.
The white picket fence has a fresh coat of paint.
The front flower bed has mums instead of pansies, but it’s still tidily laid out.
Past the precisely trimmed bushes, the windows are dark and the curtains are still.
I check the time. Assuming my mother’s schedule hasn’t changed—and it almost certainly hasn’t, even in nearly ten years—Dad’s at work and she’s at sewing club.
I thank the driver and tell him he can go. He offers me his business card, and I stuff it into my pocket.
My feet carry me around the back of the house.
I find myself on my knees at the base of an old oak tree, digging with my fingers, pulling out clumps of grass and weeds.
The hole had seemed so, so deep to my child brain, but I’m barely four inches down before my fingers brush cool red metal.
I dig out the rest of the toolbox that Dad always thought he lost when he was working on Grandma’s shed.
Carefully rolled up inside, brittle but still intact, is a crumpled poster. I smooth it out along the grass, revealing the bright colors of a trapeze artist mid-swing, and the marker scrawl of a dozen cast members, each signing under their little picture.
I pull the matchbox I stole from Christine’s hotel room out of my backpack and strike a match, holding it near the edge of the paper.
Mom was right.
I always should’ve dreamed smaller.
As I bring the match toward the poster, and the edge begins to brown, my phone rings. I startle and yank my hand back from the poster, flicking the match to put it out and tossing the smoldering wood into the metal toolbox.
My phone is set to only ring when one person calls: my agent.
I answer. “Hey Eddie, sorry I—”
“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it!”
Eddie’s words make me wince, but his tone is… cheery?
He continues, breathless, “Dude, you could have at least texted me! Holy shit! This is amazing!”
“Uh… sorry?”
“Your career is on a rocket ship to the moon, Mylo. I told you. I always told you, you’re gonna get your big break.”
My temples throb, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. I think the paradoxical impossibility of talking to Eddie in my hometown is making my head spin.
“Sorry, Eddie, I drank a lot last night and I think you might need to catch me up.”
“Dude… how much did you drink to have amnesia that bad?! I’m not being punked, am I?”
“Not as far as I’m aware.”
“Look… Lana’s people sent it over first thing this morning. Haley O’Hare’s adding you to her contract!”
I give a frustrated sigh. Christine can’t take ‘no’ for an answer, after all. I was right to leave when I did—while I still could. The last possible second when I still could.
“Eddie, it’s complicated, but I can’t… I can’t work with Christine again.” I can’t work at all, I should say, but the words stick in my throat.
“Um, okay, weird. You’re going to have to explain that one to me—or not, I guess. Haley has a guaranteed solo movie, and it’s being fast-tracked into production.”
“Wait… what?”
“How do you not know this, Mylo?! Just how hungover are you?”
“It’s very complicated!” I force a deep breath. “I thought… there was zero talk of a solo movie for Melinoe. None.”
“Lana’s people said Christine really pushed for it. Really thought you and Haley deserved a chance to shine, and now Lana’s all psyched for this anti-hero angle on Melinoe.”
How…
Wait, what was it that Christine said?
Her words ring bright in my memory, as if every word she’s ever spoken to me is tattooed on my soul.
I already pulled some strings with my contract.
Not to put me in her contract. But to get Haley a solo movie. Haley, who looks up to Christine, who would have baked me into her contract in a second if Christine even off-handedly mentioned it.
If I can get my suppressants working again, I really could go on and make a career with Haley and never speak to Christine again.
“Mylo? You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here.”
“Okay, good, because they want to get you into training for this Melinoe movie, like, yesterday.”
I scoff a laugh. “We literally just finished filming the last movie yesterday.”
“You know how things move in Hollywood! Chop chop! Anyway, you’re not far, so I told them—”
“Shit, Eddie, I’m not in LA. I’m kind of… in the middle of nowhere.”
“Okay, well then, hitch-hike on a horse and buggy or hot-wire a donkey or however the fuck you get out of the middle of nowhere and get your ass in LA! Pronto!”
“I…” I’m on it. The familiar promise catches on the tip of my tongue. I’m the one that’s always available, always ready, never a problem, never an inconvenience. But the shell I usually reach for has cracked away.
“I’m kind of in the middle of a family emergency,” I say quietly.
Eddie is quiet for a beat.
I brace for disappointment.
“Oh, dude, I’m so sorry. I know you wouldn’t say anything unless it was a big deal. Do you… want to talk about it?”
“Not really…”
“Okay. What do you want me to tell Lana’s people?”
“Um, just… give me a day or two. I should have a plan by then. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Yeah, yeah, cool. It’s training, so they can be a little flexible. And you’re a fast learner. They’ve already seen that. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Thanks, Eddie.”
“No problem, Mylo. And hey… take care of yourself.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
“Talk to you soon. Bye.”
“Bye.”
My phone goes quiet.
I run my thumb along the scorch mark on the poster, then carefully roll it up again. I brush off the toolbox and leave it on the back porch as I pull open the screen door and find a brand new keypad.
Shit.
Then again, what are the odds Mom actually picked a new code?
I type in six familiar digits: Dad’s birthday.
The lock whirs, and high-pitched barking immediately cuts through the quiet.
I open the door, and there’s Rusty. His bark turns to a confused whine as he smells me, and I push inside, holding my hand down to him.
“Hey, buddy. It’s been a long time.”
Rusty whines again, then his tail starts wagging and he jumps, licking my face.
“I missed you too.”
I stand and take a deep breath.
The house is like a museum of my youth. The air feels syrupy, like if I stay too long, I might not be able to leave again.
Rusty sniffs excitedly at my feet, and I drop down to tousle the old terrier’s fur.
He’s some kind of mutt, just a scruffy little bundle of mottled grey fur and hatred of squirrels.
He’s a bit pudgier than he should be, and his snout is nearly all white, but he seems happy.
I guess Mom knew to give him extra treats for me, after all.
I find his favorite toy nearby, a knotted rope, and let him tug me all over the kitchen. He whips his head back and forth, murdering the rope, just like he did back then.
I check the clock; there’s still some time until Mom’ll be home.
I reach under the sink and find a bag of treats for Rusty. They’re healthy dental treats now, instead of whatever crap we used to feed him, so I guess maybe things can change for the better around here.
I offer Rusty a treat, and he trots over and takes it, then curls up in my lap, breathing heavily.
I chuckle, running my fingers through his fur. “Guess you don’t have the stamina you used to, huh, old guy?”
As Rusty happily munches his treat, I wrap him in a hug. Quiet tears dampen his fur, and he licks my face. His dog breath is as stinky as ever. This time, I don’t push him away.
“Mylo?”
Only Rusty’s calm keeps me from startling.
“Annie…”
My little sister stands in the hallway, looking so much like Dad: warm brown eyes, curly auburn hair, aquiline nose. She takes after him as much as I take after Mom.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, more confused than concerned.
“It’s… a long story. I should ask you the same, though. I thought you were still in classes.”
“I am. Semester doesn’t start until next week, so I’m visiting for a couple days.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Rusty’s missed you.”
I tousle the terrier’s fur as he continues licking my face. “Yeah.”
“He still sleeps on your bed when no one’s home.”
“Oh.” Something hollow rings in my chest.
“How long are you here for?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Long enough to tell that long story?” Annie offers a smile like an olive branch, warmth in her tone.
I relax. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Okay. I’ll put on some tea.”