Chapter 43
CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE
MYLO
I don’t entirely process what’s happening until the jet reaches cruising altitude.
The intercom dings, and a flight attendant announces, “The captain has deactivated the seatbelt light, and you are now free to move about the cabin.”
Annie was right about putting the car on Christine’s tab, though I’m not about to tell her that.
Christine…
When I think about her, I can’t breathe. This sharp ache lances through my bones, and I crave her scent more than I’ve ever craved nicotine.
Christine, who’s radio silent.
Christine, who’s missing.
I’m just checking on her, I promise myself. It’s going to be like it was at the black sand beach. She’s fine, I’m sure; just fucking off, just being irresponsible, just running from her problems.
I’ll confirm that with my own eyes, give her the tongue-lashing she deserves, then move on with my life knowing she’s safe, at least.
And then… I’ll check myself into a heat center, probably. Annie was also right to give me a kick in the pants—another thing I’ll never admit to her. It’s not like me to go down without a fight. It’ll be harder to hide my designation now, but not impossible.
Rehab’s a pretty good cover story. A drug problem could explain random disappearances, health issues, and erratic behavior.
Eddie will be pissed—even more pissed than he is now after me hemming and hawing for a week—but it’s par for the course in Hollywood.
Haley will be sympathetic, and I’ll do my absolute best to be an excellent coworker to her.
As soon as I’m done checking on Christine, I’ll head to training, and everything will be back on track.
Christine and I can respect each other from afar; her getting Haley and me this solo movie is an olive branch I’m willing to accept. It’s huge for my career, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that and for keeping my secret.
As for if we’ll ever work with each other again…
The base of my neck aches. I scrub it with my palm and shift in my seat.
Working together again doesn’t seem wise.
I put in my headphones and blast my favorite workout music, keeping my mind as empty as possible for the rest of the flight.
When the plane touches down, I check my messages from Haley. She still hasn’t heard from Christine.
Haley and I confirmed we have the same number saved for her, and I know mine’s worked before. I bury my previous messages with Christine under a carefully worded, Hey, the crew’s worried about you, just wanted to check in type message.
After deplaning, I avoid the places unbonded alphas tend to gather at the airport—expensive bars, credit card lounges—and I’ll figure out what to do about my suppressants later.
Haley is waiting for me at arrivals. She looks worried.
“Still no word?” I ask, following Haley out to the parking garage.
She shakes her head. “Her house was totally quiet. I may have even staked it out for, like, a whole day…”
“And Lana?”
“Keeping it quiet for now.” Haley chews on her lip.
“Tabloids?”
“They never got the full schedule, so as far as they know, she’s still shooting.”
“Okay.”
We reach Haley’s car, a mint green Mini Cooper, and she leans against the roof and looks across at me. “So… what do we do?”
I toss my backpack in the back seat. “Where would someone famous go to surf if they don’t want to be seen?”
Haley snaps her fingers and dives into the driver’s seat. “Ooh, yes!”
I wait a beat, then duck and look at her. “Where?”
“What? I don’t know, I thought you knew. That wasn’t a rhetorical question?”
I give a wry laugh as I settle in next to her and fasten my seatbelt. “Why would I know that?”
“You live here.”
“So do you.”
“I literally just moved here.”
“And I barely leave the city.”
“Google?” Haley offers with a wry grin.
I nod. “Google.”
The two and a half hour drive from LAX to the near side of Hollister Ranch feels like it takes two and a half weeks.
Haley and I chat about random, casual stuff to calm our nerves. We agree that we’ll have to come back and actually visit Santa Barbara sometime; it’s gorgeous.
On the far side of Santa Barbara, the highway winds along the edge of the coastal plateau.
To the north, buildings disperse, making room for rolling farm lands and orchards sprawling up the green and gold foothills.
To the south, the azure ocean sparkles, briefly interrupted by copses of trees or cars going the opposite way.
We drive until we reach Gaviota State Beach and park near an old railroad bridge and squat tan-bricked facilities with terra cotta roofs.
“Now what?” Haley asks.
According to what we could find online, the guardhouse for Hollister Ranch is just a short drive from here. A guardhouse that will definitely turn us away.
“Let’s just… walk around for a bit.” Haley still doesn’t know I’m an omega, and ideally, I’d like to keep it that way. How that’s going to be possible with my hare-brained scheme is… to be determined.
I aim for the nearest low hill, maneuvering around a young family prepping for a beach day and a couple walking their dog, with Haley in tow.
Once I get some altitude, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
The scent of the ocean fills my senses, salty and fresh. But there’s… more than that. Sage. Oak. The smell of this place, a place she belongs, but not her scent.
Then the wind shifts, coming from inland, and my chest vibrates.
Somewhere along that air current, she’s here.
That’s the confidence I needed.
I turn back to Haley. “Okay, I’ve got a plan. You ready to act your butt off?”
She cracks a smile. “I was born ready.”
Sure enough, just up a narrow, winding asphalt road, off an unmarked fork, is a squat little guard house that looks like the kind you’d see at a national park. A brown-on-brown sign humbly announces Hollister Ranch under another terra cotta roof.
Haley pulls up and rolls the window down, and a guard leans out of the shack. He looks to be of Mexican descent, wearing a simple green t-shirt and ball cap.
“Hola. How can I help you two today?”
“I’m meeting my friend,” Haley says smoothly. “She said you’d be able to let me in?”
The guard glances between us. “Who’s your friend?”
“Christine Evansworth.”
“And your name?”
“Haley O’Hare.”
He leans down and takes a closer look at me.
“Mylo Rye,” I offer.
“Sorry, your names aren’t on the list.”
Haley looks wounded. “You didn’t even check.”
The guard shakes his head. “It’s not a long list.”
“You’re sure? She didn’t call and leave a voicemail, maybe?”
“Nope. She could call down now, though, if you can get a hold of her.”
So Christine’s on the list, at least.
“That’s the thing; I can’t,” Haley sighs, with more frustration than ire. “Ugh, she always does this. Look, look at this.” She pulls out her phone and holds it out toward the guard. There’s a text chain that she and I just spoofed, with the last message from Christine reading:
See you soon, babe! Heading out for a run, just tell the guard you’re with me and he’ll let you in. Left mimosas on the porch for when you get here.
“I love her,” Haley says, putting her phone away before the guard can ask for more details. “But she is just… not the best with the details.”
“How do you know Ms. Evansworth?”
“Okay, I shouldn’t tell you this, but…” Haley bites her lip. “We just finished shooting Electra Two.”
The guard’s face brightens. “Oh, I loved Electra! Is it good? Sequels are always… eh, hit or miss.”
“I mean, I think it’s really good.”
Haley takes it in stride, but damn, people really just say casually brutal stuff like that, don’t they?
“Who’d you play?” he asks.
“A new character, her nemesis. If you read the comics, you’d know her. Melinoe.”
“Which one’s that?”
“Here…” Haley pulls up a crew photo that shows her and Christine smiling side by side, both in costume. “I’m the one in green.”
“Aaah, yeah, I remember that one! Right on. Enemies on the screen, but friends in real life?”
Haley nods bashfully. “Yeah. Even if Christine kind of drives me crazy sometimes…” She sighs. “It’s okay though. We can wait. Her runs are like three hours so I guess we might have to find somewhere to wait… Mylo, any ideas?”
I shake my head. “This is my first time out here.”
The guard quirks a brow. “Three hour runs? That’s intense.”
“Yeah, she has this crazy training regimen.”
“Muscles like that, she must.”
“Yeah… Anyway, I guess we’ll be camping out. Do you know of a good place to kill a couple hours? And pee, I really have to pee.”
The guard hesitates. “You know what, don’t worry about it. Tell Christine that Julio says hi.”
“Really?” Haley’s eyes shine in that absolutely irresistible puppy-dog way of hers. “Oh, you’re the best!”
Julio blushes, waving a hand. “Yeah, yeah, no problem. She give you directions?”
Haley laughs. “No, how’d you guess?”
Julio gives us a brief rundown and warns us to keep an eye out for wandering cows.
“Thank you so much. I’m gonna bring you cookies or something on the way out. You’re a lifesaver.”
“You two have a good day.”
“Will do! Thank you again!”
Julio opens the gate, and we drive on through.
As soon as we round a bend that puts us out of sight, Haley and I dissolve into nervous laughter.
“Well fucking done,” I say.
“You came up with the lines; I just delivered them.”
“We make a great team.” I hold up my hand, and Haley gives an enthusiastic high-five as she takes the first turn Julio described.
I roll my window down, letting in that distinctive sage and oak aroma along with flickers of Christine’s scent. Each time I catch that particular edge of sea salt, my chest vibrates, beckoning me forward.
Julio wasn’t kidding about the cows, and the meandering bovines force us to stop and wait more than once. It’s torture. The calves are kinda cute though, I guess.
The day tilts warmer as we rise through the hills, getting that much closer to the sun. I wish I could enjoy the vistas, oddly similar to those we just left in New Zealand, but restlessness prickles along my skin.
Seeing Christine again is going to be… a lot. But if I detoxed once, I can detox again. Probably.
I’ve been doing a very good job of not thinking about exactly why I’m here, and I continue that streak as I swear at another group of cows blocking the road.
Even without Julio’s directions, I’d know that we’re close. The shifting breeze crackles with her scent.
My heart thumps in my chest, and I force deep breaths as Haley turns off the main road and onto an even narrower stretch. We descend amidst twisting oaks, then sweep around a corner to a glistening ocean view and a small, rustic-looking house.
Her scent wraps me, sliding along my skin, pulling me out of the car even before Haley has entirely stopped.
Spurred by my urgency, Haley hastily throws the car into park, leaving the engine running as she follows.
I jog around the side of the house, hardly seeing where my feet fall, tripping around agave landscaped in gravel.
Then there’s a flash of brilliant platinum in the sun: Christine as she climbs an almost invisible path, surfboard under her arm.
For as much as she commands a movie set, here with her hair damp and wavy from the ocean, floral print rash guard and shorts clinging to her muscles, she looks like she truly belongs.
My alpha.
“Mylo?” Her eyes widen as she sees me, too surprised to hide the flashes of relief and guilt that cross her features. Her board clatters to the ground.
Her scent hits me like a tidal wave, dragging me under. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t move.
My knees wobble.
And then her arms are around my ribs, steadying me, her lips against my forehead.
I think I might be crying.
Then everything goes hot and dark.