Chapter 34
Landon
Ten Years Later
“You better wrap up whatever you’re writing, because we’re about to pull up to the building,” Willow said, glancing my way before returning her stare back to her cell phone.
I looked down at my notebook and grimaced. The words weren’t flowing too easily that afternoon.
Every single day, I wrote one single letter.
Hundreds of words jotted down on lined paper. Different ink colors, different strokes, different ways of expressing the love.
Some of them were short, while others went on for pages and pages.
I shared parts of me in the ruled notebooks, bleeding every feeling I’d ever felt through the ink of the pen.
I’d been writing letters for a few years now.
I never thought I’d be the type to write love letters to individuals, but it was something that became a staple of my life.
Each letter dripped in truth, something that was very lacking in my day-to-day life. It was no secret that if not for Shay Gable, I never would’ve picked up a pen to express myself.
Now it came to me as naturally as showering and brushing my teeth.
I’d never known words could heal until I picked up a pen and bled them out.
“Are you ready?” Willow asked, glancing my way for a split second before looking down at her cell phone and typing away, probably dealing with the disaster that was my inbox.
Willow had been my assistant for the past few years, and without her skills, I never would’ve made it to an audition, screening, or interview appointment.
All in all, she ran my life from top to bottom.
We were sitting in a black SUV outside The Tonight Show, and I was trying my best to prepare myself for the mayhem when I opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle.
I’d been doing this fame thing for over ten years now, and still, I wasn’t used to it.
I wasn’t used to walking down the street and hearing people scream my name.
I wasn’t used to having people wait for me to arrive at venues just for a chance to get a glimpse of me.
I wasn’t used to people caring about my existence.
Well, about my made-up existence, at least.
They cared about my acting persona—Landon Pace, Hollywood’s golden boy.
They couldn’t have cared less about the real me.
Still, I was thankful.
I’d had fans stand out in the most extreme weather conditions throughout the years just to snap a quick photograph with me.
If that wasn’t humbling, I didn’t know what was.
It didn’t change the fact that I had to work up the nerve to get out of the vehicle every damn time because once I stepped outside, the show was on.
I’d smile, I’d be charming, and I’d be everything they dreamed me to be and more.
I’d give my fans my all, and then I’d go home and crash with my dog.
I took a deep breath, closing my notebook. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a cherry Jolly Rancher and popped it into my mouth. “Ready.”
“OK. I’ll make sure to snap some photographs of you interacting with the fans.” Willow inched her body closer to the door and grabbed the handle. “Let’s go.”
The second she pushed it open, I released my breath and turned on the charm.
I stepped out of the SUV to the sound of shrieking and cheers—all for me.
It wasn’t that my smile was fake. It was genuine through and through, but I was tired.
I’d been tired for so long that I wasn’t certain I’d ever feel awake.
My career both healed me and drained me in so many ways.
Then I looked to my left and saw a little boy wearing a superhero costume, dressed up as one of my characters, and I couldn’t help but feel happy. That was why I kept doing what I did. That was why I showed up day in and day out—for the fans, both old and young, who kept showing up for me.
I snapped as many photographs and signed as many autographs as I could before Willow told everyone I had to leave. She pulled me away into the building, and the moment the door closed behind me, I relaxed my face.
“I don’t get why they’re so obsessed with you,” Willow commented, tapping away on her phone. “It’s like they don’t know you take massive dumps after eating Chinese food.”
I chuckled. “I think they believe I poop out gold.”
“Based on the smells, it’s more likely you’re shitting out manure.” One thing I liked about my assistant was the fact that she never blew smoke up my ass. She was as real as could be, and being in the career I was in, finding genuine people was a gift.
After being led to my dressing room, I found my stylist waiting with my clothing options for the interview that afternoon.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” Mom said, looking up from the cart of clothes she was rummaging through. She walked over to me and pulled at my cheeks, examining my exhaustion. “We can cancel the show tonight if you’re too exhausted.”
I laughed. “We aren’t canceling on Jimmy Fallon, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll sleep tonight.”
“You said that last night,” she argued.
I loved having my mother work for me, truly. Being able to make both of our dreams blend together was beyond a blessing. She was so good at her job, too, so it wasn’t as if I was hiring her solely because she was my mother. I believed in her skills and eye for detail.
But sometimes, the overbearing mother in her had a heavier hand than the stylist.
“I just worry you’ve been pushing yourself too hard, Land. It’s been months of nonstop travel doing promotions overseas, and then you start filming so soon. I can’t help but worry that you’re going to burn yourself out.”
I was well into my thirties, and my mother was still babying me.
I doubted that was going to change any time soon.
Plus, she was right. I felt myself coming up to my limit with being overwhelmed.
I was at my tipping point and needed to talk to my manager sooner rather than later about getting a break.
When I went too long without breaks, my mind crept back into its old habits.
My therapist, Dr. Smith, said a key to learning to live with my anxiety and depression was to pick up on my triggers.
If I knew the mechanics of my head, I’d become more able to steer the ship to calmer seas.
If I ignored my triggers, I’d end up shipwrecked.
After years of trial and error, I was beginning to learn how to sail, but still, my boat rocked back and forth due to harsh weather conditions every now and again. I was in need of a break, and perhaps soon, I’d be able to get one.
I shrugged off her comments and nodded toward the racks. “What are we thinking for today?” I asked, shifting the conversation.
Mom frowned at me, worry lingering in her eyes, but she allowed me to redirect the focus. “I was thinking these velvet pants with a plain, fitted black top.”
“Velvet? It itches,” I commented.
“It makes the girls cheer,” she corrected. “And since you are promoting a romantic comedy this time around, we are all about making the girls cheer for you. You’re a heartthrob to them, Landon. You need to play up that role. Plus, the pants will make your booty pop.”
“Oh God. Please, never talk about my ass, Mother.”
“Why not?” She grinned cheek to cheek. “You did get your best assets from me, after all.”
“I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.”
She took the hangers off the rack and handed them to me. “Just do as your mother says. Velvet pants.”
I did as she said because mother knows best.
The interview was my fifth one of the day, and after it finished, I headed straight home for the night. My favorite thing to do after a long day of interviews was to go home, flop down on my couch with my dog, and overthink every stupid thing I might’ve said.
The way you said something during interviews could be completely misunderstood, making you have the heaviest case of anxiety. You could look like an asshole when you thought you were making a goofy joke. You could look like a moron when you misunderstood something the host was asking you.
I was blessed with an overactive mind. I thought too much. Half the things that went wrong in my head, no one else even noticed. But me? I broke down every second of every day because I didn’t know how to shut off that part of my brain.
I was sure that process of overthinking was super healthy and super helpful.
After a while, I shifted my thoughts to something else because finding the flaws in my performances was painfully draining. Greyson had called me earlier that week to update me on the whiskey launch party, which I was sponsoring for him, and it felt good to talk to him.
Over the past few months, Greyson had been through some of his own hellish wars, and it was only recently that he began reaching out to me as opposed to me calling him day in and day out—all because of a nanny named Eleanor.
Ever since she came back into Greyson’s life, he was becoming more and more of the person I knew he was deep inside. He was waking up from the worst nightmare because that woman was willing to be patient with his brokenness.
The last time I’d spoken with Greyson, he’d made sure to note that Shay would be coming to the whiskey launch with Eleanor, seeing as how they were cousins. I would have liked to say I hadn’t thought about her over the past few years, but that would’ve been a straight-up lie.
When I thought about the defining moments of my life, Shay was at the top of my list. She was the first and pretty much only person who’d ever been able to wake me up from my deep slumber.
Before her, I’d struggled so much with who I was, with my worth, with why I had been brought into this world.
After a few months with her, she’d helped me see clearer.
She’d opened my eyes to possibilities and made me dream of a future—a future I’d once thought I’d never get to experience, a future I almost missed out on living.
I had left her side thinking someday I’d find myself, which would lead me back to her arms. I’d thought with some practice, I’d figure out the broken pieces of me and be enough of a man for her to love.
It turned out that wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t magnificent at self-discovery.
I failed time and time again, and as years passed by, I knew she was better off without the mess I would’ve left on her front door.
I moved on, knowing she would be better if she did the same.
There were so many times I wanted to go back to her, but I knew I couldn’t show up to her with my broken pieces, hoping she’d help heal them.
It came down to me not being selfish. It came down to me not trying to lean on her in order to keep me standing.
It came down to me wanting more for Shay than I could’ve ever given her.
She wanted all of me, yet my heart worked in phases like the moon.
It shifted every few weeks, sometimes feeling completely full, other times looking like a crescent sliver.
Still, she crossed my mind every now and again. Now that Greyson had informed me she’d be in attendance at the whiskey launch that coming weekend, she was making an appearance in my thoughts much more regularly.
What was she like nowadays?
What did she do?
Were her eyes still as brown and full of hope as they were before?
Who did she love?
That question passed through me more than most—who did she love today, and who loved her back?
Most of the women I spent my time with never really stuck with me.
I was known for my speed-dating persona because I never settled down, always moving on to the next.
Most people probably thought it was because I was this Hollywood superstar who didn’t have to settle down.
They probably thought I was only searching for sex, but that was a lie.
I was searching for anything that had a small resemblance to the first girl who’d ever loved me—the real me, the broken me, the scarred boy who didn’t know how to love himself.
I was looking for parts of Shay in every woman who crossed my path, but they never got close to the way she sparked something intense throughout my entire being.
My dog, Rookie, crawled into my lap and began snoring with his heavy breaths.
After Ham passed away years ago, it took me a while to consider getting another companion.
Maybe individuals who weren’t dog people would’ve never understood the heartbreak that happened when a person’s dog passed away, but to me it felt like losing a best friend.
Ham had stood by my side through the hardest periods of my life, both in my youth and in my career. Losing him almost destroyed me.
I put off getting another dog for the longest time.
I felt as if I was somehow betraying Ham for moving on, but the moment I saw Rookie in the shelter, I knew he was the right one for me.
He pissed on my shoes and everything. Ever since then, we’d been attached at the hip.
He was a small toy poodle—a very manly man dog, obviously—and he was treated like a king upon kings.
The next day, he and I would be headed back to Chicago for the whiskey launch party the following weekend.
The next day, I’d be in pretty much the same city and breathing the same air as Shay.
A few days after that, we’d be face-to-face.
I sat there in the silence of my New York penthouse, staring into the darkness as every single memory of Shay Gable came rushing back to me.