Chapter Thirty-Four
Ridge
Shortly after I met Beverly, I realized I didn’t want to have kids without her. And there were moments after Whitney left for rehab when we were pretending to be a family, and I really didn’t want to pretend anymore, even with the avalanche of negative publicity.
The media firestorm was brutal, the amped up paparazzi with news stories dubbing Beverly “the evil step-monster” convincing the public she was the reason Whitney went into rehab and why I got full custody of Roman.
It wasn’t until Whitney made a heartfelt plea in an open letter in the New York Times and on social media that things settled down.
She took full blame and asked the world to leave us alone.
Her brilliant maneuver not only wiped the slate clean for Beverly and me, but it also boosted her popularity before she even set foot on the famous Clint Conroy movie set.
Those early days were tough for Beverly and me as a couple, not only because of the relentless gossip swirling around us, but because our relationship was long-distance for several months.
We both knew going into this that our schedules were going to wreak havoc on our newly formed family.
I relied heavily on Mira and Sylvia during that time, the press junkets, media interviews, red carpet events, and film premieres already scheduled across the country for the release of my new film.
Beverly needed to finish out the school year while overseeing the farmhouse renovation in Heartsboro.
Still, she traveled to meet me several times on the weekends in nearby East Coast cities, supporting me while I promoted my movie.
Thank goodness she lived close to the Atlanta Airport, and for her willingness to travel, even if it was only for a few quick weekends.
We couldn’t be completely together until we let things ride out in our careers.
And when the time finally came, Roman and I packed up and headed south.
There’s something soul-stirring about watching yourself vanish—not into danger, not into scandal, but into contentment.
I didn’t just move to a different state after my movie released.
I disappeared from a version of myself the world thought it knew.
I left behind the dazzle and flash of Hollywood for the hushed rhythm of the countryside in Heartsboro, Georgia.
And it wasn’t just a change of scenery. It was an exhale that had been building in my chest since Roman was born.
For years, my California home stood like a silent witness to my wild ride through fame and all that came with it.
It held memories. But it also held phantoms—of expectations, of labels like “Most Eligible Bachelor” and “America’s Sexiest Man Alive.
” Titles I once embodied with smug boldness and eventual indifference.
Selling my home was a spiritual severing.
An unspoken “I’m done with this chapter. ”
I’m finally where I need to be, not just geographically, but emotionally.
Heartsboro, Georgia, is a new chapter; it’s a new beginning, where I can breathe in the smell of the earth after rain.
Lavish in the springtime essence of lavender in peak season.
The kind of place where the small-town folks care less about what magazine covers I’ve been on or what movie awards I’ve won, and more about how I treat Beverly and my son.
There, tucked inside a 100-year-old farmhouse, on land passed down through generations, is where I found what I never really had in California: love and peace.
I traveled down the road to paradise. A place where trees don’t care about my past, and the rain falls on the tin roof without judgment.
It’s a sanctuary now filled with tire swings, an old upright piano, weathered porch boards, and sunflowers growing with the same kind of slow persistence I’ve had to relearn.
There’s something poetic about how planting roots in the rich Georgia soil is a metaphor for mending my life.
I find joy in the stillness, waiting for Roman to wake up from his nap, or in the darkness of night, when I reach across the bed to touch Beverly’s warm skin…
We wed in a quiet ceremony with family and a few close friends in the peaceful meadow behind our new home after my movie released during Beverly’s spring break.
My lovely bride looked ethereal in white lace amidst the soothing sounds of bees and butterflies in the springtime.
There were no paparazzi photographers in the fields.
No helicopters circling overhead. Just me holding the soft hands of the love of my life while my son and guests looked on.
Stepping into the fairy tale Beverly coveted for so long was one of the most significant moments in my life.
But this hasn’t been a soft landing. When I first arrived in Heartsboro, I was distraught emotionally and spiritually.
I was grieving the long travel days of not being with my son and Beverly.
I was trying to come to terms with an identity I no longer believed in.
Fame had carved me into a marble statue like the ones surrounding Whitney’s pool.
Some admired me, others mocked me, but few truly understood me.
And after decades of resilience, I finally confessed to the world how regretful I was.
A father wondering if he’d done right by his son the first few months of his life.
A man wondering if anyone ever really knew him at all.
Come to find out, that kind of honesty isn’t just rare in Hollywood—it’s jaw-dropping. But it’s where the redemption began. Not on a film location, not in a photo shoot but in the middle of Georgia, with dirt under my fingernails, building a new life where I can live simply and, finally, as myself.
I’m taking a sabbatical from the movie industry indefinitely. The meadows behind my home have become my quiet sanctuary. No camera crews, no script, just me and the sunflowers surrounded by my wife and my growing son. That’s not just healing. That’s sacred.
And if anyone wonders whether I miss my old bachelor life in Hollywood, maybe the better question is: did I ever truly want it to begin with?
***
I’m standing on the top rung of a ladder near the back porch and attach the last of the tree lanterns to a branch.
A delicious summer breeze skirts across my face, and I smile, looking out over the area where the sunflowers on the horizon are in full bloom.
Beverly and Madison have been working all morning setting up tables on the lawn.
Lacy tablecloths and dozens of vases filled with brightly-colored flowers decorate the tops, George picking and delivering them himself.
The area looks more like a gorgeous magazine spread than your average family backyard.
“What are you doing up there with no one holding this ladder steady?” Beverly scolds.
I look down at her and smile. Roman is happily perched on her hip, his immediate squeal at the sight of me filling my daddy heart with joy.
“I’m fine. I’m done.” I slowly come down the ladder and hop off the bottom rung as she holds the rickety metal frame.
I kiss her cheek before I take Roman from her arms. “What do you think? These lanterns are solar-powered and will start to glow at dusk. Is this how you envisioned them in the trees?”
The lanterns gently sway in the breeze, the calming rustle of lush leaves reminding me of a soft symphony.
She steps back and looks up through the branches. “They’re perfect.”
“Good.” We walk toward the screened-in porch, and I open the door for her.
“What time will Miss Jenny be here with the smash cake?” I set Roman down and watch him crawl toward Ziggy, our black and white shelter kitten we adopted the first week we moved in.
He’s standing on a box in the corner filled with toys and lets out a strong ‘meow’ as if to say hello to his little buddy.
“Gentle, Roman,” Beverly reminds in her classic teacher voice. We watch him sit on his diapered bottom and watch Ziggy lick his fur.
“To answer your question, Jenny said she’d be here around four-thirty. She’s picking up Janie and the champagne. George, Maddy, and Joey are picking up the BBQ.”
“Perfect.” I sit on the porch swing, content to be near my wife and son on this ideal sunny day.
Roman’s first birthday is a milestone for him, and for us.
I’d heard that the first party is more for the parents than the child.
We survived the first tumultuous year, and we are more than ready to celebrate.
We decided to throw a backyard party and keep it to family and a few close friends.
Having Joey in our immediate family works out well because he and Roman are practically twins, the two boys joined at the hip and together most days eating, sleeping, and exploring the big world around them.
We’re keeping things low key with the book-themed party today.
We’ve encouraged our guests to bring a simple children’s book for Roman’s baby library as their gift, creating a keepsake of this special day.
It was all Beverly’s idea, her sweet kindergarten teacher spirit showing up in everything—from the colorful chalkboard welcome sign, balloon garlands, bubble machine, and highchair banner, to the adorable antique bookshelf she found and repurposed ready to be filled with his bookish presents.
I watch her straighten the birthday theme table she set up earlier with page decorations and illustrations from beloved children’s stories.
She must have spent an entire weekend with Madison combing the local antique stores and consignment shops looking for gently used books.
I’m in awe watching her create something so special.
She even has themed snacks to go with a few of her favorite children’s books: a basket of mini cookies she baked herself from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie and tiny apple pies to commemorate The Giving Tree.