22
22
“You know I think you’re actually insane for this, right? It’s literally the middle of the night. You got here so fast.”
Win laughs as he pushes the door of his Rolls-Royce Ghost shut and steps up to the entrance of the house. I try not to crush too hard on the lazy smile he gives me, nor the little wink before he pulls me in for a quick hug.
“There’s no need for the speed limit on an empty highway—what more do you want me to say? I’m here safe, aren’t I?” he teases, following me inside. I think this might be the first time I’ve seen him dressed in anything except a suit, and even now he’s looking smart as hell in black sweatpants and a crisp, high-quality white T-shirt. “Did you let the girls know you’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I did. Val’s with Tripp sleeping off a hangover or whatever, and I had to practically beg Jessie and Maya to stay here and enjoy themselves when they heard I was leaving. Maya was literally seconds away from booking a car. I know they just want to make sure I’m okay, but I need them to forget about me and enjoy themselves. And obviously FaceTime me for the rest of the festival. Tomorrow’s performances are going to be really good.”
“If it’s gonna eat you up to miss it, you could always stay.”
I flash Win a dry look. “Thanks, but I’m coming back with you.”
He’s already lifting my luggage. “Great, because we should probably get moving ASAP.”
“Should I make coffee before we get on the road?” I ask, grabbing my purse and the rest of my stuff and following him right back out.
“We can grab coffee on the drive,” Win says, making me wonder for a second if he ever just takes a half hour to stop and sit down. The thought of him perched on a stool at a breakfast bar eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling on his phone almost makes me laugh out loud. It’s so not Win at all.
I wave good-bye to the house—not that anyone else is awake to see me—and get settled in the leather bucket seat beside Win, catching the glint of his gold Rolex as he pulls into the dark night. He turns down the volume of the music and then he angles the vents so the AC’s blowing on me too. It’s a sweet gesture, and I love the fact he did it before I even knew I needed the cool air myself. I don’t remember John ever making this little move.
God, I’ve got to stop comparing him to John.
Twenty minutes into the drive we pull up at a twenty-four-hour gas station, turning the heads of the two other people filling their cars at the pump. Win cuts the engine and unclips his belt.
“Something about that middle-of-the-night gas station coffee just hits different,” he says jokingly. “What would you like?”
“I’ll come with you and see what they’ve got,” I say, and then glance out the window at a group of girls walking up the street toward us, their faces still painted from whatever Coachella party they’re coming back from. Across the other side of the street is another group of friends yelling and laughing loudly as they film something on their phones.
“Actually—” I glance at Win, thinking of all the ways our grabbing coffee together this late at night could be misinterpreted. All it’d take is for one of those girls to snap a photo and we’d be all over the internet with brand-new rumors about our Coachella “walk of shame” by breakfast time, which is frankly the last thing I need on top of everything else right now.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” Win says, apparently understanding without me even needing to say anything. He gets out of the car and locks it behind him, leaving me grateful for the tinted windows as the group of girls walks straight past without so much as a glance.
Well, okay, that’s a lie—they’re definitely doing more than glancing at Win. More like ogling him as he steps into the gas station and the door swings shut on his tail.
I can’t blame them.
After he returns to the car with coffee and pastries, we head back on the road toward LA, the sky only seeming to get darker, and our sleepy silence becoming more comfortable by the second. Win drives with a steady focus that leaves me feeling safe and at ease, and when we do talk we don’t dwell on the events at Coachella; instead we discuss his business and I tell him about a new restaurant that opened up last month, going into detail about the dessert menu when he tells me he loves peaches too. He says we should go there sometime, and when he asks about my family, I remember one of the first times we went out for dinner together, when he spent thirty minutes asking question after question about my family back in Guam and trying to wrap his head around all my siblings’ and cousins’ names. I remind him of that, and he laughs hard before checking in to ask how my parents are doing.
“You love your family,” he states—not a question but an observation, and it sounds like he respects me for it. “That’s important, Princess. Really important.”
“Do you talk to your family much?” I ask.
Win’s grip on the steering wheel tenses a little. “We get on well when we do spend time together,” he answers carefully. “Never really had that real close-knit, call-me-when-you-need-me sort of connection, though, unfortunately.”
“You’d like that?”
“It’s what I want, Princess.” His tone’s serious, no room for misinterpretation. “When I have a family of my own, they’re getting everything, all of it. My time, my attention—nothing else is going to come in between.”
I swallow hard. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Win looks at me for a second. “I’m so eager to find my person but at the same time I’m not going to rush the process. These things should happen organically. I have so many goals I want to achieve and I’d love to check things off my list with my person by my side.”
“Yes!” I lean forward, animated. It’s so refreshing to talk to someone who gets it. “Exactly. I don’t want to rush into anything as important as settling down. But I’ve always wanted the fairy tale. I want to be a power couple, building an empire with someone special.”
I think back to my conversation with John about running away from Hollywood and living a simpler life, like his parents. It’s only now I realize I don’t need to run away; I’m strong. I have butterflies thinking about finding my person and having my fairy tale come to life. As dark as life can get, I still want the LA spotlight to shine bright on me. This is my dream.
“Did anyone ever try to force you down that path?” Win keeps his eyes on the road but there’s no mistaking his interest in my answer.
“No . . .” I begin, wondering if John was even capable of the things he daydreamed about, or if it was just another fantasy for him. Win glances at me again, and I decide not to say anything. “No, nobody has.”
“Good,” Win says with a small nod. He doesn’t add anything else.
We drive on through mostly empty roads, and I take out my phone to FaceTime my mom. It’s early hours in California but with the time difference in Guam she’ll probably just be finishing with dinner. I should give her a quick update on why I’m heading home early and that Win is taking me back. He’s as charming as ever, taking the time to ask Mom how she is and what she’s up to. I notice the way he checks in on my dad and siblings, too, and it makes me smile. Although Win comes from a completely different lifestyle, he fits in so effortlessly with my family.
I fall asleep soon after, and I don’t know how much time passes before I’m woken by the buzz of my phone vibrating on my lap. Squinting against the glare of the screen, I check and see it’s John calling. My stomach drops.
“You’re awake,” Win says, and when he sees my expression his eyes drop to the phone too. I see the realization sink in. “I assume you don’t want to get that,” he says.
“Not at all,” I reply.
Without another word, I swipe the call away and the vibrating stops.
And then it starts again. I cringe at the phone.
“Persistent,” Win mutters.
I take a deep breath. “Should I just answer it and get it over with?”
“I’ll handle it,” Win says, checking his mirrors before pulling off the road. I nod my approval.
He parks and holds out his hand for the phone. I pass it over to him just as the call cuts out and another one begins.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully as he gets out of the car.
We’re in the middle of nowhere, barely any cars around and only land for miles and miles. It’s eerie not being able to see what’s in the distance through the dark. I watch through the mirror as Win walks around the car to look out into the night, talking quietly at first so I can barely hear anything. Then he rolls his shoulders and his voice gets a little louder. I hear my name as his voice sounds clearer.
“Don’t you think you’ve caused her enough pain? You don’t care enough to keep your shit together for one weekend. And now that you’ve humiliated her you won’t even allow her the space to collect herself before you start harassing her,” he’s saying, his voice much lower than it usually is around me.
“She’s sleeping and she’s safe, and if you care for her at all, that’s what should matter right now. Grow the fuck up, John.”
There’s a long pause, and I hold my breath to hear his next words. Win’s furious when he speaks this time, the emotion dripping from his words. “I don’t want your excuses. I know plenty of men like you, you’re no different. I’m turning her phone off. If you know what’s good for you, and your career, you’ll stop calling her and wait for her to call you . . . if she decides to.”
My stomach knots. Win pauses for a few seconds before saying something more, raking his hands through his hair and breathing out therapeutically as he stares at the empty land around us. I try to listen, but it’s impossible, and while I wait my eyelids droop with tiredness. I don’t realize they’ve fallen shut until the car door opens, waking me back up.
“Thank you,” I tell him sleepily, but he brushes it off with a shake of his head.
“He won’t be calling you again,” is all he says.
I don’t know what else to say. Pocketing my cell phone, I watch him as we drive. Win seems genuinely affected by whatever John said to him on the call. I think of all the difficult people he must’ve dealt with in his life running his various businesses, and I know firsthand these sorts of things never faze him. So why is he so worked up about this now? It’s only John, for god’s sake. It’s only my relationship drama, which feels so trivial compared to Win’s life.
Win’s jaw twitches, and I look away. Whatever it means or whatever was said is a problem for another day. For now, I’m safe with him, and he’s good to me, and that’s what I think about as we drive and my eyes slowly close on another deep sleep.