Page 107 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“People saw my addiction. My failed rehab stints. They saw who I was in film and television. But behind the interviews, the red carpets . . . beyond the bright lights, I was this man with darkness. Trauma. I let it fester and refused to allow rehab to help me. Because I was scared. I was scared to face my demons. Until I met her. My light. A beautiful angel who had her own darkness and trauma. She didn’t allow it to claim her. Not like it did me. She was the one who broke through the walls I built. She was the one who finally made my stubborn ass realize that this disease wasn’t worth dying over. My assistant was the one who kept my heart beating, but it was Lana who breathed life back into me.”

Mylan turns to the camera.

“You saved me, Lana Young. You saved my life, and I can never thank you enough for that.”

You saved me.

Mylan’s words echo in my head. They repeat until etched in my brain. I’ll never forget those words.

My ears ring, and I’m not listening to the rest of the interview. Then Ginger shakes my arm, and the noise comes back at full force. Mylan is still talking directly to the camera.

He’s still talking to me.

“Lana, you deserved a love as great as Tyler’s but I wasn’t able to give that to you. Not then. Because I had lost myself to my addiction. I only knew myself through my addiction. Then I met you and fell for you. You made me a better person. Better, but not healed. So, I cut you off. I had to. I had to let you go in order to find myself again.”

“I still don’t understand why I couldn’t be there for you during your recovery,” I cry at the TV.

“I know you wanted to be there for me,” Mylan continues.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my heart thundering against my chest.

“You, Bruno, Eloise, Ginger, all wanted to help me. I understand that.”

Ginger screams at her name being mentioned.

“But what if my rehabilitation didn’t work again? Three times before and I still managed to fuck it up.” Mylan pauses to apologize for cursing on live television. “Second chances shouldn’t be endless yet here I was again, getting another opportunity to make it right. I knew if I would have allowed you to come with me on this journey, you would have been a distraction. I don’t mean that as a bad thing. I want you to be a distraction. I just couldn’t allow it while I was getting better. I needed my focus to be on my recovery. So I could be there for you one hundred percent.

“I did what I had to. What I believe was right whether you agree or not. I cut you off because I would have rather you hated me while I tried to get better again than fail, or die, knowing you loved me.”

“I never hated you. And I still love you.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I did it on my own. I had to show you, myself, that I could face my triggers and battle my demons. I had to step out of my comfort zone because that was the only way I could beat this disease.

“I’m not saying that I’m fully healed. I’ll always be an addict, an alcoholic, but I now understand how to control it. I have control over all aspects of my life now. Remember what I told you about control?”

My face heats. I nod at the TV, which is silly since he can’t see or hear me.

“You told me a year ago that your heart was mine. You said I could have it once I’m better. I understand I no longer deserve it . . .”

I’m crying. Full-on ugly face crying. “You do deserve it. It’s yours.”

“Tonight is the premiere. I heard you weren’t going to be there. I hope that’s not true. Because I love you and I need you. I need my donut. If you will allow it, if you still want to give me your heart . . .”

I should be embarrassed with him saying his nickname for me in front of millions of people watching around the country, but I’m not because he loves me. He still loves me.

Ginger turns off the TV and slams the remote on the bar. I whine because his interview wasn’t over yet.

“Go pack.”

“Ging,” I begin to protest but she points her hands, in the form of a gun, at me.

I gasp. “You’re holding me hostage?”

She hasn’t pulled the hostage card in ages. We plead the fifth all the time, we present new evidence and reopen cases, but rarely do we take each other hostage. A hostage situation is only needed when either of us is being stupid or need some sense talked into us.

“Walk your ass upstairs and pack your bags. Fly out to that man who just cut open his heart on national TV and let it bleed. He loves you. He needs you.”

“What if we don’t get a flight this late? What if we don’t make it in time?”

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