Page 106 of Beyond the Bright Lights

He cut everyone off. Even Bruno. Even Eloise. Especially me.

Bruno and Eloise would at least receive an email from him once a month telling them he was alive and doing well.

That he was getting help.

I’m not going to lie, he broke me. I cried for weeks when my texts stopped delivering. My calls also stopped going through because he either blocked me or disconnected his number. His social media went dark. People thought he died. His PR team assured the world that he wasn’t dead and was at a year-long rehabilitation program—location unknown.

Weeks before the Labor Day weekend release of Tyler’s Team, everyone anticipated his return. Jensen and the production company were assured that Mylan would be there for the press junkets and the red carpet.

He never showed for the press junkets. Those interviews began weeks ago, and Mylan is still M.I.A.

Now it’s the morning of the big Hollywood premiere. I won’t be there because Mylan cut me off, he let me go.

I told him my heart was his when he got better. It’s been a year, and he’s yet to claim it. That’s my answer. He doesn’t want my heart. Which means he won’t want to see me, if he even shows himself, and to be honest, I can’t let him see how broken I am without him.

Ginger and Bruno ended their hot summer fling, despite Bruno no longer having the job of protecting Mylan. He could have moved here to be with Ginger, but he said he had to take care of family things in Germany. Four months ago, he called to offer his condolences for Ginger’s mother Gracey passing away. They talked for hours, catching up about life. I’m confident the two will end up together again because not a day goes by that Ginger doesn’t somehow bring Bruno up in the conversation.

My life went on, just with a piece of it missing. A piece that I will never get back. Another hole that can never be filled, like the hole left by Tyler.

I’m doing last minute checks before opening the bar when Ginger barges in.

“Turn on the TV,” she orders, out of breath. She slams her purse on the counter.

Rude.

I find the remote underneath some paperwork and hand it to Ginger. She turns on the TV then flips through channels.

“What’s going on?”

She waves me over. “Just watch.”

She turns up the volume. A commercial ends, and the opening to one of those morning television programs plays. A beautiful Black woman wearing a fashionable suit I could never pull off, appears on the screen.

“A year after falling off the radar to work on his addiction, Mylan Andrews is back.”

My heart lurches, and I step closer to the TV.

“His new movie, Tyler’s Team, premieres tonight in Hollywood and he’s here now to talk about what we can expect. Before we discuss the movie, you wanted to update everyone on your recovery?”

“Yes. Thank you, Ariah.” Mylan shyly dips his head before looking at the camera. He shifts in his seat. He’s nervous as hell. “For the past year, I’ve been at a live-in recovery center in Northern California, taking a break from my life so I could treat my disease. I’ve been healing, mentally and physically.”

He gulps and picks up a glass of water on the table next to him. He takes a sip and continues.

“I’ve been sober for a year and a week now.”

“How wonderful, Mylan. Congratulations,” the anchor says, gently placing her hand on his knuckles. A pang of jealous passes through me, which is ridiculous, so I quickly push it away.

“I’ve also reconnected with my mother. You don’t know much about her because I never allowed her story to be in the media. She’s a victim of domestic abuse. I’m a victim of domestic abuse. I was verbally and mentally abused by my father, but it was worse for my mother. He berated her, beat her, damaged her. When he died from his alcoholism, my mother went into a deep depression. It got bad enough that I had to have her committed.

“I wasn’t a very good son. I never called to check on her and I hardly visited. It was too painful. During my recovery, I learned to face the pains of my past. I was ready to make amends. I began seeing her once a month, then every other week until now, once a week. Her institution was only a town away from my treatment center, so it made it easier to reconnect.”

The studio is silent, stunned, as Mylan talks about his tragic life.

“We still have a lot to work on when it comes to our relationship, but I’m happy to say that her mental health is improving. She was lonely. She had no one. No hope. Now she has me back in her life. Now she has someone to live for again. She has a family again.”

Mylan lets out a long breath.

“That article that came out about what I did . . . it was true. I almost killed myself. I no longer wanted to be a burden to the people who somehow remained in my life. You see, I wasn’t afraid of dying. I’m still not afraid of dying, but that’s something I’m still working on. What has changed is that I’m afraid of what my death would do to those who care about me. Over a year ago, I thought that was no one.

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