Page 41 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“You better not,” Coach warns, as threatening as a kitten.

Once Coach leaves, I lead us down the hallway to meet with the school counselor, who was one of Tyler’s mentors. He’d often visit with Mrs. Shinely to discuss his future as a social worker.

Mylan takes in the surroundings as we walk—the red lockers, the white painted walls with motivational posters or banners sporting the school’s mascot of a black panther hung high. He’s been acting since childhood, so I assume he never attended school. I bet he was taught on movie or TV sets. He’s regarding this place with a bit of wonder and longing, perhaps imagining what it would have been like to live a normal life. I also see he’s focused, determined, as if he’s building a new world in his head. He’s transforming his mind to become Tyler. It’s a fascinating process that I'm excited to be a part of.

A spark of hope ignites within me. Could this be what I need to heal? This movie, this actor, this . . . whatever is happening between us. I think it's time I stop fighting my feelings for Mylan.

I think I’m ready to let myself live. Because up until this point, I've let my grief lock me inside the past. Perhaps Mylan holds the key to set me free.

Chapter 11 - Mylan

Addiction comes in many forms. People become addicted to substances, like I am. People become addicted to food, to exercise, to social media. People even get addicted to other people.

I’m starting to believe I'm addicted to Lana.

Ridiculous, right? It’s Friday morning, and I’ve only been in Silo Springs for a week. One week for her vanilla and berry smell, her heartfelt laugh, her contagious smile to draw me in. One week for her taste, her lips, the way she’s so wonderfully soft, to taunt my craving for her.

A craving not sated for three days.

There hasn’t been time. When we’re not meeting with people who knew Tyler, Lana is at the bar she owns. I’ve shown up to Lilies every night, sat on my self-designated stool near the taps, and read my script and the notes I’ve taken. However, concentrating on my lines when in Lana’s presence was near impossible.

My eyes kept wandering, appreciating her thickness—her curves in tight fabrics, her tits begging to be held in my hands, her ass needing to be squeezed and worshiped. I’d hoped to tug her into the bathroom or a dark corner to steal kisses, but the problem with being me is always having a phone pointed in my direction, ready to snap pictures or record video. Lana wouldn’t allow me to sneak her away. She avoided me like the plague.

We haven’t been alone together since Tuesday when she allowed my fingers inside her.

Wednesday, with Eloise and Bruno in tow (Ginger had to work), Lana gave us a tour of her small, cozy town. We stopped in every shop along Main Street, speaking with the locals who knew Tyler. We visited some of Tyler’s favorite spots, including an old-fashioned diner. The restaurant felt like something right out of a movie with miniature jukeboxes at each table, a bar lined with red vinyl seats, and a milkshake machine offering vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry flavors.

My fans have been respectful, keeping their distance and only approaching me when I allowed it. The paparazzi, on the other hand, have been out of control. Not only have they been pestering me about the role, my latest stint in rehab, and the pictures of me at the bar (despite not a single alcoholic beverage spotted in my hand), but they’ve also been bombarding Lana with questions.

Lana, how do you feel about the movie being made about your dead fiancé?

Lana, what’s your role in the movie? Will you be in it?

Lana, are you concerned about Mylan’s problem?

Lana, are you and Mylan dating?

I was prepared to step in and carve those assholes a new one every time, but before I could say a word, Lana took control. She answered every question respectfully. She was honest, confident, and Lord was it sexy as hell.

I worried about the stories they would write, the pictures they would post of Lana and me, speculating that we were together. Lana surprised me once again by staying one step ahead.

She’d asked me for my publicist’s contact information. Together, they came up with a plan and worked with the media to approve what pictures could be posted in exchange for exclusive content. Lana got final say in every single article published. Well, except for the content posted by sleazy tabloids and illegitimate fan-run sites.

Lana controlled the narrative the best she could. She followed my lead when it came to the fans. She could have let the attention that comes with this movie, with being seen with me, overwhelm her. Instead, she welcomed it with open arms.

I’m absolutely infatuated with her.

We spent the rest of the week away from crowds. Thursday morning, we hiked a mountain with Eloise and Bruno (again, Ginger had to work). We climbed a large rock face at the top of that mountain and sat with our legs hanging over the edge, taking in the spectacular view—miles of greenery with rivers weaving throughout.

Lana said Sugarloaf Mountain was Tyler’s place of solace. The fresh and crisp breeze that high, untouched and new, calmed my damaged soul, even it was for just a few minutes.

After climbing the mountain yesterday morning, Lana and I went to Tyler’s parents’ house, and we spent hours upon hours scouring through old photographs. We also watched home movies and listened to stories of his childhood.

Tyler was a remarkable man.

I will never be Tyler Taylor.

Lana could never love me like she loved Tyler.

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