Page 79 of Beyond the Bright Lights

Mylan leads the way to his trailer, located behind the school in a line with other trailers belonging to the stars of Tyler’s Team. I’m on alert, eyeing everyone we pass, hoping we don’t run into Jensen. Not only because Jensen stresses Mylan out, but because I don’t want him to start talking shit to me the moment he gets me alone.

Mylan and I smile and wave at people who greet us as we walk by. I expect their judging stares as we hold hands, but they all seem to mind their business. I wonder if that’s common in the entertainment industry. See something, don’t you dare say something.

We make it inside Mylan’s trailer with no interruptions. It’s nicer than the small studio apartment I shared with Tyler in college. So clean with white everywhere, including a plush couch and chair, a large flat screen television and a small kitchen with two stove top burners (no oven, but there is a microwave).

Mylan shows me the bedroom, cramped with a full-sized bed. A shelf packed with books sits above the headboard. I crawl onto the mattress, tilting my head to read the spines. Mylan mentioned how he brought an entire suitcase of books with him for filming. This must be a fraction of them. I glance over my shoulder to ask him which one he’s currently reading, and of course, Mylan sees me on the bed and his mind goes to the gutter. He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I crawl back to him and playfully slap his chest.

He has to leave in a few minutes to get ready, otherwise, I might have taken him up on that silent offer.

Mylan wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me, sweet and long and desperate before pulling away. “Do you want to hang out in here while I’m in hair and makeup?”

Hiding in his trailer would be what old Lana would do, but I can’t keep running from this past. “No, I’ll go out to set. It’ll be fine.”

His forehead pinches. He didn’t expect me to say that. Maybe after walking off set yesterday, he hoped I wouldn’t want to go back without him. Tension ripples from him. He wants me to stay in the trailer.

“What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mylan, you look like you’d rather eat nails than have me go out on set.”

He drops his hands from my waist to rake them over his face and hair. It flops back in place, and I can’t fight the urge. I comb my fingers through the soft strands, no longer dark because of the temporary highlights the stylist put in the day before.

My touch relaxes him. He closes his eyes, savoring my caress while gathering his words.

“Jensen is going to find you, and he’s going to tell you things about me, and you’re going to hate me afterwards. Or you’ll run away. Far, far away.”

I wonder if this has anything to do with that warning Jensen had for me.

“Don’t let him hold that power over you. If there’s something I should know, you be the one to tell me first.”

Mylan hasn’t shared too much about his past, especially about his family and addiction. He’s given me glimpses, and at times, I feel like he’s leaving out details either because they’re too painful or because he doesn’t want to me to pity him.

Mylan sits us down on the end of the bed, and he takes my hand. He's nervous, which makes me nervous.

“My last relationship . . .”

“With Michelle?”

He pauses and swallows hard. “You know about that?”

I bite my lip, embarrassed. Mylan tugs it free. “I Googled you.”

After our day together at the lake, I caved. I read about his dating history, surprised that the majority of women he dated were not only older than him (by a few years, no one as old as me) but bigger. Fatter. He most certainly has a type.

Michelle Miller did not seem like his type.

“Yeah, well, dating Chelle was a mistake. She’s a conniving bitch and only cares about her image. She’s a bully, and being around her made me want to . . .”

Mylan shakes his head. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. She drove him to the bottle. Or whatever drug of choice he was partaking in during that time of his life.

“How are you able to work with her now?”

He smiles at me, palming my cheek and rubbing his thumb back and forth. “It helps having you here,” he whispers.

His words make my stomach flip-flop. It also sends jolts of worry throughout my body because I still don't know if I’ll be able to be there every day with him while he’s off shooting at the college.

Will he fall back to old habits without me?

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