Page 43 of Beyond the Fame

Lana leans back at my words, clearly not expecting me to say that.

“What happened between you two? I’ve asked Mylan, but he always changes the subject to avoid talking about it.”

I swallow hard and scratch the stubble forming along my jaw. I look around the area. With crew members setting up, there are too many prying eyes. Not that they would share what they hear or see on set with the tabloids and risk getting fired. Still, I wave my hand, prompting Lana to walk with me.

I lead us down the hallway away from the holding area, where there are fewer people shuffling around.

“Mylan and I were best friends. Then he let his addiction get between us.”

Lana scoffs. “You mean you let his addiction push you away?”

I narrow my eyes at her, mostly because she’s right. “It’s not that simple. I was there for him. I cleaned up his messes and covered for him far too many times. I offered him help. I wanted to help, and yet, he never accepted it. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not give up?”

I shake my head, despite berating myself for this exact thing a million times.

“It was too hard. Have you ever seen someone you love willingly wilt away? Destroy their life with no regard to those around them?”

I know addiction and alcoholism is a disease, but he’s been to rehab two other times before this last stay. I can’t keep hoping that this time will work because it tears me apart when it doesn’t.

“Mylan needed support. He needed friends,” Lana says.

We reach the end of the hallway and turn around, leisurely heading back towards the holding area where directors’ chairs line the lockers.

“Mylan had support. He had friends: me, Bruno, Eloise. He had people who begged him to get help.” And for longer than one month, I silently add, because talking about this, about losing the only person I ever cared about, has my voice shaking. I hate feeling this way. “He reached a point where he was so far gone that I no longer recognized him as my best friend.”

“Maybe this last stint worked. He’s doing better now. He hasn’t had one drop of alcohol or any drugs.” She winces as if she doesn’t necessarily believe her words.

“Yeah, he does this. It’s a vicious cycle. He'll stay clean for a while. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months, then something will happen, something will trigger him, and he’ll start falling again.” Something I should have told myself before walking into Lana’s bar Saturday night. Idiot. “You should know while booze was an issue, it wasn’t the root of his problems. Not until he started adding the drugs—opioids, coke, molly, whatever he could get his hands on.”

I stop myself from revealing Mylan’s intentional overdose. It’s not my place to tell.

And it’s not like I'm telling her all this to scare her away. I'm just making sure she knows how bad it was. How bad he could get again. If she plans to be in a relationship with him, she should tread lightly. Because the last woman Mylan dated broke his heart. I can’t let her do the same.

“I should also warn you—”

“Lana?” A shrill, familiar voice cuts through the hallway, cutting off my words.

Fuck.

It's her.

Rebecca.

She's here.

“Lana,” she repeats in her honey sweet voice. That fucking accent is going to kill me. It coats my skin like icy rain on a hot day. It awakens my cock, begging to be claimed by her.

Rebecca opens her arms as she approaches, swaying those wonderfully wide hips like she’s on a runway at New York Fashion Week. She’s wearing a purple wrap dress, clinging to her body and showcasing all her curves. Her long brown hair falls in waves.

Damn, she’s beautiful.

“Rebecca,” Lana says. There’s a hint of displeasure in her voice.

The two women hug, and I look away.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Lana adds.

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