Page 101 of Broken Bridges

I’d been accepted into school. I was set to start in the fall.

I’d hung out with Chloe and Duke. They’d asked me to join them for a few weeks at the end of August on the festival circuit doing sound, just to have some fun before school started. I’d taken up their offer.

I’d upped my physical therapy to two sessions a week in my efforts to improve the strength in my ankle. It still ached like a bitch every day.

I’d had dinner with my agent again. Jack hadn’t found me any roles yet; a few things were coming up next month that looked promising. If someone in Hollywood wanted a crippled, limping, scarred woman for a part, I was so there. I doubted those roles came up often. Jack had spent more than an hour trying to convince me to stay on Angels in LA, but he hadn’t altered my decision. I’d officially tell the studio I wasn’t re-signing this Friday.

There was no looking back.

I was on a new path.

Everything was falling into place.

Telling everyone about Lewis was my final frontier.

But every time Lewis and I had talked about it while he’d been away, I’d broken out in a cold sweat. Something inside my head and heart prevented me from standing at the top of Griffith Park and shouting out to the world we were together. Something I couldn’t get a grasp on. It went beyond being worried about his place in the band. I was sure it was just nerves about the weeks of ridicule we would face when we went public. I’d done this before. I could do it again. If the nausea in my gut would subside, I’d be fine.

Lewis had come home from promo two days ago and had been utterly exhausted. He’d slept for most of the time. So had Cole. The travel and non-stop hype had knocked them flat. My hectic filming schedule threatened to do the same to me. We were behind on production and our hours of shooting went from sunup to sundown.

After a long day at the studio, I caught up with the guys on Tuesday night.

Just after eight o’clock, I sat at the table with Cole and Lewis, eating the steak and fries I’d cooked. Cole’s eyes were bloodshot, tired, and Lewis struggled to stay awake, but the high from their promotional tour still rippled through the air.

“Tee, you should’ve been there,” Cole said over a mouthful of meat. “The fans were amazing. The parties were wicked. The shows were unreal.”

The evidence had filled my social media feeds every day they’d been away—the TV interviews and performances, the footage of them greeting fans, the photos with overzealous partygoers. Endless images of Flint hugging girls, Slip copping kisses on his cheek, Lewis downing shots with handsome guys, and Cole licking Jell-O off some girl’s tummy had filled my cell phone. The headlines had flashed: ‘The Party Boys Are Back,’ ‘Hot Album, Hot Shots,’ ‘Lewis King – New Flintlock Doesn’t Disappoint.’

Lewis munched on some fries. “And this was only promo. Tour will be ten times better and bigger.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” I sipped on my water. “I’ve been so busy, I hardly noticed you were gone.”

But I had.

Each story and photo online had hurt my heart.

Flint, Cole, and Slip had moved on from losing Phil.

Some days I still struggled.

I didn’t miss wild parties or being the focal point of gossip. The guys could have that. But what had gotten to me the most—even more than missing Phil— were the pictures of the four guys climbing the Harbour Bridge in Sydney, zooming down the River Thames in a speed boat in London, and taking on the City Climb skyscraping adventure in New York.

They’d done activities I could never do again. I missed the fun we used to have together.

Accepting the limitations of my injured leg had been hard. Thanks to Lewis, every day I’d gotten better and more comfortable with venturing out. That didn’t change the fucked-up fact I still wanted to jump off buildings for fun.

After a long day at the studio, I needed an early night. “Guys, I’m going to hit bed.” I stood and rubbed the back of Cole’s shoulders. “I have to leave here at six for shooting on location tomorrow.” I had a full day of filming at a café in West Hollywood.

“Have fun. We’ll clean up.” Cole waved his finger at the dirty dishes and empty beer bottles.

I stepped over to Lewis and gave him a half-hug. Nothing that would draw attention from Cole. “Night.”

“See you tomorrow.” Lewis wrapped his arm around my legs and gave them a rub. “We should be home early tomorrow night. We’ll talk then.”

By talk, he meant about us. Sex would be good too. I could see the need for both in his eyes. “Okay.” I wanted to get lost in him, love him, feel our fire, and throw away my worries about opening my heart to him once and for all.

I twinkled my fingers at the guys and headed to bed.

The following morning, my driver pulled into the lane way just off Melrose and drew to a halt. I stepped out into LA sunshine and breathed in the warm air. Four huge white studio trucks, along with cameras, trellises, panel lighting, and cast member trailers blocked the access to the small street. You can do this. Don’t limp.

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