Page 90

I don’t answer.

She tries again. “Is it the date? Or the other appointment?”

“I’m not nervous,” I say, cutting the question short. “Just wide awake. That’s all.”

Her eyes linger on me. She doesn’t believe me. I can tell. But she doesn’t push it. And I’m glad. Because if she asked one more question, I might crack open and spill more than I should. About the meeting. About my mom. About how this entire thing feels like it’s spinning out of my control.

I stand up, not entirely steady on my feet, and head toward the hallway. She stays where she is, quiet, watching me.

I pause for half a second, back turned to her.

Then I keep walking.

Back to my room.

When I step out of my bedroom at ten-thirty the next morning, my head feels like it’s been split open with a sledgehammer. I put one foot in front of the other, pretending I don’t still feel last night’s vodka in my bloodstream. Cold shower. Painkillers. Coffee. None of it helped. I still feel slow.

Mia sits on the couch, legs crossed, eyes on me like she’s judging every move I make. I don’t say anything. Neither does she—for a moment.

Then, her voice cuts through the silence. “Did you text her?”

I nod once, straightening my collar. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She looks away. “Have a wonderful day. On both dates.”

“Thanks.” I don’t look back as I walk out the door.

The restaurant is sleek, modern—exactly the kind of place Nova would pick. I spot Hayley right away. She’s seated at a corner booth, picture-perfect in a tailored dress and soft curls that probably took hours to style. She stands when she sees me, smile wide, eyes bright.

“Jack Calloway,” she says as I pull her into a light hug. “You look even better in person.”

“So do you,” I answer smoothly, sliding into the seat across from her. I force a grin, charming and easy. She laughs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But inside, I’m a mess.

My temples pound. The lighting feels too sharp, the voices around us too loud. I sip water and nod along to whatever she’s saying—something about her work, maybe a dog, a brunch she went to last weekend with a famous fashion executive. I’m not really listening.

Because all I can think about is tonight. Megan.

My mother.

My heart starts doing that weird, tight squeeze thing it does every time I think about her. I don’t know if I’m going to yell at her or fall apart in front of her. Maybe both.

Hayley laughs again. I blink. Right. I need to focus.

I lean forward and say something funny. She laughs harder. I smile, tip my head the way I’ve learned works best for photos and flattery.

On the outside, I’m Jack Calloway, Hollywood’s golden boy.

On the inside, I’m just a kid hoping his mom shows up—and wondering what he’ll do when she does.

By the time I walk Hayley to her car, it’s already two p.m. I don’t know how I survived three hours of this, because I genuinely can’t remember what we talked about. I’m a big, fat mess.

Hayley slips her sunglasses on and turns to me with a soft smile. “I had a great time today.”

I manage a grin. “Me too. You’re easy to talk to.”

She touches my arm lightly. “I can’t wait to see you again.”