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Wholly. Completely. Consumedly. Passionately. Sometimes fast. Sometimes slow. In the middle of the night with the Celtic moon shining through a childhood bedroom window. In the afternoon sun amongst the reeds of the sea. Laughing, smothered against the steering wheel in a crowded underground Los Angeles parking structure. Quietly, on a riverfront balcony, soaking in the glow of the London Eye.

They were things she would never understand. Feelings she would never know. I would have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t still been gawking at me like I’d escaped the confines of a freak show.

In my silence, Dani continued. “I mean, just—,” she shuddered, “gross. I couldn’t do it. I know it’s in vogue with your set, but still.”

I stood, gathering my untouched tray of sashimi. “I think it’s about time for me to get back to LA.”

“Oh, come on, Kameryn. You’re overreacting. It’s fine. Whatever. Love whoever you want and all that. It’s just not my thing.”

I dumped my dinner in the trash can, feeling guilty about the wasted fish. “I wasn’t actually seeking your approval, Daniella,” I returned the favor of her full name. “I just...” Just, what? Hoped she’d be someone different than she was? It was my fault, expecting her to change. “Look—I hope you respect me enough not to betray my confidence. It’s not something I’m ready to share with the world. But if you just can’t help yourself, so be it. I can’t stop you.”

“I’m not going to say anything!” For a moment, she looked hurt, and I almost felt bad, but then her upper lip curled. “I mean, it’s obviously just a phase you’re going through.”

I stared at her, turning over the dozen friendship-ending words that flew to my tongue, and then decided she wasn’t worth it. I kept my mouth shut and walked away. Back to life under the bright lights of Hollywood. To flashing cameras and waiting cars. To private airline terminals and last boarded, first disembarked. Back to being managed in and out of public spaces. To twenty-hour days on set and lonely trailers markedVIP.

And then, finally, a few days of respite, allowing me to get back to Mumbles. Back to Dillon.

And back to the bitch in the seat beside me.

I gave my seatbelt one final tug and held my breath until the wheels touched the runway.

And then my anxieties drifted in a new direction.

I wondered how I would find Dillon. What mood she would be in.

These last two weeks there’d been a change. Over the phone, I began to notice some of her anger, her sullenness, her hopelessness was waning. For the first time since her accident, she made the effort to reach out to me, instead of me always contacting her. Her conversation expanded from one-word answers to some of the humor and teasing I loved. The future began to exist again.When we did this. If we did that. She almost sounded content.

It gave me pause about the pitstop I’d made in New York City on my way to Wales. About the surgeon’s personal number I now had stored in my phone.

I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do for her—to offer hope that might not pan out. I’d sought the consultation with the innovative specialist without telling her. After listening to what I had to say, he said felt he had a procedure that might help.

But now, with her brightening attitude, part of me wondered if I should have left well enough alone.

Stepping onto the passenger boarding bridge, I came to the conclusion it wasn’t my choice to make. It was her life. Her future. I may have been the one to open this can of worms, but it was now up to Dillon to decide.

Scene 44

“Did you figure out what we’re ordering for dinner?”

Startled by Seren’s head craning over her shoulder, Dillon shoved her phone beneath the hotel duvet and swatted her sister away from her. “Don’t be a creeper.”

“What—are you sexting?” Seren teased, flicking the back of Dillon’s neck.

“It revolts me to even hear you use that word.”

Huffing, Seren flopped down beside her. “I’m single, not dead, thank you very much.”

“Still… yuck. You’re my sister. I prefer to think of you living a life of celibacy.”

“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you, but—”

“La-la-la, I don’t want to hear this!” Dillon made a show of sticking her fingers in her ears.

Taking advantage of her unguarded ribcage, Seren poked her in the side, and then dove for the phone tucked beneath the covers. Slowed by her limited mobility—her collarbone still healing and leg locked in a knee immobilizer—Dillon wasn’t fast enough to block her.

“Alright, Romeo,” Seren held the phone aloft, “let’s see what Kam…” her voice trailed off as she realized there would be no golden opportunity to embarrass her sister. The screen was left on an Instagram account for Dr. Robert Monaghan.

Surgeon to the Starswas the handle.