Page 96 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“I’m a good friend. And I think…that’s all either of us can give right now. I had this epiphany earlier today when I saw Tony. I held him back from his dreams, and I won’t make that mistake again. Nor will I let myself get lost in someone else’s shadow. I need more. I need to be…necessary. If that makes sense.”

“Yes, but…I can fix this. I can—”

“Shh. Don’t.” I was mortified when my voice cracked. “I’ll be here when you get back and if you ever need an unofficial assistant, you know who to call.”

He clenched his jaw and pulled me hard against his chest.

A sob escaped before I could rein it in. I couldn’t tell if it was him or me, but I held on tighter, wrapping my fingers in the fabric of his suit coat, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and cologne, memorizing his every detail. And when we’d stretched the moment as long as we possibly could, I kissed his cheek.

He rested his forehead on mine. “Lo…”

“Shh. Someday, it will be okay.”

We sat on the bench for a few minutes, holding hands. We must have said good-bye again, but I blocked it out. I drove home, operating on autopilot.

If anyone followed me, I wouldn’t have known. Nothing mattered but getting behind my own closed door. I knocked back a couple of Ambien that night and woke up to almost two-hundred thousand new followers on Instagram.

That couldn’t be good.

* * *

I gapedat my cell in shock and juggled it with a start when someone rang my doorbell at the ungodly hour of seven thirty.

My first thought was,It’s Pierceand that maybe overnight life magically sorted itself out. No vindictive lawsuits, no pretend romances, and his die-hard fans decided they didn’t care about me because you know…boring. And the studio had moved filming from Toronto to LA. Win, win, win, win. A nice dream, right?

It wasn’t Pierce, though. It was Bran, his sleeping son, and Benson.

“That’s a baby and a dog,” I said, ushering them inside my apartment.

“Nothing gets by you, honey,” he teased. “Andrew’s finally asleep after a long-ass night. Jake’s shift is over soon, but I didn’t want to wait a minute longer, and you weren’t answering your messages, so…here we are.”

“Why?”

“I was worried about you,” Bran replied matter-of-factly, setting the baby carrier on a corner of the sofa and sitting beside it. Benson took position at Bran’s feet. “Ishehere?”

“Who?”

“Your beau. Tell me…everything. Start with A and keep goin’ till you hit Z. You and Pierce Allen? I can’t believe I didn’t put it together. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the story on TMZ, but it’s everywhere. And I’ve been calling you all damn night, worried sick. What the hell is going on?”

“I…I—” I flopped onto the coffee table in front of Bran and the baby and burst into tears.

“Lo?”

“Nothing is going on. It’s over.” I sobered with an indelicate sniff.

“Tell me about it,” he said gently, lacing his fingers with mine.

My gaze roamed from our joined hands to the dog, then the sleeping baby. Bran had a beautiful family. Jake was a great guy, a wonderful father, and he worshiped the ground Bran walked on. Not gonna lie, sometimes I was a little envious. But at that very moment, I was so grateful to have the kind of friends who were family. The kind who dropped everything to check on you and held your hand when you were sad.

I took a deep breath and filled Bran in on…everything.

“He’s not what you’d think. He’s silly and funny. And he’s kind. He was sweet to Benson.”

“My dog met Baxter?” Bran huffed, narrowing his eyes incredulously.

I nodded sadly. “I wish…things were different. I wishIwas different. I wish I had more to offer.”

He frowned. “That’s ridiculous. You’re perfect the way you are.”