Page 5 of Edge of Heaven (Crimson Edge #2)

Taryn

From the moment I step off the plane in L.A.

, it feels like I can breathe again. Not so much because I’m home, but more because I’m away from Callum.

Six glorious days without anyone yelling at me, manhandling me, or making fun of me in front of others.

Six days where I get to spend time with my son and try to get my career back on track.

Things have been tough professionally because Callum is so demanding of my time. He hates when I’m away from him and always complains before I leave to come see Toby. Last night, he threatened to find someone to satisfy his needs while I’m gone, and I didn’t know how to respond.

I’m not jealous.

He can sleep with anyone he wants, especially if it means leaving me alone.

But that’s the problem—he wants his cake and plans to eat it too.

And since he refuses to use condoms, the thought that he might get something and then give it to me is horrifying.

So as usual, I’m caught between a rock and a hard place.

Less than six months, I think as the taxi drops me off at my mom’s house.

She’s at work, so I put my things in the guest room, get the bag of surprises I picked up for Toby, and then call an Uber to take me to the clinic where he has to stay while he’s in the treatment program.

My mother works until three during the week and then heads over to the hospital to go over Toby’s school lessons and have dinner with him. I know it’s hard on her and lonely for him, but we talk every day via video chat, and my mom is with him all day on the weekends.

It’s a lot for her, but having leukemia is no walk in the park for Toby either. He’s exhausted all the time, and recently had to shave his head again, which I know bothers him. He doesn’t have many friends anymore, and one of the kids he got close to at the clinic passed away.

“Mommy!” Toby’s eyes light up the moment I walk in, and he holds out his arms. I’ve already washed my hands and put on the mask we’re required to wear so I wrap my arms around him tightly.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper against the backwards baseball cap he’s wearing.

“I missed you too.” He pulls away slightly and gives me a gap-toothed grin. “Did you bring me a present?”

I frown, like I’m thinking about it. “Hmmm. Have you been good? Do you deserve presents?”

“I’ve been awesome!” he responds, and we both laugh.

“There might be something in here.” I lift the large gift bag containing two new Lego sets, two puzzles, and a few other things to keep him busy.

His eyes round as he pulls out a Star Wars Revenge of the Sith Starfighter Lego set. “I wanted this one!” he says happily.

“Keep looking,” I encourage.

He digs in and comes out with the Revenge of the Sith Heroes and Villains figures and clutches the box to his chest. “Yay!”

I chuckle, watching as he gets everything out and spreads it on the bed.

“Can we build the heroes and villains first?” he asks.

“Sure.” I settle on the edge of the bed and open the instructions.

He’s so bored here at this private clinic, basically sequestered from the world because of his almost non-existent immune system, we’re all trying to find ways to entertain him. The nurses are amazing, and the homeschool program he’s in allows us lots of flexibility, but I still hate it for him.

Six months down, six to go.

I think those words a lot these days, and for more reasons than one.

We work on the figurines one at a time until they’re all built and then Toby leans back, clutching one tiny figure in his hand.

“I’m tired,” he says.

“You sure?” I tease. “Because we still have to look at your schoolwork.”

He sighs dramatically, and I bite back my smile.

“Fine.” He sits up again and gives me the side eye. “I hate fractions.”

“No problem.” I put the now-empty Lego box on the counter while he gathers his schoolwork. He was a straight A student last year. Before the leukemia came back. Before all of our lives went into a tailspin.

I was saving money, planning to move back to L.A. and focus on my career.

I’ve wanted to get custody of Toby for a long time, but I don’t have a stable income.

Or enough money to get a place for us. It would be cheaper to live somewhere other than L.A.

, but then we wouldn’t be near my mother, and I’d need her for emergencies or when I have to go out of town for modeling jobs.

My life has been a string of bad luck, and sometimes it’s hard to put one foot in front of the other.

This is different, though.

I’ll do whatever it takes for my son.

And I have a plan.

Or at least the beginning of one.

I’ve had to use some of my savings to fly back and forth to L.A.

, but I’ve also made just enough to cover those costs.

And if I can get more work going forward, before I leave Callum, then it might get the modeling ball rolling for me.

I’ll move in with my mom short-term and make sure my agent knows I’ll take any work that comes my way.

Toby’s just opened his math book when I see my agent’s name flash on the screen of my phone, and I answer quickly.

“Hey, Diane.”

“Guess what?” she asks breathlessly.

“What?”

“Rock Vibe wants you to do another shoot for them.” Rock Vibe is the clothing line I did the shoot for when I met Mick.

“When?” I ask carefully. “I’m already pretty booked while I’m here and I have to get back to… my boyfriend.”

“They want you to go to the casting call Thursday, but the shoot itself won’t be for another month, in New York.”

“Okay,” I say. “Send me the specifics.”

“Will do. And Taryn—Now that you’ve given me the green light, there’s a lot of interest in you. Just tell me how busy you want me to keep you.”

I hesitate.

Callum will hate the idea of me being gone more than one week a month and I have to manage that—and him—for nearly six more months.

“I guess it’ll have to be on a case-by-case basis,” I admit. “My son needs me and there are a few things I have to take care of over the next few months.”

She sighs. “Do you want me to find you work or not? You can’t keep saying no and expect people to keep reaching out.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” I clear my throat. “It’s just…I have some responsibilities that I can’t get out of, but they’ll be taken care of within the next five or six months. Please don’t give up on me. I’m working on it. I promise.”

“All right. We’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you.”

I disconnect and stuff my phone back in my pocket.

“Mommy?” Toby looks up at me, his brow creased with worry.

“Just some work stuff.” I sit on the edge of the bed. “Now show me what you did in math today.”

I’m only here for a week, and I have to spend part of that time working, so I need to be present when I’m with Toby.

Everything else can wait.

* * *

I arrive at the casting the next morning a little early, anxious to get in and out.

Sometimes there are dozens of hopeful models, and it’s embarrassing to have to compete again, just like I did when I was first starting out.

Eventually, you get to a point in your career where they ask for you by name—which is where I was before I started dating Callum.

Now, after nearly a year of limiting how much work I do, I’m back to square one.

I’ve just walked into the lobby when I recognize a familiar face.

Stevie Marchand.

What’s she doing here?

There’s no way one of the top supermodels in the world is at a casting call for a local magazine no one outside of L.A. has ever heard of.

“Stevie, thank you so much for coming in,” a woman I assume is the casting director, says warmly. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you for thinking of me. I’ve been trying to get myself out there now that I’m healthy again.” Stevie was all over the tabloids a year or two ago after her fiancé threw her over a second-floor railing. She dropped off the radar for a while, but she’s been popping up everywhere lately.

“Bye, Stevie.” The woman closes the door behind her leaving me standing there, unsure what to do since there doesn’t appear to be a receptionist or anyone to check us in.

“There’s no receptionist,” Stevie stage whispers to me. “You have to just knock on the door.”

“Oh.” I smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re Taryn Blakely, right?” Stevie smiles. “We met in New York a few years ago.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” I admit. “How are you?”

“I’m much better now.” She nods. “How about you?”

“There’s a lot going on in my life,” I say carefully. “I really need to get some work, but I’m guessing this one will be a waste of my time now that you’re here.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh! No, not at all. I’m here for something else. That’s why there’s no receptionist or anything. You’re just early. I have nothing to do with the magazine spread. I’m doing an interview that has to do with mental health and domestic violence.”

“Oh. I’m sorry… I guess I thought…” I press the bridge of my nose.

“Are you okay?” Stevie puts a gentle hand on my arm.

“Yeah. I’m just… like I said, I’ve got a lot going on and I really need to get some work.”

She smiles. “Hang tight.”

She knocks on the door she came out of a few minutes ago and the same woman opens it. “Did you forget something, Stevie?”

“No. But I wanted to introduce you to my friend Taryn. She’s here for the nine o’clock casting. She’s been dealing with a personal situation so she’s just now getting back to work. Kind of like me.” She emphasizes that last part. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you could give her a shot.”

“I see.” The woman shifts her gaze to me and looks puzzled. “Oh, yes. Taryn Blakely. I was surprised to see your name—I heard you retired.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ve had to take some time off for a family member with cancer. Things are still a little iffy but… I have to eat in the meantime.”

“Of course, of course. I’m sorry you’re going through that…

” She rifles through some papers, murmuring to herself.

“Do I have your headshot… oh, yes, here it is! Excellent. Right then. I can slot you in. I’ll reach out to your agent with the details.

Thanks for coming by.” She closes the door again with a little click, and I stand there for a second, trying to understand what just happened.

“It’s all who you know,” Stevie says gently. “I had a lot of people step up for me after my incident, so I’m happy to pay it forward.”

I blink and then turn to her, suddenly too emotional to respond.

“It’s okay,” she says, squeezing my arm. “Don’t cry. Us women need to stick together.”

“Oh my gosh.” I finally come to my senses and manage a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Stevie. I mean, you don’t even know me. Not really.”

“I know enough to know when someone is in trouble. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.” She writes her phone number on the back of a business card. “Call me any time.”

“I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing. Women have to have each other’s backs. If my friends hadn’t had mine, I’d probably be dead now.”

Her words give me pause.

That’s something I have to think about.

Just not today.