Page 92 of If the Stars Align

I’m back in LA after spending the last three months in Vancouver shooting my latest film, a Hitchcockian thriller set in the 1950s. This might be my favorite movie I’ve made so far. Not so much because I enjoyed putting in the work, but because I fuckingneededto.

After everything that went down with Ava a year ago, I was having a lot of trouble staying…well, sane. My anxiety was at an all-time high, and that’s really saying something. I felt used, and objectified, and all I wanted to do was run into the arms of someone—anyone—who actuallysawme andlovedme.

But you know what? I came up empty.

My own mom doesn’t even know the real me. It’s not her fault, though. I still can’t bear to tell her the truth about this wretched disorder that fucks with my head and threatens my sanity.

I showed Sunny who I am in Paris, but she rejected me. Of all the people in the world, I thought she would be the one to love me despite my imperfections.

I was wrong.

I wonder if she’s with Jeremy now.

I Googled him the summer after they graduated law school. Sunny had mentioned the name of his firm in Chicago so, once his bio was up on their website, I found him easily.

He went to fucking Yale for undergrad. Graduated from law school with highest honors, just like Sunny. I already knew he was smart from what she’d told me about him—but the picture on his bio is what came as a shock to me.

He’s handsome. He has this smug look I’d love to wipe off his face, but there’s no denying he’s attractive, even by Hollywood standards. In a movie, he’d play the villain so smoldering hot, he makes you question which side you’re on.

There was a villain like that in the film I just made. But I never get cast in those roles. For better or worse, I’m always the hero. And as soon as I got to Vancouver and donned my metaphorical cape, it was like a switch flipped, and I was free. After months of panic attacks, and nightmares about venomous Ava and her fiery hair, being in character had never felt so good.

But Vancouver’s a memory now, and I have to figure out a way to keep my shit together until my next project starts in a month.

Fuck.

After a restless night of sleep, I’m having a cup of coffee in the kitchen of my multimillion-dollar Hollywood Hills mansion—a relatively new purchase that still feels nothing like home to me—when my cell phone rings.

Holy shit.

It’s Sunny.

The last time we talked on the phone was…

My god, I don’t even know. More than a year ago. Before Ava.

Whatever she’s calling about must be…significant.

I stare at the phone vibrating in my hand, and I’m so fucking scared, I almost don’t answer it.

But what if she’s changed her mind about me?

“Hello?” It’s the first word I’ve spoken this morning, and it comes out raspy. I clear my throat.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Did I wake you? I know it’s pretty early in LA. Is that…is that where you are right now? LA?”

“Um, yeah,” I stammer. “I, uh, just got back yesterday. I was in Vancouver. Shooting something.”

It’s like there’s a complete disconnect between my brain and mouth, and I can hardly get the words out.

“How are you?” she asks me.

“Good. Good,” I lie. “You know, just busy and tired. The usual.” I really need to get the focus off me. “How areyoudoing, Sunny?”

I hear her swallow. “I’m good, Dex. I mean…I sort of hate my job. I’m sure lots of lawyers do. But other than that…”

She’s silent for several seconds. She takes a deep breath.

I close my eyes and brace myself for it.