Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
For a moment, there was silence. I had no idea how to start this conversation. How deep to go. Except I knew we had to clear the air, at least somewhat, in order to move forward and be able to be in the same room with each other.
Kassie beat me to it.
“I’m sorry for being a bitch. I wasn’t prepared to see you again,” she admitted.
I huffed a laugh. “It’s fine, Kassie. I more than deserve your anger.”
“You left me and never came back.” She swallowed hard. “Even when my mom died, all I got from you was silence. You broke my heart.” Her eyes glimmered. “After everything, after all we went through, that hurt the most.”
I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. She went right to the heart of the matter. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Kassie was always direct.
“I couldn’t.”
“Because you didn’t care anymore?”
I met her watery eyes and took a deep breath. “Because I was broke—and too ashamed to come back and tell you what had happened.”
“Broke? But you were so successful—I don’t understand.”
“I know. But…” I blew out a long breath. “I never thought I would tell you this. In fact, aside from Annie and the legal people, no one knows this. I don’t like to think of it.”
She frowned. “Then don’t tell me.”
“I have to. You might not understand fully, but maybe you won’t hate me so hard.”
She paused, then nodded.
“I know you’ll have questions. Some I may not be able to answer. But if you would let me get it out, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay.”
“When my mom died, you know how messed up I was. And we both know I never would have gotten through that time if it hadn’t been for you. I loved you. I loved you so much, I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it.”
She pressed her lips together, and I knew she wanted to ask me if I loved her that much, how I had left her behind.
“That day I went into Toronto on a lark to be an extra on that set, I met Ed. He was the one who discovered me, such as it was. He made so many promises and flew me to LA to audition for the sitcom Summer of Our Lives.”
“Yes, I remember. You got the role.”
“Yes. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so Ed handled all the contracts, and he set me up in an apartment with some other young actors. Paid all the bills and put money in my account. I was never without, but the rest of the money, he invested. He showed me statements, and I was okay with it since I didn’t really understand any of it.” I stood and paced. “It was hard to adapt at times. I had a contract I had to abide by. Appearances I had to make, interviews I had to do. Photo shoots. Press. All of it. I was pulled every which way, the more popular the series got.” I met her gaze. “And yes, my life here was at times a distant thought. Except you. I thought of you a lot, but I was working so hard, with my end goal to get back to you. To bring you to LA and have a life together there.”
“Your calls and letters dropped off to nothing after a while.”
“I know. Ed was in my ear all the time, telling me I was too young. I needed to live it up. In LA, I was someone. Constantly photographed. Told how fabulous I was. Women and girls alike flocked to me. Threw themselves at me.” I scratched the back of my neck, starting to feel anxious about telling her the truth.
Except I owed her that.
“Ed pointed out that you never called me either. Or answered my letters.”
She gasped in indignation as I knew she would. “I did!”
I held up my hand. “Let me finish. I found out a lot of lies he told me.”
I swallowed before speaking again. “At the end of two years, I figured we’d both moved on. I hadn’t heard from you in over six months. Your number didn’t work. The last three letters I wrote you came back undeliverable. I received what I thought was your message loud and clear.”
“I didn’t send any sort of message,” she whispered. “I went to Toronto to go to school, but I was still waiting for you until I got that final letter.”
“I didn’t write that letter.”
“Who did?”
“Ed. He decided you were a distraction he no longer wanted me to have. He took the letters I wrote you and kept them. Paid one of my roommates to hide your letters and give them to him. He had access to my messages and deleted any from you, including the one telling me your new number.”