Totally and Completely Fine(8)

He was taking Lena’s sullen behavior in stride, but I knew he was hurt.

I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t personal, that it was just hormones and grief and growing up, but honestly, I couldn’t even tell at this point. Maybe it was personal. When I’d been her age, it had felt personal—the anger that bubbled up out of nowhere, turning me into a spitting, sputtering, boiling cauldron of fury and bad feelings.

And there was the whole non-conversation about Gabe’s addiction. Lena and I had never talked about it—another strike against my winning Mother of the Year—but I could sense the anger there.

Maybe it was cowardly, but that was something I could deal with. I could take it. I’d rather be her punching bag than ask about her feelings. Because it was what was beneath the anger—what I still struggled to cope with—that was the really scary shit that I didn’t know how to address. That I still hadn’t addressed in myself.

Was there a Wish She Wasn’t My Mother of the Year Award? Because I was probably going to medal in that.

“Saw you and Walsh talking,” Gabe said.

I looked at him.

His tone and expression were trying way too hard to be casual. I immediately knew what he was trying to suss out and decided not to make it easy for him.

“You literally introduced us,” I reminded him. “What was I supposed to do, stare silently at him?”

I would have. Gladly.

“Most women do,” he said, sounding a little grouchy.

“Awww.” I patted his cheek. “Are you jealous of the handsome new movie star?”

He jerked away. “No,” he said. “I’m just…I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

I had liked it a lot. But Gabe really didn’t need to know that.

In fact, no one needed to know that.

“He’s harmless,” I said.

Gabe nodded, but his concerned expression didn’t go away. I wanted to roll my eyes.

“He’s a child,” I said.

I regretted it immediately. Ben was young—I knew that. Much younger than me. But if one thing was clear, whatever was going on between us was the opposite of childish, and it was a bit condescending and unfair to categorize him that way. Especially since I’d been an equal participant.

I said it because I knew it would make Gabe relax.

And because nothing was going to happen. I’d had a good time flirting with a beautiful man, but that’s all it was. A moment outside of reality.

Even if he had given me his phone number.

“He’s nice enough,” Gabe said.

“But…” I prompted, and then immediately wished I’d held my tongue.

“But he’s got a bit of a reputation,” Gabe said.

For fuck’s sake.

“Oh,” I said. “A reputation.”

He flushed.

One thing I loved about my brother was that he could be a big fucking movie star with women and money being thrown at him from all angles and I could still embarrass him. It made me feel at peace in the world.

Because we both knew that whatever anyone was saying about Ben Walsh had been said about Gabe Parker, albeit ten years earlier.

Not to mention what had been said about me, ten years or so before that.

A reputation.

“Is this your way of telling me that he’s bi?” I asked. “Because I know.”

“Everyone knows,” Gabe said.

It was on his Wikipedia page. And mentioned in most articles about him. Not that I’d read many. Only a dozen or so.

He’d been born in Hawaii, educated in Ireland. Never went to college, but moved around the UK performing at small theatres until some talent scout saw him doing Shakespeare and decided he would be perfect for the BBC’s latest teen-aimed adaptation of Sense and Sensibility, called SXS. He’d instantly become a fan favorite and then did the rounds on Doctor Who, Coronation Street, Midsomer Murders, and EastEnders before Hollywood finally took notice. Then, much like Gabe, he landed small roles in period films, usually playing soldiers, his roles growing larger and larger until Ollie had swooped in and given him a choice role as Macaulay Connor in his update of The Philadelphia Story.

Also, he was bisexual.

And gorgeous.

That was all I knew about him.

“That’s not the kind of reputation I’m talking about,” Gabe said.

I waited for him to continue, but he took his damn time.

“He’s got a bit of a death wish,” he finally said.

“What does that mean?”

Gabe looked a little flustered. “He just seems like the thrill-seeking type. He’s got his motorcycle, of course, but also takes folks skydiving or hang gliding or whatever on the off days, goes to the desert and races cars, that kind of stuff.”

“It sounds like he’s an adrenaline junkie,” I said.

“He’s also very popular,” he said. “Knows everyone on the crew.”

“What a monster,” I said. “I can see why you can’t stand him.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then say what you’re saying.” I was getting annoyed.

“He’s just not…” Gabe seemed to search for his words.

I waited but started counting to ten. If I got there and Gabe still hadn’t spit it out, I was shutting down the conversation. But the truth was that I was a little curious.