“I am.” Sophie rubbed her elbow with her free hand. Then she stood from the bed, grabbed her clothes from the floor, and slipped into her dress. “I think we could make it work. The last time we dated, I wasn’t true to myself. I just hope she likes what she sees this time around.”
“Of course she will.” His chest tightened. Of course Carla would like Sophie, more than like—she’d love her. And she’d find her happily-ever-after without him in it. He knew he needed to let her go, but he couldn’t help but feel like part of him would be hollow when she left.
“You’re a really good guy, Dash.” Her eyes finally met his, and he stopped himself from moving to hold her. She wasn’t his to hold.
“I want you to hear me when I say this, okay?” She waited for him to acknowledge her, but all he could do was swallow down his panic at losing her. “You deserve to be loved, deeply. Please remember that.”
Eventually, she walked over to him, grabbed his shoulder, and softly kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes. The kiss was friendly. Sweet. He shouldn’t have been bothered, but he also didn’t know how to think of her as someone else’s girlfriend. They fit together as naturally as his own hands forming clay. But what she wanted was so far from what he was able to offer, and he wasn’t about to make her think otherwise. She deserved a relationship, and he would let her have one. Even if it was with someone else.
Without lingering—because, really, what more was there to say?—she walked out of his room and, he worried, maybe out of his life for good. He barely remembered trailing her as she left his house, but what he did recall was the sight of her turning back to look at him one last time before she walked across their lawn without him.
As Dash sat across from his mom at a booth in the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel, he was distracted, not by the green-and-white-striped ceiling overhead, or the table of influencers creating a photo shoot with their caviar and oysters, but by his phone. More specifically, by the lack of any texts from Sophie on the screen.
“I didn’t know you could write.”
Dash looked up at his mom’s voice.
Kitty took off her reading glasses and leaned across the table. “You wrote this?”
Yes, he was going to tell his mom he wrote the speech, because if she knew that he had hired an outsider and told them private details about his dad, then she might actually have him killed. Or inundated with parking tickets, or whatever a powerhouse Hollywood agent was capable of. And he knew the speech might be the distraction he needed to keep her from asking questions about the reporter at Reece’s premiere.
“I did,” he said.
“This is good. I got a little emotional just reading it.” She wiped something away from the corners of her eyes, though there were no actual tears there. “Since you don’t want to be in front of the camera anymore, have you considered being behind it? Your brother is making his directorial debut. You could pivot to screenplays.”
“Mom.” Dash rubbed a spot on his forehead. His mom really had no way of turning her professional side off. Her time was valuable, and the way her brain worked meant that there was always an opportunity for a potential new deal.
She exhaled sharply as she leaned back into the booth’s leather seat. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about work. Do you want to talk about what happened at the premiere?”
No, he did not want to talk about that either, not at all. But he leaned forward and exhaled a rattling breath, because there was no more running from the fact that his mother probably already knew all the details. “What do you want to know?”
“I know about your rehab stay. I know it was booze…” Her voice was low as she crossed her arms. “Is there still a problem?”
“Not anymore.” And that was his truth. He’d had a problem, but now he was sober. His mom knew his secret, and he should feel relieved…but he sensed this wouldn’t be the end of the conversation.
“I’m your mother, and half of you is me, and even though you don’t talk to me about these things, I know something is going on. It’s fine if you want to keep whatever that is to yourself, but you’re my child, and believe it or not, I do care about you.” Her expression visibly softened and turned to something akin to concern.
Dash scratched at his neck and looked off as he weighed his options. “I don’t want to do the speech. I can’t. I’m trying to stay focused on my sobriety, and the speech—”
“Are you telling me the speech would cause you to not be sober? Dash, do you have a problem or not?”
He clenched then unclenched his jaw. The answer to her question was complicated. Sobriety was complicated. But he sensed that trying to explain those things to her wouldn’t be well received. So he simply replied, “No, I don’t have a problem.”
“Then, can’t you do this one thing for your father? The press release has gone out, and the event is in two weeks. Sitting around and doing nothing with your life is not an option. And now that someone out there knows about your…past problem, getting back to work will be the easiest way to stop any further questions from popping up. If you’re working, they won’t wonder whether or not you’re on the wagon.”
“Working on set is what led me down this path in the first place.” He sat back and let his fingers nervously tap the sides of his thighs underneath the table. He’d never stood up to his mom in any kind of way. She’d always known best and made it clear that he wasn’t invited to disagree when it came to what she wanted for him.
“Being an actor is a gift. Millions of people want the kind of career you could have. Do you think if you worked a nine-to-five job like your sister that you’d be happy? Everything your father and I have worked for is so that you and Reece and Poppy will be taken care of. That doesn’t mean you get to just retire at thirty-six. And if you’re having a problem staying sober then you need to tell me so we can get you the help—”
“I’ve been working since I was eight,” Dash interrupted her. “You had me going to film commercials instead of going to school. Did you ever stop to think that I might just want some time to figure out what my life should be?”
But as his mother’s eyes dug a hole through him, he knew that being vulnerable in front of her wouldn’t achieve anything positive.
Dash stood from the table, even though his mother’s jaw was so tight he could almost hear her teeth grinding. She did not like scenes, or anything that could make their family look bad, so he knew she wouldn’t try to follow him. Especially not at the Beverly Hills Hotel, which was always a place where celebrities—and some of her clients—could be. She would sit and pay the bill, and if anyone asked, she’d say Dash had to go to an audition. She’d make up her own reality, the way she always did.
“This lunch is over,” he said. “Unless you have any notes on the speech.”
His mother refolded the napkin in her lap, as if calming herself, before answering. “Lose the bit about your father being afraid of sharks. That’s not the image I’ve created for him. Unlike you, your father’s career isn’t done.”