I cross the yard, stopping outside the paddock. The foal skips over, excited for some company. “Yeah. I kind of thought the same thing.”

“Enjoy him for me, and let me know if he calls you.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, girl.”

I hang up, stick the phone in my pocket, and rub the foal’s head. In life, things can change, things can end, things can die in an instant. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe that’s the key to being happy again. Take life for what it is, live in the moment, and enjoy something while it lasts.

Chapter 13

I lie in bed, feeling twitchy and restless. Haley’s been on my mind, distracting me from the Skype meeting with my agent, and then my manager. I sent Claire to get me food and something to drink. I ate in silence in my room, unable to stop thinking about the tears running down Haley’s face or the horrid scars on Phoenix.

I can imagine almost any situation and then make myself feel the emotions that go along with it. That’s acting in a nutshell. Being trapped in a burning barn, smelling the smoke and feeling the painful heat…it was terrifying. What I couldn’t imagine—well, I could but didn’t want to—was the guilt she must feel. Haley lived and her mother didn’t.

It’s only noon, but I finish my third glass of Scotch and lie back, staring at the ceiling. I wonder what it feels like to burn to death. What kills you first—the heat or the smoke? How long does it take before your skin melts off and you crumble into a pile of charred flesh and bone? I roll over. Can your skin actually catch on fire, or is it just your clothes? I think of all the things I’ve done—things I still do—that could end in flames. And then I wonder if anyone else has thoughts like these, thoughts of slowly dying in the most painful ways and wanting to know how it feels.

I get up, needing another drink to drown the darkness. Or something more. Something stronger. Something to knock me out and let me sleep deeply enough that no thoughts can disturb me.

Three Norcos and a shot of whiskey later, I pass out in the shower, waking hours later to cold water pouring onto my body. My head pounds and I push up, so dizzy that I vomit. I adjust the temperature of the water, but it doesn’t get warm enough. I clamber out of the shower, body tense and shaking. What the fuck? I shouldn’t feel anything.

My head is in a fog and the light hurts my eyes. I wrap myself in a towel, water streaming down my hair and onto the floor, and shuffle my way into bed. I collapse and bury myself under the blankets, naked and shivering. My heavy eyelids close, and I pass out again, not waking until later that night.

Claire brings me a double espresso and two Advil when she brings me a late dinner. I can see the concern on her face. She’s not dumb; she knows something is up—again.

“Are you all right?” she asks as she starts straightening up my room. My arse is still parked in bed. I’m feeling like shit and don’t want to move.

“Fine,” I say, pushing mashed potatoes around on my plate. The food looks good and smells wonderful. But I’m not hungry.

“You don’t look fine,” she says. “How much did you have to drink?”

“That’s none of your business,” I say. I don’t pay her to lecture me. I don’t pay her to be concerned. But I’d be lying if I said a small part of me isn’t grateful she cares.

“I know,” she says softly. “But you are my business.”

I grumble and take a bite of food to avoid answering. It’s fucking ridiculous she thinks I have a problem. I don’t. I can stop drinking and taking pills whenever I want. And it’s not like I have a drug problem; these are prescriptions after all. She gives me another bottle of water, picks out my clothes for tomorrow, and reminds me that I have another interview Tuesday evening, lines to rehearse, and need to hit the gym.

And this is all on top of the twelve hours of filming.

Claire finishes cleaning my room and setting things out for me. She tells me for the fifth time to look over my lines for tomorrow. I can see the worry in her eyes when she leaves, closing the door behind her. I get out of bed and walk to the sitting area of the room. I should go over my lines. I’ve read the entire script twice, but that isn’t enough. I finish the espresso and rub my forehead, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. Dammit. I should have had Claire stay and read over the script with me.

I flip to the scene we’re shooting tomorrow and stare at the page. I look over each word but nothing sticks in my head. I close my eyes and let out a breath. It’s nearing 11:00 p.m. If I’m not going to go over lines, I should sleep. Well, attempt to sleep. Fucking insomnia.

Instead, I get my phone and look at the picture of Haley. I want to call her, but I don’t at the same time. I’m not concerned with “calling too soon” or whatever stupid rules are supposed to be in place. I do what I bloody want to do. I think of Haley, of the way her lips felt against mine, the gentle way she wrapped her arms around me, moving in until her soft breasts crushed against my chest.

I can honestly say that was the first time in the years since my stardom blew up that I kissed a woman without intending to fuck her. I did want to sleep with Haley. Not only was her pain beautiful, but she was hot, and I thought it was ridiculous she was worried about being Hollywood thin. I don’t find bones attractive anyway. She is perfect, and just thinking about her naked is giving me a hard-on. There’s something different about Haley, something so respectable. It isn’t a secret that most women go out with me based solely on my looks, not caring who I really am. I use that to my advantage, fucking just to feel good with no strings attached.

Thinking about kissing Haley, thinking about her lips and her breasts and the way her hips ground into mine, turns me on even more. I want to hear her voice. My heart speeds up as I call her, beating faster and faster each time her phone rings and she doesn’t pick up.

“Hello?” she says, almost sounding shy. Right. She doesn’t have my number. Well, not my real number. The one I give out gets answered by Claire, if at all.

“It’s Aiden,” I quickly tell her.

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I lie. “What about you? Are you sleeping in the barn again?”

She laughs, and God, I love it. “I was sleeping on the couch until you woke me up.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

“I’m glad you did,” she says, and I can hear rustling in the background. “I, uh, was having a nightmare.”

“You’re welcome, then.” I want to go to her, comfort her. I’ve never wanted to do that for anyone before. What the hell? “How’s the foal?”

“She drank out of a bucket,” she says, sounding a little more awake. “But not enough. I really hope she’s weaned from the bottle soon. This is a little exhausting, I won’t lie.”

I laugh. “It’s like having a newborn, but people don’t offer to come over and help.”

“So true,” she says with a laugh too. “How’d things go with your manager?”

“Fine.” I feel my stress level rise when I think about everything he has booked for me. “I’m gonna be on the Tonight Show in a few weeks.”

“That’s cool,” she says, but she doesn’t sound impressed. “I’d be nervous.”

“I probably will be.”

“Really? I can’t see you being nervous about anything.”

Good, then she didn’t realize I was nervous to kiss her. “Yeah, but just a little.” I hear her walking through the house and a door softly clicking shut behind her. She calls to Chrissy and wind blows through the phone. Knowing she’s outside, alone in the dark, bothers me. I wish I didn’t have to be on set early tomorrow, or else I’d go to her. The drive to the set took about an hour, and it took about an hour to get to Haley’s. I wonder how long it would take to get to the set from her house. I’m driven to work every morning, and I don’t pay attention on the way; I actually have no idea where I am.