“Oh my God. I . . . Wait until I tell Ryan.” I thought Kat was going to double over with laughter. “He’s turning all his leading ladies into lesbians.”

I gave her a stern look. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh yes it is! What are the odds?” She looked over her shoulder. “That means Suzanne is next.”

We were outside the women’s bathroom when my cell rang. It was Marie, probably calling to squeal in my ear over Ian Smolderhalder’s exquisite derriere.

“I almost touched it!” I blurted excitedly, not even bothering to say hello.

I could tell by the first sound she made that she was upset. “Taryn, listen. Tammy just called. Pete was just rushed back to the hospital. I don’t know what’s going on but she said that he tried to walk and couldn’t feel his leg so she called the ambulance. I guess he fell in their bedroom.”

My slightly inebriated condition mixed with a power shot of worried adrenaline made me feel lightheaded. I covered my other ear with my hand, trying to hear her over the chatter and noise. By the time I hung up with her, I felt as if I’d been socked in the stomach. I left Kat behind in the bathroom and hurried back to the table to tell Ryan.

Ryan halted in mid-sentence when he saw me. “Tar?” One word that said, You only went to the bathroom. What the hell happened?

I glanced at the cell still in my hand while horrible visions of Pete not being able to walk down the aisle of his own wedding plagued my thoughts. “They just took Pete back to the hospital.” I filled him in with what little I knew.

He took a deep breath then Kat suddenly bounced up behind him, all too excited to tell him what we witnessed on our way to the bathroom.

Ryan’s mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”

Kat was having too much fun teasing him like this. “Full-on tongue action.”

I actually saw him shudder. “You’re positive it was Lauren and Nicole Devin? Positive?”

Kat looked at me and we both nodded.

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, digesting this new information. “Wow. Good for them, I guess.”

I tried to change the subject, talking about anything that didn’t involve things that Ryan would stew over, but I could see that the news had affected him, slightly changing his mood. He was with Lauren for a while when they dated a few years ago; they’d been intimate for months. Ryan was not the type of man who could switch off his emotions.

Instead of letting it affect us, we mixed and mingled with so many celebrities that I was awestruck. It seemed that everyone asked the same sort of questions: What are you working on now? Did you hear about this person or that person? Most of the conversations ended with enthusiastic promises of keeping in touch and “hope to work with you sometime” comments. It was hard to discern between true intentions and crafted bullshit, but I’d like to think I guessed accurately.

Ryan had just made a private comment to me when I saw Kyle storm through the crowd on a direct course for Lauren. Someone else had engaged Ryan in conversation and after being introduced, I kept part of my attention on watching Kyle and Lauren. Kyle was pissed. I could tell because I’d seen that face before. Lauren looked stubborn, planting a foot and crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

Kyle reached for her but she rolled her shoulder away from his grasp. He apparently wasn’t going to take no for an answer, snatching her wrist and pulling her off balance so she had no choice but to follow him. He towed her along like an insolent puppy fighting the leash, and never looked back at her as she struggled.

As much as I was curious about their interactions, I was glad that he seemed to have found a new outlet for his misguided attentions.

Photographers surrounded us like hungry jackals as we hustled through LAX. My heart pounded in my chest from the chaos that ensued when we stepped into the terminal. Men were yelling, running sideways, aiming those nasty black cameras at us. So the famous Ryan Christensen was getting on another plane. Why is that even remotely newsworthy? Such nonsense. Ryan tugged his duffle bag up on his shoulder and grabbed my hand as Mike and three extra hired bodyguards moved us through the entrance. Two airport police officers flanked us, telling the paparazzi to mind the other passengers and to keep their distance.

We were ushered down a separate row to go through security and I nearly tripped over my own feet trying to walk as fast as possible. Ryan glanced back at me when I stumbled, then he stopped long enough to put my body in front of his.

“You okay?” he uttered quietly, walking his fingers over the small of my back as he nudged me along.

I nodded, slightly mortified by the prospect of having my little stumble be on the next episode of TMZ.

“This is fucking annoying,” Ryan growled to me privately under his breath.

I tried not to spy over his shoulder but the paparazzi were still taking photos and filming us as we came to a halt in the security line.

Ryan tapped Mike’s arm. “Why are we stopped?” We were standing in a special line but there were still like twenty people in front of us with a pack of rabid idiots forty feet behind us filming and photographing.

I heard a faint chime just as Ryan asked, “Is your cell ringing?” I thought I had turned it off, knowing it would have to be off for the flight. I didn’t recognize the number and considered ignoring it until thoughts of Pete being in the hospital crossed my mind.

“Is this Taryn? Taryn Mitchell?” the unfamiliar male voice asked hesitantly.

As quickly as the notion came, I pictured some obscure religious-message, flower-sending weirdo named Jerry or Jeremy calling me. I had the sudden urge to just hang up. “Who is this?”

“It’s ahh . . . Joe.”

I gasped from the slight shock.

“Joe Malone,” he continued, clearing his throat nervously. “Your um, father.”

Chapter 17

Reconnected

Ryan nodded his chin at me. “Who’s that?”

“Joe,” I whispered, both to answer Ryan and to assure my brain that I was actually talking to the man who fathered me. I had almost convinced myself that he’d never call.

Ryan pulled his sunglasses off, hooking them over the front of his T-shirt, and focused all of his attention on me. The man on the other end of my phone sounded close to tears as his breath stuttered in my ear. I knew how he felt; I wanted to cry with him.

“Yeah,” he choked. “Oh God. I, um . . . never thought I’d . . . that we’d . . . Oh God, I don’t even know where to begin. It’s been so long. Please, let me hear your voice. Say something. Anything.”

“I don’t know what to say. How are you?”

Joe laughed uncomfortably. “I’m good, sweetheart. I’m good. A little speechless right now, though.”

“Me too.”

It was hard to concentrate. Airport security officers were surrounding us, moving a section of the nylon barricades out of the way to usher us through into another pathway toward a TSA security agent.

Ryan nodded at me. “Tar, you’re going to have to call him back.”

I knew I needed to move, to get through security and away from the spying paparazzi, but my feet didn’t want to move. My hand gripped my phone tighter, fumbling through an awkward apology for our bad timing. Joe nervously chuckled in my ear, being quite understanding that I was not able to give him any more of my time at the moment while going through baggage scan.

As I stowed my cell away in my bag, sadness mixed with my elation. The most important part was that he reached out to make the first connection. That was a huge step.

Ryan pulled his shoes off, dropping them into a plastic bin. I slipped my purse from my shoulder and followed suit, hating with a passion this part of flying.