Until Then

5. Noah

FIVE

Noah

NINE MONTHS LATER

I’m fully aware the guy four tables over is watching me.

With a sly sort of maneuver, I shoulder him out the best I can. The last thing I want is for tonight to turn into a front-page tabloid.

I already feel like an idiot for thinking this would be different this time around, and Sir Paparazzi over there doesn’t need to capture the moment.

Sweat starts to pool under my palms, and my insides churn like someone took a corkscrew to my gut.

The screen of my phone lights up with a photo. For a moment the dread stills and a smile cuts across my mouth.

I flick open my brother’s message, and stare at my obsession—the freaking cutest nephew.

The Jude monster must’ve borrowed the drumsticks from Tate Hawkins—the drummer in Rees’s band—and was pounding Rees’s messy, heavily dyed blue and black hair. His four-year-old head is thrown back with his silent little laugh, and my sister-in-law, Vienna, is holding his hand, face red from laughing.

Under the image she wrote:

Tate and Rees told him to play a song to send to his Uncle Noah. Apparently, Dad means drums.

I snort a laugh and respond.

Me: It’s because Reesie Cup has a hollow head and it echoes.

Me: Also, I’m officially going to kidnap him when y’all come for the wedding. Prepare yourself, Vi.

Vienna: Try it and see what happens.

Me: You’re scary.

Vienna: Oh, they’re heading on stage, but Ellie and Alexis wanted to wish you luck too. Annnndd to have me awkwardly remind you that they look forward to seeing EVERYTHING about the new season. I will definitely be refilling drinks in those scenes FYI.

I laugh. This is Vienna’s least favorite part of me being an actor. All the band wives binge the series, but unfortunately for my family—namely my sister-in-law— Wicked Darlings doesn’t shy away from the love scenes.

Me: Have fun. I’ll stream the concert later. Tell Rees not to fall off the stage.

Vienna: I’ll be sure to let him know you told him to have a great show.

I scroll back up to the picture of my nephew, grinning. Most of the summer was spent in Vegas while shooting was on moratorium.

I miss the kid. He’s hilarious, and I’m pretty sure he already has a girlfriend. Ever Knight, the three-year-old daughter of Parker Knight, my retired MLB pitcher buddy, is Jude’s obsession.

Rees and Parker became good friends since the lead singer of Rees’s band is Park’s brother-in-law. Naturally, Jude and Ever are shoved together often. I kind of love being adopted into a massive group of rockstar and baseball friends all because of my brother.

Dax Sage, the former first baseman for the Vegas Kings, even had me in his wedding line after he got involved in the community outreach program for athletics. I introduce kids to theater, Dax and some of his old teammates help get them involved in sports and even gaming.

They’re my people, and I’m glad they’re all my nephew’s people too.

It’s a good thing my brother is bringing the Jude man for Briar’s wedding next week. Fun-Uncle withdrawals are real.

“Something funny?”

I lift my gaze from the screen the same moment a woman with silver-blonde hair draped over her slender shoulders sways into the empty seat across from me. Eden Vaugn, social media darling with five million followers.

The woman I’ve seen off and on for the last three months. I’d call her more of a distraction, but the tabloids and Eden say girlfriend.

Who really cares about semantics, I guess. Distraction is what I’ve wanted for nine months, and distraction is what I got.

“My nephew. Got a cute picture.” I slip my phone back into my pocket.

Eden sips some of her sparkling water. “Have they figured out if they can fix his ears?”

Angry heat floods beneath my collar. “There’s nothing about Jude that needs to be fixed.”

She flicks through some images on her phone, sipping the water, oblivious to the frustration written in every plane of my face. “If I had a deaf child, I’d definitely get those implant things to fix the hearing.”

Her ignorance about the various causes of deafness is astounding. And, frankly, offensive.

“Jude was born without cochleae and auditory nerves,” I snap. “Ergo, cochlear implants wouldn’t work for him. Just because a person can’t hear doesn’t make them broken, Eden.”

“Hmm.” She hums and finally lifts her gaze, grinning as though my tone is lost on her. “So, did you finally get your tie and waistcoat to match my dress at the wedding?”

I bite back a groan.

Briar Madden has been a friend for years. We casually dated once, but it was clear soon enough that Briar and I connected much better in a friend zone than in something romantic.

In fact, I credit myself on being the one to secure her happily ever after. Tyrell, the showrunner for Wicked Darlings, met Briar when she came to the set to visit me.

She waited for me to leave the wardrobe trailer, struck up a conversation with Tyrell, and the rest is history.

When I invited Eden to be my plus-one months ago, she nearly split her skin. An up-and-coming fashion icon on social media being at the front table for Briar—a cosmetic, fashion queen—was nearly too much for her to take.

Now, things are different.

“Actually.” I clear my throat and adjust in my seat. “I wanted to talk about the wedding.”

Eden beams widely and gives me her full attention. “Same. How likely is it that we’ll be in bride and groom photos? You’re close to Briar and Tyrell, so I expect you’ll be in some. You have no idea how epic it will be to post me with Briar on my channel. It’s perfect.”

If only Eden knew how much Briar disapproved of whatever we had going on here.

It’s not that Eden is horrible. She’s . . . fine.

We started chatting online at a wrap party for last season’s show.

I’d written off dating for a time, but she sounded—dare I say—down to earth. Sort of like someone else.

Date one, we spent half the time taking posed selfies at dinner, then ended up at her place with a posed make out that she wanted to take further but, truth be told, I was eighty-three percent certain even that would be posed and documented.

Pass.

Still, here we are a few months later, nearing the end. I can handle selfies, I can handle shallow conversation, but I don’t handle back-stabbing.

Problem is, Eden isn’t clued into the purpose of tonight’s dinner.

Slowly, she covers my hand with hers. “It’s going to make us public. Images of us at the wedding will surface, and I can’t wait.”

I scoff and take a swig of my own water. “I don’t think you’d say that if you knew me.”

“What?” Her perfect brow arches. “What does that mean?”

I wave the thought away.

She shrugs and shifts in her seat. “This place is so small. The bathrooms were like a closet. I thought you said it was popular.”

“It is.” I tip back water, intentionally letting a cube of ice slip over my tongue, all so I can crunch it loudly. This place has been a favorite since I moved out here. It was the first place my twin brother and I went, back when no one knew our faces. “With me. It’s a favorite of the band whenever they come visit.”

Eden’s plump, pink lips part. “You bring Perfectly Broken here?”

“All the time.” I chuckle. “Reminds me of some places back home.” I hold up a piece of fried okra. “My sister-in-law has a tradition of making me eat one of these for every scene she and the other band wives are forced to see me naked in the show. Makes for some awkward talks, and I think it’s Vi’s payback.”

Eden looks a little horrified.

I simply laugh and pop a shoulder with a shrug. “They all still look me in the eye, so I must not be too hideous.”

“Noah,” Eden says with a touch of annoyance. “It’s not that. Do you even look at my content? I have entire lists of appropriate dining for a group like that.”

“Groups like what, Eden?”

“People who are accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Like you and me. Your brother, I’m sure, lives a certain way with his band.”

A small, resigned smile cuts across my mouth. More proof this woman doesn’t know me at all. In truth, I’m not sure she ever really tried.

Then again, maybe I didn’t either. Maybe it was merely a new comfort zone I forced to happen.

Eden folds her arms over her chest. “Will I finally meet them all at the wedding?”

“Nope.” I don’t hesitate.

“I thought they were friends with Briar.”

“They are.” In fact, my brother and his wife will be at Briar’s close-friends-and-family dinner tonight before the wedding really kicks off next week.

Eden wants to meet every single one of my famous connections and the disappointment is clearly written on her face.

I need to do this now.

While she studies the wine list, I study her. Conventionally stunning, smooth olive skin, silky hair, full lips, deep blue eyes.

What would she think if I started spewing out facts about history because I spend weekends watching documentaries, or rarely spent money on anything but my nephew?

I chuckle through a long drink of simple bottled beer. Maybe I should lay it out there. The truth might end the night without me having to do much more. Maybe something like:

Hey, Eden. Are you cool with my collection of Pokémon cards I keep in a glass case, my love of fae romance books since I started filming a fantasy series, and my proclivity to get stuck in my own head? Would you laugh with me over a blueberry scone, blaze through my world, then never call again?

Oh, yeah. One more thing—it’s big—I don’t want to be famous anymore. Frankly, much longer and I might break.

My attention drifts around the dining room.

Couples laughing, friends, college students crammed into booths and tables. It all seems so . . . nice. So normal.

There is a steadiness in their eyes. A small grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. I’m grateful for all I’ve gotten these last years. I’ve formed lifelong friendships, had experiences I never imagined would have ever been real, but I don’t know if I’ve ever been designed to do this for the long haul.

My brother and friends in Las Vegas, they’re all finding their peace, their families. They’ve kept their dreams but found purpose in those they love more.

I want the same.

Theater and acting are part of me. I love it, but lately it feels more about how many times my face is put in tabloids, who I’m dating, or how many auditions my agent lines up for the future.

Sometimes, I miss just stepping onto a stage with an intimate audience and descending into a character without all the extra that comes with it.

It’s why I joined with the outreach program. The whole system unlocked a new passion of teaching the kids drama and theater, to see their eyes ignite with the possibility of designing a show for others to enjoy. To develop new skills and passions they might’ve missed otherwise.

The fiery desire I had for acting feels like it’s returning through a gaggle of middle schoolers doing an improv scene three days a week.

“Noah, are you listening to me?” Eden’s sharp voice snaps me out of my wandering thoughts.

I set my drink down and stand. “No. I wasn’t, sorry. Look, Eden, I don’t want to be a jerk, but it needs to be said—I’m going alone to the wedding.”

She’s holding her phone, face flushed, a dangerous sort of rage in her eyes. “What?”

“See, if you wanted to sneak around behind my back and give up personal conversations to the tabloids, maybe don’t do it where people who are my friends might see and hear you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Carter Warren heard you talking to StarWatch about my nephew—who is one hundred percent off limits. Really? You had to bring a kid into it. What were you thinking telling a tabloid when Jude is coming to stay with me this fall? You put him at risk, and I don’t play with that.”

“Noah, I didn’t mean anything . . . I was simply telling them how you’re involved with your family.”

“They already know. But they never know exact details of where and who I will be with for safety, Eden. Safety for a four-year-old kid who already deals with enough limelight from Rees. Carter heard it all. Honestly, if Vienna sees you at the wedding, her claws might come out.” I shake my head and click my tongue. “You already knew it was only stuntmen who were at the studio last week, yet you showed up to bring me lunch? Pretty convenient to run into the cameras who are always hanging around.”

Eden blanches. She blinks enough, I think her false lashes might fall off. “Noah, I can explain, I?—”

“No need.”

“But we’re . . . we were going to go public and exclusive.” She’s staring at the table as though in a daze.

“Nah. See when I want to be with someone, I plan to trust them. So, I’m going to leave,” I tell her, aware the guy with his camera across the restaurant is watching our every move. “I’ll send for a car and cover it for you.”

“No.” Eden shoots to her feet when I turn away. “I am going to that wedding, Noah Hayden. You can’t do this.”

And there’s the truth. What it’s always about, with everyone, every time. How I can help them grow their own career with my connections?

“You’re breaking up with me?” Her voice goes shrill. I glance back at the man who is not moving.

“No. We weren’t together to break up.”

There is an eerie, steely glint in Eden’s eyes when I turn around again. “You’re doing this days before the wedding? I’ve promised my subscribers an inside look.”

“I’m not bringing a gossip leak to Briar’s wedding. She’s closed it to the public for a reason,” I say, voice low.

All at once, Eden holds up her phone. Fabulous, we’re filming it.

I turn to go, desperate to avoid salacious headlines or clipped videos.

A strange wildness burns in her smile. “You’re cruel, Noah Hayden. A total player. Cheating on me, then saying I’m not good enough?”

My jaw pulses. “I didn’t say that.”

Before I have a chance to react, Eden clasps her glass of iced tea. Like in every dramatic rom-com, she splashes the ice and sticky sweetness all over my face.

Gasps and mutters fill the restaurant.

I curse under my breath, wiping at my eyes. With a few less-than-appropriate names—things like deviant, washed-up, C-lister—tossed my way, Eden slides out of the table and storms away, talking to her phone screen as though her entire audience was in attendance.

The paparazzi guy from the far booth follows her, camera clicking.

Fine. At least he leaves me alone.

“Well, wish I could say that was a first.” Alan, one of the owners of the restaurant, makes his way to me, dabbing at the mess. His peppered hair is long and tied in a knot at the base of his head. He looks like he might’ve been in a metal band or something once, but he’s always been unbothered by fame and fortune.

Pay for the meal, become a regular, and he doesn’t care where you live.

I give him a nod of thanks when he hands me a linen napkin. “Sorry about that, man.”

Alan waves a hand. “Ack, let it go. It’s L.A. If something wild isn’t happening every half hour, something’s wrong. Folks have already forgotten.”

I steal a glance. He’s half-right. Some people have lost interest, but a good handful are whispering and casting dubious looks my way.

“Come on.” Alan claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll smuggle you out the back before the pappos crowd my dining room.”

I snort a laugh and follow him, soaked from the brow down.

“Here.” Alan’s wife, who works in the back, hands me a white paper bag once I’m in the kitchen. She reminds me a bit of the memories I have of my mom. Kind eyes, pale hair that’s curly around her narrow face. “Saw the whole thing.”

“Thanks, June.” I give her a half hug. “Didn’t mean to cause a stir.”

Alan waves a hand. “Good for business. We get rumors going, and chatter brings folks in, hoping to catch some other famous idiot getting dumped.”

I chuckle and peek at the smothered burger June stowed away for me. “Well, I’ll . . . go, I guess. Thanks again.”

I plop some cash on the counter to pay for what was left at the table, wave, and give a nod to one of the line cooks who lets me out into the alley behind the restaurant.

Outside, I slump against the wall, and stare at the inky sky.

That was a disaster. No mistake, by tomorrow gossip will be scattered on the internet. Two things will happen—Dad will call and ask if I did anything illegal, then ask if I’m all right. Next, Rees will call and laugh at me until he can’t breathe.

Not hard for that annoying asthmatic.

He’ll laugh, but Vienna will take pity on me and let me video chat with Jude. We’re making major progress in our own secret sign language. My nephew won’t be able to ever hear my voice, but I will still have secret jokes with the kid.

I demand it. The fact that we’ll sign them is merely a bonus.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Carter: How’d it go?

I roll my eyes.

Me: If you’re asking, I’m sure you’ve already seen the video.

Carter: Facts. Listen, we’re all here at The Loft. Briar says to get over here so we can celebrate your new freedom. Oh, Rees just showed up. He’s laughing.

I chuckle. We’re lucky to be close as twins, but my brother will taunt me relentlessly about whatever nasty post Eden put up. Vienna will likely give me that sad look since she knows I’ve basically been hunting for anyone to fill the cut left behind from months ago.

I’m an idiot.

One stupid day and night and I act like I lost a soulmate.

It’s ridiculous and a little pathetic. Still, there is a fierce truth I’ll deny until I’m blue, but inside I know the truth—if my wildfire ever asked for me again, I’d stumble all over myself to take the chance.