Until Then

20. Noah

TWENTY

Noah

Hayley.

I keep thinking of Hayley.

For two weeks, I’ve spent nearly every waking moment with her. Sometimes not awake hours. Twice we fell asleep on her couch, only to have Nan wake us both up, demanding we get to work with chores.

I don’t even mind.

Milton taught me how to move the hay bales on their tractor. I’m eighty percent sure Hayley’s jealous with how much attention I’ve been giving the old girl.

Two weeks of rides across her property, of late-night movies with popcorn and sweats. We drove to Vegas last Saturday and Sunday for a weekend concert Perfectly Broken put on. Tucked in the family suite with Hayley dancing and cheering Rees and the guys on stage was a sight I wouldn’t forget.

She got on with all the band wives and I’m almost positive my nephew has a crush on the woman.

Jude always had great taste.

Yesterday, she brought her world to mine and the ranch opened its gates to my kids in the youth program. For three hours they learned about choreography with animals on set. Hayley supplied the horses, Carter and the stunt team from Wicked Darlings provided the demonstrations of leaping and dodging swords like a well-planned dance.

I could spend every hour with the woman. She’s . . . she’s a light in the dreary of the day to day.

Tomorrow will be the first day apart since the trail ride. She’s supposed to go to freaking Oklahoma with her uncles to buy a new horse.

The worst part is I was invited and I can’t go.

After avoiding Rob—my agent—for too long about new contracts and future planning, I finally agreed to meet with a new director about some movie project. Meetings, workouts, emails, prep for the upcoming season. It’s all keeping me from some epic convoy to a horse auction with my Wildfire.

With Briar and Tyrell back from their honeymoon, they insisted we all meet for dinner with Greer, Carter, and a few others.

I’m half-convinced Briar wants us to come because she wants all the gossip about what’s happened since her wedding, and the other half is positive our mutual friend is still holding a grudge we were missing during her wedding send-off.

What’s worse is the morning feels . . . heavy.

Not a good sign.

There’s a weight on my spine. One too familiar. It’s not there, only perceived, but I still walk across the room to reach my ringing phone with a slight curve to my spine.

Maybe it’s time to open the curtains.

I snatch up the phone and answer before I can think too long on it. “Chase.” The grin spreads naturally, a good sign. “Been a few months, man.”

Chase Thorn, the author of the Wicked Darlings series, became a friend and mentor years ago when the show was first being filmed.

He and his wife, Jeri, live like snowed-in hermits in a tiny town in the mountains of Colorado.

I slump back into an oversized sitting chair and kick my legs out in front of me. “Are you calling to tell me you are Jer had another one? How many kids are you at now? Twelve?”

Chase laughs. “You’ve seen my wife. It’s impossible to stay away from her, but last I checked we’re only at four.”

“Tell Braden we’re still due for a rematch on the X-Box.”

“Dude, he’s even better now.”

I chuckle. Their oldest son is destined to invent the next Fortnite or something. I made the mistake of introducing the kid to Dax when we all met for a Vegas Kings game three years ago. Both video game superstars, but the kid—I’ll never admit it to Dax—is better.

“So, what’s new?” I ask. “You ready for another season to start? I found more of your fans here, and people continue to like me because of what I can give them.”

Chase laughs. “You got the signed early editions of the new book, I’m guessing?”

“I did. I’m a slow reader and only sixty percent finished, so Rees is holding it over my head. How are you doing with the release? Hard to move on to new characters?”

“It’s still in the same world, but yeah, it’s strange.” Chase sighs, almost like he’s reminiscing. “Honestly, it’s been a little chaotic with a new release and working with the show. My publisher is trying to make this new series take a number one spot, so there’s been tours and promotions. And the show, well, it’s trying to keep its accolades.”

“From what I’ve been told, it sounds like your summer adapting went well. I keep getting updates and reminders to both tease the new seasons and keep our mouths shut about everything.”

Chase pauses. “Well, we better keep this between us then.”

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Another pause. “I just consider you a friend.”

“I freaking hope so, or I’ve been severely misinterpreting the last decade.”

“I wanted to talk to you first.” The man needs to stop pausing or I’m going to lose it. “Noah, this is the last season.”

Something sinks in my stomach finally having my suspicions confirmed. We all knew Chase was feeling the series needed to wrap on the book side, but sometimes TV can stretch beyond an author’s words.

Sounds like the studio feels the same.

The knot in my chest is strange. There’s pain there, but also . . . a touch of relief, I think.

“Eight seasons is an epic run,” I say, voice soft.

“It is.” Maybe Chase is feeling a little of the same. “I’ll miss the set.”

“Me too.”

He clears his throat. “I wanted to let you know it’s been a true honor watching you grow as an actor, a man, and a friend over the years.”

Stupid emotion tightens my throat.

“You can shut up now.” I hide the thickness with a laugh. “It’s not like we’re dying. You’re stuck with me, man. You already said we’re friends and I intend to cash in on that and eat for free in Jeri’s café whenever we come to visit.”

“All the freebies.” Chase’s laugh is wetter than normal, a little like mine. He’s definitely feeling more than he’s letting on. “It’s been a blast, Noah. I can’t wait to see what big things you take on in the future.”

My smile fades. Chase is a good guy. He’s famous in a different way. Maybe not as recognizable in the grocery store, but he understands the pressures of fans and the hustle of pumping out more of his art for the world.

“Would you think I’m insane if I told you I want to slow down?”

It takes a second for him to respond, but I think it’s more to the small voice in the background. Probably Lizzy, his youngest.

“Slow down? What do you mean?”

“I’ve been so grateful for the show, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure I want to keep this . . . pace, you know? I don’t know if I want to always be at premiers or in the public eye. My agent is annoyed with me for being so noncommittal. I had a hot shot director reach out last week for a meeting in a couple days, and I’m pretty sure my agent cried when I agreed to it. I miss the stage and, honestly, I’ve loved teaching the kids in the youth program.”

“So you’re asking if I think slowing down for your own sanity and to focus on other areas of the job that bring you more happiness than others is nuts? Hmmm, let’s see. I moved to a cabin in the forest and married a sexy woman who runs a small town café, and talk to maybe twelve people—five of whom are my own family. Yeah, man. I get the appeal of slowing down and living the way you want to live. You don’t owe anyone anything, Noah. Not if it makes you unhappy.”

“It doesn’t,” I say. “I truly love my job, which makes all this confusing. I worked so hard to get to where I am, and, I don’t know, feel a little selfish for wanting to pull back, I guess.”

“You’re not selfish. You can still love your job, but not want to do it every day. I’m old and wise now so?—”

“Is mid-forties over the hill now?”

“Basically.” Chase adjusts on the other line. “Take it from me, life is short. You never know when you don’t get another day.”

“Morbid.”

“Yet true,” he says. “Sometimes, even when it feels like we should be completely content, that little nudge in the gut is trying to get us to look somewhere else, so we can spend our time doing what truly brings us happiness.”

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

“Did you know I was engaged before Jer?”

“Ten years and I never knew this?”

“I don’t talk about her much. She died, Noah. After, I thought I’d rot in my old apartment, doing nothing but write to escape the real world. Until I inherited my house here, and . . . something told me to go. I will never regret that nudge in the gut. It showed me life wasn’t over, and I’m one of the lucky ones who gets to fill it with the family I never thought I’d have.”

It takes me a minute to think of what to say. “I’m really glad you did, man.”

“I hope you get to have all you want too, Noah.”

Hayley Foster. She’s who I want.

The murky cloud that fills my head follows the thought, adding another weight to my spine. The show is ending. I don’t have a clear grasp on what I want to do next. Not exactly. I’m constantly scrutinized, meaning everyone associated with me is also under a vigilant public opinion.

I haven’t been able to hold down a relationship longer than six months since I was twenty-one.

Hardly a catch.

I shake my head, draw in a deep breath and blow it out. While Chase explains about his book tour schedule he’ll be doing throughout his visits to the film set this fall, I silently tick off things that are true. Things I can be grateful for since they exist.

Redirection. That’s what Dan says is key. Redirect the rogue thoughts to something true. Tangible. I need to remind myself to see the reality that gets covered by the shadows sometimes.

Truth be told, the last few days have been more challenging than I’d like.

Too familiar.

Too frightening.

I don’t want to spin down the hole again, but sometimes it feels like one misstep might be the thing to knock me on my back.

When Chase insists he needs to go help Jeri corral their kids for afternoon sports, I sit back, staring at my ceiling.

An era is coming to an end. Like Chase, I ought to be glad and proud of the work we’ve done. He had to close the chapter when he finished the book series. A world he’d lived inside for years before the show took off.

He moved on, found purpose.

Excitement for the potential is there, deep in my chest. I merely need to keep it at the forefront and not let it fall into the fog.

With a touch of reluctance, I send a text to Rees. As much as my own head tells me not to bother others with . . . well, with me, my twin made me vow on our mom I’d always send the Bat Signal if I needed.

The signal is nowhere as cool as Batman.

Me: *thumbs down emoji*

Twenty seconds is all it takes for my brother to respond.

Rees: You’ve got this, No. I know it takes some adjusting, but you’ve got this.

Rees: Have you told Hayley anything?

Me: No.

Rees: You know what I think.

Me: Yeah, I know. It’s not exactly a fun chat.

Rees: But an important one. Need a Jude video call?

I chuckle.

Me: Always.