All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) (23 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Smokin’ Hot

“Hey! You lighting up back there?”

I’ll get my answer as soon as I walk behind the giant pine tree that Niles’s shoes are peeking out from beneath, but since a plume of smoke is in the exact same vicinity, I’m guessing he is, in fact, spending a little time with the Marlboro man.

“I might be,” he says with a guilty smile. He flicks his cigarette to the ground and smooshes it until it’s out. “Been a little, uh, on edge lately. Sorry.”

“On edge? That would define me in my
best
moments over this past week.”

“Kallie . . .”

“I am so sorry about what happened in there, Niles. Really. I don’t know what I expected, but that was worse than I ever imagined it would be.”

“Ha, please. I’m the last person you need to apologize to. Like, Robbyn seriously emailed him? What is she, a fucking detective now?” He pops a mint into his mouth. “Looks like we both scored big in the crazy-ex department, huh?”

“Pfft, understatement of the century. I just never expected to want to strangle someone I used to love so much, you know?”

“It happens,” he says. “Let’s just make sure it never happens to us.”

A serious look crosses his face as he moves toward me, tentative at first, then with the full Niles conviction that’s defined some of our most heated moments. It feels so amazing being in his arms again. Like there’s nowhere else either of us should even bother being. We stand like this for ages, calming down until our breaths even out to match each other’s. I feel so at peace, I don’t ever want to break free.

“You feel so good,” he says. “God, I’ve missed holding you.”

Chills spread over my entire body. He missed me. As much as I missed him. Despite all the bullshit that’s gone down over the past week, we both know what we need. Each other.

“Niles?” I ask, my stomach tangling into a knot.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’s too soon to ask this, but . . . what’s next for us?”

“What’s next,” he says, “is that I kiss your lips until they just about fall off.”

And that’s exactly what he does. My tongue doesn’t care that his is muddled with cigarettes and breath mints. The two of them expertly reacquaint themselves and our recently slowed breath quickens again, just like always. I don’t care that I’m standing outside a hospital, hiding behind a tree like a high schooler. I don’t care if every photographer this side of the Mississippi snaps our pic. Hell, I wouldn’t even care if my 95-year-old great-grandma set up a folding chair to watch. This is a moment I wasn’t sure would ever happen again. But it is. And it’s magical.

“I can’t—and seriously don’t want to—live without you,” he says, when he finally pulls away. “Maybe we don’t know what that’s going to look like yet, but I know without question that whatever I do, I’m happier when I’m doing it with you.”

I’m guessing my face totally reflects the joy I get from hearing that because he “boops” me on the tip of my nose and says, “Thank you, Kallie. Thank you for setting my sorry ass straight and reminding me I don’t have to be the head case I long ago pegged myself as.” He sticks his chin out and looks down his nose at me. “I certainly indulge in my funks sometimes and can be a real dummy. Just like my mom said. I’m sorry.”

“She told you?”

“She told me.” His little-kid smile breaks through.

“You know, just yesterday I told myself I’d be okay alone for a while. I was all convinced that us being together wasn’t meant to be and I was prepared to fly solo.” I pull my eyes away from the parking lot I’d been talking to and let them rest on him. “But you had to go and ruin that now, didn’t you?”

“Really? You think you want to give up flying solo for little old me?” He holds me out in front of him and bats his eyelashes mockingly, making me burst into a laugh that is probably way too loud for the moment.

“If you’re gonna keep making ridiculous faces like that then, no, maybe not,” I giggle.

“Okay fine, I’ll stop. But you do know that I’m going to need to go back to talking to you every day, right? Well, more like multiple times a day.”

“That’s fine,” I deadpan, as if we’re in negotiations.

“And you’ll need to come see me on tour stops still. Whenever Jillian gets better, of course.”

“Can do.”

“But, above all, I need you to keep writing.” He looks at me like a teacher would look at a student. “I mean it, Kallie. Your talent is astounding. I know you think all your success is somehow due to me, and hey, I am super happy and flattered that I could inspire it, but the true execution is all you, my dear.
You
wrote the book,
you
poured your heart out,
you
snagged an agent and a publisher, and
you
are on the verge of a movie deal. You, you, you. Not me.” He pokes me playfully in the shoulder with every single “you,” then pauses for a moment, looking like he’s just had a major revelation. “Or maybe it’s a
combination
of you and me. And that’s why it worked so well.”

“Yes,” I say, as chills race down my arms. “That’s exactly what it is. The combination of you and me.”

“Do you know that I have gotten more writing done in the past week than I have in months?” He holds out his phone so I can see his notes page, which does, indeed, contain
a lot
of words. “Care to wonder who inspired
me
?”

“But we were . . . apart.”

“And my heart was raw. Emotions everywhere. No offense, but I kinda felt like a chick most days.” He smiles and nudges my shoulder again. “I told you, you do some crazy shit to me, Kallie Reagan.”

“Well, good. I don’t plan on stopping.”

As he shimmies his phone back into his jacket pocket, I take him in again. The way his shirt hangs on his frame, the way that one little wisp of hair scuttles across his forehead from the wind, the depth of the gray in his eyes when the sunlight catches them just so. I love this person and every bit of the quirk and awesome that comes along with him. And I know we just more or less stated that we’re going to pick up where we left off, but what I need to know is, are we packing up all the other stuff and putting it away? There was a reason we got to this point. Is that all behind us now? Are we free to move forward? Are we good? I can’t make assumptions anymore. I have to know.

“So, are we, like,
fixed
?” I ask, looking up at him. “Just like that? I mean, that seems kind of easy, right?”

“Why make something good be hard? But no, we’re not fixed yet. You need a promise that I won’t be a jackass again. That I won’t use you and that I’ll always be honest with you. So . . .” he drops his head and looks up at me, “you have that right now, Kallie. I promise I won’t hurt you like that ever again. Or in any way. I’ll be honest and open and won’t bottle everything up like I may occasionally be known to do.” He smiles and rests his hands on my upper arms, squeezing them gently. “I’ll be as straightforward as I’ve always asked you to be with me.
I promise
.”

“Gasp! Did Niles Russell just make a
promise
?”

“Yeah. He did.”

With that, my heart swells and bursts into a million flecks of glitter. He said it. He said exactly what I wanted—and needed—him to say. What I begged him to say in the alley right after we looked at the apartment. And not only did he say it, he capped it off with a promise. A promise!

I close my eyes and let this all sink in. We
can
go forward now. Nothing hanging overhead, nothing standing in our way. This is really, really it. I could not be happier even if Ed McMahon resurrected and handed me a million-dollar Publishers Clearing House check.

“We good?” he asks, squeezing my arms even tighter.

“Yeah, we’re good. Really, really good.”

He lets go of my arms and smooths my hair away from my face. “Upfront and honest. We’ll be the poster couple for it.”

“
Couple
,” I repeat, as chills cover every inch of my body yet again. “We’ve never actually said
that word
. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“Most definitely.”

His phone buzzes wildly, and after reading the message, his face falls flat. “My driver is on his way. I gotta roll. Unless you want me to stay with you. Because I absolutely will.”

“I know you would. But no. Your fans are waiting for you, so go give them one helluva show. Just call your
biggest fan
when you’re done, okay?”

“You know I will.” He pulls me into another hug, then runs the backs of his fingers along my cheek.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. “We really do have a whole lot stacked against us.”

“Kallie,” he says, his eyes penetrating mine, “the only things stacked against us are the things we allow to be stacked against us. Do you hear me?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. “I love you, Writer Girl. So much.”

My heart squeezes tight. Tighter than tight, really. Because, finally.
Finally,
after all the starts and stops and one of us saying it at one moment and the other saying it at another moment,
finally
I am able to look him in the eye and say it right back to him with absolute, no-holds-barred conviction.

“I love you, too, Rock Star.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

It’s Time

“Well, cabin, it was great staying with you for, what? Eleven seconds?”

Jillian’s improving rapidly, but until she’s discharged to a rehabilitation facility, I am packing up shop and staying at a hotel near the hospital. Going days on end without a shower is no longer my jam and sleeping in what was once my beloved recliner has caused me to feel like I could be cast as the fifth Golden Girl. No thanks.

I feel so sad saying good-bye to the cute little rocking chairs I planned to spend my days in. This was my big chance to pen my next book from a mountain-view porch. To be still and enjoy nature. To regroup and remind myself that, “I got this.” But you know what? It’s all okay. Because when I got here that very first night, Niles and I were no more. Today, as I pack up, things are exactly the opposite.

I blow it a kiss (because, you know, cabins totally “get” that kind of human-esque love) and hop in my car, no more used to the winding drive than I was on Day One. My phone bloops as I round a bend, but I don’t dare give it a look until I’m safely on flatter ground. When I finally get to the stop sign at the bottom of the hill, I peek and see it’s a text from Lucy.

“Please call me when you get a chance.” That’s all. Cryptic, but very intriguing.

Because although Lucy’s been a dream, sending occasional emails inquiring about Jillian’s condition and telling me to take all the time I need on Book Two (though I know she’d love to get reading it so we can move things along in a timely manner), she hasn’t asked me to call her this entire time. Not once. So this must be . . . something. But what?

Of course, my mind goes into overdrive. Why does she want me to call instead of email? What could she have to say that would necessitate a non-digital interaction? Will she finally start giving me heat about getting stuff done? Does she want to suggest (again) that Niles and I make the “big announcement” that we’re dating, given that she never knew we temporarily bit the dust?

Or
, could she possibly have news? Like the news to end all news? I can’t stand it. I gotta know. I pull over and dial her number from a parking lot.

“Kallie, how’s Jillian?” she answers, her voice oozing concern. “She’s improving, right?”

“For sure. Sitting up now, talking, being her normal, chatty self. Still lots of pain and still really weak, but I think it’s only a matter of days before we get her out of the hospital and over to rehab.”

“Perfect. Because I might need you to come to New York pretty soon, if you can. You know, to meet some people.”

Ack! People? What people?

“Oh yeah? Tell me more.”

“Sales of your book have picked up in a very big way. And the marketing department wants to meet with you in a very big way. Obviously, the media is totally onto you guys, but whether you and Niles officially announce your relationship or not, we have some great ideas for promoting you that will put you in a prime spot for Book Two’s release. And maybe that movie deal.”

“Um, any news on that yet?” Even though I am thrilled, thrilled, thrilled for the extra marketing support and the news of the uptick in sales, I’m not even going to pretend I’m not a little sad the movie deal wasn’t the primary reason for her call. Does that make me a horrible person? Oh man, it does, doesn’t it? I’m rotten.

“I think your time in New York will be well spent. So I’ll be in touch with details soon. Sound good?”

I can’t tell if she’s being coy or if she’s totally avoiding my question because the whole movie prospect has actually fallen flat, so I just tell her “sounds good” and then promise her I’ll write my face off while I’m holed up in the hotel. She chirps an encouraging approval and I’m left feeling more determined than ever to finish Book Two and knock it out of the park.

So, that is exactly what I do. Every second that Jillian does not need me, I’m typing. I type in her room, in the hospital’s (and, eventually, the rehab center’s) cafeteria, in the hotel room, outside on a bench, and even on the ground next to the tree where Niles and I declared ourselves “fixed.” I churn out pages and pages of story, each word finding its birth from my deepest feelings over the last month. I’ve never written so fast. I’ve never been so focused. It’s as though if I don’t get these words out, I’ll spontaneously combust.

And it’s a really good thing I’ve been so busy writing, because not seeing Niles is really starting to be a drag. At first, it was okay. I was still riding high from our last meeting and my daily drip of “I love yous” and other such lovey-dove statements. But now we’re closing in on two weeks here and my little heart can’t handle much more.

But thankfully, the days are flying and so are my fingers across the keyboard. Finally, as I prepare to type THE END, my insides bubbling with pride because I know in my heart of hearts that Book Two is a win, I finally get
the call
from Lucy.

“Kallie?” she squeals. “Are you ready?”

She doesn’t have to utter another syllable. I know what she means. And yes, I am ready! Hell yes, I. Am. Ready!

“When?” I literally sit down just to keep from passing out.

“I can get a ticket for you to fly in Thursday night. We’ll spend Friday together. If you can stay the weekend . . . well, I hope you can stay the weekend.”

I consider this for a moment.
Can I
stay the weekend? Can I really be gone four days? That seems like a lot. But this is business. It’s totally different than flying somewhere solely to be with Niles. And speaking of Niles, I wonder where he will be that weekend. Does he have a show booked that night? I rack my brain, trying to remember. I used to know his schedule so well, but now with all that’s going on, all the days run together and I’m usually in the dark until he tells me where he is when he calls.

“Can I, uh, ask Niles where he’ll be that weekend?” I know I sound like a lovesick teenager, but I gotta know if he’ll be in town. And if he won’t be, maybe I’ll just stay in NYC for Friday night then fly to wherever he is on Saturday. If I have a chance to get away for a few days, I better make the most of it.

“Sure,” she says. I can’t read her voice, though. It’s not an excited “Sure!” like I’d expect from her. It’s more like a, “Suuuuuure?” with a question mark.

I promise to let her know how long I’ll stay as soon as I can, so I immediately dial Niles, who picks up the first nanosecond it rings.

“Niles!” I screech. “I just talked to Lucy!”

“Annnnnnd?”

“New York! On Thursday! Eek! She wants me to stay all weekend, but the important question is, where are
you
going to be? Maybe I can finally meet you somewhere!” I am so excited hearing these words come from my own lips, I can’t stand myself. Two weeks (and by then, three weeks) is obviously my absolute limit. I am friggin’ dying over here.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry, Kal. I have to go home next weekend. Like home-home. To Colorado. Family anniversary party. I thought I told you.”

“Really?” I whine.

“I wanted to invite you to come, too. But well, you know. Jilly.”

My breath catches. Because while I’m totally heartbroken that I won’t get to see him, I’m also absolutely giddy that he just called my sweet daughter “Jilly.” That’s the first time he’s ever done that. Seems so personal. My mind flashes back to him talking about wanting to make breakfast for all of us in the New York apartment. I can see it as if it’s happening right this moment.

I wish it
were
happening right this moment.

“Niles, I can’t take this. My poor little heart is barely beating over here. When am I going to
see
you again?” I swear if behaving immaturely were a sport, I’d be medaling in it right now.

“Soon, I swear. We’ll work something out very, very soon.” He sounds bummed, but there’s also a lilt of hopefulness there. It’s hard to read him completely. “I can’t stand not kissing you. My lips are sad.”

“Mine are sadder.”

“We’ll celebrate,” he says. “Get your business done in New York, then we’ll celebrate big. Okay?”

“Yeah, we will. Bigger than big!”