Redwood Bend

that happen. Now get outta here. I’m really done saying goodbye.”
A little peck on the lips and he left.
He popped a wheelie on the way out of the clearing.
Katie stood there for a while after the sound of that motorcycle was little more than a distant purr. Then she sniffed, wiped her cheeks and muttered, “What was I thinking? I should’ve known better. Those Hollywood bad boys never change.”
Dylan had been on his bike for over four weeks and he was in no mood to ride all the way to L.A. His brain was sluggish and he was distracted. This is exactly what happens, he told himself, when you let yourself get too comfortable. He’d had plenty of girlfriends in the past but had never had the kind of routine he’d had with Katie. He’d let himself get lured into a false sense of security and now, headed for the job he dreaded but had to do, he was feeling a profound sense of loss.
And he had to get over it. Fast. She was moving on. A kind man would not do anything to hold her back.
He drove to that small airport in Arcata, talked the manager into storing his bike in a hangar and hitched a flight to Santa Rosa where he’d pick up a nonstop to Los Angeles. A month ago he’d packed for a seven-day ride with his friends and everything was getting pretty worn out even though he’d done laundry; he intended to spruce up his scant wardrobe. He wasn’t going to try to impress anyone, but he would have the courtesy to look civilized for business meetings.
Dylan was completely miserable about setting Katie free, but kept telling himself it was necessary. She might be disappointed in him for a while, then maybe a little angry, but ultimately he believed she’d be glad she didn’t have to worry about how her future would turn out with someone like him, some actor with a bad track record. A fling, she’d said. And as she’d said from the beginning, she could do a lot better.
There was one significant problem—he’d never met a woman like her before and probably never would again. Better? He wouldn’t. Not a chance.
“Okay, so I want Katie,” he muttered. So what? he asked himself. He’d get over it. He’d gotten over other things he wanted but couldn’t have.
The minute he got on the ground in Santa Rosa and turned on his phone, it came alive. There were voice mails and missed calls. He checked the call log while he waited for his flight to L.A. to depart. His mother? His MOTHER? And his half brother, Bryce? His stepsister, Blaine? There must have been twenty calls and he’d never given anyone this phone number. Lang, knowing his family history, would never have shared his cell number. He’d had a few calls from family members over the years, either at Childress Aviation or the Montana house, but they always wanted something from him, not looking for ways to reach out in friendship or, God forbid, affection.
He couldn’t resist and listened to the first message. And he thought, This is exactly how you get reeled in, by letting them in your ear, your head. Even though he hated his mother, he loved her and had always wanted her to act like a mother.
“Dylan, darling, I heard you’re going to be in town to talk about a movie and I have to talk to you first, because, well, the business hasn’t been real nice to me in the past few years and I’d like to…”
He clicked off. He didn’t even want to know what Cherise would like—a part? A job? A loan from his grandmother? A contact? She had a script he should read? A little party at which she would like him to appear to show the public they were still family? The possibilities were endless.
He called Jay Romney. “It’s been twenty-four hours since I made an appointment with you and I have twenty messages on my phone from family members. I never gave them this number. I thought we agreed—no one would be told about the potential for a movie.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jay asked, genuinely shocked. “It just figures. Listen, kid, with all due respect, your family has a lot of friends in low places and your call came into my office. Delete them. I can’t control everything.”
“You’re saying you had nothing to do with this?” he asked.
“Absolutely not! Why would I? I want you for a movie! You think I’d screw that by handing out your personal cell number? Here’s mine, log it. You call me on my cell only. And if you want to reschedule to avoid these people, I’ll do it. Just say the word.”
He keyed in the cell number and then,