I don’t even bother to look at the price of the ticket. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get to Chloe.

The website loads at turtle speed, and I tap my fingers on the counter, worried someone else came in and snatched up the tickets. Finally, the page loads and I purchase a ticket. A bit of tension leaves my chest, and I cannot wait to see Chloe.

I have several hours until my flight, which is more than enough time to get some shit thrown in a bag and figure out what to do about work tonight. I haven’t taken a sick day in over two years. Normally, I’d never lie like this, but fuck it.

Anything to get to Chloe.

Time moves so fucking slow, and it feels like a full day passes before it’s time to go to the airport. I get through security and still have an hour and a half until my flight. I get something to eat and pull out my phone and call my brother.

“Hello?” Jacob answers.

“Hey. Stacey lied,” I rush out. “It’s not mine.”

“Fuck yes! You have to be so relieved.”

“You have no idea.”

“Did you ever tell Chloe?” he asks.

“Yeah, last night. She had to go to LA for work, so I’m flying out now to tell the good news in person.”

“That’ll be a happy reunion.” Dogs bark in the background. “I gotta chop off some balls. Enjoy tonight.”

I remember I never texted Archer back after I end the call, as he and Jacob were the only ones who knew.

Me: It’s not my kid. She’s only 9 weeks and fucking lied.

It takes a few minutes for Archer to reply back, and I’m walking back to my gate when he does. I find a seat and drop my bag next to it.

Archer: Holy shit.

Me: Yeah. I don’t know how she thought she’d explain it when the kid is born a full month after what the due date should have been.

Archer: …and Chloe?

Me: She’s in LA. I’m at the airport now to fly out to tell her in person.

Archer: So you can celebrate with sex, of course.

Me: Of course.

Archer: Use protection this time.

Me: Hah.

Archer: One of our anesthesiologists is retiring. We’ll be looking to hire soon, and it’s been a while since I got to ask you if the patient is paralyzed.

I reply with an eye rolling emoji.

Archer: We really will be looking to hire. You’d like it here.

It wasn’t that long ago that Archer wanted to continue his schooling and be a trauma surgeon, but didn’t because it took too much time away from his family.

Me: And work with my sister?

Archer: She’s my best nurse and she hasn’t heard about the position opening, so be prepared for her to plan your life here.

I’m in a good enough mood now that I know Stacey isn’t carrying my child and things will go back to how they were with Chloe that the thought of Rory setting up a hypothetical life for me—and Chloe—in Eastwood makes me smile.

Me: I’ll consider it.

I’m called to board not long after that, and I stare out the window, watching the landscape pass by the entire flight. I brought a book but am too distracted to read. I’ve never landed at LAX before, and I feel like I’m wandering blindly about trying to find where I need to go to get an Uber to take me to Chloe’s house.

The sun is just now starting to set, and the two-hour time difference is throwing me a bit. It felt like a week passed since Chloe left last night, and each second that ticks by without hearing from her makes time go by slower and slower, and I fear she’s slipping away.

Finally, I get an Uber and have quite a way to go from the airport to Chloe’s house. I anxiously look out the window, heart hammering in my chest the whole way. Chloe still hasn't responded to my text, and I’m trying not to think too far into it.

“I can’t get you any closer than this,” the driver says when we pull into a cul-de-sac. Chloe’s driveway is gated off, and I remember the code she told me.

“It’s fine.”

“You sure you’re supposed to be here?” The drive looks at me skeptically.

“Yes, it’s my girlfriend’s house.”

“I can’t help you if you get arrested for trespassing,” he goes on.

I grab my bag. “I won’t. Thanks,” I say and get out, having already tipped and rated him on the app as we drove. I get out of the car and stop at the gate, looking at Chloe’s house. It’s up on a hill, and is large and impressive, looking exactly like something you’d imagine when thinking of a celebrity’s house in the hills.

My pulse picks up once I’m through the gate. Lights are in inside the house, and I’m one step closer to my Chloe once again. Walking faster, I go to the front door and ring the bell. A moment later, a man opens the door and looks at me, confused.

“You’re not the pizza guy, are you?” he asks.

“No, I’m looking for Chloe.” Did I get the house wrong? No, this is it. The code for the gate worked and everything.

“Oh,” he says and steps back. I look through the foyer into the living room and see Chloe. But she’s not alone.

She's sitting on the couch, wrapped up in Charles Baldwin’s arms.

27

Chloe

I look up from the couch and see Sam standing in the doorway. His eyes go from me to Charles and back again. I don’t think anything of it until I see the abhorrence on his face.

“Is this why you needed more time?” Brows pushed together, he turns and starts to walk away.

“Sam!” I call, scrambling to get up. My foot catches in the blanket and I fall, hitting my arm on the coffee table. Pain radiates through me, but I ignore it. “Sam!” I call again.

I make it outside and he slows but doesn’t turn around.

“It’s not what you think!”

This time he stops. “Then what is it?” He looks at me, pain obvious on his face. “Because it looks like you went back to the arms of your ex-boyfriend as soon as things got rough.”

“No,” I press, heart racing. I open my mouth to tell him the truth, but it’s not my secret to tell. “There’s nothing going on between us. Charles is my friend and we…we…”

“It’s fine, Chloe,” he says, and sounds so defeated.

“It’s not,” I go on and move toward him. Sam takes a step back and my heart breaks. “There’s nothing between us.”

“She’s right.” Charles appears in the doorway, and Eric, his stuntman boyfriend that joined us for a pity party, stands behind him. “We’re friends and nothing more. That’s all we’ve ever been.” Charles comes down the stone porch steps. “Because I’m gay.”

“What?” Sam asks, looking from me to Charles and back again. Charles has a playboy reputation—with women. Sam’s confusion is warranted.

“I’m gay,” Charles repeats and motions to Eric. “That’s my boyfriend.”

“Charles,” I start. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. For us both.” Charles steps forward. “Nothing is going on between the two of us and it never has. Our whole relationship was fabricated by Karina, our publicist, to get attention for the show. It worked, and when we were fake-dating, we became close friends. Chloe was one of the few people who knew—and kept—my secret. I love Chloe like a sister, and even if the thought of kissing a woman did appeal to me, I wouldn’t want to kiss my sister.”