It was a string of jokes and another insult to my profession, but for some reason, this time the tease in his voice made me smile. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or the fact he'd mentioned Kill Bill, a movie I could watch every day without getting bored. I slipped my hand in his.
“Willow Avery. Actress, Cancer, and according to my team, on my last leg before p**n .”
The moment the words jumbled from my lips, I realized they were a mistake. I glanced down at a scar on my right knee, but I could feel Miller’s curious stare burning into the side of my face and Cooper’s unreadable one directed at the top of my head. Cooper cleared his throat and I braced myself for a screwed up comment.
I swallowed hard because as much as I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter what people thought of me, it did. The choice I made a few years ago was evidence enough of that.
“I’ve seen your movies,” Cooper said gently. When I lifted my head, he gave me an unashamed look. “Guess you can say I like to study up on my clients.”
He’d gone through the trouble of finding my whole name on Wikipedia and seeing my films—I’d say he was the most thorough, and unnervingly sexy, surf coach who ever existed.
“Let me guess—inhuman?” I asked roughly.
He moved the pad of his thumb over my skin, stroking the spot between my thumb and index finger, and I pulled a rush of air through my nose. “No, insanely talented. Light up the f**king screen talented, Wills.”
When I saw a flash, I snatched my hand back to myself. Our heads—Cooper and mine—turned toward the camera wielder, and Miller was already on his feet, standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest. When I peeked around him, I was expecting to see paparazzo, but it was a kid, probably twelve or thirteen, with her parents. I heard the loud squalls of a baby and dropped my eyes to the covered stroller her dad was pushing. For a second, the blood drained from my face, from my body, but I quickly composed myself, forcing my attention back to the girl. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly and saying something to her father. He gave me an apologetic look as she dashed forward.
Miller glanced over his shoulder at me. “You want to take this one?” I bobbed my head, even though the sudden pitch in my stomach told me I shouldn’t. Miller stepped aside.
“Oh my god, I loved Sleepless!” she gushed. The sound of her voice intermingled with the squealing of the baby, and I just wanted to cover my ears. When I didn’t immediately respond, the girl backtracked a few steps. “Wait, you are Willow Avery, right?”
As if on cue, my face moved into a tight smile. I swallowed hard to push back the nausea. “Yes! So stoked to hear you love Sleepless—it was my favorite to make. What’s your name?” My voice sounded sweet and chipper, but inside—inside, I was a mess. I sounded mechanical, just like Cooper had pointed out not even ten minutes ago.
“Lizzie,” she said. She held up a wide, thin phone, jiggling it around. “Will you . . .”
A few feet away from me the baby squealed. Again and again.
I answered too quickly, too happily. “I’d love to!” Though I was staring right at Lizzie, I saw Cooper’s mouth turn downward, into a frown. I would ignore him. I would ignore him and the baby and get this over with. Hastily, I took the phone from Lizzie and jutted it out at Miller. He took it in his giant hand, and I flicked my eyes up to him pleadingly.
“Can you take it?” I begged. So they can go away. Please?
Miller gave me a gruff nod. He stood beside where Cooper sat, holding the phone in front of him. Lizzie threw her thin arm around my shoulders and grinned from ear to ear. “This is so awesome,” she said, casting a beam over to her parents. Through the haze in my head—the one that was still there because of the conversation I’d had with Cooper only moments before—I wondered how they felt about this. If they were disappointed their daughter idolized someone like me.
Lizzie turned her face to mine. “What should we say?” she asked.
“How about Sleepless?” Cooper suggested in a tight tone.
“Yes, Sleepless,” I murmured.
It took Miller a few times to get the picture right—his giant fingers kept exiting out of the camera app or showing up in the photo itself—but finally he snapped a few good photos. I sat on the edge of my seat as Lizzie talked excitedly about my movies for a few more minutes. Then, finally she left, humming happily, with her mom and dad and the baby in tow.
I sighed in relief as our flight was called to board. When Cooper stepped past me, avoiding my eyes, he said, “Nice going, Wills.” His voice was hard and unreadable.
I didn’t have the balls or the heart to tell Cooper that being so close to Lizzie’s family had did me in.
That it reminded me of what I’d given up three years before.
Chapter Three
Although we immediately learned our seats were booked side by side—Cooper in the window seat, me beside him, and Miller across the aisle, on my right—any headway I thought I’d gained with him inside the airport seemed to evaporate the moment we boarded the flight to Honolulu. Now, as I followed him down the coffee-scented, narrow aisle toward our seats, all that remained was the bittersweet smell of “what if.” I was more than used to getting my face smooshed into “could’ve been” and “what if”, but for some reason, this time felt so much worse than usual. I wasn’t naïve enough to pretend I didn’t know why.
Plus, I wasn’t high to the point of not noticing.
The first and only other time I left rehab, nearly two years ago when I spent ninety days at a luxury program that was like the Four Seasons for addicts, I’d lasted approximately six hours before I caved and bought enough Roxies to last three months. At least, it should have lasted me that long. My best friend Jessica and I had gone through them in a week—seven days I still couldn’t remember.