Remember When 3: The Finale Part 10

"I did."

"Why did you take the engagement as far as you did? It doesn't really seem very fair to Jenna."

He practically snorted. "Oh, please. Jenna didn't care about anything but looking pretty in her wedding gown. She couldn't even see I was a mess. She just kept making plans, and I just kept avoiding setting a date. Two years she turned a blind eye. Two years of bloodshot eyes and slurred speech and whiskey d.i.c.k. It's like she didn't want to see. I finally hit rock bottom and she was forced to face the truth. She couldn't really ignore the fact that I'd moved into the treatment center, for G.o.dsakes. I did that on my own, by the way."

I'd read about a few of Trip's drunken shenanigans in the tabloids. They were mostly treated as entertaining little stories about America's new favorite bad boy, relaying the tales of the amusing stunts he had pulled at some prominent club or Hollywood party. But then... rehab.

"We were engaged for two years and she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around the whole time, I think. Not like I can blame her. I couldn't really see it through the bottom of a bottle, or maybe I just didn't care. Even still, I used rehab as the excuse to make the break. She didn't fight me on it."

"What made you finally go?"

"What was my rock bottom, you mean?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He took a deep breath and shook his head in disbelief. "I just... Oh Jesus. What wasn't my rock bottom? I was out at the bars almost every night, and managed to pick a fight almost every time. A few times, I'd show up to the set of Red Nevada with bruises so dark, the makeup girl was paid overtime. Once, my face was so puffed out that shooting had to be put on hold until the swelling could go down. Biker guy. Real big b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He chuckled dejectedly at the memory. "We got that movie finished by the skin of our teeth, and G.o.d. It really sucked when we did. I can't normally watch any of my movies, but that one? Holy s.h.i.t. I can barely even say the t.i.tle. It really f.u.c.ked with my career. Miramax heard all about my bulls.h.i.t on-and off-the set, and that, combined with it bombing was enough for them to cancel my contract for Sanction. Instead of waking me up, it just allowed more time for drinking."

I stayed quiet through his rambling. Not only was his monologue enlightening, but it was just too d.a.m.ned shocking for words. I couldn't believe he was ever that broken person. It sounded nothing like the Trip I thought I knew; the sweet boy he was as a teenager, the confident man he was now. I smoothed a palm over the hair above his ear and just let him talk.

"I gotta say, though, the thing that really clinched it for me, the thing that truly woke me up... It wasn't the fighting or the bruises or the threat to my career. It was Claudia."

"Your sister was your rock bottom?"

He gave a chuckle and explained. "No. It was something she said. She'd stopped by unexpectedly one day-she does that a lot by the way, be prepared-and I was floating in the pool on a raft, pa.s.sed out, fully clothed, just a complete disaster as usual. She thought she was being cute when she tossed a snorkel at me to wake me up. I did, for about a second, long enough to roll face first into the water. I didn't come back up."

My fingers had been twirling his hair, but at that, my hand stilled.

"She told me afterward that she had to jump in and drag me over to the stairs. All I know is that one minute, I thought going for a swim seemed like a great idea, and the next, I'm waking up to my sister shaking me, just screaming in my face. I'd pretty much tuned her out the whole time. But then... then she said, 'You look like s.h.i.t, Terrence! You look just like Dad!' And if you don't think that f.u.c.king got to me, you'd be wrong. And I knew it. I knew I was turning into the old man. The one a.s.shole in the world I never wanted to turn into. I checked into rehab the following day. Second best move I ever made."

"What was the first?" I asked, smiling, knowing full-well what he was going to say.

"Taking your virginity in that tent."

I smacked him for that. "a.s.shole."

He laughed, then sat up to face me. "Okay, fine. The best move was from Indiana to New Jersey. Because that's when I met you. Happy?" He ran a palm across my jaw and kissed me on the corner of my mouth, my skin shivering from the sweet words and gentle touch. There I was, with Trip Effing Wilmington by my side once again.

"But that virginity thing is a pretty close third."

"Shut up, you creep!" I snickered as I gave him a shove.

He smiled and grabbed my hand, looking down at our twined fingers as he said, "I got that letter you sent after I got out. It meant a lot. Thank you."

When I'd heard Trip was in rehab, I kind of lost it a little bit. I was happy that he'd decided to get help, but I was stunned that his drinking problem had gotten so bad. That one letter was the only time I'd ever reached out to him over our four-and-a-half year separation. I wrote about ten different drafts before finally putting the tamest one in an envelope and shooting it off to his agent's office. I was relieved to find out it actually found its way into his hands. "I wished I'd explained things to you then, but... as far as I knew, you were still engaged, and I didn't even know how to tell you what I was feeling without..."

"No. The words of encouragement were enough. I wasn't in the right place back then to hear anything more than that. I didn't read it right away-I should confess that to you right now. It took me a few weeks to even open the envelope. Then a few more to actually read the letter. I was glad once I finally did. I was proud that I was able to resist getting drunk in order to do it. It was the first real test after I got out. So... thanks."

It seemed like a strange thing to be thanked for, but I knew what he meant. "You're welcome."

He swiped his free hand through his hair and said, "I channeled all of my focus into getting back into shape after that. I figured if I was going to come back, I was going to come back stronger than ever. Any time I had the urge for a drink, I worked out instead."

I slid a hand up his arm and gave a squeeze against his rock-hard bicep. "You must have wanted to drink all the time."

That made him snicker, but I was feeling a bit swoony from the bulging muscle under my palm. Jesus. I wouldn't have ever thought it was possible for Trip to get any more gorgeous. Goes to show you never know. I hoped he'd maxed out on his hotness level. I didn't think I could take it if he kicked it up another notch.

I was knocked out of my wandering thoughts when he said, "I had to audition for Unleaded, you know."

The way he said it made me think that he was embarra.s.sed. I'd heard Unleaded was an incredible film, and of course I knew that Trip was a member of the cast. But I guessed it was hard for him not only to take on a mere supporting role, but to have to audition just to get the part. He'd already long surpa.s.sed that point in his career. It probably sucked to have to take such a huge step backwards. "Well, whatever you had to do to get the part, it was worth it. You were nominated for that one."

He let out a heavy breath. "Yeah, I know. And thank G.o.d for that. I mean, I put it all out there. If it bombed, I don't know where I'd be right now."

I suddenly felt really awful that I hadn't seen it. It was his comeback film, and from all reports, he was amazing in it. I realized I suddenly had a lot of movies to watch in the following days. Time to catch up.

"Well," I started in, leaning against his side, "I'd like to think you'd be sitting on a wall with the love of your life."

That made his face split into a wide grin, the dimple in his left cheek more prominent than ever. He kissed me then, those sweet lips brushing softly against mine, his hand under the hair at my nape. My stomach actually flipped at the contact. G.o.d. Would I ever get used to kissing this man? Would there ever be a day when I wouldn't fall apart from his touch?

He pulled his lips back, but pressed his forehead against mine. "Hey Lay? I hate to cut our evening short, but I've got a meeting tomorrow with the pre-prod for a new movie."

I'd hardly call midnight "cutting the evening short," but maybe that's just because I wasn't in my twenties anymore. I reluctantly pulled out of his grasp and let him help me down from the wall.

Trip pulled the Porsche into the lot at the TRU and cut the engine. I was pretty impatient during the ride down from the observatory. It wasn't an incredibly long trek, but if I didn't get that man in bed soon, I thought I'd pa.s.s out from wanting.

Trip must have been feeling it, too. He turned to me and said, "This is ridiculous, Lay. I'm checking you out of here. I know you said a few days, but I want you with me now. You're staying with me." He put a hand at my neck and pulled my lips to his. In between kisses, he said, "I want to keep my eye on you. And my hands. I want to keep my hands on you, too. And my mouth. Yeah, that too."

Who was I to argue?

I packed up all my stuff from the suite as Trip stayed downstairs to check me out of the hotel. I was only slightly saddened at having to leave such a beautiful room, but I was more curious and excited to see the home of my beautiful man. I was confident that it-that he-was ready for me.

We hopped back into the Porsche and drove through Benedict Canyon, then wound our way up Mulholland Drive. I could only catch the tiniest glimpses of the houses from the road. Most were completely hidden by large gates or trees. The few homes I could see were pretty freaking impressive, let me tell you.

We finally pulled in front of a large, black, iron gate, and Trip hit a b.u.t.ton on the sun visor to open it. He cruised the car up a narrow, winding driveway and suddenly, his house came into view. It was a sprawling stucco ranch with those curved clay tiles on the roof-a California version of an "authentic" Spanish villa-painted tiles around the archways, forged iron fixtures on the heavy wooden doors.

He pulled the Porsche into the huge garage, where I could see a black Jeep, a black pickup truck, and a black... something that I didn't recognize. "What is that?" I asked. "It's pretty."

He got out of the car and came around to my side. "Layla. You don't call a Maserati 'pretty.' It's a beautiful piece of machinery."

I was well aware of another beautiful piece of machinery in the garage at that moment. But I put that out of my mind long enough to respond, "It looks like the Batmobile."

He snickered at that as he closed the garage door and led me into the house. "Wow," I said. "If your house is as nice as the garage, I think I'm officially astounded."

He backed me against the closed door and pressed his body full-length against mine. "Oh yeah? Well, wait until I get you to my bedroom, sweetheart. That'll astound the h.e.l.l out of you."

Chapter 15.

GIRL PLAY.

I woke up, gave a good stretch, and rolled over to look out the window. I hadn't noticed it previously, but the entire second floor of his house looked out over the city of Los Angeles. Kinda goes to show you where my focus was the night before, because that view was hard to miss; two entire walls of his bedroom were made of gla.s.s.

I could see the impressive setup out back-cypress trees bordering two edges of the lawn, obscuring the iron fencing that I knew surrounded the property on three sides. The back line of his yard was nothing more than a drop-off, creating the desired effect for his infinity pool. There was no need for a fence along the rear border; Spiderman himself wouldn't be able to scale the cliff leading up to it.

Trip had reached a point in his notoriety where he needed such safeguards from the outside world. As he'd explained during the tour, he wasn't going to be made to feel unsafe in his own home.

He lived in a veritable fortress, but it was a gilded cage, at least. The house was absolutely incredible. It wasn't what I had expected, but it suited him somehow.

I let out with an exaggerated yawn, then settled myself under the cool, white, gazillion-thread-count sheets. Everything at Trip's house was just so much nicer than in an average home, and I was definitely more than a little freaked out about it. I wasn't used to such extravagance. It even smelled better. I reached over to his empty side of the bed, curled his pillow into my arms, and took a whiff. It smelled like him.

I finally made myself get out of bed and start my day. I cleaned up in his million-jet shower, then dried off with the fluffiest towel known to man. I swiped the steam off the mirror and took a look at the middle-cla.s.s Jersey girl in the reflection, trying to reconcile that image with the opulence presently surrounding me.

Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

By the time I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, Trip's housekeeper had arrived. I introduced myself to Mrs. Elena, who very sweetly offered to make me breakfast. I declined, however, seeing as I was going dress shopping and didn't want a food baby popping out while I tried on designer gowns.

Trip left directions for me to his friend's boutique downtown. He also left me the keys to the Jeep and a black American Express card with a post-it note advising me to "USE THIS! No arguments."

Well, if you insist...

I had to fiddle with the garage door openers until I found the right one, then slipped behind the wheel of Trip's Wrangler Sport. Nice. Thank G.o.d he didn't expect me to drive that Batmobile. The finer things with which he'd surrounded himself were overwhelming enough. I didn't need to be responsible for one of them on top of it.

I a.s.sumed navigating the roads of Los Angeles wouldn't be very difficult. The place is pretty much laid out like a grid, not unlike New York, sans the conveniently numbered streets. But h.e.l.l. I figured since my driving chops had been tempered in the city from the time I was a teenager, L.A. would be a piece of cake.

I only lost my bearings once on my way out of the Hollywood Hills, but a very nice homeless man directed me to La Cienega. I tossed him a fiver and made it the rest of the way without incident.

Siobhan's was an elegant but quirky shop right in the heart of Melrose. I was expecting more of a Rodeo Drive sn.o.b-fest, and I loved that Trip had sent me to this place instead. It wasn't far from the hotel in Beverly Hills, but the neighborhood looked like a completely different world. Way less snooty, way more hip.

The parking G.o.ds were smiling down upon me that day, because I managed to find a spot right out front of the building.

When I walked through the door, Siobhan herself greeted me. She was tall and beautiful, with perfectly highlighted, wavy hair that fell almost to her skinny waist.

"h.e.l.lo, Miss Warren! I've been expecting you." I looked down at my shirt to see if I had a nametag on or something, and Siobhan gave a knowing smile as she clarified, "Trip called earlier to let me know you were coming."

I suddenly became cognizant of two things: 1. I was an uncultured dork. And 2. This gorgeous woman had just referred to my boyfriend as "Trip" instead of "Mr. Wiley."

Friend my a.r.s.e.

Ex s.e.x-slave, maybe. But there was no way this chick was just a "friend." It was like being in a bad, real-life version of Pretty Woman. Only I was not the hooker in this scenario.

She showed me around the store, asking questions about my likes and dislikes in regards to fashion. When she asked me who my favorite designer was, I scrambled through my mental inventory, trying to come up with a name. Drawing a blank, I joked, "Umm, Macy's?"

She laughed jovially at my complete fashion-impairment and threw me into a dressing room, telling me to strip down so she could take my measurements. She logged them on a yellow legal pad that smelled like lavender, then darted out into the store while I stood there, pa.s.sing the time by staring at the walls while hanging out in my underwear. I had just started to wonder if I should get dressed and go pick out some stuff to try on when she came barging back into the room carrying half a dozen dresses over her arm. I guessed she'd be deciding for me.

Gown after gown was flung in my direction, while my modesty was forced out the window. I was surprised at how quickly I got over it. She was incredibly professional, and thank G.o.d, never once acknowledged that my bra and undies didn't match. I started to feel guilty for my initial evil thoughts about the woman, considering she was going out of her way to be perfectly accommodating and wonderful.

She was very sweet and attentive and obviously knew her stuff. After I nixed the first three selections, she'd narrowed down my taste enough to zero in on a few beautiful dresses. I'd really liked almost all of them, but it wasn't until I tried on a shimmery cream ball gown that I finally fell in love.

Siobhan heard the gasp and immediately stopped fiddling with the hangers to put her hand to her heart, looking at me as if her baby had just taken its first steps.

The gown was exquisite; Grecian-styled bustier that cinched my waist and pushed my b.o.o.bs up in an almost obscene, yet still tasteful way, with gathered folds of bunched fabric that billowed down to my ankles, a scandalous slit up one leg. It practically screamed "Oscar." It was a bit out of my comfort zone, but it really was a fabulous gown.

But then I checked the price tag.

Nope. Nuh-uh. No way.

I shook my head, explaining that while the dress was beautiful, there was no way I was spending that kind of cash on an item of clothing I was only going to wear once. I mean, the thing cost more than Lisa's wedding gown! I didn't even care if I looked like a pathetic rube. My conscience would just never let me indulge in such an extravagance, especially while shopping with Trip's money. Maybe I should have checked out some of the prices before trying on a dozen gowns. My poor, clueless boyfriend obviously had no idea where he'd sent me.

I put my clothes back on, apologized to Siobhan and thanked her for her time. She looked disheartened, and I felt bad about that, but there was just no way.

She said a graceful goodbye, and I zipped around the corner to the Beverly Center. I managed to find a beautiful, copper-colored dress at Nordstrom that was almost as nice as the one at Siobhan's for about a third of the price. It was still expensive, but compared to the cream one, it was a bargain. I bought some awesome coordinating heels that cost more than my first car and a small, clutch handbag to match (both with my own money) and was really proud of myself that I'd managed to find an appropriate ensemble. I had to pay extra for rush alterations on the dress, but the cost was still coming in way under Siobhan's, so I practically skipped out of the store.

I took advantage of my newfound free time and drove around the city like a big fat tourist. I was scoping the streets for a surgically-enhanced, California blonde walking a pair of Afghan doggies or some other cliched movie scene I could find. No luck. I did see a little girl wearing a tiara, but without the Jon Benet frou-frou dress to go with it, she didn't look that different from my G.o.ddaughter, Julia.

Denied.

I made a few extra stops, took care of a few errands, and decided to head back to Trip's.

His backyard, aside from being a covert fortress, was also designed for entertaining. Not only was it private, but it was totally cool. He had this fabulous outdoor kitchen area; a stone and granite works.p.a.ce with a monstrous grill, covered under a roof eave that jutted out over the six or so stools surrounding the adjoining snack bar.

That area ab.u.t.ted the ma.s.sive patio which sported a few tables and chairs that looked brand, spanking new. It's as if they were placed there, not for their function, but because the patio called for them. I wondered if they'd ever been sat on.

I was in the pool when Trip came home. He walked outside, looking beautifully professional in his dark slacks and white b.u.t.ton-down shirt. Just another day at the office.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called out playfully, thumbing through the mail and asking, "How'd it go at Siobhan's?"

I resisted the urge to pull him into the pool and attack him. "Okay. She was really nice." And pretty.

"Did you find a dress?"

I decided not to tell him about my cheapskate mentality. "No. Not at Siobhan's. But it wasn't for lack of trying. She really gave it her all. I found something at Nordstrom's, though."

"Great. Can't wait to see it. Hey. What do you want to do for dinner?"

"Already covered. I cooked."

He tossed the mail onto a nearby patio table. "Oh, you did, huh? Hmm. In that case, lemme just change into a bathing suit and I'll meet you in the pool."

"Please do."

I managed a few laps before Trip made his way out of the house and onto the diving board. It was hard to take my eyes off him when he was practically naked, strutting around the yard with that d.a.m.ned body of his. I mean, it was hard to keep my eyes off him normally. But in nothing but a pair of board shorts? I wanted to lay more than my sights on that man.

He dove in, emerging near me in the low end, wrapping his arms around me and backing me against the pool's wall. He planted one h.e.l.l of a kiss on me, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling through it. It was sickeningly adorable, just being able to hang around Trip's house, waiting there for him after he came home from a long, hard day of work.