Chasing Love's Wings (21 page)

“Don’t worry about it. I think I just ate something last night. I went out to eat
with Beau to some new place she’s been wanting to try.”

“Is she sick?”
 

“No, but we ate different things, so I’m not surprised.”
 

“Did you drink?” he asks.
 

“Nope, just had water and tea.” I haven’t drunk anything since my last binge in Montana,
which is probably a good thing. Tristan brought it up when we were in Tarah and I
told him that I just didn’t feel like drinking.
 

“Well, take it easy and get some rest. What time is your flight tomorrow?”
 

“Oh, I am. I’m watching a movie. My flight is at four.”
 

“Okay, I should be able to call you before you leave. But please, call or text me
if you’re not feeling well. What movie?”
 

Oops. “Not much you can do from NYC, love.” I avoid the movie question.
 

“I know, but I worry about you. What movie?”
 

Relentless bastard. “Calling you while I’m sick will only make that worse. But I will
let you know how I’m feeling, how’s that?”

“All right, what movie?”
 

“You’re relentless and you don’t want me to answer that.”
 

“You better not be watching one of my movies.”

“Maybe.” I bust out laughing.
 

“Oh, I see how you are, laughing at my movies.”

I sober. “No, Tristan, I’m laughing because you automatically assume it’s one of yours.”
 

“Then tell me what movie.”
 

I laugh again. “It’s actually a very good movie. Though I think I’m falling in love
with the lead actor. He’s quite sexy, and I happen to know that he knows very well
how to use his sexiness, which makes it that much more sexy.”

“Grrrr...”
 

“I love it when you growl.”
 

“Grrrr...” He laughs. “I thought you said you never wanted to see my movies.”

“Um, well, there wasn’t anything else on.”
 

“Oh, great, so now I’m second best.” He is laughing on the other end of phone.
 

“No, you’re the best, ever.”
 

He laughs a little more. “All right, sweets, I have to go back on set. Call you later?”
 

“Please.”
 

“All right, love you.”
 

“Ditto,” I say, and we hang up.
 

I wake up the same on Sunday morning, but because I’m leaving, I don’t lie around
in bed. I get up and start packing, but I quickly become exhausted. Before I can even
begin to try and figure out what this is, Beau shows up to take me to the airport.
 

“You don’t look good,” she says when I climb into her car, putting my bag between
my feet on the floor.

“Good to see you too.”
 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”
 

“Yeah, I’m just really tired. I don’t sleep well when Tristan isn’t here.”

“That’s not it. Cams, are you sure—”

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine. I have got to go and take care of this crap, I can’t keep
letting it bug me. I’ll take something when I get to California to help me sleep.”
 

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. She’s watching me like she’s afraid
of something. I don’t say any more about it, and it takes us but a few minutes to
get to the airport from the condo. I hug her goodbye, and I’m through security and
on the plane in a matter of thirty minutes.
 

But something Beau said is nagging at me. I pull out my MacBook and begin looking
at the calendar. It’s October seventh. There’s very little on my calendar for October,
at least outside of Tristan being in New York. I click back to September. Nothing.
August is a little fuller with the trip to Montana and my documentation of what happened,
but...
 

August 2
nd
, 2012 - 1:45 p.m. Dr. Shaw
 

My heart starts pounding and my palms start sweating as I realize what I missed. I
start counting the months and days, at least until the flight attendant tells me to
stow it for takeoff.
 

Getting my period or not getting it is nothing new: I’ve been on the shot since I
was seventeen. I don’t get periods unless I miss an appointment. The skipped appointment
was supposed to be in November, to give myself a chance to...
 

I start to think, think about anything and everything that could’ve possibly—

No, there’s no way.
 

Is it?

I land in L.A., but rather than take a cab to the hotel, I rent a car and stop at
a Target along the way. I run in, hoping like hell that my jacket, glasses, rasta
beanie and the less-than-elegant clothes I’m wearing stop me from being recognized.
Though I’m a long way from Hollywood, this is California, and people snoop out celebs
like nobody’s business.

I’m wearing my skinny jeans, which, if I really think about it, were a little snug
this morning. Not beyond wearing but— Damn it.

I go to the family planning section of Target and grab two boxes each of two different
pregnancy tests, then go to the grocery section and pick up a couple of bottles of
water and go to checkout.
 

After a few minutes I am back in the car. The white bag on the passenger seat taunts
me on my drive from Target to the JW downtown.
 

Once I’m in my room, I start to panic a little more. Should I take it now or wait?
I look at the box for instructions; I’ve never taken one before, but I’ve helped Beau
before. Though I still have no clue about it.

The instructions say that I should use my first morning’s urine. “Damn it.” I really
don’t want to wait. “You have four of them.” I talk myself into it. And I do; I open
it and do the whole pee-on-a-stick thing. Then I sit there panicking. I finally manage
to pull myself out of the bathroom and away from the ominous stick sitting on the
counter.
 

When I go into the bedroom, where my stuff is, I remember that I never turned on my
phone when I landed; I was too freaked out. I go to it and turn it on. After a few
moments it chimes with two missed calls, two voicemails, and then finally three text
messages.
 

Hope you made it to L.A. safe. Love you.

Cams, where are you?

Call me.

The last one was sent just a few moments ago, as my phone was loading.
 

“Hi,” I say when he picks up the phone.
 

“Hi, beautiful. Did you make it?”
 

“Uh, yeah, I forgot to turn my phone on.” That’s all I can manage. I keep looking
over at the bathroom, wanting to go in there.
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“What? Oh, nothing.”
 

“You’re distracted, what’s the matter?”
 

“Nothing, just tired and reading through emails.” That should do it.
 

“All right. I’m shooting late tonight, but can I call you when I’m done?”
 

“Of course.” Hopefully by then I will be relieved because that test will be done and
negative and I can relax.
 

“All right, sweets. I miss you.”
 

Crap. “I miss you too.”

“I love you.” His voice is sweet, and something about it is reassuring me.
 

“I love you.”
 

We hang up, and I stand there staring at the light coming out of the bathroom. It’s
like the light at the end of a big, long tunnel: I’m drawn to it, but I can’t bring
myself to walk toward it.

THIRTY

******

Tristan

******

“Hey, Beau.”
 

“Hi, Tristan. What’s going on?”
 

“Did you take Cami to the airport today?” I ask her. I know she did, but I’m just
trying to make sure.
 

“Um, yeah, why?”
 

“Was she okay when you saw her?”
 

She doesn’t answer my question. “Why, what’s wrong?”
 

I roll my eyes and hold my finger up to one of the stagehands. “Listen, I need to
go, but when I called her a minute ago, she seemed frazzled and distracted.”
 

“She didn’t look that well when I picked her up. But she said it was nothing.”
 

“She wasn’t feeling good this morning?” I ask. “She didn’t say anything to me.”
 

“I’m not sure, she shut me down when I asked her. But I’m not surprised she didn’t
tell you, you’re in New York, not much you can do.”
 

She sounds just like Cami when she says that. “I know but I still worry about her.”
 

“I know. I’ll try calling her and I’ll let you know what I find out.”
 

“Thanks, but don’t tell her I’m prying.”
 

“All right, Tristan, I won’t.”

“Thanks.”

We hang up. I walk back toward the set and hand Tyson my phone. “What’s going on?”
he asks.
 

“Later,” I say and step on set, instantly turning off everything in order to do my
job, just so I can get this over with and call her back.
 

“So what’s up?” Tyson asks as we’re walking back to my trailer.
 

“Cami seemed off when I talked to her.”

“Dude, don’t push on her too hard. What she’s planning to do tomorrow can’t be easy
on her.”
 

He has a good point, and I try and shake it off a little. I look at my phone: two
text messages.
 

She seemed off when I talked to her too, but no info to share. Sorry, will talk to
her tomorrow after her meeting.

I type a quick reply to Beau.
 

Thanks, let me know if you hear anything. Appreciate it.

I flip to the next text.
 

I’m fine. Promise. Just freaked about tmrw. I’m tired & gonna lay down, tlk 2mrw?
Love you.

I take some comfort in her text. Though I’m sad she doesn’t want a phone call, I can
understand. Then I look at the time and realize it’s nearly one in the morning here.
That’s ten in California. Still early for Cami to go to bed.
 

No problem. She’ll be all right.

I knw. Thnks

Tyson and I get back to the hotel and make our way through the screaming girls on
the sidewalk and up into my room. This is why I hate filming in New York: Everyone
seems to know right where you are and where to find you when you’re not someplace
they expect you to be. No doubt the pictures from my coming home are spreading like
wildfire across the web.
 

I wish Tyson goodnight, go into my bedroom and plop down on the bed. I’m worn out,
and quickly fall sound asleep.

THIRTY-ONE

******

Cami

******

Freaking out, that’s hardly the half of it. I hardly slept last night and I kept wanting
to call Tristan. Then I received a news alert, and there was an article about Tristan
returning to his hotel around one this morning, and after that I couldn’t sleep. I
knew when I talked to him he said he was working late, so I didn’t dwell on it too
much, and I hated the overly jealous streak that arose as I clicked through some of
the pictures. But despite the pictures, I could see the worry in his features and
no doubt that is because of me.
 

“You have good reason to worry, Tristan.”
 

I’d managed to fall back to sleep around three, only to wake up around eight by a
turning stomach, and I rush to the bathroom. “Get used to it,” I tell myself. God,
what am I going to do? Tristan — he is going to be so mad, I just know it. I was so
stupid. How could I even begin to forget about my appointment? That’s always been
a huge priority to me and it slipped my mind and slipped my calendar. “Damn it.”
 

After throwing up twice, I lie back down and start dozing off and on for a while until
my phone chimes with a text from Tristan.
 

On set, long day ahead. Hope you’re feeling better, good luck today. Love you.

I sigh. Feeling better? Absolutely not.
 

Skipping office today, meeting with builders around 1. Not sleeping well. Miss you.
Love you.

It’s true: I miss him like crazy, and I wish he were here, telling me it’s all right,
but...it’s not. I know it’s not. How could I be so stupid.

Wish you were here.

I give my phone a half smile, but I’m glad he’s not calling me. I don’t know how to
talk to him right now. What am I going to do?
 

The meeting with the house builders goes great and they’ve assured me that I can expect
an initial layout walkthrough around the middle of February, and they will be breaking
ground on Thursday. I’m surprised by how quickly they’re getting started, but I imagine
this is a pretty big, expensive job and they’re anxious to get started. Working with
them and seeing the house and the layout again makes me think of everything I’ve learned
in less than twenty-four hours, and it terrifies me to no end. I’m worn out and exhausted
by the time I get back to the hotel. Before I can even manage to text Tristan, I fall
asleep on the bed on top of the sheets.
 

When I wake up it is nearly midnight and I look at my phone. Thirty-seven missed calls.
A combination of Tristan and Beau. Oh, for crying out loud. I need to get my shit
together.
 

I try calling Tristan and he doesn’t answer. I doubt he’s sleeping — at least, if
he is freaking out about me. I call Beau. She answers immediately.