Heroes (Hollywood Heartthrobs #1) (19 page)

          That was when
she saw Dean.

***

          Dean waited a
little ways down the hall as the other attendees filed out, most heading for
the main room and, he guessed, the coffee machine. He couldn’t wait to put his
arms around her, tell her how amazing she was. Forget
Twelfth Night
, he
couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d want to spend his day than here in her
world. The hallway was nearly deserted when Jessie came out just behind a
well-dressed man with dark hair. Dean was about to call out when the man
suddenly turned and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the floor into a
swirling embrace like the end of some cheesy romantic comedy. Apparently
someone else had beaten Dean to the big congratulation moment.

Oh,
right, Dean thought distantly. In the company of a gentleman. I forgot. Then he
felt his heart break.

          She turned
and saw him, called out his name. God she looked so damn happy. He took a
breath. If he could pull off the act he was about to attempt, it would be the
greatest performance of his life. For her sake, he had to try. He consciously
put on his best poker face and stepped forward. 

***

          “Dean!”
Jessie called, catching his handsome profile over Adam’s right shoulder. He had
obviously heard her; he was standing looking right at her. But there was a
hesitation before he stepped forward. Something’s not right, Jessie thought.
There was something in his face, something hard and cold. Guarded, that was the
word. In a moment it was gone, like the shadow of a fast-moving cloud.

          Dean stepped
directly up to her. “Jane, or Jessie, I suppose I should call you. I’m so glad
you got your memory back. You certainly seemed at home in that panel. Your
recovery must be pretty near complete. I’m glad I got to see it.” The words
were friendly enough, and Dean was smiling while he said them, but it wasn’t
the right smile. It wasn’t his smile. Jessie felt like she was looking at
someone she didn’t know.

          “Thank you,”
she said, feeling suddenly shy. She could feel herself blushing uncomfortably.

          Dean gave a
small nod of acknowledgment. “Thanks for letting me know where you’d be today.
Having so much of your memory back, I have to ask, do you remember the accident
now?”

          Jessie
blinked in astonishment. What the hell? “Um, yes.”

          Dean didn’t
seem to be looking at her. He was looking through her, as if fixed on some
point of the wall directly behind her. Like she was invisible. “Then you
understand why I have to thank you. Without you, Alec might not be alive today.
I will always be very grateful for what you did for him. I hope in some small
ways I’ve been able to show you my gratitude this week.”

          Jessie felt
the wind go out of her sails. Shown his gratitude? Was that what that had been?
She gave a slight nod, trying but almost certainly failing to keep the pain
from her face.

          “Good. In
that case it seems I’m leaving you in capable hands,” he nodded slightly to
Adam. It was the only interaction to pass between them. Dean looked into her
eyes, but she saw a stranger. Or maybe she saw the truth for the first time.
“Take care of yourself, Jessie.” He turned and walked away without another
word.

          Jessie didn’t
bother to hide her tears. Adam gently reached out and put his arm around her.

***

          Dean walked
without pausing straight to the stairs, allowing himself only a tiny glance
backward as he pulled open the door to the stairwell. In a fraction of a
second, he caught an image of Jane under the loving arm of the man next to her.

          He strode
purposefully down the stairs, out the doors, and into the city streets. He got
halfway back to Shiloh’s on a steady burn of pain, then just before he crossed
the river, the fight went out of him in an instant. He sat down on a bench,
looking across the river at the Tribune building. He leaned his head back and closed
his eyes.

          The scene
played in slow-motion in his mind. Jane (dammit, Jessie!) radiant in the arms
of that man, the darkening of her face as he approached. Who could blame her?
She was probably worried he’d spill his guts in front of her boyfriend. Dean
wondered bitterly what she would tell him. Probably nothing. She was off back
to her life, and there was obviously no room for Dean in it. He thought angrily
of the pain in her face when he said he’d tried to show his gratitude. What did
she think he would say? The sex was really great, too?

          But he’d
succeeded, or at least he thought he had. He had said his thank you, said his
goodbye, and bowed out of her life gracefully. He had meant it when he said she
seemed to be in capable hands. Her man was good-looking in a university kind of
way, and Jane did seem so happy when he picked her up and twirled her around.
She deserved that, someone smart like her, a man of big gestures, the kind of
guy who would come and find her no matter what. In all likelihood the best man
won, Dean thought wretchedly.

          He picked
himself off and dragged his sorry ass back to Shiloh’s. When he opened the
door, he walked straight to the bedroom and sat down on the bed where just this
morning he had woken up next to his Jane. The thought was a precious kind of
pain.

***

          Jessie meekly
allowed Adam to lead her into an empty classroom. She dried her tears, sadness
giving way to anger she irrationally directed at herself. How could she have
been so stupid? How could she have actually thought a gorgeous, charming,
amazing man like Dean could be interested in her? He was just taking care of
her because he felt responsible for her injuries. Sure, maybe they had gotten a
little carried away yesterday (for the record, added a terrible voice in her
head, he tried to stop, he asked if you were sure, you practically begged him
to have sex with you), but all along he just wanted her to get better. What she
had taken for affection was obviously just him bearing up manfully under a
burdensome obligation. All this time, his enthusiasm for her to regain her
memories, it wasn’t love, it was just so he wouldn’t have to keep being
responsible for her.

          Adam paced
the floor letting out a string of colorful and archaic insults at Dean. Jessie
mentally shook herself. Sure, part of her wanted to lie down on the floor and
cry for days, but a bigger part of her told that part to grow the hell up.
Wiping away the last of her tears, she looked up at Adam. “I need to find a
ladies room, fix my face.”

          Adam smiled
determinedly. “You look beautiful. That’s the great thing about waterproof
mascara. Come on, we’ve got three minutes left until the next panel starts.
Don’t let anything ruin today for you. You got back who you are. Whatever the
cost, you are you again, Jess, okay? Tonight, we celebrate. Call it your coming
back to life party.”

          Jessie smiled
weakly. “It’s not going to be like that time at the piano bar after graduation,
is it?”

          Adam gave a
small laugh. “Yeah, maybe not quite like that. But seriously. You’ve got two
great panels to listen to, then I say we book it out of Dick’s keynote and find
somewhere with attractive men and overpriced drinks, leave the drive back to
Ann Arbor until tomorrow.”

          Jessie got
up, looking determined. “You’re right. At least there’s one man in my life I
can depend on.” She took his arm.

          “Tough broad
like you doesn’t need to depend on anyone.”

          She forced a
grin that came out more of a grimace. “True, but I’d like to have the option.”

          “You have a
good eye, and can see a church by daylight?” Adam winked.

          Jessie
nodded. She didn’t have the heart to tell him quoting
Much Ado About Nothing
right now only made things worse.

          Dean was up
early on Friday morning, even by Nathan and Samantha’s standards. The past week
he had slept unusually lightly. Stepping out of the shower, he wiped the steam
from the mirror with his hand. Dark circles were starting to show under his
eyes. This week had been rough, but he thought he’d handled it as well as could
be expected. He’d done school drop-offs and pick-ups, attended both boys’
t-ball games, and helped Nathan assemble some furniture Samantha had bought for
the new baby’s nursery. All things considered, he couldn’t have asked for a
better place to crawl away and lick his wounds. 

He
hadn’t been into the city since Saturday. A few hours after saying goodbye to
Jane, Dean had emptied the refrigerator and pantry of anything that would
expire and locked the place up tight. There was no point staying. He didn’t
feel much like talking, so he sent Shiloh a text saying the place was clean and
empty. Shiloh had called back, but Dean let it go to voicemail. He knew Shiloh
meant well, but he wasn’t about to have a “how was she?” conversation. He
dropped off the rental car and spent a small fortune on a cab ride all the way
out to the suburbs.

He’d
come back to Nathan and Samantha’s late that night, after the boys were asleep.
It didn’t take more than a look for Nate to realize something was very wrong.
Dean had poured words out and whiskey in in equal measure, then woken up on
Sunday with a hammering head. At least it masked the hammering in his heart.
But, he’d pulled it together and taken the boys for an afternoon bike ride.
When Tucker asked when Jane was coming over next, Dean told him she had gone
home, and she lived far away. It was only then he realized that in cleaning up
Shiloh’s place he hadn’t seen Tucker’s elephant picture. She’d taken that with
her, and the knowledge gave him some small comfort.

In
a moment of weakness, he’d poked around the website for the University of
Michigan’s English Department. They had bios of their postgraduates and faculty
online. Sure enough, there was Dr. Jessie Brooke, PhD, specializing in poetry
and drama of the English Renaissance with links to some of her publications.
The most recent was on
Paradise Lost
. There was even a line about her
hobbies. Fencing, of all things. Dean thought that suited her: strength, quick
reflexes, good exercise, and the ability to kick someone’s ass, but in a
classy, Shakespearean sort of way. The thought made him smile despite himself.
But, there was no point in pulling on that thread. His beloved Jane didn’t
exist, and this woman Jessie, fascinating as she was, wasn’t his. That was all
there was to it.

Stuart
had called a couple of times this week from L.A. Dean hadn’t returned them yet,
but Stuart’s voicemails said something about a possible role on some cable
miniseries. If he wanted to do it he’d need to get back to L.A. sooner rather
than later. Part of him wanted to get back, leave all memory of Jane behind.
Another part wanted to take the whole summer. He didn’t really have to be back
until season seven of
Once Bitten
started shooting, and that wouldn’t
start for months. Maybe it was time to look for some work closer to home. It’s
not like things don’t film in Chicago, he thought. Maybe he could even look at
stage work, get back to what drew him to acting in the first place. Other than
New York, there was no better theater scene in the country than Chicago.

Samantha
was the first up that morning, and she came downstairs looking tired but
smiling nonetheless. “You’re up early,” she said to Dean by way of greeting.

Dean
shrugged over his cup of coffee. “So are you.”

“Yeah,
well, blame little Mia Hamm here,” Samantha said, gesturing to her bump.
“What’s your excuse?” She started brewing herbal tea. Dean didn’t answer. After
a moment, she continued. “So, Dean, are we going to talk about what happened
with Jane, like, ever?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “I mean, one night you’re
here together like a couple of lovebirds, one day later you’re drowning
yourself in a bottle never to see her again. I care about you, Dean, and I want
to understand what’s going on with you.”

Dean
took another drink of coffee. “There’s not much to say. I figured Nate would
have told you. She got her memory back, ran off with her boyfriend. End of
story.”

Samantha
rolled her eyes. “Well, obviously Nate told me that. Pretty sure I got nearly a
word-by-word reenactment of your drunken heartbreak ramblings. I want to hear
the story from you, sober if at all possible.”

“Why?”
Dean asked, mildly irritated.

“Humor
me.” Samantha said, sitting down at the counter.

“Alright
then.”

Dean’s
irritation melted quickly, and to his surprise it was actually a relief to talk
about Saturday now that he had some distance. He told Samantha about leaving to
pick up the tickets, Jane’s note, the eloquent way she spoke at the conference,
and finally about seeing her literally swept off her feet into the arms of some
undoubtedly brilliant ivory-tower yuppie sweetheart. He could recount their
conversation word by word, finally finishing with the way the man’s arm was
draped so naturally over Jane’s shoulder.

Samantha
scrutinized him closely. She looked confused and more than a little annoyed.
“Wait, that’s it? That’s the whole story? You haven’t seen or spoken to her
since?”

Dean
shrugged. “She’s where she belongs. With him.”

Samantha
gave a low whistle. “Wow, Dean, lucky you’re around to make her decisions for
her. Clearly a brilliant scholar with a kind heart needs you to tell her where
she belongs.”

Dean
blinked as if he’d been struck. “What?”

“Well,
you just said, she’s where she belongs. Some people might think it would be her
place to decide where she belongs, but clearly you know better than she does.”

This
was not how Dean had expected Samantha to react. “Sam, what the hell are you
talking about? She made her own choice. She went off with that guy.”

“From
the sounds of it I’d say you threw her at him.”

“Again,
the hell?”

“She
hugged another man, so you walked up to her and told her to have a nice life.
Dean, for all you know that guy could be her brother.”

Dean
stared at Samantha for a minute. “He’s… he’s not her brother. They look nothing
alike.”

Samantha
rolled her eyes. “Stepbrother, then, cousin, best friend, whatever. The point
is, why do you assume he’s a threat to you?”

Dean
put his cup down with more force than he intended. “Samantha, you weren’t
there. You didn’t see how happy she looked when he hugged her.”

“Dean,
sometimes you can be a real dumbass. This is a woman who spent the better part
of a week with no idea who she was, lost, confused, and alone. Yes, you were
there for her as much as you could possibly be, but you couldn’t fix her.
Suddenly she fixes herself, she gets her life back, charges back into her world
and totally owns it, and you’re surprised she looked really happy?”

Dean
wasn’t angry anymore; anger rapidly melting into fear. Could Samantha be right?
He didn’t dare to hope.

Samantha
saw the doubt in his eyes. All or nothing. It was time to go nuclear. “One
question, Dean. When this guy, whoever he is, when he picked her up and spun
her around, told her how amazing she was, everything. When he set her back
down, did he kiss her?”

Dean’s
eyes were wide. “No, but how did you know that?”

Samantha
made an exasperated gesture. “You would have mentioned, obviously. If you had
been the one to congratulate her on being brilliant and amazing, would you have
kissed her?”

Dean
was speechless.

“See
what I mean?” she pressed. “If you could just get out of your own head for one
second and think about this from her perspective: you weren’t there when she
got her memory back. She had to rush off, but she left you a note. The note
wasn’t a place to meet, Dean, it was invitation. She invited you to her world.
She wanted you to see the real her. Why else send you to the panel? If all she
wanted was to politely thank you for giving her a place to stay, she could have
chosen anywhere, probably somewhere quiet and more private. I’m sorry Dean, but
you behaved like a coward. You took one look at some possible competition and
ran like hell.”

“That’s
not… I didn’t…” Dean muttered, his voice trailing off. Samantha pushed on.

“Think
about what you said when you got there. Forget the guy. You were formal and
distant. If she had said to you what you said to her, ‘hey thanks for
everything have a nice life,’ what would you have thought? What would you have
done? You wanted to spare her embarrassment, and your intentions were good, but
all you really did was push her away.”

“But,
it’s different than if she had been like that to me,” Dean defended weakly.

“How?”

“Because
I love her.”

Samantha
looked him square in the face. “You really are a dumbass.” 

Dean
was silent, but the wheels in his head were spinning. All this week he’d
mourned losing Jane, but could he really call it losing if he hadn’t even
fought? Was Samantha right? Yes, Jane had been distant when they spoke at the
conference, but so had he. And he had spoken first. Dean looked up desperately.
“Sam, she’s gone. What do I do now?”

Samantha
shrugged. “You’ve got to figure that one out for yourself, Dean.”

One
more time, he realized he had decided before he’d ever consciously considered
there was a decision to make. “I need to use Nate’s computer.”

Samantha
smiled into her tea as Dean ran out of the room. Men. Bunch of morons.

***

Jessie
sat in her office, her gaze on the thick stack of get-well cards in her
in-tray. More were arriving every day. Apparently word had gone around that the
accident which left her in her cast was some daring feat of heroics to save a
little boy (Adam’s doing, of course). It seemed everyone on campus had brought
a card, and Prof. Neville’s wife had even brought a homemade get-well cake into
the department on Wednesday. Mercifully, her memory loss and the entire Dean
adventure had been left out of the retelling. Jessie had pre-empted any rumor
getting back to her parents with a long, exhausting, and carefully rehearsed
phone call to her parents on Sunday night when she got home. Her mother had
been all a flutter to make the very long drive south to take care of her, but
Jessie had insisted she was absolutely fine and would be up to visit at the end
of the semester anyway.

In
all the hubbub of her return, Prof. Neville hadn’t seemed to expect her to get
much done this week, which suited her fine since she couldn’t seem to focus
anyhow. Only she and Adam knew her lack of focus had nothing to do with a
broken arm. It hadn’t been too bad at first. After driving back to Michigan on
Sunday, Monday she had run around helter-skelter to the DMV, the bank, and the
phone company replacing everything that had been lost in the accident.
Apparently whoever ended up with her credit cards had made several rather
extravagant purchases, but she had been able to dispute the charges. She had
also touched base with Dr. Frobisher, who had been absolutely gleeful to hear
of her recovery, and had even helped liaise between the hospital and the health
insurance she had through the university. Tuesday she had followed up with her
local physician, who assured her that all was well with her arm and made an
appointment for her to have the cast taken off at the end of May. Piece by
piece, Jessie reassembled the parts of her life that had been broken in the
accident.

Her
heart was another matter though. She need to keep busy on small tasks,
otherwise her focus wandered off, always to the same places. A high rise
apartment off Michigan Avenue, a house in the suburbs of Chicago with daffodils
growing in the front yard, a pizza place just north of Millennium Park. She
knew she had to let go of Dean, but it would take time.

Both
of her phones lay next to each other on her desk. The nearest one was the new
replacement phone she had gotten on Monday. The other was the pay-as-you-go
Dean had bought for her in Chicago. She still used it to call Dr. Frobisher,
after all, the minutes were already paid for, might as well use them. There
were just the two names in the contacts list: Dr. Frobisher, and Dean.

Unable
to sleep last night, she had channel surfed until a sight made her stop and
stare. It was
Once Bitten
. Damn. Dean, or rather Jared, was chasing some
presumably villainous werewolf through darkened city streets. Somewhere else, a
pretty blonde woman was held captive in what appeared to be an abandoned
shopping center. She had to smile at first; Dean’s Jared costume was an
expensive-looking tailored suit that seemed terribly impractical for a foot
chase. His Jared voice was, not deeper, but, different somehow. Practiced and
studied. The character on the screen wasn’t so easy to reconcile with the warm,
smiling, blue-jeans and flannel hero she’d come to know and love. On the show
Jared the vampire caught the villain, saved the girl, and celebrated with a
passionate kiss and a tasteful fade-to-black that implied there would be much
more than kissing to follow. Jessie felt like putting her foot through the
television, but she settled for merely turning it off and taking a very long
bubble bath with her well-worn copy of
Blackwell’s Essential Renaissance
Poetry.