All We Are Read online

  All We Are

  Elisabeth Grace

  Michelle Lynn

  Copyright © 2019 by Elisabeth Grace and Michelle Lynn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Photographer: Perrywinkle Photography

  Cover Designer: Hang Le

  Line Editor: Joy Editing

  Proofreader: Behind the Writer

  Contents

  About All We Are

  Free Downloads

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Elisabeth and Michelle

  Also by Elisabeth Grace

  About All We Are

  Coming face-to-face with my past changes EVERYTHING.

  I'm at the top of my game. All my struggles have finally paid off. Life should be great.

  I mean, life is great.

  Except for the fact that I can't stop thinking of her. The woman who mangled my heart into a bloody pulp and never looked back.

  If I could free myself of our shared memories, my future would be golden.

  There's only one way to move on-I have to confront the past, so I can move into the next chapter of my life in peace.

  Which means confronting her for the final time.

  I had no idea that knocking on her door that day would turn my life upside down.

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  Chapter 1

  Jimmy

  The California sun beams through the large window, and I slowly open my eyes. I lie there half asleep for a minute until a small hand wraps around my waist. The light catches on her diamond, casting a light show on the ceiling. I roll over to chestnut-colored hair sprawled over the pillow, her eyes still closed.

  Six years and some mornings when I first wake, I still expect to find Lilah and her bright blue eyes staring back at me. Like those people who lose a limb and say they still feel it years later. That’s what removing Lilah from my life feels like—losing a piece of me.

  So even though I’m a shit fiancé, I resolve my guilt by telling myself that I’m not to blame. Eighteen months with Adelaide can't instantly erase the half of a lifetime I spent with Lilah.

  “Morning.” I rub her shoulder.

  Her mouth forms a small smile, but her eyes remain shut. “Morning.” Her voice is rough from a sound night's sleep.

  “What do you have on your schedule for today?” I guarantee something wedding related. It always is.

  Ever since we got engaged, the laid-back, easygoing, take-it-as-it-comes-and-don’t-stress-the-small-stuff woman I proposed to, has been swallowed up by the hyper-focused perfectionist lying beside me. I hope it’s a temporary change, but what would I know? I’m a guy. We’re just told what to wear and when to show up. Women man the reins and make sure the whole day is pulled off without a hitch. And when you’re A-list celebrities like the two of us, the pressure of perfection is greater.

  Adelaide opens her eyes, her content gaze meeting mine. “I have to meet with the wedding coordinator about the flowers. Then I’m having lunch with some of the girls. How about you?”

  “I’ve got a call scheduled with Keane around lunch to talk about what’s next for me. I’ll probably work out after that. Why don’t I make us dinner?”

  “That would be great.” She places a chaste kiss on my lips.

  “Anything in particular you feel like having?” I ask as she rolls over and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “Yes, a leaf of lettuce. I have to fit into my wedding dress.”

  I scoot up the bed to rest my back against the headboard. “You look fine. Quit with that shit.”

  She looks over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Says the guy who can eat almost anything and keep a killer bod.” She stretches her arms over her head and stands, heading into the ensuite.

  “You have a killer bod. And why isn’t my opinion the only one that matters?”

  “Because our wedding picture will be plastered over every magazine and tabloid for years to come. Every time they make up a story about us having problems or ‘is she pregnant,’ they’ll post a picture from our wedding. And I for one want to look good.”

  Thankfully, she’s in the bathroom, otherwise she’d see me rolling my eyes.

  “Fine, whatever. Eat like a rabbit.”

  I roll over and stand from the bed, adjusting my morning wood in my boxers. My dick begs for some action, but my fiancée doesn’t enjoy morning sex. Regardless, her mind is on the wedding twenty-four seven, not on getting me off.

  I leave the master bedroom and head down the hall to the other bathroom to relieve myself. I cannot wait to put all this wedding nonsense behind us and start our lives.

  In my opinion, which counts for nothing as far as this wedding goes, the wedding is one day—everything that comes after that is what really counts.

  * * *

  I set myself up in my office, pull up Skype, and wait for Keane.

  I just wrapped a movie, and though I’m taking a small break until after the wedding, it’s time to figure out my next role.

  When The Regulator released six years ago, my life did a one-eighty. I became a household name, so now I get to pick my projects. After all the shit that went down with Lilah, I threw myself into my work, traveling from country to country to film movie after movie. Otherwise I would have cracked and searched for her.

  Thankfully, I chose my projects well and I’m rewarded now by getting offers for more serious work, rather than the romantic lead in rom-coms or the tough guy in action films.

  My computer rings, dragging me from my thoughts. I click the button, and Keane’s smile pulls up on the screen.

  “Hey, man.”

  “Hey.” He looks to his left and gives his assistant instructions before looking back at me. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.”

  “How’s your fiancée?”

  “Busy with wedding plans.”

  “Sounds about right. I never understood how the wedding industry was a billion-dollar industry until I got married. Who knew you could charge so much for flour and eggs?”

  “I just try to stay out of the way.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re getting married.” He shakes his head.

  That same line has been on repeat from my friends. I can’t blame them. A couple years ago, I only cared about work and playing hard. And playing hard meant banging any willing and available female as long as they weren’t blonde.

  But after a few years, I grew tired of having women sleep with me just to say they had. That’s when Adelaide's and my friendship rekindled. Soon my playboy days were over, and I was enjoying an easy relationship with Adelaide.

  “I could’ve said the same thing when you tied the knot.”

  Keane chuckles. “True enough. Seriously though, I’m happy for you. You're very calm and content with Adelaide.”

  “Well, she’s a calm and content kinda person.” I smile.

  “All right, enough of this personal shit. Let’s get down to business.”

  I shift in my seat, eager to hear who’s expressing interest in working with me. “What do you got?”

  Keane shuffles a few papers on his desk. “A script came in from Dedrick Walker, but it’s shit. I’ll send it your way if you want, but I know you’ll pass on it.”

  “I trust your judgment. If you think it’s shit, I will too.”

  “Good enough.” He tosses the paper aside. “Dreamcast Studios is working on a reboot of the Three’s Company sitcom. Before our time. They’re planning to modernize the concept and make it a feature-length film, but that one is for streaming services, not theaters.”

  “I’ll pass. Not because it’s not theaters, just because I’d like to work a dramatic role.”

  “Got it. Okay, that means these three are out…” He shifts more papers and pulls up another one. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and he hesitates.

  “What is it?” I lean back in my chair.

  He blows out a breath and looks up from the sheet. “This one is from Freelance Studios. It fits what you said you wanted to work on next.”

  Anger stabs my chest like a hot poker. “Fuck that.”

  “I know how you feel and that’s why I hesitated to bring it up, but the script and role could be
award-winning. I just couldn’t not tell you about it.”

  “I could never work for him.” I wrap my hand around my water bottle, and it crinkles under the pressure of my grip.

  “You know Bernie stepped back after his heart attack. He’s not involved in the day-to-day anymore.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I told you six years ago that I will never work for that studio again and I meant it.”

  What happened six years ago still makes me want to hunt Bernie down and beat the shit out of him. Will I ever be over it?

  “You’ve never really told me what all went down, but—”

  “I’m not discussing it.”

  “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, James, that’s all I’m saying. It’s a good script. It has a good director attached to it. It’s going to be a successful project.”

  I lean closer toward my laptop because maybe Keane is somehow missing how serious I am. “I will never work for that bastard again. Don’t bring it up—ever.”

  He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “All right, all right. I got nothing then. I’ll put some more feelers out for the kind of project you’re looking for and let you know if I find anything.”

  I nod, unable to speak because my jaw is clenched so tight.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s just… it’s been years and you’ve moved on with Adelaide. I just thought…”

  I say nothing to fill the silence.

  “Anyway, keep in touch. I’ll let you know when I have something.”

  “Great.” I push the laptop closed without saying goodbye.

  My mood is shit now thanks to the mention of that asshole, Bernie Butler. I won’t lie, when I heard he’d suffered a heart attack a few months back, I was disappointed the thing hadn’t killed him. His heart is black anyway.

  I push a hand through my hair and stomp down the hall toward the living room, but when I get there, I look around, unsure what to do with myself.

  Deep down, I’m aware how messed up it is that that night can still rile me up until I can’t think clearly. It’s just a reminder that I have no idea why Lilah did what she did.

  I haven’t spoken to her or Bernie since that night. When he approached me at The Regulator’s premiere, I made it clear that I had nothing to say to him and if he didn't want another round of plastic surgery, he'd better stay the hell away from me.

  Pacing doesn’t help me gain control of my emotions, so I head back down the hall.

  Best decision I made after Lilah’s abrupt departure from my life was turning the guest room into a gym. I quickly change into shorts and a T-shirt, ready to spend the next hour and half using my anger to fuel my workout, until my muscles ache and my clothes are drenched. If I’m lucky, the image of Lilah and Bernie on that couch will disappear.

  * * *

  I turn up the temperature on the oven, so it'll stay warm until I’m ready to put in the salmon. I decided on baked salmon for dinner, along with asparagus and quinoa. All wedding-diet-approved items.

  Adelaide called to say she’ll be a little late for dinner. Apparently, the wedding coordinator had a lead on the perfect chair covers for the reception.

  I grab a beer from the fridge, pop off the cap, and sit on the couch, clicking on the TV to kill time. I flick through the channels to find something interesting, but it’s mostly just news, given that it’s six o’clock. I settle on a national news channel. I should know what’s up in the world anyway.

  Probably a glutton for punishment since I’ve been in a crappy mood since this morning. I curse myself for even thinking of Lilah in the first place. She’ll leave my head before I marry Adelaide, won’t she?

  Ten minutes into the broadcast and nothing has changed since the last time I watched the news—people in the world are still horrible to each other, our president still has top billing, and politicians continue to abuse their power. Great.

  I sit up, my thumb on the power button of the remote, when a story catches my eye. A serial bank robber the FBI had on their most-wanted list for the past few years was apprehended and is in custody. I lean back down, extending my feet onto the coffee table. At least justice will be served. This sounds promising.

  The report goes on to say that he was arrested after robbing a Kansas bank when someone stole his getaway car. I guess he’d left the keys inside. Idiot. I remember when I was doing an FBI role two years ago, our source of knowledge on how to act told me all criminals get caught because they’re stupid.

  They roll footage of the outside of the bank. People are huddled together. Some crying hysterically. Others silently weeping. Many clinging to one another.

  And then time stands still.

  My beer slips from my grasp, falls onto me, hits the couch, and lands on the floor. I lean forward to get a better look at the TV.

  I grab the remote and rewind. Thank God for modern technology. I watch the same woman crying and pleading. The man trying to hold her up. I hit pause as she walks out of the building.

  All the oxygen leaves my lungs as if I’m hooked up to a machine.

  There she is.

  I’m sure it’s her.

  I’m ninety percent sure it’s her.

  It’s a little hard to tell, because she's walking and the freeze frame is blurry, but I’ve mesmerized every angle of her face and body. I’d bet my next big box-office hit it’s her.

  The sound of the front door closing drags me out of my daze. I hit the power button on the remote. The TV clicks off and I stand, realizing my shorts are wet from the beer spilled.

  “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Adelaide carries in a few shopping bags, smiling as she sets them on the kitchen island.

  “Nothing, I just spilled my beer.” I avoid her gaze and walk over to the stove, reaching for the dishtowel to clean up my mess.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” I blot at the wet spot on the couch, soaking up most of the liquid, then return to the kitchen for a washcloth, feeling Adelaide’s gaze on me the whole time.

  “You look pale. Are you sick?”

  I squeeze the washcloth of excess water and walk back over to the couch, happy for the distraction.

  “I told you. I’m fine.” I head back to the kitchen with the washcloth, walk around the other side of the island to Adelaide, and give her a kiss. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m okay.”

  Or I will be. Because I refuse to allow Lilah any more of my headspace than she already has. She will not ruin my future.

  “You ready to eat? I have to cook everything, but it won’t take long.” I toss the washcloth toward the sink in the middle of the oversized island.

  Adelaide steps toward me. “You’re the best fiancé. Have I told you that lately?”

  I smile even though I feel anything but at the moment.

  But I will live up to her words. One glance at Lilah will not undo all my efforts to move past her. Who knows if it was even her? I probably conjured her up in my mind.

  Chapter 2

  Jimmy

  Forgetting the past is easier said than done. My past is like a splinter stuck five layers deep. If I move in the smallest wrong way, a sharp pain assaults me.

  Seeing Lilah on the television was the splinter puncturing my skin, and I haven’t been able to remove the sucker. She’s always in the background of my mind, always making herself known. Our shared past nags and irritates me.