When I Was Yours

Half an hour later, I’m showered and dressed for work in a suit and tie. I hate ties, but as the head of Gunner Entertainment, I have to look the part.

I head into the living room of the bungalow I call home five days a week. There’s no sign of the blonde, except for the lingering strong scent of perfume.

Thank God.

I live in a rented bungalow at The Beverly Hills Hotel. I could get an apartment, but I can’t bring myself to put down roots here. Even though I grew up in Beverly Hills, it’s never felt like home.

Home is in Malibu where my beach house is. It’s the house that Max and I rented for our year off before we headed to college. It’s the place where I met Evie and where I spent the best year of my life with her—before she left me, and my world came crashing down.

The minute I graduated from Harvard and started working for my father, I was granted access to my trust fund. The first thing I did with that money was go straight to Malibu, and I offered a stupid amount of money to the owner of the beach house. He sold it to me on the spot.

For the three years that I had been away at college, I had kept up with the rent on the beach house. I didn’t go back there in all that time, but I couldn’t let it go either. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being in the place that was hers and mine.

The first time I went back inside the house was torture. She was everywhere, in every room.

But no matter how much it hurt, I needed to be there. I needed to be close to her in the only way I could be.

I probably should sell it now, and buy a new house, as I know it isn’t healthy to hang on to the place. But it’s the only thing I have left of her, and I just can’t bring myself to let it go.

During the week, I’m forced to be in Beverly Hills because Gunner Entertainment is here. It’s my family’s studio that my great-grandfather started in the early days of making movies. When my grandfather took it over after his father had passed, he turned it into one of the biggest movie studios in Hollywood. After my grandfather passed, my piece-of-shit father, Eric, took over, and during his last few years, he almost ran the studio into the ground. He was too busy screwing any guy he could, pretending to me and the rest of the world that he wasn’t gay. All the while, taking the drugs, which eventually killed him.

And wasn’t I just my father’s son? Aside from fucking dudes, that is. I took on his form down to the letter.

It was always set that I would take over the family business. Didn’t matter that I didn’t want to. I never wanted anything to do with it. I hate the movie business.

My mother, Ava, is a self-righteous bitch of an actress. My father married her to get his heir to the business. And she was a beautiful up-and-coming actress, ruthless enough to marry a gay man and give him the son he needed.

In return, she got to star in every big blockbuster he could give her. He made her famous, just as he’d promised. She’s one of the biggest names in Hollywood.

I was just the transaction which gave them both what they wanted.

Ava was never around when I was growing up. She was usually filming on set somewhere, and even when she was home, I rarely saw her.

She didn’t give a shit about me. Still doesn’t.

My life was lonely back then. The only person I had in the world was Max.

Until I met Evie. And for the first time in my life, I felt wanted and loved by someone.

And, God, did I love her. Evie was everything to me.

She gave me the reason and strength to tell Ava and Eric to shove the studio up their asses. I walked away from it all to be with her.

I married her, and then a week later, she was gone.

I haven’t seen her since.

After she left, I was adrift. So, I grabbed ahold of the only thing I knew. I went back to the family business. I fell right back in with the sharks, and I’ve been swimming with them ever since.

Grabbing my keys off the side table, I let myself out and start the short walk to the hotel’s coffee shop to get my morning coffee.

Making my way through the hotel, I exchange pleasantries with the staff on duty. When I reach the coffee shop, I push open the door and step straight into the past.

Evie.

She’s standing behind the counter. Her face is turned slightly to the right, her attention on the TV mounted on the wall, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

But it’s her.

I feel like a speeding train has hit me, and I’m pretty sure my heart has stopped beating.

It’s really her.

She’s here.

“Evie?” I breathe out her name, like I’m taking my first real breath in a very long time.

Her body stiffens at the sound of my voice. And I watch as her face turns my way. Those big whiskey-colored eyes that I fell in love with all those years ago meet mine, and my world stands still.

She looks exactly the same.

How is that even possible?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m hallucinating. I mean, falling off the wagon with that chick might have tipped me over the edge, and now, I’ve finally boarded my very own train to crazy town.

I don’t know how much time has passed while we’ve been standing here, staring at one another. My hand is still holding the door open, my foot a step into the past, and my fingers are gripping the wood so tightly that I’m surprised I haven’t ripped a chunk out.

Then, her eyes shut down on me, and she looks away. It feels like she’s ripping my heart out all over again, and a rage I didn’t know possible floods my body and mind. And it’s all channeled in one direction—her.

I need to get out of here before I tear her and this place apart.

Turning, I step back and pull the door with me, slamming it so hard that the shop front rattles. I’m surprised I didn’t smash the windows.

I get about ten steps away before my blinding anger takes over and turns me back around, marching me straight back there.

The lobby is empty, which is a good thing because I probably look like an insane person right now—not that I actually give a fuck about what people think of me.

I yank the door open and stride through, banging it shut with as much force as I did the first time.

Evie’s big brown eyes are straight on me, wide and afraid.

Seeing her afraid like this should pull me back a step, but it doesn’t. At this moment, I don’t think a fucking dump truck could stop me.

I reach the counter and slam my hands down on the metal surface. Leaning forward, I stare at her with cold eyes.

“Why?” I say low, my voice hard.

“Wh-why, what?” Her tentative voice shakes, almost like she’s afraid to ask the question.

She should be afraid.

I stare down at the counter and take several deep breaths in and out, trying to control my rage. I can barely hear with the blood pounding in my ears.

One of my hands curls into a fist as I lift my eyes back to hers. “Why. Did. You. Fucking. Leave. Me?” I harshly bite each word out.

I want her to feel the pain in my words. I want her to feel every second of agony I’ve felt since she tore my heart out and shredded it to pieces.

Her lower lip trembles. She wraps her arm over her stomach and takes a small step back, away from my anger.

In all the time I knew Evie, I never really yelled at her—well, not like this anyway. And I never wanted to have to, but this is what she has reduced me to…reduced us to.