I rubbed my eyes tiredly and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. Theory, she'd said. Nothing else made sense. We were tight. If she or anyone else in my group of buddies had known for sure, they would have told me.
"Mia called me before they got on their flight," she went on. "She filled me in about the truck outside the house. We've been trying to reach you all morning. Are you okay? So it's really true? She's been cheating on you? God, that bitch! I'll cut her!"
Painkillers. I needed them.
Blinking blearily, I headed for the medicine cabinet in the guest bath and swiped a bottle of Advil.
"I walked in on her and some motherfucker."
Sophie cursed up a storm and made promises that no cop should hear. I appreciated it, but I had no desire whatsoever to talk about Emma anymore. I assumed Sophie and Brooklyn had become friends with my sister at my birthday bash in February. Women talked, eh?
As I poured coffee and downed two painkillers, I listened to Sophie going on and on about what she wanted to do to Emma's body parts. It was…colorful. On a good day, I'd have gotten a laugh out of it.
I felt like a fucking idiot instead. It took a hit on my pride, not gonna lie. But I knew I didn't have to hide shit or be ashamed in front of my friends. They were good people. Sophie, despite being ten years younger than me, was a fierce li'l chick. Protective and loyal.
She'd learned the hard way by growing up in Hollywood. Child star gone diva, who got knocked down. Once off her high horse, she'd rebuilt her life. She'd earned her status as a real star, and even though she was the youngest in our group, she was the momma—no doubt.
"Noah? You still there?"
I took a swallow of my coffee and nodded to myself. "Yeah." The sun was shining outside, not really mirroring my mood. Wasn’t it supposed to rain or some shit? "I'm selling the house. And getting my dick checked." I couldn’t say I trusted Emma when she'd said it had only been going on a few weeks. Either way, I wasn’t taking any risks.
Sophie choked a bit. "Uh, okay. Ha." She snorted a chuckle. "I'm delighted you told me that last part."
I smiled faintly at the floor and scratched my bicep. "I figured. I can't stay here, though. And there's no word to describe how much I don't wanna go to Florida now."
The thought of all the questions from my family…
Tennyson was one of the biggest directors in the world, and I'd been his assistant director a few times now. There was a reason why we clicked. He was simple like me, and we both enjoyed flying under the radar. But with all this…my family would give me every shade of attention I despised.
Sophie hummed. "Well…they're gonna be in Orlando for two weeks, right? So how about you come down to LA for a couple days? We'll chill out. You get your head straight and rest up. Then you can see your family when the wounds aren't as fresh."
Didn't sound half bad, though I suspected the wounds would be raw for some time.
"Staying at the loft sounds better than this hellhole," I admitted.
To my friends, Mendocino would remain a fairy-tale getaway. Tennyson and Sophie belonged up here and lived in what they called domesticated bliss when they weren't working in LA—or elsewhere. But I was done. I had a feeling I'd lose my mind if I didn't find any distractions, stat.
"Can you agree to something before I tell you what it is?" Sophie asked.
I grunted and took a sip of my coffee. "That’s not my thing. I know you broads. That’s how guys end up going to the salon or the mall to hold your purse."
She laughed. "I promise, no malls or salons. This is because we love you and want you here as soon as possible. Feel free to even call it selfish, but I'd sleep better tonight with you across the hall."
She'd just given it all away, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I'd always loved my loft in Pacific Palisades, and with Sophie and Tennyson as neighbors, I wouldn’t have to go far to get distracted. Tennyson and I could catch a game, I could bring greasy food and watch movies with Sophie, or I could teach their kids shit Mommy and Daddy didn't approve of.
"Okay, call your pop, hon," I said.
Peter Pierce, former big shot in the film industry. He lived in nearby Fort Bragg these days and had a private jet on standby. His cottage-style house probably hadn't cost as much as it did to keep that jet fueled for a week.
"How did you know…? Never mind." She sighed, though there was a smile in her voice now. "Thanks, Noah. I know you don't like to take advantage of your Hollywood perks, so I appreciate it. Now, get your ass back down to LA, all right?"