Noah

"So…does this fresh start begin with you dating Nicky?" I asked.

Julian snorted quietly and nipped at my collarbone. "I'm not ready for anything, any more than you are."

That was…strangely relieving.

"I'll go to a party with him, though," he said. "Maybe I'll make some friends."

Of course he would. Julian was a terrific guy. Who wouldn’t want him? To be buddies with him, I meant.

No, this was good.

It was.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long before it felt as right as I knew it was.* * *Part II

Chapter 11

Nine months later

"I don't give a shit. Make it happen." I placed the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I parked my car. I knew it was illegal—sue me. "I thought money talked."

"You sound like a diva," Daniel chuckled wryly.

I cringed then got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Deep breath. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fuck you, for that," I replied slowly, "but you're right. I just want his birthday to be good."

Julian turned twenty-four in a couple weeks, and with me being in the middle of filming, I had forgotten all about it. Sophie had reminded me yesterday, thank fuck.

"I get it, Noah." Daniel got serious again. "Unfortunately, I can't force a restaurant to host the dinner only because Julian likes the food there. Trust me, I have bribed and tried to convince them, but evidently, they want to be the only restaurant in LA that doesn't attract big crowds or publicity."

I sighed and locked the car, and then I walked toward my shrink's practice. "I guess we could do something at home."

"It does sound like a party Julian would enjoy more," he reasoned. "He's not you, man. Less is more in this case."

He was right. I scratched my head with the key, thinking of what to do. I was strapped for time, so having the party elsewhere had made sense to me. Then again, if we had it at home, I wasn't late. I didn't need to book my own loft weeks in advance.

"You know a good party planner who can do low-key?" I asked.

"What a dumb question. Of course I do."

*

"Only ten minutes late this time," Dr. Kendall said with a smirk. "I'm impressed." She gestured for me to sit down, and I was too stressed out to give a fuck about sheepishness. I'd already apologized. I was a living, breathing apology. "Tell me how you've been since our last session."

I blew out a breath and racked my brain for something to say. "It's been…good. I traded in button-downs for T-shirts." Which meant pre-production and kissing up to suits were over. We were finally filming, and I didn't have to deal with any more producers—only Tennyson. It was his show. He was the only link between the film set and everything behind the scenes.

I didn't envy him.

"You're far away from the studio lots," the doc noted. "Are you off today?"

Only a couple studios had permanent lots these days, but whatever. "We're not with a studio, and no, I just took a few hours." I checked my watch. "I hope to be back before three."

In the meantime, my assistant director and director of photography prepared for the next scene. I'd gotten lucky to end up with an AD and DP I actually enjoyed working with. So far, they seemed to share my exact vision.

"So work is good, then?" Dr. Kendall jotted down a note on her tablet. "Any bad stressors? You mentioned having more nightmares around the same time you were busy with casting."

I shook my head. "Nah, it's been weeks since I had a nightmare. I live for being on set, so work is all good now."

In fact, I'd been feeling a lot better lately, and I was hoping today could be the last head-fucking appointment. I was glad I'd come here, though. Also something I wouldn't have done if it weren't for Julian.

He'd started going last summer after he and I…had shared our night, and… His progress showed, and so I had manned up and gotten an appointment earlier this year. But it was enough now. I'd been seeing Dr. Kendall every other week since February, and with May just around the corner, I was satisfied.

It had gotten to the point where venting had started feeling like dwelling, and that meant it was time to move on. There was no damn diagnosis. It was plain grief, and it had lessened.

"That’s great, Noah." Doc smiled at me and then moved on to the next topic. "Last time, you told me you were getting ready to sell your parents' house in Pittsburgh. Any more thoughts on that?"

Not really. I shrugged. "We've hired a Realtor."

It was time. A few months ago, Julian and I had gone our separate ways for a week. He had flown to Germany with his grandparents to gather all the belongings they wanted to keep, and I had done the same with Ma and Pop's house. Some trinkets and photos had been added to our loft, some things ended up in storage, and the rest was donated. Only the houses remained.