Breaking Stars (The Celebrity 2)

“I wish I had something better to say to you, honey. I’m just so sorry for what you’re going through, and I wish I could take the pain away,” she offered, her voice breaking.

“Thanks, Mom.” I breathed in a couple of shaky breaths. “Let’s talk about something else. What’s going on with you? How’s work? How’s Dad? How’s Stacey?”

“Everything’s fine here. Work is the same. Never changes unless something goes on with you, then my phone starts ringing off the hook and I come home to people camped in our bushes and jumping out at me every time I pull in or out of the garage.”

Guilt pinched at my heart. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Your dad almost ran one of them over. Claimed he didn’t see them, but I think he did.” She started laughing wickedly and it made me giggle. “And your sister’s good. She just needs to decide which college she’s going to attend in the fall so she can send them her acceptance and we can start planning.”

“Do you think she’ll leave California?”

“Honestly? I do. You know how she’s always felt about New York. Ever since you took her there that one year, she’s been obsessed with NYU. But I think she’s trying to decide if she really wants to leave home or not.”

I thought back to when I filmed a movie in New York City when I was eighteen. Stacey was about to turn fourteen at the time, but I wanted her to experience some of the things I was, so I flew her out for a week during her spring break. Her face had lit up with wonder the second we entered the city. Neither one of us had ever seen anything like it in our lives: the tall buildings, the nightlife, the people. Just like the saying, New York was a city that never slept. No matter what time we were up or what we were doing, a hundred other people always surrounded us. It was exciting, and when we happened to walk past NYU one day, she’d proclaimed, “I’m going to go to college here,” and I believed her.

“Yeah. It’s a tough decision,” I said, wondering what I would do if I were my sister.

“Call her when you have a chance. She’s worried about you, but she never calls you because she doesn’t want to bother you. She always thinks she bothers you.”

“I know. It’s because she calls right when I’m in the middle of filming, or at an interview or something,” I said as the guilt squeezed me a little harder.

“You’re always busy, Paige. Make time for her, please,” my mom insisted.

“I will. I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Be careful, sweetheart. We all worry about you. And I’m really sorry again about everything you’re going through.”

“Thanks. It will pass. It always does.” Not that I’d been through anything like this before, but I’d been around long enough to know today’s front-page news didn’t last long before being replaced by someone else’s front-page news. “’Bye, Mom,” I said before hanging up.

Walking into the bathroom, I reached for a washcloth and splashed some water on my face to wipe away the tears that had left streak marks. Convinced it wouldn’t be the last time today that tears fell from my eyes, I washed away any remaining makeup from my skin and rinsed out the cloth.

After digging in my bag for two ibuprofen, I swallowed them and downed a full glass of water before walking back outside. Moving toward the lounge chair, I positioned myself and sat back down.

“How’s Mom?” Quinn chirped from her lounge chair without opening her eyes.

I sighed. “She’s sad for me. And worried. And wants to come over.”

“That’s normal. Moms want to fix everything for us. Bless their hearts.”

The wind whipped gently through my hair and I reached back, gathering it all in my hand before twisting it into a knot at the base of my head.

“Stacey’s getting ready to choose which college she wants to attend,” I said as my voice quivered.

“Oh no.”

“Oh no, what?” I asked.

“I know that tone. You get it every time you talk about someone from your hometown going off to college.” She rolled her eyes and glanced out toward the ocean.

“I know I do. I can’t help it.”

“I hate how much you want that life,” Quinn said softly, her tone filled with sadness.

“It’s crazy, right? That I’m jealous of my little sister when I’m one of the most sought-after actresses in the country.”

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know how crazy it is. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always missed out on having those normal, boring moments. It doesn’t surprise me that this whole college thing is springing back up.”

“It’s not boring,” I complained.