Million-Dollar Consequences

Twenty-Two

It’d taken Isaac a full two days to sober up.

In retrospect, the whiskey shots were a bad idea, but celebrating-slash-mourning with Max had been time well spent. Isaac felt like he’d been hit by a train, but it was a small price to pay to learn that his twin brother didn’t resent him.

Healing that rift was an answered prayer, but the circumstance with Meghan was nowhere near resolved. Would she show tonight at the wrap party? Max swore to do his best to try and convince her to come, but had followed that with a warning. He’d told Isaac to have his shit together when he saw her, or else.

The wrap party was at the M Hotel, where they’d shot the majority of Brooks Knows Best. There was a red carpet leading into the entrance, complete with a roped-off area to separate the press and fans from the cast. There was a line of limousines on the curb, waiting to deposit the actors from the show.

It was a scene that usually lit Isaac up like a marquee, but tonight, he felt as dim as a burned-out light bulb. From his apartment, he walked downstairs, through the deli that smelled of Italian spices and olive oil, and then across the street.

Screaming fans pressed up against the ropes, holding cell phones and snapping photos, and lifting posters that read “Danny and Rachael forever” and “I love Isaac Dunn!” He waved at the group of ladies wearing pink T-shirts with his face and signature on them. Women everywhere loved him, but only one woman mattered. Meghan had loved him before he’d screwed everything up. Did she still?

“Isaac! Isaac!” His name rippled through the crowd. A photographer asked for a smile. He didn’t smile but he did raise a hand to wave. Someone asked where Meghan was—a question he ignored. He tugged on the door handle, spotting Richard in the lobby, when someone else shouted, “Is Meghan pregnant with your child?”

His entire body froze, save for the hand strangling the door handle. Normally anyone could ask anything, and he was able to school his expression, to hide his emotions. As raw as he felt today, a nonreaction wasn’t available to him.

Nostrils flaring, he turned his head and told them plainly to mind their fucking business. No fewer than thirty photos were snapped, and no doubt some video. That little sound bite would be on TMZ within the hour.

He walked inside, scrubbing his forehead as Richard looked on with concern. “You okay, Isaac?”

He slapped his on-screen father’s shoulder. “Not really, Richard. But thanks for asking.”

Maybe Kendall could shut this latest publicity snafu down before it grew fangs. He wouldn’t stand idly by while those piranhas gossiped about Meghan or their baby. She didn’t ask for any of this. Like every other thing he’d done in his life, he’d done this because he’d been selfishly focused on his own career.

He entered the wrap party, wading through a sea of fancy dresses in a rainbow of colors. The men wore tuxes, almost identical to the one he wore—traditional black and white.

He used to tell himself that irrelevance was his worst-case scenario. Could there be anything worse than someone not knowing your name? Now he knew there was something much worse than his ego not being regularly fed. Losing his family—whether it was Max and Kendall, or Meghan and their child—that was worse.

He scanned the crowd for Kendall, his gaze snagging on light hair. She stood at the bar, wearing a sparkly purple dress—he recognized it from the photos of the awards dinner with Max earlier this year. He hated to put her on the clock at the party, but the paps were out of control.

He approached, calling out to her while he walked in her direction. “You have to go out there, Ken. The piranhas are asking about Meghan, and I can’t...”

He trailed off when Kendall turned around and he saw she wasn’t Kendall at all. His eyes roamed the length of the purple dress, shimmering in the chandelier light, before he reached familiar hazel eyes.

“Meghan.”

She ran a hand down the skirt. “I borrowed Kendall’s dress. I didn’t pack anything fancy enough for a wrap party.”

“You look... God, amazing.”

She held a clutch in both hands, shielding her belly, even though she wasn’t showing yet. Was she still feeling well? Had she told her parents yet? Where had she decided to live? Would she allow him to come with her to the doctor appointments? He pictured her waist growing, her cheeks aglow. Would she sleep with a pillow beneath the weight of her swollen belly in the months to come? He wanted to watch her pregnancy unfold. He wanted to be with her. To love her the way she was meant to be loved.

He just wanted to be there. Wherever “there” was.

“What did the piranhas say?” she asked.

He wanted to kiss her. Tell her he’d been too scared to admit to himself or her how much he loved her. Beg her to forgive him. Beg her to believe him. Where to start?

“You came.”

“I did.” Her smile was cautious.

Here goes.

“I know you’ve made up your mind, but you didn’t have all the information. I didn’t tell you everything you needed to know, because I was focused on me. On my stupid career.” He couldn’t be more ashamed of his behavior. “Meghan, I—”

“Isaac! Big congrats on the show, man.” A strong hand clapped his shoulder.

“Garth. Thanks. Not now.” He ignored the other man’s confused expression as he took Meghan’s hand and led her away from the bar. He kept walking until they were on the other side of the room, beyond the brightest of the lights, and in an intimate corner.

She was watching him with what might be hope. He wanted it to be hope. Please, please be hope.

“I know I screwed this up completely,” he restarted. “I’m trying to make up for it. I turned down the role in Howard’s film.”

“I heard.” She frowned. “I’m pretty upset with you about that.”

“I know. I—what?”

“You shouldn’t have turned down the role. You worked for years to be in a position to take it. I suggest you call him before he casts someone else.”

“I—No, Squire, you’re not following me.”