Chapter One
Chad
“Is it true you only have one testicle?” someone shouts.
I look up, only to be blinded by dozens of camera flashes. Damn it!
Even with the private entrance, secure hallways, and VIP lounges, we still have to go through TSA security like everyone else. And now pictures of me removing my belt while Courtney was conveniently draped over me like a cheap fucking suit will be tabloid fodder for days.
I look over my shoulder at my publicist. “Kendra?”
She nods knowingly. “I’m on it,” she says, depositing her phone into a security bin. “As soon as we get through the line.”
Kendra has proven to be worth her weight in gold. She probably works harder than most publicists out there considering my less-than-ideal past. She’s only been with me for a few months, since the pre-release screenings of Defcon One started last December. That was when the studio pretty much told me if this film doesn’t shoot me straight to A-list, nothing would.
As soon as we’re on the other side, being escorted to our private lounge in LAX, she’s chatting away on her phone trying to do damage control on what the press will surely twist into some kind of torrid ongoing affair between Courtney and me. And that’s exactly how Courtney would like it. Ever since I tossed her to the curb when I found out she was using, she’s tried her best to be connected with me every chance she gets.
Not that anyone seems to mind except Kendra and me. Hell, the studio and even my own manager drool over it. Everyone wants to see the leading man and woman get together. Sex sells. And off-screen sex sells even more.
After being secretly boarded through a side door into our first-class seats, I snag a seat by the window, wanting to get some shuteye on the five-hour flight to New York. Courtney sits down next to me and I roll my eyes and let my head fall back onto the seat as I reach for my earbuds.
“Courtney,” Kendra says, coming up to stand beside her, “I really need to borrow Thad for a while. I have tons of interviews to prepare him for. Would you mind?” The two women participate in a stare down.
Courtney huffs and picks up the small bag she had tucked under the seat in front of her. “Fine.” She looks around for an empty seat, finally taking the one next to Hayden, the actor who portrayed my arch enemy in the movie, but who is probably the closest thing I have to a true friend at this point. With the exception of Kendra maybe, but I’m paying her so she doesn’t really count.
I think back to the last time in my life I had genuine friends. Friends who liked Chad Stone, the kid who liked to play basketball. The kid who shaved the neighbor’s cat as a practical joke one Halloween. The kid who didn’t have an eight-figure bank account thanks not only to a random discovery by a talent scout in a shopping mall of all places, but also to inheriting a shitload of money from his grandparents.
Nine years. That’s how long it’s been since I haven’t had to question the motives of anyone who speaks to me. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve had a best friend who doesn’t share my last name. Ethan and Kyle, my two brothers, became my best friends when I was sixteen, after I left the only two people I’d never be able to replace when my parents moved me across the country. But my brothers both reside back in New York City now which makes it hard to see them as much as I’d like. And knowing I’m on my way there, that the Manhattan premiere of Defcon One will allow me to hang out with them for two straight weeks, almost makes having to put up with that bitch, Courtney, worth it.
Every time I think of my brothers, I long for the normalcy they have. The practicality of a nine-to-five job that doesn’t hang in the balance if they say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, or put on a few pounds. A job that allows them to go to the goddamn grocery store without being mobbed by paparazzi and psychotic fans. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fans—most of them. It’s the fans who have put me where I am today, and it’s the fans who will decide if I stay here. But some of them just go too far and ruin it for everyone.
I love acting. It’s a job I never dreamed of pursuing. Hell, I’d only ever acted one time in a sappy play back in high school. For all I knew, I was going to teach high school history. Or maybe college. I hadn’t decided yet. But acting? No, that was Mallory’s dream—not mine.
Mallory. I close my eyes and sigh. I try not to think about her anymore. She represents everything that was ever normal in my life. Everything that is the opposite of who I’ve become. The man who is Thad Stone. Sometimes the line between Thad and Chad becomes blurred. Sometimes I wish I could just become that history teacher who goes home to his wife and kids at the end of every day. But I know it’s not possible. First, because I do enjoy my profession—if you take away the rabid fans, the overbearing press, and the general upheaval of normal existence. And second, because there is only one person I could ever see myself coming home to and she wrote me off years ago. Who can blame her after all the things I’ve done? After the mess I’ve made of my life.
“You okay, Thad?” Kendra asks, touching my forearm in a motherly way even though she’s only five years my senior.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking off unproductive thoughts of the past. “Thanks for saving me from the queen bitch of the universe again. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Ha! I wish,” she says.
I laugh off her comment. “You do not. I think Todd would have something to say about that.”
She shakes her head in amusement, her beautiful short auburn hair bouncing around her chin.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you know you’re the only one of my clients who even knows my husband’s name?”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say.
“Really,” she says, nodding.
I ponder it for a second before saying, “Do you know you’re the only publicist who would give me the time of day last December?”
“Actually, I did know that,” she says, shrugging. “But I’d been following your career since Malibu 310 and saw great potential there. I also saw a kid thrust into the public eye who didn’t have the first clue about how to deal with it. People make bad choices, Thad, but that doesn’t make them bad people.”
I nod, pretending to agree with her. But I know better. The things I’ve done follow me around like stink on shit, and Kendra is a saint to deal with all of it. She took a chance on me. I know that. And I don’t plan on letting her down. I’m different now. I know the studio and the fans see Thad Stone as the ultimate bad boy of Hollywood, but that hasn’t been who I am for a long time now. And they will all have to fucking deal with it.
“So, you’re not staying at The Waldorf with the rest of us?” she asks. “Paul said you’d be staying with your brother, Ethan. You know the ramifications, right?”
“You can bet Paul made sure I knew the studio would only provide security if I followed their strict guidelines. Don’t worry, Cole is flying in later today. He’ll be here in time for the premiere.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
“Hear what? That my manager tore into me—again. Or that I hired my own bodyguard?”
She laughs. “Thad, Paul tearing into you is nothing new. If he went one day without reading you the riot act, I would think he had developed a fever or something. I’m glad you decided to hire Cole. He’s good. Better than studio security for sure. Are you going to make it permanent?”
“I’m not sure yet. This is still all so new to me. I mean, back when I did Malibu, everything was different. The fans were different. Not so goddamn scary.”
“That’s because they were all adolescent girls,” she jokes. “And that’s the difference between the small screen and the silver screen.”
I nod. “I guess I’m not quite ready to completely give up my independence. This could be a one-time thing, you know.”
Kendra looks at me like I’m crazy. “Thad, you saw what happened at the L.A. premiere. And the London one. And you’ve already signed on for the sequel, and then there is Blind Shot which everyone is saying will be just as big as Defcon One. And then next year, Dark Tunnels—they gave you that role, Thad. Things like that don’t happen to B-listers. You no longer have to audition for parts. When are you going to realize that you’ve made it to the big time?” She pats my hand. “It’s time to talk to Cole about making it permanent. Besides, I hear Greyson James uses him, too. You need to beat him to the punch if Cole is who you want.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say to placate her. But deep down, I believe all the craziness surrounding the Defcon One release will die out. Then I’ll be yesterday’s news. Just like after they canceled Malibu.
“So, how is that adorable nephew of yours?” she asks. “Eli, right?”
I proudly whip out my phone and show her the latest pictures of Ethan’s three-month-old son. “You know, I could say the same thing about you,” I tell her. “You are the only person working for me who knows the name of everyone in my family.”
She smiles. “It’s my job to know that stuff, Thad.”
“I suppose,” I say, nodding to my phone. “But it’s not your job to pretend to be interested in them.”
“Pretend?” she asks, abhorrently. “I was going to ask when I could get my hands on the little guy.”
“Really?” I furrow my brow at her.
“I love babies,” she says.
My face falls. She sees my expression and laughs. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Todd and I are very happy with the status quo. Between our burgeoning careers, we are in no position to have kids any time soon. You’re stuck with me for at least the next five years or so. If you want me, that is.”
I feel a huge sense of relief. Kendra is the only person in this business who truly seems to care about me and not her own status or bank account. “Thanks,” I say. “Maybe I could arrange for you to have dinner with us at Ethan’s penthouse one night.”
“That would be fantastic,” she says, handing me a pillow the flight attendant brought by. “Here, get some rest, you’re going to need it. The next week is going to be crazy—starting with tonight.”
~ ~ ~
I’m still on a high from the premiere. Still reeling over the fact that it was me up on that screen. I was used to seeing myself on TV when I did Malibu. But this—watching the premiere of my movie, seeing my name first up on that screen instead of fourth, ninth or twenty-second as in the three previous films I’ve done—this is surreal.
Walking the red carpet to the third premiere of Defcon One was even more insane than the previous two. With each subsequent screening, the film has garnered more attention, the fans have come out in bigger droves, the paparazzi presence has quadrupled. I was grateful not only for the studio security, but for Cole Wilcox, who dropped everything to fly out and be part of my entourage for the next few weeks.
Now, as Ethan, Kyle and I exit the limo to be escorted into the after-party at a famous Manhattan club, I look down the sidewalk to see screaming fans twenty deep, and I think maybe Kendra is right. Maybe it is time to talk to Cole about coming on full-time.
I see some girls holding out pictures of me, begging me to autograph them. I send Ethan and Kyle inside and turn to my bodyguard. “Cole.” I nod to the fans.
He speaks into the small microphone attached to his cuff, presumably telling the rest of the security team our plans. Then he walks me over to the girls. “Mr. Stone will sign a few autographs and pose for some pictures as long as you remain orderly.”
Girls scream my name and trample each other to get closer to me. So much for remaining orderly. I purposefully only choose the ones who aren’t being aggressive. I quickly sign my name to a few dozen photos, a couple of shirts, even one lady’s bare arm. Cole grabs a few of the phones being shoved at me and takes some pictures of me with various girls.
The local police do a good job of not letting anyone past the barriers on either side of the club entrance. One of my biggest fears is being mobbed with no place to go. I think the phobia stems from when I was filming inside a cave for several weeks. I’ve been somewhat claustrophobic ever since. Now, the crush of fans triggers that same feeling. I’ve seen fans get downright violent, ripping clothing to shreds to get a small piece of something belonging to an actor without any concern for the safety and sanity of the object of their obsession.
My breathing speeds up and sweat trickles down my brow on this cool evening. Cole has only worked for me a few times before, but he can already sense when I’ve had enough. “Thank you all for coming out! Mr. Stone is needed inside!” Cole yells into the boisterous crowd.
I turn to wave goodbye to the crowd when I catch a glimpse of some disturbance beyond the first few rows of screaming women. I think my eyes have betrayed me. I have to squint to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. There is a girl caught up in the crowd who looks like she’s trying to get farther away when everyone around her is trying to get closer to me. She looks lost, the sea of women around her swallowing her small body whole as she tries to escape what looks to be the last place on earth she wants to be. When she looks over at me and our eyes meet, my fucking heart slams into my chest wall.
It’s her. I know it’s her. It’s been nine years but I’d know her anywhere. I know every curve of her face, every location of every freckle on her arms. I know because I counted them all one day when I was eight years old. I told her she must have a hundred. She doubted that was true, so I sat her down on the curb in front of my house and counted them. One hundred and twelve freckles on her arms if you count the ones from her fingers up to her shoulders. “Mal?” I say, more of a question to myself because she’d never hear me over the screaming crowd.
I think she must be some kind of aberration. A dream I conjured up on the plane ride over. But then her lips move, and I think she says my name. My real name. Not the name she made up for me when she was six years old. Not the name I use to this day as my stage name. No, I could swear she says, “Chad.”
And then, probably because I’m frozen in place and people see it as an opportunity, girls start to jump over the barricade, police being overcome by dozens of them as Cole swiftly moves me towards the door and out of harm’s way. I work against him, trying to get over to Mallory, or to the person I believe to be her, because I never thought in a million years I’d see her again. Not after the shame I brought upon myself. Not after I let her down so horribly by becoming the person I was. But Cole outweighs me by a good fifty pounds and could probably bench press me for pure entertainment. So despite my best efforts, I’m no match for his professional training and he’s able to wrangle me indoors.
Once I’m safely inside the club, Cole lets me go and Kendra runs over to me, apparently having watched the entire debacle. “What just happened out there, Thad?”
The whole scene replays in my mind and I realize what Kendra is asking. I’m sure I was caught on camera looking like a deer in headlights. Oh shit. I wonder if anyone realized who I was looking at, because if so, I may have just put her in danger.
“I thought I saw someone,” I tell her.
“Who?” she asks. “Who do you think you saw that would make you react that way?”
I close my eyes and sigh, and then I tell her the truth that I’ve only ever admitted to myself. “The only girl I’ve ever loved.”
Chapter Two
Mallory
Melissa and I get pushed aside by a cocky teenager with an attitude. “Don’t you know anything? His name is Thad,” the girl says. “Go get a life, loser.”
I turn to my friend, ready to complain about today’s youth to get my mind off what just happened. When I see Melissa’s face, however, her mouth agape and her eyes glazed over as she stares at me, I realize I might have a bit of explaining to do.
“That’s Chad?” she asks, pointing at the now empty sidewalk in front of the club.
I nod and look to the ground.
She grabs my hand, pulling me away from the bustling crowd to a quieter location. She nods back to the commotion we walked away from. “That’s the Chad you grew up with? As in the boy who lived next door? As in your childhood best friend? As in the guy you never got over?”
My eyes snap to hers. “Who said I never got over him?”
“You might not have ever admitted it, but the way you talk about him—it’s obvious you had a huge thing for him. And, geez, now I know why.” Her head tilts to the side and her eyebrows shoot up. “You knew him before he was famous, Mal. How cool is that? Oh, my God, did you play doctor? Did you see his wee-wee? Oh, shit, was he your first? Please tell me he was your first. Ahhhhhh!” she screams. “I need details!” Then she swats my arm. “How is it I’ve known you for five years and you didn’t tell me about this? I mean, Thad Stone? The star of Malibu 310? The guy who is most likely People Magazine’s next hottest man of the year?”
I shake my head, not wanting to acknowledge how some of what she just said is true. I don’t even admit to myself that I had a thing for him. “That is not the boy I grew up with,” I say, nodding in the direction of the club. “Far from it. The boy I grew up with didn’t do drugs. Or . . .” I cringe. “Or use women. The boy I grew up with is nothing like that man.” I stare at my friend who is majorly fangirling at the moment. “See this,” —I motion to her face— “this is why I don’t tell people.”
She sighs. Her expression immediately changes from obsessed fan to supportive friend. She grabs my elbow and walks us down the street, pulling me into a small neighborhood bar. We slip into a booth in the back and Melissa orders us each a glass of white wine.
“For the duration of our drink, I promise not to fangirl,” she says. “You obviously need to talk to someone about this, so talk.”
Even just thinking about it, it’s hard to keep the tears from falling. I grab a napkin from the dispenser and wipe my eyes. Melissa is right, I need to talk about it. But I’m afraid it will just stir up feelings I’ve repressed for nine years.
What are the odds of this even happening? Of Mel and I walking back to her place after dinner and coming upon a swarm of people outside a club? It’s not an unusual thing for New York City. We’ve seen some pretty big stars on occasion. So we figured, what the hell, we’d stick around to see what all the fuss was about. Never in a million years did I think it would result in a face-to-face meeting with Chad. Well, eye-to-eye anyway.
“Do you want me to call Julian?” Melissa asks, knowing how close we are. “Wait. Julian grew up with you. Oh, my God, he knew him, too? How is it that neither of you has ever said anything?”
Chad is a closely guarded secret I’ve kept locked up inside. Only my dad and Julian know the real story of my childhood. Julian was there. He lived it with me. We were inseparable, the three of us. That is until Julian went to Brazil the summer before his junior year. And then of course when Chad left me. Left us.
Julian and I have never talked about it. I think he was as hurt by Chad’s departure as I was. Well, not so much by his departure, but by his blatant and total removal of his presence from our lives when he became a star.
“Call him,” I say.
After explaining to Julian what happened and where we are, she puts down the phone. “He will be here as soon as he can. Do you want to wait for him?”
The waitress brings our wine and I take a sip. I shake my head. “There isn’t anything I could tell you about Chad that Julian doesn’t already know.” Well, except that one little thing about me being in love with him back then.
“You guys were really close,” she says. It’s a statement more than a question.
“We were,” I say, remembering fondly some of the good times we had together. “I was six when Chad moved in next door. Wait, have I told you this story before?”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I want to hear it again. Somehow, it’s different now.”
“Well, he moved in the day before school started. I was going into first grade and he was going into second.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “I hadn’t grown into my very large front teeth yet and some older boys at our bus stop were teasing me. Chad stood up to them even though he was younger than them. Even though he was the new kid.”
“He was a hero even then,” she says with an audible sigh.
I shoot her a scolding look.
“Sorry,” she says. She presses her lips together, forming a thin line before she twists her fingers over them and mimes throwing away a key.
“From that day on, we were practically joined at the hip. And when Julian moved into a house down the street a few months later and was bullied by the same fourth-grade jerks at the bus stop, we became the three musketeers. Julian was a year older than me as well. They both became my protectors; the older brothers I never had. Other kids were jealous of what we had. Of the indescribable bond we shared. We didn’t even have to talk to each other to communicate. It’s like we were connected in some other-worldly way. Of course, that’s why the teasing continued. When we reached adolescence, our classmates were downright mean. They accused us of being a threesome. They accused Julian and Chad of being gay and me of being a slut. It furthered our separation from other kids and solidified our bond with each other. It was us against the world.”
“Wow,” Melissa says. “So what happened? How could you be that close and then let geography destroy your friendship?”
“It wasn’t geography that destroyed it. It was Chad’s sudden rise to fame,” I tell her.
She gets a sour face. “He just dropped you like a hot potato when he became famous? That bastard.” She shakes her head in disgust. “He has definitely just lost his godlike status with me, the jerk. Who does that?”
“It wasn’t quite that sudden. We still talked a lot the first year he was on Malibu 310. He even came back here over the holidays to visit us and his older brother, Ethan. But after that, he changed.”
“Changed?” she asks.
“When we would talk on the phone, our conversations seemed forced. He wasn’t as much at ease with me, and for the first time in our friendship, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Julian would say similar things about his phone calls with Chad. He thought maybe he was on drugs or something. I didn’t believe it. Chad was the poster child for the ‘Just say no’ campaign at our high school. He would fight kids who offered us drugs.”
“But then Hollywood happened,” Melissa says, supportively touching my hand.
I nod. “Yeah. It became more evident each time we talked. Even his emails became disjointed. Sometimes I questioned whether he realized who he was writing to. Then one day, into the second season of his show, I got an email that was obviously not meant for me. It was meant for Julian. It was disgusting. It gave explicit details about his latest sexual conquest. And in that moment, I realized Chad was gone and all that was left was Thad. He even signed his name to the email that way. I was more than a little hurt. Not just because I secretly had a crush on him since I was six and was jealous of him being with other girls, but I truly grieved for the friendship that was dying. I replied back to ‘Thad’ telling him I never wanted to hear from him again. And I didn’t. I never wanted to hear from Thad. I wanted Chad back.”
“Oh, Mal, I’m so sorry,” Melissa says, tears of sympathy balancing on her lashes.
“He tried to call me once after that, but I let it roll to voicemail. It was a drug-induced attempt to smooth things over. He was incoherent. He was pathetic. It broke my heart. I deleted the voicemail. Then I deleted his contact. Then I blocked him on social media. I cut all ties, never seeing or hearing from him again until tonight.”
“And Julian?”
“Julian was a little more tolerant of him. Their friendship went on a while longer. That is until my mom died.”
“What happened when your mom died?” she asks.
“Julian never gave me the details about it, but I’m pretty sure he called Chad to let him know she had died. I think Chad blew him off or gave him excuses or something. Julian told me Chad couldn’t get away mid-season, making it impossible for him to attend the funeral. But I could sense he wasn’t telling me everything. And I never heard from Chad again. Never got a condolence card. Never got a call from the boy who once loved my mother almost as much as his own. I think it was the last straw for Julian. After that, he cut Chad out of his life like I had.”
Melissa downs the rest of her wine, all but smashing the glass back down on the table. “That little shit. If he weren’t protected by that Goliath without a neck, I’d kill the insensitive prick with my bare hands.” She shakes her head in confusion. “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” I ask.
“The way he looked at you tonight.”
“What do you mean? I’m not even sure he recognized me.”
“Recognized you? Mallory, he looked like he wanted to eat you alive. He said your name for Christ’s sake. Of course, I was just reading his lips, for all we know he could have been saying ‘Mel’ and not ‘Mal’,” she jokes. “Do you think Steve would mind if I had a one-nighter with a mega-star?”
I stare her down, unamused.
“Right,” she says. “Too soon for sarcasm.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “Maybe you should get in touch with him. Clearly, he was affected by seeing you. The guy’s world seemed to stop as soon as he made eye contact with you.”
“Contact him? God, no.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Why not?” she asks. “People change. I read he went to rehab a while back. Maybe he’s better now.”
“He hasn’t changed, Mel. It seems every other week he’s got a different girl on his arm. Anyway, I think he’s with the co-star of the movie.”
“Courtney Benson? That girl doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
I raise my brow at her. “You’re a little biased, don’t you think?”
“Just saying it like it is, sister. What could it hurt, calling him? You know, just to get closure if that’s what you need.”
I shake my head again. “No. It just hurts too much. The drugs. The women. The promises he broke.”
“What promises did he break?” she asks.
I trace the circular base of my wine glass. “All of them.”
At that moment, Julian comes through the pub door, saving me from further explanation. I watch him walk towards us, pain evident on his otherwise swoon-worthy face. Besides Melissa, he is my best friend. He has been since I was six, with the exception of those three years after he broke my heart, too.
Julian could give Chad a run for his money in the looks department. Both are devilishly handsome but almost completely opposite. While Chad has light-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a permanently sun-kissed complexion, Julian’s hair is dark, his eyes matching my green ones and his skin fair. We’ve often been accused of being brother and sister.
He slips into the booth beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder. I lean into him. Much like when we were kids, words aren’t always necessary. He kisses the top of my head.
“Let’s go get our girl drunk,” he says to Melissa. “She can crash at my place again.”
“Steve and I really don’t mind when she sleeps on our couch,” Melissa says.
“Of course you don’t,” he says. “But you know how she gets when she’s drunk. She might want to talk shit out later.”
I raise my head off his shoulder. “She is sitting right here, guys. Don’t I have a say in this?”
“No,” they both say together.
Melissa slips out of the booth and motions to the door. “Come on, let’s go find a club, dance our asses off, and remind you who your real friends are.”
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