Lost in LA Read online

  When the doctor left, Wylie and Nolan stared at each other amid the sterile odors and quiet beeps of the emergency room. She wanted him to sit next to her, sharing the heat and spice of his presence without making demands and discussing what to do next. Instead, he pulled his phone and wallet from his jeans and settled into the rigid chair at the side of the bed, waiting for her to talk.

  She sighed. “Thank you for calling nine-one-one.”

  “You needed it.”

  She bit her lip, afraid to admit what she needed. Her fingers had started turning blue from lack of oxygen, but what about her heart?

  “Do you want to call your mom and dad in Oregon?”

  “No!” The word flew from her lips so fast she choked. Coughing, she wrung her fingers to keep warm and give herself time to process her thoughts. “They told me to try living in this town, but they said I wouldn’t make it a year as a freelance instructor.”

  “They don’t have a lot of confidence in your abilities?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just that my mom thinks our family is stronger when we’re together. She told me to tag along with them, but what would that get me? I’ve always been their third-wheel, tagalong kid. I wanted to stay in LA and do something by myself.”

  Nolan stared at the speckled linoleum. “I’m an only child too.” He looked up. “Did you know that?”

  She shook her head.

  He smiled and looked toward the bustle of the emergency room, seeing things no one else could see. “I understand wanting to do something by yourself, but I also think you can set a course without doing everything yourself.”

  “All my friends left. They made compromises or moved to the suburbs. I don’t want to depend on the wrong person and find myself leaving town. That would be my grave and there’d be nothing left of what I wanted here but memories and ghosts.”

  “And if you have your next asthma attack while you’re hell-bent on proving your independence?”

  She coughed. “Don’t use my diagnosis against me! Would you be this brave if you didn’t have mommy’s millions warming your back pocket?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “They’ve always been there, like a weight I couldn’t shake off.” His hand stilled and he dropped it. “But ever since I developed feelings for you, the weight has meaning. I told my mom about you, Wylie. Before you got sick, I called her and told her about what’s been driving me and what you’ve helped me see in this world. She accused me of lust and puppy love.”

  Wylie opened her mouth to defend his actions.

  “Then I explained how you’ve been helping me and encouraging me to take risks. I explained your friendship with Penny Lane. It boggles her mind that you’d be friends with a person whose pockets are literally empty.”

  “Anyone would love Penny Lane,” she said, dodging the compliment. “She’s got this vibe.”

  “You’ve got a vibe too, Wylie. You see the best in people.”

  She blushed.

  “I called my mom again.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I explained what we’ve been doing”—he blushed—“well, not all of it, but enough about Modesto to challenge her to see what I have planned. I pushed her to make more commitments to the communities where she does business.”

  “How’d that go down?”

  “She waffled, but I used Patty’s challenge as leverage. What are the optics of one family member offering sustenance while the other dangles shelter out of reach?”

  “Were you disappointed she didn’t immediately want to help?”

  He laughed. “No. If you knew my mom, you’d know she has strong opinions. It meant a lot to me that she accepted my plans for Modesto without trying to talk me out of them. Sometimes silence is the best compliment.”

  “But she’s your mom,” Wylie said, thinking of her parents and the intimacy of her childhood. Beneath the financial awareness, she knew they always loved her.

  “My mother’s also a businesswoman. I know Modesto can’t compete on economics, but the appeal of a public image boost gets her involved until she sees the impact firsthand.”

  “That was clever,” she said, “but don’t you want more from your mom?”

  “I want her to take me seriously.”

  “Is she?”

  He smoothed her hair. “Seriously enough. One day, I hope she’ll be proud.”

  Wylie swallowed, thinking of the days and weeks that waited at the end of the calendar. I worry this thing between us will fall apart when the novelty wears off. “She has a lot of reasons to be proud of you. You showed up at the Social Club to protest a discriminatory dress code that didn’t affect you. You’re planning an empire of franchises to help people with whom you have nothing in common. I don’t want to worry that you’re propping up my emotions as your next cause.”

  “Damn it, Wylie!” he said. “You’ve never been a cause! You’ve never asked me for a single thing for yourself.”

  “Mini Mako?”

  “Did I give in to your beautiful blue eyes?”

  “No,” she said, swallowing.

  “My house created the extended family I craved as a child. Our roommates don’t pay rent for shelter. They pay rent for kinship, community and the relationships we all know we need, even if we can’t define the need.”

  “You kicked Jack out.”

  “Yeah, and sometimes families fall apart. That doesn’t mean we should avoid them at all costs. It means we should recognize the time and commitment required to build our extended families.”

  “Only a week passed,” she said.

  “I want more time with you if you’ll let me have it.”

  She bit her lip. “It’s just so much to take in at one time.”

  “Take all the time you need, but let me know you’re willing to give this thing between us a real shot of succeeding.”

  She nodded. “I want to be with you, Nolan, but I don’t know if I can do it while we’re under the same roof, while the balance of power between us feels so off.”

  “Is this still about the money?”

  “I don’t want your money, Nolan.” She swallowed. I want your heart.

  He stood and walked toward the bed, closing the distance that loomed between them. “Aren’t there perks to letting me take care of you? You wouldn’t dismiss my assistance if we’d met standing on a street corner.”

  She closed her eyes and relished the memory of their first encounter. “We did meet standing on a street corner. At least I was standing… You already had the height advantage.” She opened her eyes and patted the space beside her.

  He took a deep breath and claimed the offering, lifted her hand and traced the lines on her palm that determined her fate or formed as a result of it. “You’re a good person, Wylie, probably a better one than I am. And I’m happier when we’re together. I’m happier when your spontaneous kisses and generous nature brighten my day. You compel me to be a better man.” He looked up. “Can’t you let me take care of you when you need it the most? I promise the rest of the time, I’ll let you stand on your own.”

  She thought of her dreams of independence and the thrill of accomplishment she felt when she deposited her yoga fees into her bank account. How long will that feeling last as I move farther and farther into Nolan’s world? How much longer will I exist in my own right before I live in Nolan’s shadow? She closed her eyes and inhaled. “What were you doing while the doctor and I met?

  “Changing your hospital records to reflect my financial responsibility. I got you into this mess. I’ll pay the bills when they come in.”

  Her eyes flew open. “I didn’t ask you to do that!” I didn’t ask you to be kind, caring and exactly the opposite of the rich playboy I expected. You want to do the work, but you don’t have to. How can I trust that motivation when I’m still fighting to cover my ass?

  He dropped her hand. “What if a charity paid them off? Erasing medical bills is quite the fad.
Would you accept their assistance?”

  I wouldn’t owe them anything. I wouldn’t constantly doubt where I stood. “It’s not the same,” she admitted. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to accept me as I am. What’s wrong with me? I’m too damn independent to hold on to friends by myself?”

  “I don’t want to be your friend, Wylie. I’ve been falling in love with you since the moment you sassed Cynthia and asked me for a discount at the food truck.”

  “That’s impossible. You said you’ve met a million social media influencers and turned me down.”

  “A million faces I easily forgot—but not yours.”

  She opened her mouth to unleash a self-deprecating comment, but he shook his head and reached for her, sliding his callused thumb along her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and savored the rough caress and the mark of effort from a man who could have chosen to sit back and just have fun.

  “And not a single one of those influencers fought back when I let them down gently.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re so fierce and generous, so genuine. I’d do anything to have you by my side.”

  And hold you. And keep you in the back of the truck. She shivered and opened her eyes. “Nolan, you’ve got a big heart, but I need my independence. We didn’t meet on the street corner as equals. I trust you here, but the minute we get out of bed, I want to reclaim my control. The pleasure comes from letting go and knowing you can claim it all back. I can’t do that if you govern every facet of my life.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “I’m still going to take care of you when we get back to the house. I’m still going to remind you to take care of yourself.”

  “Because I can’t do it by myself?”

  “No.” He reached for his wallet and phone. “Because I see more in you than you see in yourself.”

  His soft, sad smile tugged at her heartstrings, but she refused to melt into his arms.

  “Pierce posted the video of you taking down Cynthia. He tagged Modesto and #Authentic. I don’t know whether the quality of the food truck’s food even matters right now. People are curious and our follower count is through the roof.”

  “You need to capitalize on that and share your message.”

  He reached for the door. “Thanks, Mini Mako. Give me a call when they discharge you so I can bring you back to the house.”

  You mean, give me a call so we can admit we’re all done.

  Penny Lane smiled at Nolan and stopped him in the hallway with a full body hug.

  Wylie tried to read their lips and the easy smiles passing between them. Life’s easier when you understand the terms of the transactions. She flopped back on the white, chlorine-scented pillows. At least Penny Lane knows where she stands.

  When the woman came into the room, Wylie summoned a smile and raised her head. “Thanks for coming to visit.”

  “Dougie’s going to be fine.”

  Dougie. I’ve been feeling sorry for myself while surgeons have been laboring to repair the damage to his leg. “I’m so glad to hear it.”

  “Nolan’s going to take care of whatever medical bills Medicare doesn’t cover. Plus, he’s going to pay for a rehab facility to get Dougie on his feet again.”

  Of course, he’s footing those bills. The man would take responsibility for the sun if he thought it needed help. I just don’t want to be another one of his projects. She smiled to hide the dejection stemming from her thoughts. “That’s great to hear.”

  Penny Lane’s forehead wrinkled as she frowned. “You know, one of the first things you learn in the homeless community is to share what you’ve got. Propane heaters. Extra bags. Repair patches for the tents. It doesn’t matter. You never know when you’ll need something or someone else will have something to spare.”

  “Seems like people would spend more time guarding what little they have.”

  “No, that’s no way to live. People who go rogue? It’s miserable. Every night, they’re trying to sleep with one eye open. How can you rest?”

  Wylie faced the white wall and thought of the days she had spent drifting from building to building, wondering what to do next. “You can’t.”

  Nolan had offered her an easy solution. Exchange part of her freedom for the pleasure of his bed and the achievement of supporting his dreams. Exchange part of her pride for the trust of finding someone beside you on those nights when tossing and turning precludes sleep. Why was this step such a no-brainer for everyone else? Why couldn’t she let go of every decision?

  He ran Modesto for personal satisfaction, knowing his family and peers probably saw it as a way to relieve his boredom. Hadn’t the Abramowitzes accused him of just that? She could no more see Nolan as an astronaut than she could see him in the boardroom. He thrived on connecting to people, and for some unknowable reason, he wanted to form a more permanent connection with her. He doesn’t need to prove himself, but I still can.

  She turned to Penny Lane. “I don’t want you to worry about sleeping on your own. I don’t have a lot to share, but I’m going to get an apartment and give you first dibs if you want to be my roommate. We’ll find you a job or find a way to leverage your existing benefits. Even if you say no, I want you to understand you’re always welcome on my couch.”

  Penny Lane smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “I always wanted a kid, but you’re a lot more fun than a decade of puberty and stinky underpants.”

  Wylie laughed and coughed as her aching throat muscles protested the sudden movements. “I’m a grown-ass adult.”

  A pair of reporters with press badges and high-tech cameras knocked on the door. “Ms. Lane? Are you still willing to do a segment?”

  Wylie raised her eyebrows. “What’s this?”

  “They heard about Dougie’s shooting and they’re doing a piece on the problems with Los Angeles’ growing homeless problem. They asked if they could tape an interview with me, but I wanted to come see if you were all right first.”

  “Yep, you can totally lay claim to my couch, when I get one.”

  Penny Lane smiled and looked at the reporters. “Wylie was there too. She had an asthma attack, but she saw the whole thing happen.”

  The reporters exchanged looks and the younger one pulled out a pen and piece of paper. “Can you spell your name?”

  * * * *

  Wylie moved into the Sun Salutation and turned her face toward the bedroom window.

  In the last forty-eight hours, social media comments had prompted Cynthia to reevaluate the way she’d shut down her studio. Multiple clients and trainees had peppered her posts with frustrated comments about the spirit of the discipline. After the hundredth comment, she’d called Wylie, apologized for her behavior and offered to cover Wylie’s beachside classes. “Nobody’s ever held me accountable before you did,” she said.

  Wylie’s phone had some interference. “Sorry. I can’t hear you too well.”

  Cynthia continued to chatter and add caveats to her admission.

  Hell hath no fury like Internet backlash. She took a deep breath and grinned, knowing enough about wolves in sheep’s clothing to be wary of exposing her regular customers to Cynthia’s false contrition. Then she paused. What if Cynthia wants to turn around her approach to running a practice? “I appreciate the offer. I have the class covered, but it’d be great if you can attend.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Two minutes later, Cynthia updated her posts with plans for reconciliation.

  Wylie shook her head and put down her phone, knowing the comment trolls criticized her actions as well. She closed her eyes, remembering how the pleasure of taking down Cynthia had receded faster than the pain of finding a new path to certification. Between Pierce’s viral video and the publicity from her interview with Penny Lane, she knew she possessed enough time and momentum to let her body heal, but she worried about her heart. I can’t solve all my problems with a social media post.

  Nolan had escorted her home from the emergency room and turned her over to the ca
re of the other housemates, but she felt his presence in the house. She could not creep down the stairs without one of her roommates hearing her footsteps and running to her side to offer to help. The support should have buoyed her mood, but she chafed against the public barrier.

  Her formal and informal press coverage had caused a surge in her follower count. Sore knuckles and embarrassment might keep her from choosing violence for a very long time, but she recognized the benefits of the notoriety and the opportunity to support someone else. If only it had allowed her to understand what had happened between her and Nolan.

  This time, she checked the messaging for activity before venturing from her room. Seeing no chatter, she tiptoed down the steps and locked eyes with Nolan. He sat on the other side of the living area, laptop and papers spread across the dining table that had once housed a jury more opinionated than the board of a New York co-op. At least the commune environment encouraged them to act in the community’s best interests instead of for their benefit. She smiled at Nolan, knowing he had enabled that environment.

  “Hi!” Antonia said, bobbing up from the couch like a curious sea otter.

  “Hey,” Wylie said, gripping her arms and aware of the other woman’s scrutiny.

  “Are you cold? Let me get you some coffee.”

  “I’m good,” Wylie said.

  Antonia ignored the claim, took her hand and settled her on the couch like a small child. Before Wylie could object, Antonia had ignored the reading on the thermostat and plied her with enough blankets to spike a fever. Wylie smiled and offered her thanks, but Antonia wrinkled her nose as she judged her efforts for completeness. She offered Wylie hot chocolate and brewed tea, but Wylie refused them both. Antonia scratched her head. “Straight whiskey?”

  “Antonia, I just want to relax.” She patted the couch cushion beside her, wondering if the coordinated furniture had ever housed more than one occupant. Most of the bonding action occurred around food, the pool or the mismatched furniture on the first level. “Come sit with me. It was an asthma attack, not a round of chemotherapy.”