Page 6 of Fake Out Hearts

“Something like that, yeah. That must’ve been tough though. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. And yeah, it was. She dragged me all over Canada. I never really made friends or felt like I had a place to call home, so I guess at some level it was nice to finally find somewhere to land with Shawn. I always told myself I’d never do the same things she did when I got older, but I guess because I was so determined not to be like her, I overcommitted and stayed way too long with someone I knew wasn’t right for me.”

“I get that,” I say before taking another swig and handing her the bottle. “My ex was a lot like your mom, actually. She could never stay in one place for too long at a time. I swear, it was like she had to keep moving or she’d die.”

Becca takes another drink from the bottle, more assertively this time, and nods with a wince as she swallows her mouthful of whiskey. She drags the back of her free hand across her mouth and sighs. “Yeah, sounds just like my mom.”

“I’m sorry if this out of line since I barely know you and all, but I know exactly what it’s like trying to escape your past,” I start and watch her face for a reaction. She doesn’t recoil and doesn’t try to stop me, she just keeps staring at me with those wide, full brown eyes of hers. “But maybe… I don’t know, sometimes I think maybe running too hard from it means you’re still letting it define who you are.”

Becca stops abruptly and lets out a sad little laugh that melds with the lapping waves of the ocean not far behind her.

Shit. I went too far and put my foot in my mouth again, didn’t I?

My heart skips what feels like several beats while I listen to the waves crash in and out along with my thoughts. I’m tempted to fill the silence, to change the subject again, but I hold my tongue and wait what feels like forever for her to say something.

“It’s not really my past I’m worried about,” Becca says, toeing at a rock on the sidewalk.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what you said just now made me realize I’m not going to get to do all the things I came to the US to do. God, I was so naive. I came here with all these big dreams and aspirations for my dance career, but Shawn sucked me into his world like a black hole and it’s all ruined now.”

“You can still do all that stuff you said, you know. Your dreams don’t have to die just because you kicked a self-absorbed asshat to the curb.”

Becca frowns. “No, I can’t. I’m Canadian, and the only reason I’m allowed to be here is because I got a visa to work on Shawn’s stupid TV show. He’sdefinitelygoing to kick me off it now.”

“Shit. No job, no visa,” I say as understanding dawns, and Becca nods.

“Exactly. And most of my ‘friends’ here are Shawn’s, so it’s not like I’ll have anyone in LA who will miss me. But I don’t have anyone to go back to in Canada, either.”

I gaze down at her, torn between keeping quiet and saying what I really want to say. Maybe it’s the whiskey talking, but there are words burning at the tip of my tongue, so I decide to let them out.

“You have at least one person here who’ll miss you.”

Becca’s soft brown eyes lock onto mine, jolting me. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I can’t deny there’s something there. Something meteoric and gravitational.

“Oh, really? Who’s that?”

“Me.”

Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, surprise reflecting in her eyes. Then she laughs, shaking her head as she hands the bottle back to me. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you well enough.”

“Okay, then what’s my favorite color?”

I freeze, knowing it’s a trap, and search her outfit for clues. But she’s wearing Kaplan’s Prowlers jersey, which is way too big on her, and cut-off denim shorts, so there aren’t any dead giveaways.

“Blue,” I say, and she scrunches up her nose.

“That’s everyone’s favorite color, so I’ll chalk that one up to a lucky guess. What else have you got?”

“I know you’re a dancer.”

“Because I literally just told you that,” she says after a beat, and we laugh together.

“Nah, I knew before you said it tonight. You told me the last time I saw you, but you also said you were ‘sort of’ a dancer. I still don’t know what that means.”

Becca stares at me for a second before the hint of a smile creeps across her face. “You remembered that?”

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