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  Find Me

  by Liv Leighton

  A special thanks to the brave men and women of the military, both in active duty and retired. You receive little thanks and we owe you so very much. Thank you for your service.

  15% of the proceeds from the sale of this book will go to the Wounded Warrior Project.

  1—Devlin

  It was going to be a busy night and I sighed with increasing agitation. I was attending the premier of my newest action flick, which meant that there would be interviews and after-parties. Even before I stepped out of the limo, just thinking about the events of the night made me tired. I looked over to Aubrey, the twenty-two year old actress that was already getting Oscar nods, and wondered how the press would handle the fact that she would spend the night on the arm of a thirty-two year old that, quite frankly, was getting tired of Hollywood.

  It hit me—really hit me for the first time—how absurd all of this had become when I stepped out of the long black car. The movies, the cameras always flashing in my direction, the whirlwind of parties, women, and jetting around the world to arrive late at an expensive movie set… it didn’t feel like my life. The red carpet at my feet as the paparazzi and reporters crowded around seemed suddenly foolish.

  I saw the movie poster on the wall, nearly billboard size, bolted to the side of the theater. My face and body took up most of the space, Photo-shopped to look a bit tanner than it actually was. God, even my hair looked blonder. I was holding a gun and had a beautiful woman wrapped around my arm. My name was centered at the top in beveled steel letters: Devlin Stone.

  Is that even me anymore?

  Thoughts like that sometimes filled my head. I didn’t exactly hate what I had become but I saw no real value to what I was doing. It made me feel empty and want what I had once lived for. Something with meaning and purpose—something that made a difference.

  Aubrey placed an arm around me, her dress low-cut in a way that was both elegant and risqué at the same time. Her long, dark hair was done simply, cascading in loose ringlets down her mostly-bare back. I was glad that some of the reporters were more taken with her designer dress and the diamonds that she wore than they were with me. It was a welcome change. Still, I had to field the same unending questions I had been answering over the last seven years of my life as we made our way down the red carpet. I smoothed out my black suit as Aubrey and I stepped forward, closer to the wolves. God, can this night be over already?

  “How was it working with Clint Andolphini?” asked some beautiful blonde reporter I’d never seen before. Here we go.

  “Great,” I responded, trying to seem genuine as I paused a moment to answer her questions. “He really knows how to push an actor.”

  “Was it his pushing that resulted in the extra muscle you added to achieve that gorgeous body for this role?” Her eyes slowly combed down me and she offered a coy smile, flashing her brilliant white teeth.

  I chuckled and was surprised at how realistic I sounded. “That and a regimen that consisted of working-out sixty hours a day and eating nothing but cardboard.”

  She and another reporter next to her laughed and I kept walking, tugging Aubrey away from a catty late-night wannabe that was making jokes about her ample cleavage.

  Devlin Stone, I thought. God, how I hate my name now.

  I truly did. When I came home from Afghanistan—before Hollywood had courted me, lifted me high and eventually burned me out—I had known that my name had struck something like hope into lots of people. My story of survival in the war had garnered magazine covers and eventually landed me a Hollywood agent without even really trying. But my name, Devlin Stone, no longer meant anything. It was cheap and meaningless. I hated what I had quickly become and that included my given name. I’d seen it on too many posters and tabloids. I was sick of it.

  Jack, I thought as Aubrey and I finally made out way to the theater doors. Oh, to be a Jack. My grandpa’s name. When I get away from all of this and live in a cabin in… somewhere remote, I’ll change my name to Jack. Yeah, Jack Keith. Grandpa’s first name and my middle name. Nice, plain, simple.

  The thought cheered me enough to get past the two or three other reporters that were waiting inside the theater. The lights had been dimmed and a few people were ambling about. I could tell who they were without speaking to them. Son of a bitch. They were film critics (one of which, I knew, would tear me down regardless of how he felt about the movie because his publication felt that I was nothing more than a blond, poor man’s Ryan Reynolds) and there were journalists. The journalists looked sad because more often than not, they were from respected newspapers and would rather be writing political pieces.

  Then there were the fans that had won contests. They were standing to the side, watching us with wide eyes. I walked through it all, seeing yet another poster for tonight’s movie on the wall behind me. It was creepy. Devlin Stone in the action film of the summer!

  I was vaguely aware that Aubrey had stopped. We were holding hands and she was tugging on me subtly, trying to get my attention. I turned towards her. When I did, she kissed me eagerly, slipping her tongue into my mouth. Cameras snapped like crazy and people gasped. Between the flashes and Aubrey’s tongue, I wasn’t sure which to pay more attention to. I had no interest in a relationship with Aubrey, but she was hot and sexy as hell.

  With the kiss over and the cameras settling down, I led her further inside the theater.

  “What was that about?” I asked gruffly, not looking at her.

  “What?” Aubrey asked in that shy, innocent way that drove teenage boys insane, blinking her big blue eyes rapidly.

  “The kiss.”

  She shrugged and waved at fans farther behind the flashing bulbs. “Well, beyond my wanting to, the reporter for Daily Snark was there. He’s the one that wrote the article about how I was probably a lesbian.”

  Good God. “Oh,” I said, not really caring.

  An over-eager attendant led us through a large lobby and into the theater. A few people were already filling some of the seats—mostly film critics and more contest winners as far as I could tell.

  When we took our seats, I let go of Aubrey’s hand and relaxed. I sensed that she was looking at me, but I didn’t turn in her direction.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her delicate fingers coming to rest on my shoulder.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and sucked in a deep breath. “Of course,” I said with a shake of my head. “Just tired.”

  “Are you upset about the kiss?”

  I sighed. In all honesty, I was. We weren’t dating. We had met on the set, as she had a bit part in the movie. We got along well but I knew that we wouldn’t be compatible in a dating scenario. She was far too involved in building her career. But now a picture of us kissing rather deeply would be everywhere tomorrow. Hell, in the age of Twitter and Facebook, that photo probably had made it around the world by now. Everyone would make assumptions about us.

  I brushed away the thought. “No,” I lied. “It’s okay.”

  “Then what’s up?”

  “Nothing.” My voice was gruff and short. Even though I wasn’t looking at her, I still caught the quick flash of hurt cross her face and then she turned away and looked back to the screen.

  I only felt bad about it for a moment. By the time I thought I should apologize, the lights were going down and the screen was being lit up.

  Jack in Alaska, I thought. Yeah, that could work…

  ****

  The running time for the movie was two hours and twenty minutes—about forty-five minutes too long in my opinion. It’s strange seeing yourself up on the big screen. It’s like watching a different version of you act out a different life. I never liked it. I tended to beat myself up over small things… things I thought I could
have done better. Regardless, the packed theater seemed to have loved it. The applause was uproarious and I got several pats on the back from those sitting behind me. One of these gestures came from Adam Parker, my agent.

  “Looks like I landed you the role of a lifetime,” Adam said over my shoulder.

  I stood, faked a smile and shook his hand. Aubrey slide up next to me, placing an arm around my waist. I leaned into her, more out of support than anything else, and enjoyed the warmth from her body. I knew that when we exited the theater, there would be more flashbulbs and over-enthusiastic reporters. But all I wanted was to get back to the hotel room, have a few too many drinks, and not wake up until the cleaners knocked on the door and forced me to leave.

  I figured Aubrey would want to stay with me overnight. The idea of it was appealing; her amazing body alone was enough to stir more than my interest, but I didn’t want to open a potentially messy can of worms. I’d face that debacle when the time came. She was gorgeous and incredibly talented, but I didn’t want to get entangled in any sort of romance with someone else in Hollywood. I knew how the tabloids worked. I had more reason than that to stay away from her, though; she was also incredibly vain. The idol worship she had gotten from the media in the past year or so had gone to her head. She hid it well for the cameras but it came out in full force behind closed doors. She was slowly turning into a bitchy little diva. God knew what she’d be like in a few years.

  We exited our aisle and headed up through the theater, walking arm in arm. The cameras started snapping and reporters started asking questions right away. I did my best to answer them as well as I could. I also tried to make myself appear as if I was in a hurry rather than just being tired and annoyed. I was sure that the evening’s festivities would lead to less than positive headlines tomorrow, but I didn’t care.

  I signed a few autographs and answered generic questions in a rapid response fashion. The New York City night was cool and pleasant on the other side of the crowd and I couldn’t wait to enjoy it. Actually, enjoy it wasn’t the appropriate word. Perhaps escape into it. I felt something escalating, almost like a tension headache, only it was overtaking my entire body. I’d never had a panic attack, but wondered if this was what one felt like.

  I could see the street ahead of us, the area where the red velvet ropes ended, corralling the reporter, photographers and other jumbled faces. I couldn’t get there fast enough. I saw the street as a refuge where the limo was waiting for us. The limo would pull us away from this madness and back to safety, back to—

  I froze. Refuge. Safety.

  Less than a foot to my right, the bright flare of a camera went off. I narrowed my eyes against it, shutting them completely. When I opened them, the camera was not there, nor was Aubrey. They were all gone and the rumble of the excited voices behind the velvet ropes were gone, replaced with—

  —the deafening rhythmic roar of helicopter blades. I’m lying on my back, the entire right side of my body drenched in blood. But the blood is not mine, well, not all mine. I wear the blood of another solider, one that I almost pulled out of the ambush alive. I’m tired. The stabbing pain of my gun shot wounds fading to a dull ache. Dry Afghan dust swirls up around me as the helicopter descends and when I look up to the vehicle that has been sent to rescue my team, I can see the blazing sun behind it, as bright as a million flashbulbs, beaming down with such ferocious heat that it seems as if it is trying to finish the job that the team of enemy soldiers could not.

  My hands are still trembling with the gun’s recoil, my finger still curled into that fractured U-shape of pulling a trigger. I stare into the sun and hold the body of the only soldier I’d been able to pull from the battle. I knew the soldier was dead but still held on to his body as if it were gold. Even when the helicopter landed and the medics tried to take his body, I clung to it with everything I had.

  In the end, they had taken the soldier and helped me to my feet. I’d vaguely felt the helicopter rising into the air, only aware that I was off of the ground when I looked down and saw a bird’s eye view of the town I had narrowly escaped from; it was mostly in ruins, nothing but smoke, flames, and debris along its western region.

  The helicopter blades droned on and a soldier, that was doing his best to not cry, was telling me that I was the sole survivor of Serpent Team—that twelve other soldiers were dead and I was the only one, besides the school children we’d been sent to rescue, that had made it out of that hell on earth alive.

  Another camera flash pulled me out of the recollection.

  I blinked, as if dazed. Suddenly, Aubrey’s voice was at my ear. She smelled good and her breath on my ear and neck was just enough to bring me around. While I had no real interest in her, I was, after all, just a man.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, looking up into my eyes with worry etched into her beautiful and polished face.

  I stared at her for a moment, attempting to regain my composure and bearings. I glanced around at the massive crowds then back to her, slowly shaking my head. “No. I don’t… I don’t know what it is. I just need to get out of here.”

  She said nothing, but she did her best to save me from whatever was happening. I smiled politely at the cameras as I walked briskly down the remainder of the red carpet. Aubrey was giving the cold shoulder to reporters in a polite and sexy way that only young actresses were capable of. It was the first time I could remember ever being impressed with anything about her aside from her acting talents and her body.

  The people and the flashing lights passed by in a blur as Aubrey led me to the street. Our hands were interlocked and I found myself squeezing hers for reassurance. I focused on her dress, on her curves, and wondered what was wrong with me. I was pretty sure that any other actor in Hollywood—as well as millions of men worldwide—would give up anything to be holding hands and whisked away into a limo with Aubrey Henning. But, despite her sudden poise and heroics, I really wished I hadn’t asked her to come with to the premiere with me. It made me feel irresponsible and, quite honestly, ungrateful for the life I was living.

  Lost in my own self-pity, the limo was there before I knew it. Aubrey went inside first, waving to the crowd. I gave my own little wave and then stepped in after her.

  Once the door was closed, I nearly collapsed back against the seat. My breathing was heavy and labored and I realized that he was sweating.

  “God, Devlin,” Aubrey said feeling my forehead with the back of her hand. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I said with a lazy grin on my face. “My name is Jack.”

  “What?” She gave me a crazy look, twisting her head in such a way it reminded me of a confused little puppy.

  I laughed at this for a moment. Then, for no reason I could clearly identify, the laughter turned into a sound bout of weeping. I hated myself for doing it, but I leaned over to Aubrey, found her shoulder, and let it out.

  I was dimly aware of Aubrey telling the driver to take us back to the hotel. After that, the night passed by through the limo windows and I watched the lights of New York pass by like a bored child.

  2—Devlin

  Two hours later, I was having what I suppose was some sort of identity crisis. It wasn’t a midlife crisis by any stretch of the imagination. I was only thirty-two. It was too early for that, at least I thought. Still…there was something going on inside of my heart that felt like two kids playing tug of war with their favorite blanket.

  I stood at the hotel window, in nothing but my black boxier briefs, with a bottle of red wine in my hand. I had decided to go without the glass after after I finished the first one too quickly. It was the second bottle of Pinot Noir Aubrey and I had opened and, truth be told, she hadn’t gotten much of either. I had drank enough to try to clear my head and then, finding that the drinking only cluttered it, continued drinking in the hopes of making more sense of it.

  It hadn’t worked so far.

  Behind me, Aubrey was in the bed. She was dressed in one of
those satin nighties that wasn’t quite so provocative as to be called lingerie, but it was sure as hell several steps above a simple night gown. It was black, with lace fringes around the chest—which was cut very low – and the bottom—which was cut very high. A photographer could have walked into the room and made a fortune off of a photo shoot with Aubrey in that little piece. She was still wearing her makeup and her long dark locks hung around her face like soft, wavy curtains looking perfect—like they always did. Aubrey Henning was certainly a knock-out.

  I took a pull from the wine and turned from the lights of New York to give her a lingering stare. The hell of it was, she wanted me. She had told me so three different times since we had gotten back to the room. I had almost given in. We had kissed for a good ten minutes. It had gotten heavy enough to the point where I had her pressed against the wall, she lost her shirt and I was down to my underwear.

  But I managed to catch myself. As the night went on and I got slightly more inebriated, the thought of having sex with Aubrey started to seem more and more appealing. But I didn’t want her…not really. I wasn’t interested in her beyond her body. And that wasn’t how I was raised. I knew that Hollywood types often got a horrible stereotype about sleeping around and trashing relationships at every corner. I’d be damned if I was going to fall victim to it.

  I faced back to the window to stare out into the vastness of the night, lifting the bottle of Pinot to my lips once more.

  Aubrey’s last advance had come fifteen minutes ago. I turned her down as politely as I could, taking the bottle to the window and looking out at the New York skyline. I could see her in the reflection. Her long slender legs were exposed to almost her thigh. Her breasts might as well have been totally uncovered, as the nightie was tight but left very little to the imagination. She had taken to playing some game on her iPhone. It was hard to tell from the murky reflection in the window, but I thought she had a spoiled, almost pouty look on her face.

  The TV was on, but neither of us were paying much attention to it.

  That is, not until the late-night gossip show played footage form the premiere. It still blew my mind how fast the media worked when celebrities were involved. I looked to the screen and saw the five-second kiss that Aubrey and I had shared on the red carpet. The splash text that came racing across the bottom of the television screen read: NEW HOT COUPLE!