Page 19 of Going Going Gone

I also liked that he made me feel like I was the only person in his orbit when I was with him without it being suffocating. I didn’t realize how simple it was—liking someone. Then being okay with it. It brought me back to my little girl days of crushing on Dad’s best friend, Adam Rue—an actor I was lucky to gawk at every weekend growing up. It was easy to crush on someone who couldn’t crush me.

Linc pulled onto my street in Los Feliz. The houses grew bigger and bigger until we reached mine. He stopped in front of the gates, and I pulled out my keys and pushed the button to open it.

“Baller,” Linc said.

“It’s not mine. And it is. I guess when your parents start working for you at only thirteen, everyone lives off the child.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for one kid.”

I shrugged. “Was. Itwasa lot of pressure. It’s not anymore.” We bought the house at the height of my career. Before Dad had yanked me from the show, Adam Rue found him a position in the industry that wasn’t attached to my name. The title to the house was transferred to me when I turned eighteen.

Dad had offered me space, but I couldn’t let him live somewhere else all alone. It was hard for him after Mom left, and we still needed each other. Though the house had fought a lot of emotional demons over the years, it was becoming a place where we could finally breathe again. This house was the only success story I had, and it wouldn’t be the same if I had no one to share it with.

The Chevy crawled up the long driveway, and nerves set in. “I’m sorry about your truck,” I blurted, knowing just on the other side of him there was a hole in the siding. Hours from now, I’d be on my way to Florida, and he’d be a loose memory.

“I was never worried about the truck, Lo.” He pulled the clutch into park in my circular driveway and gripped the steering wheel. “Get out of here. Go catch your flight and have a good time with yourhomie.”

I didn’t kiss him goodbye before getting out of his truck. There was no point.I’m selfish, reckless, and didn’t give a damn about Linc Hendrix.

I closed the door and turned to lean in the window.

Linc looked at me, clutching the steering. Each time he flexed his hand, the tattooed rosary wrapping around his wrist moved. Blue veins popped against the cross scarred on the top of his hand. It was like I was looking at him for the first and last time.

“You said it yourself,” I sighed, “It was always a disaster waiting to happen.”

Linc grinned and cocked his head. “And you will always be something that was going, going, gone.”

The Chevy roared behind me as it took off. I forced myself not to watch Linc drive away, clutching the stolen Zippo lighter in my fist.

I didn’t know why I took it. It was just a small piece of Linc and a thing that Icouldhave if I couldn’t have him again. Maybe I did give a damn about Linc Hendrix, and a part of me did want to remember our night together.

I straightened my spine and stood in front of my front door. It echoed when I opened it.

My luggage was stacked in the white foyer, ready for my flight. The thought of seeing Sophie and getting out of L.A. made me smile and stopped the heel of anxiety from stomping on my chest.

But then my head pounded, utter sobriety coming back in waves and never allowing me to live in a blissful moment for too long. My addictions always wanted to be the first to slit my wristsandgrasp them to make the bleeding stop.

I couldn’t stop my fingers from shaking as I dug through my purse for Vicodin, dodging reality and responsibilities.

My driver would be here in thirty minutes, and I walked to the kitchen for a shot of something to chase down the pill when my phone pinged, stopping me.

My screen lit up in my hand.

There was a text from an unknown number at exactly five-thirty. And I smiled.

Good morning, killer.