Nothing.
At night, her figure danced through his dreams. He would lie in bed and reach his hand out, would feel her hand touch his in return, would imagine the warmth of her snuggling close to him, her hair brushing his face. He would dream of her calling on the phone and would try to pick up, only to be met over and over with static on the other end. He would see her on the street and try to say hello, but no matter how loudly he called to her, she wouldn’t look back. He would startle awake in bed, heart pounding, her name on the edge of his lips, certain that she must have been here.
But she wasn’t. The other side of his bed was always empty and cold.
“He’s canceling the book.”
Winter frowned at Gavi from across the booth tucked into a private corner of the restaurant. It was a late night, and the streets of Santa Monica outside the window were devoid of the tourists that had flocked along the sidewalk earlier in the day. No one else was around except for the waiters, who seemed to give them a respectable distance.
“Are you sure?” Winter asked in a low voice.
Gavi nodded. She was dressed as simply as he’d ever seen her, in an oversized sweater and baggy jeans, her hair tied up in a messy bun—but even so, she looked glamorous, like she was someone destined to be famous. She dipped a fry in ketchup. “Heard it from my publicist friend. You’ll probably get the official letter from your legal team soon.”
It was strange—after everything that had happened, after losing Niall and nearly their own lives—to concern himself with something like the tell-all book. But Winter felt a rush of relief nevertheless.
“Did he say why?” he asked.
Gavi smiled and lowered her eyes. “You really don’t read the news, do you? I leaked a supposedly candid conversation with a friend of mine,” she said. “Complaining about how everything in the book is fabricated and entirely false, and about how I could tell because I’ve been there for so much of it. It caused a bit of backlash online.” She licked the fry, then nibbled its edge. “I guess he didn’t want to deal with the mounting questions from his publisher in addition to your lawsuit, so he backed down. It’s done.”
Winter leaned back in his seat. Between the endless coverage about Rosen, he had tried to avoid the clips of his father at the publisher’s office, had tried to avoid the tabloids still printing excerpts from the book.
“Thank you,” he said to her. “For doing that.”
Gavi was quiet for a moment. “I think it’s probably the least I could have done.”
It was the closest thing he’d ever gotten to an apology from her. Winter gave her a small smile. “True,” he said. “But I still appreciate it.”
She laughed a little at that, then fell silent. This, at least, was something they were good at—sitting in comfortable silence, each letting the other dwell in their own thoughts. So they did, picking at their food until they were full.
As Winter paid the check and they gathered their things, Gavi asked, “So, how are things with Ashley? You seeing her or what?”
Winter shook his head and kept his voice calm. “It couldn’t have gone anywhere. She’s not working for me anymore, anyway. I think everything that happened in Singapore was too overwhelming for her.”
Gavi made a sympathetic noise. They rose from their booth, then headed toward the back door. As they stepped out into the cool, wet night, Gavi stopped in the parking lot and turned to look at him.
“Hey,” she said, then hesitated.
“Hm?” Winter said.
Gavi rarely looked vulnerable, but she did now, her makeup-free face illuminated under the streetlights. “Look.” She paused again, sighed in frustration, then went on. “I’m sorry about how things went. Sometimes I don’t know why I do these things or let them spiral out of control. I just…” She trailed off a bit. “Lies are easier for me than the truth. You know? Sometimes I wish I could live in one.”
Winter looked at her and felt that old twinge in his heart. They had always understood each other in this way, at least—they hungered for different sorts of attention, but they were hungry all the same, always afraid in one way or another to lose the eye of the world. When she looked up at him, he saw that fear in her eyes, like she might disappear if she didn’t play these games with life.
“I know,” he said.
She smiled, wistfully this time. “I know you know,” she replied.
“Maybe we can just understand each other, then, and leave it at that,” he said. “For old time’s sake.”
She held a hand out to him. “Maybe,” she answered.
He took her hand and shook it. “Take care of yourself, Gavi.”
“You too, Winter.”
Winter looked on as she got into her car. At some other point in his life, he might have felt the yawning absence of her, might have missed the chaos she always brought with her, however painful it might be. He might have felt that trap close around him again, pulling him back into their endless, fruitless relationship.
But his heart pointed in a different direction now. So he watched her go, until she pulled out of the lot and disappeared around the corner. Then he turned his back.
