He just smiles mysteriously and gets out to open my door. “Come on.”
Stepping out onto the busy sidewalk, I’m immediately overwhelmed by the crowds of tourists snapping photos of the stars embedded in the concrete. Street performers dressed as superheroes and movie characters pose for tips while tour guides herd groups past souvenir shops.
“Follow me.” Placing a protective hand near my back, he guides me through the throng.
We walk for a few minutes, weaving through the crowd. I’m trying my best to take it all in. The iconic Chinese Theatre looms ahead, while handprints line the cement underfoot with an endless stream of actors and rock stars.
“Here we are,” Evo announces, stopping abruptly.
I look down at the star beneath my feet, and my heart stutters. There, embedded in the pink terrazzo, surrounded by the brass emblem of a movie camera, is Rowan’s name.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, crouching down to touch the letters. “He has a star on the Walk of Fame.”
Of course he does. I had no idea. The fact that I blocked out everything that had to do with Rowan Cole, including refusing to let my brother tell me anything about our childhood best friend, is the reason why this news comes as a surprise.
Something about seeing physical proof of everything he’s accomplished hits differently aside from knowing he stars in movies for a living.
Tracing the letters with my fingertips, I think about the cute, gangly boy who used to hang out and read with me in the treehouse. A boy who thought reptiles and insects were gross, but let me show him anyway. A teenager full of dreams about making movies someday. And the young man who left Lakeside—and me—behind to chase them.
Despite already knowing how successful he is, the realization comes out of nowhere. He did it. He actually did it.
“How long has this been here?” I ask, looking up at Evo, heart aching in my chest.
“About three years,” he replies. “The ceremony was quite the spectacle. Half of Hollywood showed up.”
An image of Rowan in a tailored suit, flashing his signature, devastating smile as he accepts the star flashes through my mind. I wasn’t there. I was back home, probably cursing his name.
“Want me to take your picture with it?” Evo offers, holding his hand out for my phone.
“Sure.” Handing it over, I squat down next to the star, feeling weirdly emotional as I look up, smiling for the camera.
Evo snaps a few photos, but just as he’s giving me back my phone, I notice a guy with a professional camera zeroing in on us, moving fast through the crowd.
“Holy shit, it’s Lizzy Cade!” he shouts, camera clicking rapidly. “Rowan Cole’s girlfriend!”
My stomach drops as he hurries closer, shoving tourists out of his way.
“What’s the story with you and Walker Prince?” he yells, thrusting his camera in my face. “Is there trouble in paradise with Rowan Cole? Are you just a cover for him and Carrie Southern?”
Quickly, I back up, nearly tripping over my own two feet. “No... no comment,” I stutter.
The next thing I know, Evo steps between us, his massive frame dwarfing the pudgy photographer. “Back off,” he growls.
“Public space, man!” The pap tries to maneuver around him, but it’s like trying to sidestep a mountain.
Still, the paparazzo manages to get a little closer, his camera lens inches from my face. “Come on, give me something! How long have you two been together? Is it serious?”
More cameras appear as if out of nowhere. Suddenly, we’re surrounded by shouting and flashing lights. My heart pounds as I press against Evo’s back.
“Is it true you’ve been in love with him since you were kids?”
“Are you sure you’re not just using him for his money?”
“What’s with the matching tattoos?”
Wait. Matching tattoos? We don’t…
Evo turns, forging a giant human barricade between me and the flood of paparazzi, and grabs my elbow.
