My key feels unnaturally heavy in my hand as I sit in the car, staring at our front door. The morning sun casts long shadows across our small patch of lawn, making everything look slightly unreal, like a dream I can't quite wake up from.
After breakfast, Morgan had finally relinquished my phone, casually dropping it into my palm. The screen had immediately lit up with notifications, a digital avalanche of missed calls, texts, and voicemails from both Lana and, surprisingly, Sarah.
"You should probably call her back," Morgan had suggested, her voice unnervingly gentle as she pulled up to my car in the Brattie's parking lot. "Though you might want to get your story straight first."
I'd mumbled something noncommittal, too focused on scrolling through the increasingly frantic messages from Lana:
10:32 PM: Where are you?
11:15 PM: Adam, please answer me
12:47 AM: I'm really worried
3:18 AM: I don't care if you're mad. Just let me know you're alive
The last message, sent at 6:42 AM, was simply: I love you.
I texted back: I'm on my way home.
I've been sitting in my car for nearly twenty minutes now, trying to rehearse what to say. The hangover has mostly subsided, leaving behind a dull throb and the acrid taste of regret. Morgan's suggestion keeps echoing in my head: "Just tell her you slept in your car. No need to worry her about staying at a hotel. It's not like we did anything."
She's right, of course. Why drag Morgan into this when nothing actually happened between us?
With a deep sigh, I finally exit the car. Each step toward our front door feels heavier than the last. I turn the knob, it's unlocked.
Before I can even fully open the door, I see her. Lana curled up on the couch, her eyes red and swollen, tissues scattered around her like fallen petals. At the sound of my entrance, her head snaps up. For a split second, we just stare at each other, the air between us charged with fear, relief, and something else I can't quite name.
Then she's moving, launching herself off the couch and practically flying across the room. Her body slams into mine with surprising force as I shut the door behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist, her face buried in my chest. I can feel her tears soaking through my wrinkled shirt.
"I thought something terrible happened to you," she sobs, her voice muffled against my chest. "I called hospitals. I called the police. I was about to start checking morgues."
Guilt cuts through me like a knife. I wrap my arms around her, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. "I was just...I needed space to think."
She pulls back slightly, her tear-stained face looking up at me with a mixture of relief and hurt. "You couldn't text me that? You couldn't let me know you were alive?"
"I slept in my car," I say, the lie slipping out easier than I expected. "My phone died, and I was too drunk to drive home. I just parked somewhere and passed out."
Her eyes search mine, looking for truth or deception. I meet her gaze steadily, hoping the alcohol-induced gaps in my memory aren't visible on my face.
"You saw the podcast," she says finally. It's not a question.
I nod, feeling some of the anger from yesterday resurface. "Leo Rose? Three years? Were you ever going to tell me about him?"
Lana steps back, her arms falling to her sides. "Can we sit down? Please?"
I nod stiffly, following her to the couch. The cushions still bear the impression of her body where she must have spent the night waiting for me. A half-empty mug of cold coffee sits on the table alongside her phone, which lights up with another notification as we sit.
She perches on the edge of the couch, keeping a careful distance between us. Her hands fidget in her lap, twisting and untwisting a tissue until it disintegrates.
"I should have told you about Leo," she begins, her voice small but steady. "I know that now. I just... I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Afraid I'd realize I'm just your rebound?"
Lana's eyes widen, a flash of hurt crossing her features. "No, Adam, you're not a rebound at all."
I lean forward, my hangover momentarily forgotten as anger and insecurity fuel me. "When exactly did he break up with you compared to when you saw me at the grocery store?"
Her eyes fill with tears, her voice barely above a whisper. "A few days but…"
"What the fuck do you mean a few days?" I cut her off, standing up so suddenly that my head spins. "How could I not be a rebound? You expect me to believe that after three years with this guy, you just happened to run into me days after breaking up, and it wasn't about replacing him?"
Lana rises, too, her hands trembling as she reaches for me. "He broke up with me because I wasn't over you."
The words hang in the air between us, stunning me into silence. I sink back onto the couch, trying to process what she's just said.
"What?" I finally manage.
Lana wipes her tears with the back of her hand. "After we broke up, I never really got over you. Leo knew it. Everyone knew it." She sits beside me, close enough that I can feel her warmth but not touching. "I talked about you all the time. I'd compare him to you, not even realizing I was doing it."
"That's..." I trail off, unable to find the right words.
"I thought I was over you," she continues, her voice steadier now. "I really did. But then, the night before Leo broke up with me, we had this huge fight because he found an old box of stuff from our relationship that I'd kept hidden. Letters, photos, that stupid butterfly ring you won for me at the fair."
I remember that ring… a cheap piece of junk from a ring toss game that had turned her finger green within hours. She'd worn it for weeks anyway.
"He said he was tired of competing with someone not around," Lana says, her eyes fixed on some distant point.
"And then you just happened to run into me at the grocery store?" I ask.
She gives me a watery smile. "Not exactly. I knew you shopped there. Sarah mentioned it once when we ran into each other months before. I'd been working up the courage to 'accidentally' bump into you for weeks, and the break up was the final push."
"You planned it?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
Lana nods, looking almost embarrassed. "I know it sounds crazy, but yes. I engineered our reunion." She reaches across the space between us, her fingers tentatively brushing mine. "I've loved you since high school, Adam. Even when we were apart, even when I was with other people. It was always you."
Her words pierce through the last of my defenses. The hurt and betrayal I've been nursing start to crumble as I look into her eyes, seeing nothing but raw, honest vulnerability there.
Lana grabs my hands firmly, her eyes locking with mine. "I know you're upset, but you need to understand I'm in this till the end, Adam. I really love you."
My heart swells at her words, the sincerity in her voice impossible to doubt. For a moment, everything feels like it might be okay after all.
But then reality crashes back as I remember the podcast, the revelation that's been eating at me. "But you shot a scene with him afterwards," I say, my voice tight with renewed hurt. "After we got back together."
Lana's face shifts, nervousness replacing her earlier confidence. She swallows hard, her grip on my hands loosening slightly. "I've shot three," she admits, her voice barely audible. "And I have another one next week with him."
My heart sinks so fast I feel physically ill. "Three scenes? With your ex? While we've been together?"
"It's just work," she says quickly, desperation edging into her voice. "The studio pairs us because we have chemistry on camera. The fans love it. Our scenes together get triple the views."
"Chemistry," I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Is that what you call it?"
"It's acting, Adam. Just acting." She moves closer, her hands gripping mine tighter. "I don't feel anything for him anymore. You have to believe me."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" I demand, pulling my hands away. "If it's just work, why keep it a secret?"
Lana's eyes well up with tears, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, she just shrugs helplessly, the gesture conveying more than words ever could.
The sight of her looking so broken hits me harder than I expected. Despite my anger, my heart aches for her. I take a deep breath, asking the question that's been lurking in the back of my mind since we got back together.
"Lana, if I asked you to stop being a porn star... what would you say?"
She freezes, her tear-streaked face a portrait of conflict. Her fingers twist in her lap as she struggles to find words.
"I... I can't," she finally whispers, her voice cracking. "Adam, my contract runs for four more years. The penalties for breaking it would bankrupt us both."
"And after that?" I press, even as I know I'm being unfair.
She wipes at her eyes, smearing mascara across her cheek. "We wouldn't have anything, Adam. Nothing. My income pays for everything, this house, our cars, our food. What would we live on?" Her voice drops even lower. "And even if I could leave... you know it doesn't work that way. Once you're in this industry, that's who you are forever. I can't unring that bell."
The truth of her words settles between us like a physical weight. She's right, of course. Her videos will exist online forever. Her name, her stage name, will always be searchable. There's no clean escape, no fresh start.
"I never meant to trap you in this," she continues, reaching for my hand again. "When we reconnected, I should have been clearer about what my life had become. What it would mean for us."
I let her take my hand this time, feeling the slight tremble in her fingers. "I knew what I was getting into," I admit. "Or at least, I thought I did."
"I'm sorry about Leo," she says, her blue eyes searching mine. "I should have told you. I was just so afraid of losing you again."
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Is it at least possible to not do anymore scenes with Leo?"
Lana's expression shifts, a flash of resignation crossing her face before she looks down at our joined hands. "No," she says softly. "Otherwise, I wouldn't do it. You have to understand, Adam. Leo has more pull than I do."
My jaw tightens. "Leo pushes for these scenes?" The thought makes something dark and angry twist in my gut.
"It's complicated," she sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "He specifically requests me for certain productions. And the studio... they see dollar signs when we're paired together." Her voice drops even lower. "If I refuse, there are consequences. Not just financial ones."
"What kind of consequences?" I ask, leaning forward.
Lana's eyes meet mine, and I'm startled by the vulnerability there. "They could blacklist me from other productions. They could give me only the most degrading scenes. They could spread rumors that I'm difficult to work with." She takes a shaky breath. "This industry runs on reputation, Adam. Once that's damaged, you're done."
I lean back against the couch cushions, the weight of everything pressing down on me. The revelation about Leo and the industry politics hit me like a physical blow. I run my hands through my hair, trying to process it all.
"Jesus Christ," I sigh, the words coming out as a tired exhale rather than anger.
I look at her tear-stained face, seeing both the woman I love and this complicated reality we're trapped in. "Is there anything else I should know? Any other bombshells waiting to explode in my face?"
Lana shakes her head quickly, her blonde hair swaying with the movement. Her eyes, red-rimmed and desperate, lock onto mine. "I don't think so," she whispers, her voice barely audible. She reaches for my hand, her fingers trembling as they intertwine with mine. "Please don't leave me, Adam. I'll take any punishment you want. I don't care how bad it is, just don't leave."
The naked vulnerability in her voice cuts through my remaining anger. Despite everything, I can see she's terrified of losing me.
I reach out and pull her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. "Of course not," I whisper into her hair. "I'd never leave you, Lana. Never."
She collapses against me, her body shaking with sobs of relief. Her fingers clutch at my shirt as if afraid I might disappear if she lets go. I feel her tears soaking through the fabric, but I don't mind. I just stroke her hair gently, running my fingers through the silky blonde strands.
"I love you so much, Adam," she chokes out between sobs. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Leo. "
As I hold her, my mind drifts to my own secrets, the hours spent watching her videos, analyzing her expressions, comparing her performances with different men to how she is with me. Jerking off to it like a sicko. The shame of it burns in my chest, mingling with the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours. I should tell her, clear the air completely, but I'm emotionally drained. The thought of another confession, another difficult conversation, feels impossible right now. I'm not sure how she'd take it, knowing I've been secretly watching her work all this time after promising I wouldn't.
Some other time, I decide.
"Shhh, it's okay, baby," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together.