Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3) (3 page)

Chapter
3

AT LAST

   After an eternity, Trip released his hold on me to plant his hands on either side of my face. He swiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs as the smallest of smiles escaped from his lips. “You’re here.”

   I grip
ped his wrists in my hands, smoothing them with my palms. “I’m here.”

   He tucked
a strand of hair behind my ear, kissing the spot near my temple. “You ready for this?” he asked, as his hand slid down to grasp mine.

  
I’ve been ready for fifteen years, pal.

  
But as it turned out, the “this” he was referring to was our immediate situation, because he led me over to his mother. I could see that Mrs. Wilmington had hardly aged at all. What little age I could see on her face could probably be more attributed to the immediate stress of the situation rather than the passage of time.

   I g
ave her a quick hug and offered my condolences as Claudia reclaimed her jaw from where it had fallen to the floor. I guessed her brother and I had made quite the scene. “So, this is the infamous Layla Warren. You were right, Drip. I actually do remember her.” Then she directed her next comments to me. “Let me ask you something. Is this Rymer character an actual person?”

  I had to remember where I was and stifled the laugh at Claudia’s question and her nickname for her little brother. (I logged it away for future torture.) But her jab had lightened the tone in the room, enough that by the time the first mourners filed in, we found ourselves chatting casually with them. Well, as casually as possible with a dead body in the vicinity. I’ve always been amazed at the lengths people will go to just to avoid talking about the real reason why they’re in that room in the first place. It seems borderline disrespectful to the person in the box. Maybe when someone had been dying for years, it made for an easier time once it finally became official.

   Trip kept
me glued to his side on the receiving line, introducing me to every family member and business associate as “
my Layla,
” leaving no room for doubt just exactly who I was to him. It was incredible that he’d just assumed we were together, the split decision having been made (sort of) only moments prior, yet there was Trip, treating me like I was his long-time girlfriend.

  
Which, I guess, in a way, I kinda was.

   There were a few times Trip would crack and start
tearing up again, normally at the sight of a particularly close friend of his dad’s or a family member he hadn’t seen in years.

  
But when Lisa and Pickford strolled through the door, he positively broke.

  
The boys didn’t hesitate to throw their arms around each other, Trip just crumbling against his old buddy Pickford. The two of them used to have quite the bromance back in the day, and the passage of time obviously hadn’t done anything to break that bond.

   Lisa and I
held hands as the tears ran down our cheeks. It was so amazing to have the four of us in the same room again, even if the circumstances weren’t quite so ideal. But having us all there was exactly what Trip needed in that moment. What he’d needed for years.

 
I was lost in that thought as a familiar voice behind me said, “Aww. You two faggots finally making it official?”

   We all
stopped for a beat and turned to find Rymer standing there, giving us the finger and wearing a wide grin. At a wake.

  
Trip was the first to crack up. “Rymer, you compassionate bastard!”

  
We all laughed as those two hugged hello, breaking the serious vibe of the moment.

  
Rymer and his filterless mouth. Thank God for him.

* * *

   The repast was at the Wilmingtons’ house. The burial was set for the following day, but the cemetery was way out on Long Island, so Mrs. W., Claudia and Trip intended to make it a private affair. Originally, they’d planned to have the dinner at the country club one town over, but that idea was squelched once they realized the press had caught wind of the news. The club sent all the food over to the private estate instead, escorted by their entire waitstaff.

  
Mrs. Wilmington entertained everyone in the solarium
at the back of the house. It was a large room with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the rolling, snow-covered lawn of the backyard. I’d only been to the house twice in my life, and both times, I’d never made it past the foyer. It was interesting to finally get to see the full layout of the place. But even from my incomplete glimpse, the house turned out to be just as huge and imposing as my memories. I had a stab of guilt at how comfortable I felt, knowing Mr. Wilmington wouldn’t be lurking in some darkened hallway with a jab at the ready.

  
Trip refused to let me leave his side, and if I wasn’t so thrilled about it, I would have felt a little smothered. But after all those years apart, I was anxious to make up for all the time we’d lost. I guessed he was, too.

  
Eventually, he led the five of us into a parlor off the main room, ditching his jacket over the back of a couch before slumping to sit down on it. Just the simple act of watching Trip unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his black shirt up to his elbows was enough to liquefy my insides. I knew I was supposed to be focusing on the solemnity of the day, but my stomach wasn’t cooperating, flipping uncontrollably at the sight of Trip lounged out on the sofa. He was pure, unadulterated
male
sitting there.

   He was wearing his hair a bit longer than usual; still perfectly golden, artfully mussed, and practically begging me to run my hands through it. There were some new
crinkles at the corners of his fathomless blue eyes, and the dimple in his left cheek had become more pronounced, but the new lines only added an effective ruggedness to his almost-pretty features.

  
His feet were crossed at the ankles on an ottoman, his elbow propped casually on the arm of the couch, his fingers at his temple. The emotional upheaval of the day played out on his face, his eyes taking on a smoldering squint, making him look a little sleepy. He flexed his fingers together and gave a yawn against an outstretched bicep.

  
Yeah. You’re right, Chester. Let’s go to bed
.

  
He pulled me to sit down next to him, practically
on his lap, throwing an arm around my shoulders. I caught Lisa’s eye and bit my lip. It was like not a single day had gone by. Right there were Lisa and Pick, sitting on the sofa across from us. And there was Rymer, occupying the easy chair in between. If Cooper and Sargento were there, I would have sworn it was 1991.

   Pick slung himself
across the couch and settled in at his wife’s back, his stretched form leaning into the sofa, his mile-long legs taking over the space. He waggled a finger between Trip and me and said, “So… I see
this
is happening again.”

   Lisa elbowed him in the ribs, and I could have cheerfully strangled him, but Trip just chuckled. He met my eyes, gave my shoulder a squeeze
, and answered, “Hell yeah it is.”

   I melted at the satisfied grin he aimed at me
.

   “Took you long enough,
” Pick jeered.

   I
was smiling into Trip’s eyes, but directed my reply to Pickford, “Some of us weren’t as smart right out of high school.”

   At that, Lisa and Pick shared a knowing look.

   Rymer was taking in the scene, his head darting back and forth between the four of us. “For chrissakes! I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” That made us chuckle as he hauled himself off the chair and added, “Alright. I’m getting a drink. Who needs? Ladies? Pick? Trip?”

   There was a moment of unease before Lisa and I answered that we were fine, Pick put in an order for a Coke, and Trip cleared his throat. “I’ll take a water, thanks.”

   Rymer started to navigate around the coffee table, shaking his head. “Coke? Water? Jesus. Be careful you don’t spill any on your skirts. C’mon you pansies. Let’s do a shot or something.”

   The
smile suddenly dropped from his face, realizing what he’d just said. I mean, we were all there because Trip’s father had just lost his battle with alcohol. Trip had just recently kicked the habit himself. “Oh, Trip. Man. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even—”

   “Dude, no. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” Trip offered a genuine
grin to his friend, who nodded his head before exiting the room.

  
Trip’s drinking was an unavoidable piece of knowledge. In the years since I’d seen him last, he’d gone swiftly downhill, bottomed out, cleaned up, and set his star back on the rise. He’d actually won an Oscar for his role in
Swayed
, and it was well-deserved. But by that time, he’d also won a spot as cover boy for numerous entertainment magazines, his downfall documented at every turn. Hollywood must be a very forgiving town, because only a few years later, those same magazines were lauding him as an unparalleled talent.

  
However,
The Backlot,
in particular, wasn’t as kind. I couldn’t check out at the supermarket without seeing Trip’s face splashed across their cover, scathing headlines blaring out “Binging Bad Boy In Bar Brawl” or “Another TRIP To The Bottom Of A Bottle?” I knew that most of the stuff in those stupid tabloids was simply made up in order to sell magazines. But when they attacked a person I actually
knew
—one who’d been to Hell and back in order to set his life straight—it seemed extraordinarily cruel.

  
I mean, he wasn’t that same party boy anymore. He’d battled his demons and clawed his way back to the world of the living, taking it entirely by storm. He’d taken all that energy he’d put into drinking and channeled it into philanthropy. He’d started his own charity, and from all accounts, it was a fruitful venture. That circumstance had turned him into a media darling, which completely negated the previously held image of him as a drunken playboy.

  
His work was never better; his family life never more secure.

  
Claudia was walking around with her new baby, introducing Skylar to the room. When she came in by us, Trip grabbed his niece out of his sister’s clutches and gave her a soft nuzzle, completely smitten with the little bundle in his arms. Seeing him holding a baby just about made me melt. She really was an adorable little thing. Six months old, a little tuft of black hair on her head, those exotic, heavily-lashed, almond-shaped eyes smiling through her gurgling. Plus, she had that perfect amount of baby fat just made for biting. I wanted to put that kid on a plate and eat her.

   Sa
ndy came into the room just then, put an arm around Claudia’s shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth.

   Oh.

   Trip never mentioned that Sandy was family. Although, the trust he placed in her and the way she looked out for him suddenly made perfect sense. She commandeered Skylar from her uncle’s grasp, Trip giving an, “Aww. You stealing her away so soon?”

   Claudia shot back, “
You
get to see her all the time. Don’t hog the baby, Uncle Drip.”

   That made us
chuckle, Rymer expressing his regret at not having come up with the nickname himself years ago. “What a waste,” he lamented, shaking his head.

  
Trip actually laughed at that, a full, side-splitting guffaw, and it was as if all the tension of the day was finally draining from his body. Rymer was always good for some comic relief, but that day, he helped to turn the glum occasion into more of a reunion and less of a funeral.

  
Trip’s mood continued to lighten all evening as the guys swapped stories and reminisced.
“Hey,” he said to Rymer. “You remember that time in the locker room when we were playing
Pa-ting!
And you got hit in the eye with that bar of soap?”

  
Rymer shook his head laughing. “That wasn’t me. That was Sargento.”

   Pick piped in. “No, man. That was
you.
”

   I watched the exchange, finally cutting in with, “Hold up. What’s
Pa-ting
?”

   The guys all exchanged a glance, waiting for someone else to speak up. Pick
ford finally took the honors. “Okay, fine. So, there was this doorway that led from the locker room to the showers, right. And we’d all decide who was gonna be the target, and then we’d shove them into the showers, you know?”

   “No. I don’t know. But continue.”

   “Well, the target would have to walk back and forth in front of the doorway, and the rest of us would find random stuff to throw at them as they passed.”

   “Wait,” I said.
“Like what kind of stuff?”