She bit her lip as she thought about her next words. “Maybe seeing these exes is helping. What do you all think, time for another ex meetup?”
She posted the video, exhaled sharply, and went into her inbox. She had a long line of new followers and likes to scroll through. But she stopped and her breath caught when she saw a new comment on her original response video.
@Ned967 Weird, since you told me you loved me.
She clicked into the profile and saw the unmistakable face of the first person she’d ever dated looking back at her.
6
DASH
Nothing changes if nothing changes, Dash posted in the comments on Sophie’s latest TikTok video. The video had five thousand views—not viral, but not nothing either—and she’d stuck to her goals and been brave enough to revisit a past relationship. He was proud of her, really.
Which was more than he could say for himself. He hadn’t made any progress on the one job he’d been given. Instead, he was parked in the driveway of his parents’ house, delaying the inevitable: the Montrose Sunday Roast, a weekly dinner he and his siblings had to attend unless there was work to be done on a film set.
Dash no longer had a career to spare him, though, so he hadn’t missed a family dinner in a very long time. He switched over to his DMs and found a new one from Cindy.
@craftycindy you haven’t posted this week. What’s up?
@tokcrafty2me just dealing with some family stuff.
@craftycindy Drama? Did they find out about the sober thing? Or the rehab?
@tokcrafty2me No, haven’t told them yet.
@craftycindy if you ever need to talk (or tok), I’m here ??
Through their months of messaging, Dash had revealed to his TikTok friend that he’d gone through rehab and was newly sober. Telling an anonymous person on the platform felt safe, and he’d needed someone other than Chris to talk to. She didn’t know who he was and never would, so giving her a glimpse into his life didn’t feel like a risk. Still, he didn’t love when she brought it up, even if she was just checking in on him. He gave the message a like, then closed the app entirely.
His sister’s car was in the driveway, but his older brother’s was missing. Dash sighed. He was the middle child, even when it came to arriving for dinner. He killed the engine and got out of the car.
His parents’ house in Bel Air was what Architectural Digest had more aptly called a villa, perched at the top of a hill and overlooking the city, with views that stretched to the ocean. His shoes crunched along the white-pebbled driveway, past the Italian cyprus trees that lined the path. Two tall columns flanked the oak and iron front door, and Dash stood between them as he rang the bell.
His mom answered, wearing a cotton wrap dress and high heels. He rarely saw her in flats, even though she was taller than some NBA players and didn’t strictly need the additional height.
“How was the drive, then?” she asked as she hugged him. Her thick Irish accent made all the words lilt together like a nursery rhyme. “Did ya give the fuckers hell?”
He laughed. His mom was possibly the worst driver in all of California, and she had the traffic tickets to prove it. “I thought about running a red light, but then remembered that I like not being in car accidents.”
She raised a brow. “Your father is grilling. Something about the warm weather makes him feel very American, I guess.”
They walked through the entryway and into the living room, which had soaring eleven-foot iron and glass doors that looked out to the backyard. Their home had never been simply for living—it was an entertaining space for guests, with multiple brown mohair-velvet sofas, blue silk armchairs, and a massive cowhide-patterned carpet. Dash hadn’t been allowed to eat or drink in the living room as a child, yet his mom had held elaborate viewing parties of his father’s films there with live music, servers with trays of food, and multiple bartenders. Every event was a business opportunity, as she liked to say.
They walked through the open doors to the terra-cotta terrace and looked out. His dad was set up at the built-in outdoor grill next to the pool, and Poppy stood beside him. She looked up and grinned, raising the beer in her hand.
Dash leaned over the railing as he asked, “Need any help?”
Then Dash’s dad turned to him, metal spatula in hand. Like Dash, William was quite a bit shorter than Kitty and Poppy, but had a presence that filled up the room. His thick salt-and-pepper hair didn’t move, despite the breeze in the air. He lowered his glasses down his distinguished nose and the sky blue eyes that Dash had inherited glimmered back.
“This is a Sunday roast, Dash, of course we do.” His dad’s British accent always added a layer of dry humor to each sentence. “You can help by getting me another drink.”
Dash’s mouth opened, as if to say something, but nothing came out. After all, his family didn’t know he was sober. Thankfully, the doorbell rang, echoing through the house like choir bells, and his mom moved to go answer. But Dash held a hand up, he’d go. He needed to avoid the bar, and here was his excuse.
When Dash got to the door, though, his older brother was already inside.
“Let myself in.” Reece waved a key, then put it back into his wallet.
Dash, meanwhile, had never been given a key to his parents’ house. Not that he’d asked for one either. But he wasn’t surprised that Reece just magically had it, par for the course. Reece smiled, and his perfectly symmetrical face was made even more so. His brother was born to be a movie star—a tall blond, with a cleft chin, rich brown eyes, thick brows, and tanned skin. He was chiseled and handsome, like their dad, but as confident and charming as their mom. Reece had that very specific movie-star quality that meant a kind of golden light surrounded him, almost otherworldly.
Dash knew he wasn’t too terrible to look at himself, but his features were more indie movie, as his agent had told him early on in his career. The scar in his eyebrow, his mother’s dark under-eye circles, and the shorter build had made him a perfect quirky lead rather than an action star.
“Wasn’t sure you’d make it.” Dash’s hands found their way into the pockets of his jeans to keep from fidgeting. He couldn’t help but be on edge around Reece, even though he wanted nothing more than to just be brothers. “Thought you might be busy with movie prep.”
They both walked down the marble floor and toward the living room. “Well, I am technically working, since I want to convince you to join the cast of my movie.”
Dash stopped walking. Reece had teed up the conversation perfectly for Dash to tell him the truth—he wouldn’t be returning to acting—but the words felt lodged in his throat.