Dating a Po*nstar is Hard

12: The Less I know the Better

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

“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.