Washed Up Former Child Star Ryan Lee

WASHED UP FORMER CHILD STAR RYAN LEE LISA HENRY J.A. ROCK Copyright © 2023 by Lisa Henry & J.A. Rock All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover by Lisa Henry ABOUT THIS BOOK Ryan Lee is a hot mess. In another lifetime, Ryan had it all. He was a child star in one of the biggest sitcoms on the planet. Now he’s an adult, unemployed, and a poster child for bad decisions. Okay, so he hasn’t robbed a convenience store yet, but only because he’s always either too high or too hungover. When the opportunity to film a reunion show comes up, Ryan jumps at the chance. He needs the money, but more than that, it might be what he needs to drag his career—and himself—out of the gutter. Except seeing his former onscreen family again means seeing Chase Ellis–the guy who destroyed Ryan’s career by leaving the show, and the first boy Ryan ever kissed. Back when Ryan believed in fairytales, he thought he was in love with Chase, and the reunion brings all those old feelings racing back. But it drags up old secrets too. Ryan’s about to learn that, when it comes to Hollywood, the only happy endings are the ones that take place on screen. Then again, maybe it isn’t a happy ending Ryan needs. Maybe it’s a new beginning. Washed Up Former Child Star Ryan Lee is a standalone contemporary m/m second chance romance. AUTHORS’ NOTE This books contains drug use, alcohol abuse, addiction, unsafe sex, mentions of people dying of drug overdoses, and mentions of past sexual abuse. Because Ryan has a lot of issues, this book ends on an HFN, rather than an HEA. Recovery is an ongoing process that can’t be wrapped up in a neat bow, and we wanted to reflect that with our ending. So there are no fireworks as the credits roll over that final kiss, because Ryan’s story doesn’t end when the book does—the rest of his life is only just beginning. - Lisa and J.A. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Thank you for reading! About Lisa Henry Also by Lisa Henry Also by J.A. Rock and Lisa Henry About J.A. Rock Also by JA Rock CHAPTER ONE WASHED-UP FORMER CHILD STAR RYAN LEE SEEN ENTERING TREATMENT FACILITY. In a Toyota Corolla, which was the worst part. I tapped my fingers on the top of the steering wheel while I sat in the parking lot, then drew a breath and reached for the baseball cap on the front passenger seat. I put it on along with my sunglasses, then flipped the shade down to take a look at my reflection. Stubble, sunglasses, scowl. The uniform of every incognito celeb in the world. The question was, would I feel more like a dick if I was photographed like I still thought I was someone or if nobody paid me any attention at all? There’s nothing more pathetic than someone who makes a whole song and dance about “How dare you invade my privacy? How dare you even look at me?” and the paps are like “Who the fuck are you?” Ask me how I know. Still, the headline scrolled by on the news ticker that lived rent free in my head, so I kept the cap and glasses on as I opened the car door and stepped out into the heat of the day. The parking lot smelled like hot asphalt and dust. I squinted through my sunglasses at the view over the dusty hills to the haze of LA, where the city drowned in smog down by the water. The day was so bright that everything seemed faded and not quite real. Then again, things in LA had a way of never feeling quite real, even at their most visceral. I wasn’t entering rehab for my own sake—this time. This time, I was here for Kristen. She was waiting for me in reception. She looked smaller than usual, her mouth turned down as she plucked at the sleeve of her hoodie. Her lank hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the mousy brown roots showing. She brightened as she spotted me, though, almost knocking over her suitcase when she stood up to hug me. “Ryan!” She smelled like cigarettes and mint chewing gum. “I missed you!” It had been a long thirty days. “Missed you too.” I squeezed her hard. Kristen was my best friend. We’d first met when we were kids, in that fucking circus that was stage parents and the audition circuit, then met again years later, when my star had fizzled and died a sad, pathetic death, and hers had never ignited. She’d been one of those kids born for the stage—she lit up when she was performing—but it had never worked out for her. Hence the rehab, I guess, but pointing to one thing as the explanation was like pointing at a single grain of sand on Santa Monica Beach. We were both fuckups in our own wonderfully unique ways, and we both had so many reasons why that it was impossible to isolate a single one. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said. We got the fuck out of there. Two hours later, we were in the single-bedroom apartment we shared in Koreatown. Kristen had the bedroom, and I had the living room, which had been open-plan, but we’d screened it off to leave ourselves a narrow space for the TV and the couch, and