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Near Century City, not far from ICM’s offices, stood a small boutique hotel called Everlasting Love.
From the outside, it looked almost forgettable.
The rooms were not.
The one Lisa chose had been designed in a theatrical imitation of ancient Greece: a domed ceiling, miniature stone arches, clean geometric furniture, and a reproduction of Venus and Mars Surprised by Vulcan hanging over the bed. The original painting lived in the Louvre. This copy carried the same idea clearly enough: lovers caught by the wrong person at the wrong moment.
Beneath it stood a round bed that could rotate toward a glass shower, an oversized oval tub, or a metal pole that ran from floor to ceiling.
White gauze softened the room.
Lisa lay on her side, propped on one elbow, her fingers tracing the hard lines of Nolan’s back.
"Do you know why I brought you here?" she asked. "You remind me of the Discobolus."
Nolan looked blank.
"The discus thrower," Lisa said. "The Greek statue. Maybe you’ll study it in AP Art History."
Nolan’s ambitious AP schedule would not begin until next semester.
He shifted as if ready to move again.
"Rest," Lisa said, pressing a hand against him. "Give me one minute, athlete."
She sounded amused, but there was surrender in the laugh.
Nolan had expected the relationship to take longer to define. Instead, Lisa had made her choice quickly.
Lisa watched him settle back against the pillows, affection warming her eyes.
"Your T-shirts are almost washed thin," she said. "Use some of the money I gave you and buy clothes."
"About money..."
He looked at the ceiling.
"I need more."
"What for?"
"I have a plan to make money through the football team. A charity concession project. We sell drinks, hot dogs, snacks in the stands and donate part of the revenue to youth football programs in underfunded neighborhoods. It takes inventory, coolers, permits, people, and cash up front. Around ten thousand dollars."
He explained the idea in detail. It was a dressed-up version of the business plan he had started forming after the expired-milk day. Before he could bring it to Thomas, the coach had offered a much faster, riskier path.
The charity plan now served another purpose.
It gave him a clean reason to ask Lisa for capital.
"You came up with that yourself?" Lisa asked.
She actually liked the idea.
Whether it made money was secondary. It would teach him social instinct, business discipline, and the feeling of running something real. Those lessons were worth more than the check.
Ten thousand dollars did not frighten her.
"I’ll write you a check before you leave."
She did not even negotiate.
"I’ll pay it back," Nolan said after a moment.
"No rush. Keep it for now." Lisa studied him. "Do you have a driver’s license?"
"Not yet."
"Then get one when training lets up. You should have a car."
"There’s one more thing."
Nolan got up and took a bound screenplay from his backpack.
"Mom finished a draft. I’d like you to read it and tell me whether it has a chance."
The script used the structural DNA Nolan had described: ritualized crimes, mounting pressure, detectives chasing a pattern, and an emotional trap at the end. Mia had worked until dawn reshaping those ideas into her own thriller. It was rough, but it was no longer just Nolan’s memory in outline form.
"Mia..." Lisa hesitated.
Does she know about us? her face seemed to ask.
"She doesn’t know I brought you a copy," Nolan said. "I made one."
Lisa did not expect much from a housewife who had not written professionally in twenty years. Still, Nolan had handed it to her, so she opened it.
At first she skimmed quickly.
After half a minute, she slowed down.
Twenty minutes later, she looked up.
"There is something here. The ending is strong. The tone is dark in a good way." She tapped the script. "But the middle is messy. Too many cases, too many moving pieces. Audiences may get tired before the payoff. And there are plenty of grim serial-killer scripts around town. This one isn’t special enough yet."
Lisa had sold scripts before. She understood enough to be useful.
The meaning was clear: the draft had bones, not a body.
That was unavoidable. Nolan had given her a dangerous skeleton, not a finished Hollywood screenplay. Mia was turning it into something that could survive under her own name.
"I’ll take it with me," Lisa said. "I can send it to a few producers and see whether anyone wants to read it seriously. No promises."
Both of Nolan’s requests had been accepted.
He kissed her in thanks.
...
"Coach Thomas gave me a fast way to make money," Nolan said that night while Katherine supervised his homework. "He also gave me the number of a Las Vegas contact."
"Only if you win," Katherine said, putting down her pen. "Otherwise you lose everything. And you need stake money."
"Right. So we need two tracks. Lisa took Mom’s script and will send it to a few producers."
Katherine’s head snapped up.
"You met her this afternoon? I told you I was going with you."
"You had training. I couldn’t drag you out." Nolan kept his face open. "We met in Century City, at a cafe under ICM."
"Did she touch you?"
Katherine’s worry was sharp enough to cut through the lie.
"Of course not. It was public."
"Good. From now on, you meet her only in public."
"Understood."
Nolan looked out the window.
Rain had fallen that afternoon, leaving the night clean. A thin moon hung among the stars, and the palms beyond the motel shifted in the cooler air. It was the kind of rare Los Angeles evening that made a walk seem possible.
"Want to go outside?"
"I don’t think so." Katherine looked uncomfortable, a little hunched.
"Cramps?"
She nodded.
Nolan moved his chair closer and placed his warm palm lightly over her lower stomach.
Katherine froze, then relaxed by degrees. The heat helped a little. The care helped more.
"You look after me all the time," Nolan said. "Let me look after you for a few days."
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Katherine leaned into him and rested her head against his chest.
He lifted her chin gently.
Katherine closed her eyes and waited.
Outside, a shooting star crossed the sky and vanished.
For one breath, time held still.
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