by Morgan James
He lifted his head and turned pleading eyes on Ash. “I need you to understand this, okay? Because, God, I wish, I really wish I was the kind of person who could live in secrecy. But I can’t, Ash. I need openness. I need to not live a life where I have to remember which friends know about us and which don’t. Where I’m not wondering if this time he’s gonna love me enough to tell ’em.” A sharp cold pain stabbed Ash in the gut, and his mouth was dry. Remy took a deep breath. “So maybe we’re not meant to be, and maybe this job is a sign and I should go.” He swallowed and stood. Then he leaned forward and gently kissed Ash on the forehead and then the mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And he left.
Ash sat, frozen, his limbs numb, and stared into space.
Etta found him several minutes later and let out a soft noise of surprise. “Ash? Are you okay?” She reached out and ran a thumb over his cheek. “Are you… crying?”
“I think,” he said, his voice rusty, “I just got dumped.” He turned to Etta.
Her eyes were wide, and she let out a soft, surprised “Oh.”
“And it really hurts,” he whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace and didn’t let go.
Chapter Fifteen
THE week crawled by.
As much as Ash would have liked to stay in bed for the duration, he had a job that needed doing. So every morning he put on his happy face and went to work.
They filmed The Scene on Friday.
Ash’s hands shook before the first take, and not just from a lack of sleep. His stomach was a jumble of nerves, but when the director called action and he slipped into Hamish and Michael into Niall and they started ranting at each other, it felt easy.
Michael missed a mark, and they cut. Ash shook himself and took a moment.
Michael made his mark the next time, and soon they were standing opposite each other and shouting—until Michael gripped his face and planted a hard, eager kiss to Ash’s mouth. The first touch of non-Remy male lips ever—the first since the breakup. Not now.
After the four beats passed, they pulled away from each other and stood gaping until the director shouted, “Cut.”
Michael snorted and giggled. His hands, still framing Ash’s face, began to shake. Sometimes when filming, all the tension built up and released in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Which could be highly contagious. And Ash, who’d been running on little sleep and shoving his broken heart away, grabbed hold of the fit of hysterics like a lifeline. Soon they were giggling like lads, holding on to each other. Ash gasped, near desperate for breath.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. He wiped his face. “I don’ know what—it’s just, your face.”
“Gee, thanks,” Ash sputtered.
“Nah. Only, you went cross-eyed, darlin’. You looked adorable.” He bopped Ash on the nose.
Ash batted his hand away. “Ye numpty. Hamish were looking at Niall’s daft face.” He pressed a hand into said face and pushed it away.
The director cleared his throat. “Boys, if you’re ready, we’ll do another take?”
Chastened, they nodded and agreed. As they moved to find their places, Ash caught sight of Remy standing on the sidelines.
The joy he’d managed to wrangle for a minute died, leaving an empty hollow in its place.
Remy gave a curt nod and then turned and walked off the soundstage. For the second time that week, he left Ash behind—bereft, hurt, and lonely.
Chapter Sixteen
OVER the next few days, without work to distract him, Ash felt like he was living in a dream. He’d never got the breakup songs and montages before, but he now understood the desire to lie on the floor and listen to Adele or Natalie Imbruglia on repeat.
Etta bought him ice cream, and the first day post-shooting, they each ate a Ben and Jerry’s pint while watching Batman cartoons.
“I’m sorry,” she said during the doomed love story of Mr. Freeze. “I know you really like him.”
“Thank you,” he said later, after Batman watched Catwoman leave him once again.
The thing was, the breakup—he swallowed hard at the word—had blindsided him, which was moronic. It should have been obvious they couldn’t go on in secret. Hadn’t Remy told him that very first day that he was out and proud for a reason?
He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he had been. He hadn’t expected Remy to tell him he’d reached his breaking point. Had there been warning signs before Adele’s visit?
Ash couldn’t recall any, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been. Probably he’d been too happy, too… in love to notice anything the matter.
On Tuesday he cleaned the kitchen top to bottom, emptying drawers and cupboards to scrub them down. He remembered how his maw used to clean when she was upset. She’d done the whole house top to bottom after Ash’s grandfather had died. Pushing away thoughts of her—he was sad enough without thinking about the mother he’d lost fourteen years ago—Ash tried to focus on the issue at hand. His dirty kitchen.
He wished he still had work to distract him, but until they left for Comic-Con Thursday afternoon, his schedule was wide-open. He had nothing to do but think about the doomed nature of his relationship—ex-relationship. He and Remy could never be together as long as Remy wanted to be out and Ash needed to hide. Stalemate unless something changed. And it wouldn’t be Remy’s mind.
Nor should it. Ash scrubbed harder at the grease. The thought of asking him to….
God, he’d been a blind eejit, a right dunderheid.
Ash tended to overthink. Unlike Remy, he wasn’t good at jumping in feetfirst and trusting he’d learn to swim. Getting caught flat-footed because he hadn’t tortured himself with doomsday scenarios was new for him. Lessoned learned.
By the time he and Etta drove out two days later, Ash was knackered, sore, and grumpy. Etta narrowed her eyes at him and sighed noisily about what a joy he’d be to travel with. She relented a bit when he gave her the puppy-dog eyes, and she flung a sleeping mask at him as she settled behind the wheel. If only he could sleep.
ASH’S alarm went off way too early on Friday morning. He’d had dinner with his castmates and their traveling partners the night before, while he did his best to pretend he was fine.
They had interviews in the morning, and in the afternoon a full-cast panel in one of the main halls.
Ash hoped it wasn’t embarrassingly empty.
The day started with a relay marathon. The Mythfits bigwigs paired him and Michael together, of course, and the ladies as a second group, and they spent the morning rotating between media outlets, answering the same questions over and over.
Thank God Michael was not only good at this but actually enjoyed it. Ash didn’t possess the energy to brave it alone.
“What attracted you to the role?” asked their current interviewer. Susie was kind and had done an admirable job setting the tone for their fifteen minutes together.
Michael grinned and gave the same response he’d given the others. “It was funny and different. Not a lot of comedy roles for black men that involve this kind of openness about their sexuality, especially a nonhetero one. Niall breaks a lot of stereotypes. If he wants to dance in a tutu, he’ll do it and won’t think twice about it. It’s pretty freeing as an actor.”
“Exactly,” Ash said, giving her the sound bite he knew she wanted. “It’s not often an ensemble cast has only one white man or fewer straight than queer characters. It’s so much fun to be part of a project like that.” He shrugged. “I won’t pretend being white and male is tough, but all roles are limited in some way by stereotypes. It’s fun for me to have the opportunity to play someone sweet and sensitive.”
After Susie thanked them and they were hustled on their way, Michael leaned in and whispered, “We’re getting good at answering that one, mate.”
Ash snorted. They’d definitely done a good job of memorizing the answer and saying it over and over again.
Every time, it tasted of lies, heavy on his tongue.
By the time they broke for lunch, Ash wanted to call it a day—to curl up in bed, pull the duvet over himself, and hide for a week. Fortunately Michael seemed to view his increasing taciturnity as a challenge rather than an annoyance.
“Hang in there, mucker. Only one more interview for the day.” He happily ate a pudding cup.
Ash didn’t have the energy to eat dessert. He gave him a silent mulish look. “Right.”
Etta chuckled and eyed them both with amusement from her seat across from them. “You’re assuming the autograph lines are easier to deal with.”
“Aren’t they?” Michael’s tone was genuine, so Ash didn’t snap his head off.
He sighed. “Yes and no. Fans are nicer to talk to because at least they give a crap, but there’s more of them and they’re more unpredictable.” Ash leaned his forehead on Michael’s shoulder and sighed. “Thanks for covering my arse today.”
Michael laughed. “No worries. It’s such a lovely bum I couldn’t resist. And don’t worry. I’ll sit next to you in the autograph line.”
Ash lifted his head and gave him a weak smile, grateful for the offer, even if it probably wouldn’t help.
Their panel was at two, and by the time the clock rolled around, Ash realized the bubbling in his stomach was eagerness, not dread. It probably helped that his castmates were all excited and vibrating with it.
When they walked on stage, one by one, he got the loudest cheers—being the most famous cast member—but not by much. Jasmine, Kim, and Miya all looked stunned by the volume raised in their honor.
Their host, Tom, was competent, and he asked a few general questions about the project and their characters. Then he threw it open to the fans.
The first few were mostly as expected. One guest wanted to know who was the funniest, another asked how Ash felt going from werewolf to brownie, and another what their favorite episodes were.
Then came the adorable kid. “Hi, I’m Toni” had buzzed hair, wore thick-framed glasses, a checked shirt, jeans, and rainbow suspenders, and looked no more than seventeen. She blushed as she stood in front of the camera and stuttered out, “It’s so amazing seeing all these queer characters. My girlfriend and I were so excited. Especially to see two characters so openly bi. Thank you.”
The cast nodded encouragingly, and Jasmine said, “I know, right?” The crowd cheered.
When the noise died down, Toni asked, “I wondered what you thought about that before you decided to play the roles.”
Jasmine, smiling kindly, said, “Like, is that why we took the job? I think I speak for all of us when I say Hell. Yes.”
The crowd cheered, and the girl glowed. Ash stared at her smiling pink face. A peace settled over him. They had done that. He had done that.
“It’s so great to see a script take representation as a challenge. How many different groups can we get into one show?” Jasmine’s grin turned wicked. “Also, how could I resist playing the brooding vamp all the girls swoon for.” She winked to more cheers and applause.
Toni leaned to the mic and said, “Thank you.”
And that would have been it. But Ash had the mic to his lips and was saying, “No, thank you,” before he could even think about it.
Toni jerked and stared at him wide-eyed. He smiled; he hadn’t meant to surprise her.
He cleared his throat. “You know, I took time off after Restraint finished, and I read a lot of scripts and said no to all of them. I didn’t know what I was waiting for until I got Mythfits.” He swallowed and kept his gaze on the girl, pretending it was only the two of them, though he felt surprisingly at ease. “When I read it, I knew I had to do it. Because I knew how much it would mean to people, how much it meant to me. So thank you for telling me it’s worth it.” He licked his lips. “Representation matters, and when you don’t have any… you think you’re strange and broken. I never could have told a roomful of strangers I was gay at your age. I couldn’t have done it last week even.” The room felt still, like all the air had been sucked out of it, but Ash didn’t take his eyes off the now very surprised girl. “Thank you.” He blinked hard a few times, trying to will away the tears.
Michael and Miya, who were seated to either side of him, skootched closer and reached for him. She took his hand, and Michael squeezed his knee. The crowd clapped and cheered, a few hooted, but Ash didn’t care, because Toni was beaming at him.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “my girlfriend has always said if she ever left me for anyone, it would be you”—Ash blushed at the thought of breaking up a couple of kids—“so thanks for crushing the dream!” Then she rushed away from the mic as the crowd laughed.
“Breaking hearts,” Michael said into his mic. “But I think, mate, you gave rise to a whole new set of dreams.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Ash took his hand back and hid his face in it.
“We won’t tell them all he’s taken, then,” Kim said, deadpan.
The crowd laughed, and Ash jerked with surprise. She winked at him and… did she know?
A question for later—another fan was talking at the mic.
Ash sat back, breathed deep, and took the time to collect himself. He was probably already all over Twitter—with video too, he bet. By the time he got off the stage, his agent would be calling. Etta must be freaking out, if in a good way. But he didn’t have to worry about the mayhem yet. Ash could simply sit and enjoy the moment and the memory of surprise and joy on the girl’s face. He hoped she came to his autograph lineup later so he could thank her again.
Chapter Seventeen
ETTA tackled him with a hug, his agent sighed and tutted down the line about “warnings, dammit!” and Remy sent him a single text. Call me as soon as you can, please.
His vision blurred as he stared at the phone clutched in his hand. That didn’t sound very encouraging, and Ash wasn’t certain he was ready to deal with it.
Besides, any conversation with Remy would take time, and he wouldn’t have any of that until later. First he had several hours of autographs to work through.
Unsurprisingly, plenty of fans wanted to talk about Zvi, but Ash didn’t mind. He would always love the character. But a gratifying number of people picked the promotional photo of Hamish and Niall and beamed at him as they told him how awesome he was for doing Mythfits and for his honesty and how excited they were to hear Ash was “one of them.”
One of them. He was one of them, part of a group, and not alone. Every single one of them teared him up, but he didn’t cry, thank God—at least, not until he and Etta hid in their room.
As he sat down, the tears welled up and fell. Rapidly.
Etta wrapped her arms around him. “What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, nothing, am…. Shite.” He sniffed. “Ah’m happy.” He smiled at her.
Etta pulled away, laughed, and punched him in the arm. “Dick.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad. About damned time.”
It really, really was.
Etta shuffled off to order them some dinner.
The clock read barely half seven, early enough to call Remy.
He texted Langston a heads-up, despite it being the wee hours in Scotland—though he suspected the news had hit Twitter before bedtime in Glasgow.
He should call Remy. He had some apologies to deliver. But how could he do it over the phone? It was definitely not the right medium for saying certain things for the first time.
His stomach swooped. He couldn’t believe he was debating the best way to tell Remy—
No. In person was better. He should put it off, tell Remy that their conversation would wait.
He settled on the couch with Etta, and after several long knee-jiggling moments, he gave in—to the pressure of Etta’s hand on his knee and to the niggling in his gut—and texted Remy.
I’m free now.
He clutched his phone and waited for an answer. He stared blankly at the TV. Whatev
er was playing didn’t help time pass faster.
A knock sounded on the door, and Etta poked him. “I gotta go to the bathroom, you answer.”
Ash grumbled but accepted the distraction. Anything was better than ruminating on Remy and whether or not Ash could fix things, even fetching burgers from a bellhop.
He opened the door—and found Remy, wringing his hands, a frown marring his pretty features.
Ash’s mouth dropped open and he stared. Remy was meant to be a border and a three-hour drive away.
“Please tell me you didn’t just come out to the whole fucking world because of me,” Remy said by way of hello, his voice tight and unhappy.
“I didn’t come out to the whole bloody world because of you,” he repeated numbly. Oh God, did Remy drive here after the panel? “What are you doing here?”
“I came for the con,” he snapped and pushed into the room. Ash stumbled back, and they turned to face each other. Remy’s unhappy frown had morphed into something thunderous. “Goddammit, Ash. This isn’t a fucking joke,” he snapped. “This isn’t television, you can’t come out as a romantic gesture. This is your life. People aren’t going to fucking forget!”
“Hey,” Ash mumbled. Did Remy think him that stupid? “Hey, numpty.” Remy pressed his lips tight and fidgeted with the cuff of the hockey hoodie he wore for comfort. “No, I didnae come out for you.” Ash took a deep breath. “I did it for me and only for me.”
Remy stilled and looked Ash in the eye. “Yeah?”