As my mind played out potential scenarios that hadn’t even happened yet, Ryson Miller entered through one of the stage doors and lit up the whole damn room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to watch him confidently stride across the concrete floor.
My stomach flip-flopped, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his lean frame even if I wanted to. Only eighteen and he already has this much charisma? Holy shit.
Ryson’s mussed brown hair fell into his eyes, making him seem less like a celebrity and more approachable. When he caught sight of me, a smile broke out across his face. Before I even realized it, I was smiling back at him like a love-struck groupie instead of giving him my usual professional smile.
He plopped down in the chair next to mine that had his name stenciled on the back of it, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Ryson,” he said, as if I didn’t know his name already.
When his big hand wrapped around mind, warmth immediately flowed through my body at his touch. Ryson was so much hotter in person than I’d expected him to be, and I found myself a little rattled by his presence.
As he squeezed my hand, my gaze fell to his lips, which were incredibly kissable. Thank God we had multiple kissing scenes in this film so I could get well acquainted with them.
“Quinn,” I said softly, hoping my voice didn’t sound as dreamy as I felt.
Ryson studied me for a second before he let out a long breath. “God, you’re even prettier in person.” Holding my gaze, he leaned forward to kiss the top of my hand.
The beginnings of a blush crept over my cheeks, but then I froze as I noticed his brown eyes were glassy, so dark they were nearly black because his pupils were dilated. He was fucked up—on what, I wasn’t sure, but he was definitely on something.
Leaning toward him, I whispered, “Are you on something?” I kept my voice quiet, not wanting to get him in trouble or to mess up our shooting schedule.
He smirked, lifting his eyebrows briefly. “You want? We can take a hit in my trailer.”
Intense disappointment swept over me. I hadn’t realized until now how much I’d wanted the rumors to be wrong. I wanted to hate Ryson for his weakness, to make my body stop responding to him the way that it was, but apparently I was no longer in control of those things.
Dropping his hand, I said, “I don’t do that stuff.”
He cocked his head to the side. “What stuff, exactly?”
“Any of it.” I frowned and shook my head. “I don’t do any of it.”
“Never?”
I leaned away from him and sat up straighter. “Never.”
“Not even once?”
Is my reaction really so hard to believe? “No.”
“You’re a good girl then, eh? I could use a good girl in my life.”
Disappointed, I looked away as I said flatly, “Well, good luck finding one.”
“I thought I just did.”
I turned back toward him, my face dead serious as I pointed at him. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I would never date someone like you, Ryson Miller. It’s a shame that all the stuff they say about you and drugs is true. I really wish it wasn’t.”
He sucked in a breath and swallowed hard, his expression as hurt as if I’d physically slapped him. “Well, what if it wasn’t? What if I stopped?”
“Then maybe I’d consider it.” I shrugged. “But if it’s so easy to stop, then why haven’t you?”
The smirk reappeared as he said, “I’ve never had a reason to before.”
“Seriously? I’m sure that charm works on every other girl in this industry, but I’m not every other girl.”
I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as I looked away, willing myself to be irritated instead of sweet on him. Ryson studied me for a second before he laughed, a happy, carefree sound that filled the air, my ears, my heart.
“You’re definitely not like every other girl. But seriously, Quinn, I’ve never wanted to stop. Maybe you’ll help me see the error of my ways, make me a better person and all that jazz.”
He sounded so sincere that I glanced back at him. When I did, he winked, and for some reason it really pissed me off.
“You should really want all that for yourself,” I spat back in a low voice. “You shouldn’t need a reason to quit other than you want to stop being an idiot and ruining your life.”
I shook my head, furious that Ryson was so self-indulgent. Hopefully he wouldn’t be a total waste during our shoot. His actions could completely ruin this movie for us, and I’d be damned if I let him do that.
“You’re making this difficult,” he said with a groan.
“Well, I’m not a miracle worker.”
“I think you might be.”
A production assistant shuffled past us as she crossed the stage, her black ponytail bobbing from side to side as she mumbled something into the microphone attached to her headpiece. Catching Ryson’s eye as she passed, she lifted her chin and said, “Ryson, you’re needed in makeup.”
Ryson pushed himself out of his chair and stood in front of me, settling his body between my legs and leaning in close enough that I could smell his spearmint gum.
“If I feel about you at the end of this movie the way I feel about you right now, I’ll never touch another drug for the rest of my life. And you, Quinn Johnson, will be my girl for all of it.”
My cheeks burned as I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. Something in my chest tightened, making it hard for me to breathe. No guy had ever been so direct with me before, so demanding and bossy, and I hated how much I liked it.
An uncomfortable laugh sputtered from me. “Are you always this cocky?”
“Only when I see something I want,” he said, his tone serious. “Better watch out.”
With those words, Ryson walked away and left me staring after him with my mouth hanging open.
What the hell have I just gotten myself into?
Two
Ryson
Quinn Johnson was like a dream; a teenage boy’s fantasy girl. Hell, she probably was every teenage boy’s fantasy girl.
I lied when I told her that I’d never wanted to stop using. There’s nothing I’ve wanted more than to stop doing the shit drugs I’m doing, but I’m having problems with that. It wasn’t as easy as I figured it would be to quit once I’d started.
I should have never fucking started. But it’s too late for that now. What’s done is done, and all that. Contrary to certain tabloid reports, I haven’t been using since I was twelve. Twelve, seriously? My drug habit is something I’ve more recently acquired. My dad ditched my mom and me, claiming he’d had enough of this crazy lifestyle and her overly-controlling ways. He packed his bags one night, moved out and I haven’t heard from him since.
Expecting my mom to break down, I braced myself to pick up all of her broken pieces, but she never did. She never even cried; not a single tear. I remembered how she sucked in a long, deep breath, took one look at me and told me we were going to be okay. Then she hugged me, too hard really, before walking into her bedroom and closing the door.
I pressed my ear to the white paneled wood to hear if she was breaking down the way I wanted too, but I didn’t hear a thing. Not a single sound. I wasn’t sure what she was doing in there, but it sure as hell wasn’t crying. So I convinced myself that night that if my mom wasn’t crying over my dad leaving, then I sure as shit couldn’t cry about it either.
That was a little over six months ago and I had been in the middle of shooting a film locally in the Los Angeles area. Normally we would have all been in a hotel on location, but dad had the courtesy of leaving us from the comfort of our own home.
Thanks buddy.
Instead of getting emotional over the whole thing, I started acting out on set; messing up my lines on purpose, throwing things; just being an all-around dick to get attention. Anyone’s attention seemed better than nothing. Anger took over and I found myself pissed off more than anything else. My co-stars noticed, asked what the hell was
wrong with the happy go lucky kid they’d been working with a few days back and after spilling my guts, they decided I needed some help to feel happy again. They introduced me to cocaine and a few of her friends. Trusting my fellow actor’s words about the drugs being there when I needed and stopping anytime, I tried it.
And then I tried it again.
And again.
And I never wanted to stop.
Because everything was right in the world as long as I was high. It was the best fucking feeling in the whole damn galaxy, but it didn’t last. And I spent my time chasing the way the drugs made me feel the first time. And that was an unattainable goal, but it didn’t stop me from trying to reach it.
As long as I was high, I felt invincible; happy and didn’t give two shits that my dad had left us for what seemed like no reason at all. Plus, I felt like myself again. No. Scratch that. I felt like an even better version of myself. Coked up Ryson was happier, a better actor, a better friend, a better son, a better human! Everything was better as long as I was using.
The shoot ended and I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. Nothing felt worse than coming down from that high. I’d never felt so low, so inferior, so helpless. No one warned me what it would be like to stop. I’m not placing blame, I’m just saying. I was fucking clueless about this shit and what it would do to my mind.
So here I am; still addicted, still hoping I’ll be able to stop, and not really knowing how. I’ve tried, but it’s been a half-assed effort at best. I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know how to quit. I probably need help, but a stint in rehab isn’t on the agenda considering my calendar is booked solid for the next thirteen months.
I hope I’ll still be alive in thirteen months.
If I’m dead, I can’t date Quinn Johnson and dating her is definitely in the plans.
Three
Quinn
Ryson stopped doing whatever it was that he was doing. Or at least he attempted too. I don’t think he even realized how truly addicted he was until he started having withdrawals during one of our playful scenes. We were supposed to be flirting while he pushed me on a swing, but instead of smiling and being sweet, Ryson’s smile looked pained; unnatural even as my body flew back and forth through the air.
“Cut,” the director yelled, massaging her temples with her fingers as she glared at us. “Ryson, you’re supposed to be happy in this scene. You’re flirting, having fun. Stop looking like your dog just died.”
I turned my body in the swing and forced myself to look at him; really look at him. He wasn’t okay, sweat covered his brow and I was overcome with an intense desire to help him. “I’m sorry, but can I borrow him really quick? We’ll be right back, I promise,” I asked the director and waited for her okay before I hopped off the swing and reached for Ryson’s hand. Pulling him through the stage doors, I led him into my otherwise empty trailer.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked in a sympathetic voice as I closed the door shut tight behind us.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you shaking and sweating like it’s a thousand degrees in there?” It wasn’t.
He shifted on his feet, “You know how hot the lights are. They always make me sweat.”
I realized then exactly what was going on. “Ryson, I know what you’re trying to do.”
“And what’s that?” he tried to act coy, but his arms started shaking as he avoided eye contact with me.
“Don’t play games with me. You stopped using. Am I right?”
He swallowed hard and I watched as his adams apple bobbed up and down in this throat before he nodded without saying a word.
“I love that you’re trying to get clean right now. Truly, I do. But I don’t think it’s the right time,” I confessed, hating myself for basically telling him to stay on the drugs while we’re filming. What kind of person encourages someone to stay high?
“No better time than the present,” he tried to joke as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
I looked him dead in the eyes and waited until he looked at me too. “I mean it. You can’t do this by yourself and you can’t do this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” he reached for my hand and I pulled it out of his grasp.
“I’m not equipped to deal with this. I don’t know what to do,” I practically shouted, my inability to control the situation getting the best of me.
“So what are you saying right now? Why are we in your trailer?” he looked around like he was utterly confused.
“I’m saying that you need a professional. You need professional help, Ryson. And I promise that I’ll help you get it as soon as we’re done filming. Do you think you can get through the next few weeks?”
I had just put my career ahead of Ryson Miller’s personal wellbeing. Maybe it was the fear of knowing all too well what happened to movies when one of the leads messed up and it got canned? Or maybe this was an ugly side of me I never realized I had before now?
“You promise you’ll help? You won’t leave me?” his dark eyes met mine and I fought off the overwhelming urge to wrap him in my arms and never let go. I wondered if he had anyone at all who cared about him.
“I won’t leave you. I’ll help you. Okay?” I said, the words a promise as I spoke them. A promise I wouldn’t break if we made it through this shoot in one piece.
“Okay. But what should I do right now? I feel like shit,” he admitted and I shrugged.
“I don’t know? Just do enough of whatever you’re doing to maintain, or be normal,” I felt my face twist into a confused expression. “Find a balance? Is that possible?”
What the hell did I know about doing drugs and balancing them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And what the hell was I doing? If Ryson died, that would be on me and I’d never forgive myself.
“I think so,” he exhaled and an expression of relief crossed his face. “I’m sorry Quinn. I tried.”
“I know, it’s just not the right time for you to try and quit cold turkey. I don’t think it works like that. Just please. Please don’t die on me.”
“Why would I die on you?” He huffed out a small laugh before his demeanor shifted once again. “Shit, you were there when Sissy died, weren’t you? I’m sorry Quinn, I completely forgot about that.” Ryson reached out and placed a clammy hand on top of mine.
My mind raced back to being on set with Sissy Turner when I was twelve. At seventeen years old, Sissy was cast as my older sister and I had idolized her on and off the screen for as long as I could remember. She overdosed in her trailer and died during a fifteen minute break for lighting adjustments.
The movie, which was highly anticipated and talked about being nominated for awards season, was scrapped completely. Management briefly considered a recast, but everyone claimed that they were too devastated to go on and that no one could replace Sissy. I had never had a movie simply thrown away like that before, and I had worked my ass off to secure that coveted role.
“It was awful. And then they threw the movie out, like it never existed. Like she never existed,” I shook my head at the memories and glanced down at the floor, not wanting history to repeat itself. If Ryson died, they’d probably throw away this movie too and then I’d somehow be known as the girl who killed her cast-mates or some other screwed up headline that sold magazines. Although in this scenario, I would be to blame. I’d be labeled a curse and people who used to be my friends would refuse to work with me. The entire fake scenario played out in my head until Ryson spoke again, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“I remember that too. I always thought it was messed up that they canned the whole thing instead of recasting.”
“Well, production schedules, time, money and all that. You know how it is,” I exhaled and rolled my eyes.
“I know. Which is why I really appreciate you doing this for me Quinn. I don’t want this project shelved, and I don’t want to be recast. I promise I won’t die. I’ll just do a little tiny bit to get by.
Okay?”
He asked me for permission that I had no right to give, but fear ruled my head as I answered, “Okay.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He ran out of my trailer to do whatever it was that he needed to do. I was smarter than this and I knew it. I knew that I enabled him by not getting him help immediately, or saying something to an adult so that they could do something helpful, but in my past, the adults were usually the ones who provided the drugs in the first place. And ever since the incident when I was ten, I stopped trusting those in power positions, not believing that they had my best interest at heart.
I realized quickly as a kid that this was work and it wasn’t personal. The majority of people on set didn’t give two shits about my well-being and I was sure they felt the same way about Ryson’s. We only had each other and I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing because we both believed in this project so much that we didn’t want to see anything bad happen to it.
This business could be cutthroat and vicious, replacing you in a flash instead of helping, so we played hardball with Ryson’s life and I prayed to God we weren’t making a mistake.
Four
Ryson
I was grateful that Quinn was my co-star on this movie. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else right now. Considering the fact that I was a fucking mess, trying not to ruin both of our careers, I was thankful that she put up with me at all. Having Quinn around calmed me, settled my bones when they started to rattle. There was something about her presence that made me feel like everything would be okay again.
After the shoot.
Always after the shoot.
I understood though. Quinn wasn’t wrong in asking me to maintain my high until we were done filming. At least I didn’t blame her for wanting me to be able to get through it. We only had three weeks left of shooting and then I’d figure out how to kick this damn habit once and for all. She said she’d help me and damn it to hell if I didn’t plan on holding her to that. It was beyond my control, how much I needed her in my life.
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