Glory Falls

by Janine Rosche

  As the announcer read the names of the films and the screenwriters, the teleprompter scrolled to her next line.

  The winner for this year’s best original screenplay is . . . *Open envelope and read winner*

  Blue glanced down to her hands. Her empty hands. The envelope. What had she done with the envelope? The crew member had given it to her when she waited in the wing stage left. She’d held it in her right hand. Then Hunter had appeared and, like an earthquake, had sent a fissure through her. And she’d put the envelope down on the water table, twenty long steps away.

  The announcer finished reading the names. Blue stared straight ahead. She’d messed up. Ahead of her, Thomas’s smile faded. He couldn’t save her from this embarrassment. Not from his seat, and from the looks of it, he knew it. Then, his eyes shifted to where Blue had entered the stage. Whispers filtered from the crowd.

  An arm slid around her waist, and a kiss pressed against her cheek.

  “Hey, babe,” Hunter said, loud enough for the microphone to pick up. “Sorry I was late. Los Angeles traffic is the worst. Am I right?” He grinned at the crowd, giving them time to join in on the quip. Then he held out the envelope, winked, and cinched her closer to him. “You do the honors.”

  Blue accepted the envelope tentatively, keeping her focus down. She couldn’t look at Thomas right now. After breaking the seal, she removed the card. “And the winner for Best Original Screenplay is . . . Waning Hours, screenwriters Amara Schilling and Dev Frazier.”

  The remaining moments onstage blurred. The winners’ speeches melded into music, and the spotlights heated Blue’s skin to scorching. And her ex-husband remained at her side, far too close, and wearing enough cologne to mar the air she desperately needed.

  It wasn’t until two commercial breaks later that she was able to get back to her seat. Thomas sat rigidly, his expression stoic. The moment she took her seat, he surrendered the armrest to her. Of course. The only person she humiliated more than herself was still thinking about her comfort over his.

  “Thomas, I’m so sor—”

  “How can I help you best right now?”

  The words gentled her soul, whisking away the oppressive fog. She had no doubt that whatever she asked, he would do, no matter what it cost him personally. She chewed her lip, careful with her request. “Will you . . . hold my hand?”

  Within seconds, steady warmth pressed against her palm. As the orchestra picked up again, his fingers closed around hers until the slight trembles disappeared. After the winner of the next award was announced, Thomas released her hand in order to clap. The disappointment sank deep in her gut, but he retook her hand in both of his once the applause was over. This time, though, he seemed to be studying how their fingers aligned. When outstretched, her fingers were more narrow and shorter than his. When folded, her knuckles provided the perfect landscape for him to run his thumb across. At some point, he ceased paying attention to the awards show entirely. His entire focus pinned onto her, and she soaked in each caress and the tender way his copper eyes blanketed her with attention.

  Hunter had been mistaken. Thomas might not toss around affection often, but when he finally allowed himself a flirtation, it was zeroed in on her. Not costars or models or entertainment reporters. While the rest of Hollywood celebrated big achievements in the movie industry, the night for Thomas and Blue became a series of small intimate moments, with few words, many shared glances, and touches so tender and light that Blue nearly melted into her seat.

  By the time Josie Delacourt appeared on stage to present the final award of the night—Best Picture—Blue could almost taste the kiss Thomas still had not repeated since New Year’s. Separated only by the armrest, they sat close enough to meet each other’s lips. A temptation that only grew when the theater’s lights dimmed to play a video montage of the nominees. With every passing second, more and more of the awards-show attendees faded from view. For all Blue cared, it was only them in the large theater. Yes, she was captivated by him. So much so that she almost didn’t notice the man marching down the aisle toward Josie. What had Hunter said about an obsessive fan? Could this be him?

  Thomas, though, released Blue’s hand and stood when the man bounded up the steps.

  The dimmed lights glinted off the knife in the man’s hand moments before he lunged at Josie. She jerked away from the attack, but the scream that followed made it clear she hadn’t escaped unharmed.

  Thomas leaped over Blue, where she sat stunned in her seat watching Glory, er Josie, collapse and the man take off backstage with Hunter sprinting after him. While the entire crowd gasped, Thomas alone went to the young actress’s aid. He stripped off his tuxedo jacket and pressed it to the spot where the blood crept across the pale pink fabric of her dress.

  It took several minutes for the arriving paramedics to get the gurney through the terrified crowd. During that time, Thomas was able to curb some of the bleeding while Blue did her best to calm Josie’s panicked wails. After they loaded her up for transfer to the hospital, they (and a myriad of others) praised Thomas for saving Josie’s life with his quick action.

  According to witnesses, the suspect was no match for Hunter in strength or speed. Hunter apprehended and contained the attacker before he reached the theater’s back door. The note he dropped on the stage just after the stabbing proved that it was, in fact, the man who’d been stalking Josie for months.

  The unease lasted long after the police and ambulance left. Considering it bad taste to carry on in light of the attack, the producers decided that the final award would be announced and presented to the winning film cast and crew after Josie’s condition was ascertained. The night was over. By the time Thomas and Blue returned to their hotel rooms to wash the blood from their skin, everyone in the country knew the name Thomas Beck.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The next day, at Josie’s request, Thomas stood at the foot of her hospital bed and accepted her thanks for saving her life. The adored actress had received more stuffed animals and gifts than the room could hold, and arrangements were being made for donations to a local elementary school. Thomas, of course, was not impressed with himself. If he hadn’t been so intensely focused on Blue’s lips when the video began playing, he might have seen the man and his intentions sooner. This time his failure harmed the nineteen-year-old actress in front of him. What if next time his foolishness hurt Blue?

  That feeling only worsened as they left the room and the nurses and other visitors told him Nice job and What a hero. Even Teddy called Thomas up to congratulate him and thank him for bringing such great press to the movie. It had put the filming in hurry-up mode to make good on the publicity. As soon as the permit to begin shooting in the town of West Yellowstone was approved, they would dive right in—by June, Teddy hoped.

  Still, Thomas felt like he was losing the little control he’d had over the situation. He shouldn’t give in to his desire for Blue. She needed to focus on regaining her career. And the stronger his feelings for her became, the more he risked hurting her in the long run. Not to mention himself. He didn’t understand it. He’d dated Hallie for nine months and never once let himself feel any emotion beyond basic appreciation and respect. It honestly hadn’t been that hard to keep things simple and compartmentalized with any of the other women he dated.

  Yet, Blue had his brain in knots. And being in California while trying to figure it all out wasn’t helping. Neither were the newspaper articles or Internet posts people kept sending him. Pics of Blue onstage with her philandering ex-husband’s arm around her paired with pictures of her and Thomas sitting together in the audience, along with the headline “Which Hero Will Cecelia Choose?” The fact remained, Blue wanted to come back here. This is where her dream existed.

  But as for him, the sooner he returned to Montana, the better. Maybe a quiet, uneventful night with Molly’s counseling ear would help him sort these wretchedly messy feelings. But
they still had one more night in LA before that would become a reality, and unfortunately, they planned on attending a dinner at Taylor Grand’s house along with a few other famous people Thomas didn’t recognize apart from Blue’s stories.

  “Welcome back to my home, Thomas, Blue.” Taylor seemed to have turned the volume down on his normally excited personality after the awards show’s turn of events. He accepted their jackets and ushered them into a wing of the home that Thomas hadn’t seen yesterday. The great room was impressive in and of itself, but it couldn’t compare to the sight of the sun setting on the Pacific Ocean through a two-story-high wall of windows.

  Thomas tried to lengthen his spine, but it was of no use. How on earth did Blue ever act impressed with him, his job, his home, and so forth, when this was the world she came from? A silver Great Dane with black markings jogged over to greet them. Finally, someone Thomas could relate to. Thomas bent over to welcome the animal, but a loud ticking noise halted the dog in place.

  “Come,” Taylor called.

  The dog lowered his head and switched direction, instead coming to Taylor’s side. Once he received a quick pat, he was ordered to his crate. Of course the dog immediately disappeared into another room. The dog listened the first time. And he had a full set of legs, too.

  No, Thomas’s small life couldn’t compare to this picture-perfect tableau.

  And yet, Blue held tight to Thomas’s arm. Not Hunter’s. Not Taylor’s.

  “Everyone else should be here soon,” Taylor said. “My chef said hors d’oeuvres will be right out. Feel free to give yourselves a tour or check out the patio. I need to make a quick phone call to Japan. Then, I’ll find you.” The man exited the room via a third doorway. How many exits did this place have? It was a firefighter’s dream. Well, maybe not. It was probably a maze, but if all the rooms had an ocean view, at least he’d know which way was west.

  “Oh, Thomas . . .” Blue said, not even trying to hide her snicker.

  “What?”

  “The look on your face.”

  “Sorry. Not trying to be rude.”

  “I know. Taylor knows how ridiculous this life of his is. Now my other friends? They are clueless that anything exists outside of Southern California . . . unless they’ve filmed a movie there.”

  “Great.”

  “Come on,” she said. She tugged him westward. “Let’s check out the sunset.”

  He followed her out onto the patio. The sight was extraordinary. To their left, a pool appeared to spill right over the edge of a cliff. Two hundred feet below, rocky beaches stretched wide.

  A question niggled him. He tried to push it as far away from his lips as he could.

  “Go ahead and say what you have to say.” Blue bumped his hip with hers.

  “Was your house like this?”

  Blue kicked the toe of her sandal against the stone beneath her feet. “It wasn’t oceanfront. The cliffs made me nervous, having a child and all. Plus, I had wanted Ella to have a swing set, so instead of a pool, we had a big yard. I planned to teach her soccer out there. And football,” she said with a grin.

  “This is what you want? After this movie is a success, you want to return to this life, right?”

  “I thought I did. I loved my life here—before the accident, I mean. After years of feeling like an outcast, I finally fit in. As I was mourning Ella and my crumbling marriage, I spent so much time searching for my purpose for living. I had the whole script written out in my head. I’d take some time to rest back in Montana, to remember who I was before I lost my way. Then I’d come back here, buy a small cottage where I could write by day, walk the beach at sunset, and reclaim my place.” She worked her jaw. “But after last night—no, after the past few months, actually—it’s not so simple.”

  “How so?”

  The golden light bathed her face in new hues. “That story feels a bit hollow without you in it.”

  Behind them, a door slid open. “The good time’s here.” The voice was too familiar, even to Thomas. Hunter Dean Lawrence was always given the more eye-rolling lines to speak in his superhero movies. Not that Thomas ever watched them, but he’d seen the commercials enough to have a good idea of the junk the guy put out.

  “What are you doing here, Hunter?” Blue asked. “I’m going to kill Taylor.”

  “Now, now. Don’t kill him. I invited myself once I knew you’d be here.”

  “I told you. I’m not going to talk to you about—”

  “Not you, sweetheart. If I’m going to be playing your boyfriend, I need to spend some time getting to know him.”

  An hour later, Thomas poked at the sea urchin meat—if you could call it that—with his fork. The vegetables weren’t any more appealing. All of it was foreign to Thomas. In California, even the broccoli was tall and skinny. Sorry, Broccolini. The second he got back to Montana, he was grilling himself a rib eye, medium-rare with a heaping load of mashed potatoes and gravy. One more way Thomas knew he didn’t belong in this world. And if this was where Blue wanted to be . . .

  The few bites he’d already forced down threatened to find their way back up. He swallowed several gulps of water. Once he lowered the glass, he caught Blue staring at him, the stance of her right brow higher than her left, and her lips pursed. She was worrying about him again when she should be doing whatever it took to reclaim her career, even if it meant schmoozing this group.

  Veronica Moyer, a Brooklyn native who had managed to contort her voice into an almost British dialect, was still droning on about her latest publicity tour. On her right, a man who looked like a younger, snootier version of Tom Cruise swirled his wine around the bottom of his glass as he listened to her story. Taylor had been joined by his date—a television star whose name Thomas had immediately forgotten. The two of them seemed set on reminding the rest of the dinner party that they were in fact allergic to oxygen, and the only antidote was a regular dose of the other person’s saliva.

  Thomas rested his knife and fork on the plate and pushed it a few inches toward the center of the table. Across from Blue, Hunter lounged back in his chair, focused intently on Blue’s face. He’d arrived alone. No Ilsa. And obviously no Josie. She was still in the hospital, but the incident had made her an even bigger media darling, which, to this group, made nearly dying worth it.

  Blue jerked in her chair, inching it back a bit and tucking her feet between the legs. Had Hunter tried playing footsie with her? Likely, considering how Blue now fussed with the hair at her nape.

  Hunter responded with a dumb smirk as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. But this time, his stare landed on Thomas. “Beck, why don’t you tell us more about you? I’m sure we’d all love a little preview of the movie Blue has written. I bet it’s extraordinary.”

  “Hunter,” Blue said, lowering a warning glare in his direction.

  “No, really. Everyone wants to know.”

  All eyes fell on him. The only sound that drifted over was the ridiculous water feature in the middle of the great room.

  Thomas wet his lips. “I guess you could say I’m in the right place at the right time a lot.”

  “It’s more than that.” Blue’s admiration of him had never made sense, especially here when she was surrounded by such extravagant wealth. Still, she quirked a grin. “Thomas is the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

  “But he wasn’t always. When you used to talk about him, you only mentioned how fearful and tentative he was. You were the adventurous one.” Hunter turned to the rest of the dinner party. “You see, Blue and Thomas were best friends growing up. And Blue used to do all these silly things to make him forget how pathetic his life was.”

  “Hunter! What’s gotten into you?” Blue shrieked.

  “It’s true. You told me how you hung out with him because you pitied him. How your parents watched over him because of his bad home life.”
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  Every muscle in Thomas’s body tensed. He held eye contact with Hunter. If he looked at Blue, his heart might actually break a little bit. Maybe he was worthy of pity as a kid. He hadn’t thought much of it. He only knew his home, his family. If it was bad, then, well, he’d done what he had to do to look out for Cassie. If Blue, her parents, or anyone else pitied him because of it, oh well. What bothered him more was learning that she’d told Hunter about him in those terms. As if everything they’d experienced together as kids was used to draw her closer to another man. Even worse, a man who’d taken that trust and gutted her with it.

  “I forget,” Hunter continued, despite the rest of the guests shifting in their seats. “Was it dead parents? Abusive parents? No . . . I remember. They abandoned you.” Hunter blew out a loud breath and shook his head. “No wonder Blue felt sorry for you. And no wonder she’s trying to help you out now. Maybe you can use your paycheck to fix up the little shack you live in. Isn’t that how you described the house, Blue? A shack? You don’t still live there, do you?”

  Taylor placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “I think that’s enough wine for you, Hunter. Who’s up for a screening? I got my hands on the latest Marvel movie before its release. If you promise not to share spoilers to the media, we can all move to the theater downstairs—”

  Hunter jerked his shoulder, bucking off Taylor’s hand. “These questions are necessary for research. How else am I supposed to play the man my wife is shacking up with?”

  “Shacking up?” Blue asked. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “What? Do you suddenly have some new morals, Blue, that I don’t know about? How long was it before you climbed into my bed? A month?”

  Blue’s cheeks blazed red. “Hunter, please . . .”

  Thomas had the urge to stand, climb over the table, and punch Hunter’s face. A face that was rumored to be insured for two million dollars. “That’s enough. Blue doesn’t want to hear any more.”