A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1)

by Beth Matthews

  "Guys?" Tierney gazed warily between the two of them.

  Max wheeled so his back faced Lachlan. If he had to watch that smug, sneering face for one more second . . .

  "They didn't have any bottled water around," Tierney said, her voice chipper. "So I washed one of the prop pitchers and some glasses so you guys would have water after your fight."

  "Thanks, Tee," Max muttered.

  "Thank you, Tierney," Lachlan said.

  Rolling his shoulders, trying to shed the awful rage twisting like a windstorm inside him, Max started warming up. He and Nicola had warmed up their voices together in the car, but Max did a couple stretches and push-ups, pumping blood into his muscles, loosening up. Marginally calmer, he stripped off his street clothes and stepped into his own leather kilt and boots. Keeping his voice neutral, Max said to Lachlan, "We should do a run-through onstage."

  "We don't need to do a run-through," Lachlan snapped. "I remember the fight just fine."

  "I remember the fight too, jack ass. But we should still block it out on this stage."

  Lachlan eyes were narrowed, full of contempt. "I need a smoke." He strolled past Max, bumping his shoulder as he jerked the dressing room door open.

  Tierney pounded the make-up counter, looking ready to spit. "Lachlan, we don't have time for you to smoke!"

  Lachlan pretended not to hear her and went outside. The dressing room door slammed after his exit, and they could hear the street door slam to a second later.

  "Ugh." Tierney dug her fingers into her hair and pulled. "We don't have time for this prima donna shit. What the hell is wrong with him today?"

  "Judith gave me Henry V two days ago," Max said. And Lach didn't seem to know that Max had promptly lost the part a few hours later.

  "Henry V? Henry V? So?" Tierney gasped, barreling toward all-out hysterics. "Lach's lost parts before without throwing a hissy like this. Why is he doing it now? And why is he doing this to me?"

  I think he's really doing it to me, but Max bit his tongue on that retort. Tierney wasn't likely to be reasonable with anyone who was screwing with the show, and one high-strung, overly dramatic type mad at him today was plenty. "I'll talk to Lach," Max said.

  "You do that." Tierney started cleaning the counter, throwing things into her make up cart, slamming lids, working herself into a near Lachlan-level hissy it seemed.

  Max fled outside to see if at least one of the prima donnas had recovered.

  Lachlan was hunched on the small steps outside, one hand threaded into his hair, the other limp against his knees, holding a cigarette which was turning to ash without even being smoked.

  As Max opened the door, Lachlan jumped and straightened from his curled posture. He indulged in a long drag of his cigarette then puffed the smoke out in rings – cocky and showing off once more. Max frowned, unable to shake the image that Lachlan had looked distraught for one second before he'd settled his smirking persona into place.

  "We have to talk," Max said.

  "I prefer not to," Lachlan replied, blowing another smoke ring.

  Max growled. Goddamn Lachlan. "Look, I know something is going on with you, but I didn't appreciate the shit you tried to pull with Nic the other day. It was disrespectful to me and, from what I understand, disrespectful to her too. We've been friends a long time but that was fucking not OK, Lachlan."

  Lachlan shifted, giving him a small glance over his shoulder. He cocked his head as if they were having a polite chat. "I'm sorry, my memory is so faulty. What 'shit' are you referring to?"

  "You made a move on Nicola."

  "Did I?" Lachlan blew another smoke ring.

  Max's teeth were grinding together, his muscles straining with the effort of holding onto his rage, of not punching Lachlan in the head. "Forget it. See you onstage, asshole."

  "I look forward to it." Lachlan stubbed his cigarette out on the concrete then tossed the butt over the side of the stairs. He stood and squared up to Max. His nostrils were flared, his jaw tight with rage.

  Violet popped her head out of the door, Tierney at her shoulder. "Max? Lach?" Violet said. "We need you."

  "Um . . . " Tierney murmured, glancing back and forth at the two of them.

  "Great." Max shoved through the back door past the two women to get his armor.

  "Fantastic," Lachlan growled and followed him.

  Max put on his armor, glaring at Lachlan all the while. Game on.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nicola stood in the wings with Tierney and watched the auditorium fill with students. Several hundred chattering, shrieking high school kids. Nicola blinked and had one of those odd life moments where she realized even the older students really did look like kids to her. Even a few years ago she wouldn't have thought of them as such. Does that make me an official grown-up then? She snorted, laughing at herself.

  Max and Lachlan were on the opposite side of the stage from her. They stood stiff and not speaking to each other. Both men were keeping their muscles warm, Max bouncing from foot to foot like a boxer before a bout, Lachlan swinging his arms and stretching.

  Nicola poked Tierney and gestured toward the two men. "Do you think they'll be all right?"

  "Sure. Yeah." Tierney was chewing her lip in a very un-Tierney sort of way. "They did this fight choreography for months last year. Matinees. Evening performances. Fives shows a week. I'm sure they haven't forgotten."

  "That's not what I meant."

  The lights in the auditorium dimmed and, like the good audience members they'd been trained to be, almost all the kids fell silent at once.

  Isabelle stepped to fill center stage and a spotlight came up on her. All of the teachers and some of the students, who probably recognized her from her film work, applauded. She gave a brief, acknowledging nod then launched into her spiel, "Hello, everyone," she began, her voice throaty and soothing. "Thank you for having us here today." Her eyes crinkled with pleasure, her charm and poise filling the whole space as she told them about the RSF: the programs they offered for students and educators, the shows they were putting on.

  Wrapping up her sales pitch, Isabelle swept her hands in a graceful invitation to the audience. "Today we're going to give you all a backstage peek at some of the work we put into creating a theater performance. You'll be hearing from our production crew, directors and, of course, actors, singers and dancers such as yourselves.

  "To start us off, we're going to show you the final product, a single scene acted full out with lights, costumes, emotion. Then we'll step back and deconstruct the steps to show how we got there. But for now: sit back, relax, and enjoy." She gave a small wave and stepped out of the spotlight.

  The lights dimmed then came up on the bare stage. Lachlan entered stage right with a purposeful stride, moving like a warrior, carrying himself like a king. He balanced the flat of his blade on two fingers, staring at it contemplatively as he spoke, "'Why should I play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword?'"

  He did some swift, dexterous maneuver with his hands, tossing the blade up, and the metal twirled through the air, catching the stage lights and blinding the audience with brightness. He caught the hilt with one hand and made a feint toward the first row, grinning. "'Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them.'"

  Nicola curled her arms around herself as goose pimples popped along her skin. Barely ten feet separated her and the actors onstage, and a strange sense of danger prickled over her, as if anything could happen.

  Max's heavy tread pounded the boards of the stage as he entered in character as Macduff. He seemed even burlier, brawny in his chainmail, but Lachlan looked formidable too. They appeared evenly matched; Macduff's brawn against Macbeth's speed and cunning. The leather of their clothing creaked as the two men shifted their weight. The boards of the stage groaned as if in anticipation of the violence to come.

  Max uttered Macduff's iconic first line, "'Turn, hellhound, turn,'" his voice deep and resonant, filling the whole theater.

  Energy crack
led between the two men, a ripple of power and rage. Nicola's skin itched with anticipation, and she peeked to see the high school kids were equally entranced. The two combatants circled each other, their swords scraping with a scree of metal that sent a chill along her spine.

  "'I have no words,'" Max, as Macduff, said, "'my voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out.'" He launched himself at Lachlan, swinging his sword, and the fight began in earnest. The two of them were selling the scene so well; Max, anguished and desperate, flailing as Lachlan hammered at him with his sword. Nicola found herself gasping and biting her fist as if Max really were in mortal danger.

  Lachlan knocked into Max with his shoulder then kicked him behind the knee to bring him to the ground. As he stood over the fallen Macduff, Lachlan played Macbeth at his most venomous and powerful, his wickedness filled with visceral delight. "'Thou losest labour. I bear a charmed life, which must not yield to one of woman born.'" Lachlan raised his sword to thrust the blade into Max's belly.

  Max drew a dagger from his belt, knocking Lachlan's sword aside. He threw himself forward and tackled Lachlan around the midsection, slamming the Brit onto the stage with a crushing thud which left the whole audience – Nicola included – wincing in sympathy. Max grabbed Lachlan's sword arm and slammed the other man's wrist against the stage, over and over, until Lachlan cried out and the sword fell from his hand to clatter on the floor.

  Max pressed his fingers against Lachlan's throat, choking him. "'Yield thee, coward, and live to be the show and gaze o' the time. We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, painted on a pole, and underwrit: Here may you see the tyrant.'"

  "That's some good acting," Nicola murmured, trying to calm her raging heart, which couldn't quite believe this fight was pretend.

  "Um . . . " Tierney was gnawing on her thumb nail.

  Nicola jerked around to face the other woman. "That was part of the fight choreography. Wasn't it?"

  "Um . . . "

  Lachlan kneed Max brutally in the groin. Every male audience member groaned as Max rolled away and off of Lachlan. Max sat hunched on the edge of the stage, gasping for breath. Lachlan staggered to his feet and scraped his sword off the ground.

  As Lachlan braced himself on his feet, his hands were shaking. His eyes shimmered with a glittering rage and grief that left a knot in Nicola's throat. His voice was hoarse as he delivered Macbeth's last lines, "'I will not yield, to be baited with the rabble's curse.'" A single tear seeped from his eye to trickle down his cheek, and the muscles of Lachlan's face quivered with repressed emotion.

  "God, he's good," Tierney muttered, wiping at her eyes.

  Nicola could only nod and dash away her own tears.

  Lachlan shifted his grip on the sword and advanced on Max. "'Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough!'"

  Max met Lachlan's sword blow and parried it. The fight continued and intensified; a furious clash of swords and bodies. They were so good too, smooth in their fight choreography, expertly selling the clang clang of sword against sword, and masking their punches with such precision that Nicola wasn't quite sure they had pulled their punches.

  Max knocked Lachlan to the ground with a solid right hook then Max staggered forward to stand over Lachlan. Just as Max raised his sword for the famous beheading, the stage lights went black. A few students – boys, of course – groaned their disappointment at missing the gory finish.

  The audience caught its breath on one long inhale that Nicola felt low in her gut, then the theater filled with thunderous applause.

  Max and Lachlan jogged offstage while the lights were dimmed, and Isabelle returned to segue into the next segment, which was with one of the company's directors to show how they would block a dialogue heavy scene from Neil Simon.

  "That was gr – " Nicola started as Lachlan approached her.

  He didn't say anything, just stormed past her, Max hard on his heels. The two men clattered backstage into the dressing room area. Both of their faces were like stone.

  "Maybe they want to get out of their armor?" Tierney said, looking uncertain.

  Nicola grabbed her arm. "Come on." She and Tierney jogged into the dressing room hallway in time to see the street door swing closed on Max's retreating form. Nicola could faintly hear the sounds of male voices yelling through the heavy metal door.

  "Shit." She and Tierney ran, slamming into the street door as both of them tried and failed to get it open at the same time. Finally, Nicola elbowed Tierney aside and hauled the door open.

  Max shoved Lachlan. "You weren't supposed to knee me in the nuts for real, motherfucker. Or did you forget?!"

  "I dunno, are you so rat-arsed you forgot how to pull a punch?!"

  "You're an asshole."

  "And you're a great, stupid pillock." Lachlan, his face twisted with fury, swung a real punch, clipping Max on the jaw.

  Nicola gasped. Oh sh –

  Before she had time to complete the thought, Max returned fire and popped Lachlan a good one on the eye.

  With that, the two men were in their second fight scene of the day. This one was mostly shoving and jostling with each other in the parking lot in their fiberglass fake armor and plastic chain mail. The whole thing could have been ridiculous except for the aching hollowness in Nicola's gut. Not this. Not again. Here was yet another high school flashback to a dozen parties, standing on the porch, watching Max alternately get his ass beat or beating someone else. Drunk, stupid, messy, awful fights she'd always been powerless to stop. "Do something!" she yelled at Tierney.

  "Like what?!" Tierney threw back, hanging onto the banister rail and watching the fight unfold with a grimace. "Who around here is bigger than Max or Lachlan? Who could we get to pull those two apart?"

  Good point.

  Max oofed as Lachlan socked him in the stomach, and Max swung for him with an uppercut that set Lachlan's aristocratic nose to bleeding.

  "Shit. Shit. Shit." Nicola tripped back inside and ran into the nearest dressing room to search for someone, for anything to stop the fight. She grabbed a big pitcher of water sitting on the make-up counter and raced outside, water slopping all over her arms and the floor. She scuttled down the stairs, cradling the pitcher, heading for the men. Tierney caught her arm and hauled her back.

  "What?" Nicola screamed, half-drenched now.

  "You can't throw water on my armor!"

  "Watch me!" Nicola tore herself free and ran up to the two men. Max had Lachlan in a headlock, and Lachlan was busy clawing for Max's eyes. Without ceremony, she slid to a stop in front of them and tossed the water into their faces. "Stop it!"

  The sheer shock of the water had them jerking apart. Nicola threw herself between them, with Tierney swiftly joining her. "Enough," Nicola said, bitterness coating her mouth. She squared right up to Max, getting in his face, startled to realize how heavily she was breathing, how thoroughly pissed she was. "What are you thinking? How old are you two?"

  Max had been frowning at Lachlan, but now his gaze snapped over to focus on her. His brow was furrowed with anger. "That British bastard started it. He's been an asshole to me all day. He actually kicked me in the nuts onstage."

  "You punched me onstage!" Lachlan fired back.

  Disgusted, she threw her hands up in the air. "Ugh, I seriously don't care." She wheeled to go inside.

  "Nicola." Max caught at her hand, but she threw him off and stormed into the theater. It was all so familiar, so horribly familiar, she almost had to throw up. She slammed the stage door behind her and slid into the dressing room, collapsing onto the couch and sinking her face into her hands.

  The dressing room door creaked open and heavy footsteps shuffled into the room. "Hey," Max said.

  "I can't, Max. I can't deal with this again."

  "Deal with what?"

  She scoffed.

  Leather creaked as he knelt in front of her, the smell of sweat and make-up coming off his skin
. He touched her wrists and eased her hands from her face, staring into her eyes. "Nic? I'm sorry the fight upset you. I really am. But Lachlan has been pushing me to kick his ass all day."

  She swallowed, wanting to believe that, to believe Max had changed, grown up, that he wouldn't fight without a good reason. His cheek was red and swelling, and blood was pooling on his lip where he'd cut it against his teeth. "We should get you ice," she murmured, ghosting a fingertip over his cheekbone.

  He caught her fingers, squeezing them. "Ice can wait. What's wrong?" A muscle jumped in his cheek, and his eyes were bleak. "Bad memories?"

  "Yes." That was all she could get out without her tears overflowing.

  He sucked in a deep breath and sort of hunched into himself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I put you through. The way I used to act. But I'm not that guy anymore. I'm not." He clasped her hand between both of his, holding it to his chest, over his heart. His gaze flicked all over her face, perhaps searching for reassurance. "I ruined my life with partying. With fighting. I don't do that anymore. It may not have looked like it today, but I'm not that guy anymore."

  "Peter told me you lost your career because of the drinking."

  Max tangled his fingers in her hair, his blue eyes searing. "Fuck my career. I lost you."

  Her chest hurt, and she expelled a ragged breath through her teeth. Yes, the fight today hadn't been the most responsible action ever, but that didn't mean he was still a reckless teenager. "We're all right, Maxim." She cupped his jaw, rasping her thumb against his stubble. Max turned his face in her hand and kissed her palm. Her heart squeezed, and she could barely breathe.

  Someone knocked on the door then entered without waiting for a reply. Tierney came first, towing Lachlan behind her. He had an ice pack against his eye and what appeared to be a tampon cut in half stuffed up his bloody nose.

  "Lachlan wanted to apologize." Tierney smiled, uncharacteristically perky.

  "I don't really," Lachlan said.