Summer Stock

by Vanessa North

  Ryan was irritable all through dress, but thankfully he could play Antony in his sleep—and throw all his futile rage into Antony’s impassioned speeches rather than at his castmates. Mason tried to pull him aside during the intermission break, but blanched when Ryan glowered at him.

  By the time they rehearsed the curtain call, his mood had gone from furious to sullen and withdrawn. The rest of the cast was hugging and clapping while he stood, arms folded over his chest, and waited to be dismissed.

  Mason came onto the round stage and raised both hands to get their attention. “Thank you, everyone, for your time tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow night for dress for Much Ado, 6 p.m. Ryan, I need to speak with you before you go.”

  A bitter growl ripped from Ryan’s throat as he pushed past Mason and stomped to the office. He couldn’t take one of Mason’s bullshit for-his-own-good sermons right now. Mason followed him and closed the door gently.

  “I saw the Gossip Miner headline. Are you okay?”

  “Wait, what?” Ryan whirled around and stared at Mason. He’d expected a lecture at the least, a dressing down at the most, not . . . concern? “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

  “You’ve been outed—publicly, in the media—in a flagrant disregard for your choice or your privacy. Then you came to my office and were blindsided by the news of the theater closing, and your boyfriend insulted you in front of your family.” Mason made a small, helpless gesture with his hands. “I’m worried about you.”

  “It’s not like I was going to be able to hide that I like men forever. As for the rest of it . . .” Ryan’s shoulders slumped as the bitterness that had kept him on edge all evening rushed out of him. “Are you okay?”

  Mason nodded, glancing around the room. “We were hoping that selling my house would reduce my debt enough that I could get another business loan to cover the rest of the operating costs. But I can’t make it happen in time.”

  Ryan wrapped a brotherly arm around Mason’s shoulders without even thinking about it. He was a tactile person, used to touching and holding the people he cared about—but Mason was not a hugger.

  Mason stiffened a moment, and then let himself be held. “I’m going to fucking miss the hell out of this place.”

  “I’m so sorry, man.”

  “Me too.” Mason flinched in his arms, as if admitting that was a weakness. “But at least you got to be here for the final season. You played Antony in your very first role here, and you’ll be the very last Antony to take this stage—that’s poetic, right?”

  A lump rose in Ryan’s throat, and he tried to force it away. “I can’t imagine Banker’s Shoals without the playhouse. It’s like Banker’s Shoals without you or Caro.”

  “Caro and I aren’t going anywhere. You’ll always have family on Banker’s Shoals.”

  And despite the anger and bitterness that had been twisting him up inside all afternoon, something else washed over Ryan: gratitude and love all wrapped up together. He wasn’t sure how, but he wanted to give that feeling back to Mason and Caro. He shuddered and clung closer to Mason, who hugged him back like a brother—with comfort and solidarity.

  Maybe the theater situation was hopeless—but what if it wasn’t? Didn’t he owe it to Mason and Caro to help them the way they helped him, if he could? If they wouldn’t readily accept financial help—maybe there was another way.

  Ryan left the theater that night resolved not to give up on Shakespeare by the Sea—not yet, and not until he had exhausted every possibility.

  Trey slammed the door of his truck as he climbed into the cab. Seriously, fuck Doc Wharton.

  He wanted to punch a wall—to take out this blistering rage on something that wouldn’t break under his fury. Instead, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel, took a series of deep breaths, and let out a low growl of frustration.

  He hadn’t left the therapist’s office angry in months. He didn’t feel like a million bucks after most sessions, but this anger and shame was so much more potent than the usual emotional and physical depletion he carried home with him from therapy.

  The last thing she said to him before he’d left rang in his ears. “I know you’re angry, and I think you should ask yourself why.”

  Goddamn doublespeaking. She knew why he was angry.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He dug it out—maybe it was Ryan. But no. Kim.

  How was therapy? xo

  He glared at the wall of the building, then let out a sigh and texted back. Sucked. Bad session.

  The phone started ringing within seconds. Damn it. “What do you want?”

  “Come over and tell your favorite sister all about it. I’m a bartender; there’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “It’s Thursday night—you guys get so busy on Thursdays.”

  “Yup. And your barstool is empty right now, but I don’t anticipate it staying that way for long.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. Come on, don’t make your pregnant sister beg. You haven’t come by in weeks. I miss you.”

  And that, of course, was Kim playing dirty. He had been occupied with Ryan, and he’d been neglecting his family, and Kim knew he knew it.

  “Fine. I’ll be there in a few.”

  “I love you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

  Ten minutes later, Trey walked through the door of the bar—which was already packed with tourists—and straight to the barstool he had been sitting on the night he met Ryan. The one next to the beer taps, where he could chat with, yeah, his favorite sister, while she worked.

  “Well, hi there, stranger.” She grinned at him and tapped him a glass of beer. “What brings you here tonight?”

  “Nosy, no good, meddling sister.”

  “She sounds awful.” Kim wrinkled her nose.

  “She’s all right,” he drawled, trying to hold back his own grin. The anger left over from his therapy appointment was already slipping away, leaving him tired and drawn thin. “Pushy, though.”

  “So what happened?” Kim folded her arms over her chest.

  “I was a dick to my boyfriend.”

  Admitting it like that was a weight off his shoulders, but one look at Kim’s scowl had him hanging his head.

  “Why? I thought he was pretty awesome?”

  “He is. And I texted him an apology right away. He’s in rehearsal now, or I’d be groveling in person, if he let me.”

  “So, you were a dick to him because . . .?”

  He sighed. “According to Doc Wharton, I don’t think I deserve to be happy so I’m sabotaging my own relationship rather than dealing with my secret feelings of shame. Or something.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kim nodded. “Sounds about right to me.”

  Trey recoiled. “What the fuck? I thought you were on my side?”

  “Of course I am. Are you on your side?”

  What kind of question was that? “Who else’s side would I be on?”

  Kim hung her bar towel over a hook behind the bar and came around the side. Hoisting herself onto the barstool next to him, she picked up his hand and cradled it between her own. She seemed to be mulling her words carefully, and he hated that, hated anyone treating him with kid gloves. He wasn’t—

  “Vincent’s.”

  Her voice was a whisper, and they both flinched when she said it.

  “I’m sorry. I know you loved something about him. I know that it’s hard to separate what you loved from what he did to you. But he took my brother from me, and from everyone else who loved him. And now that we have you back? When you won’t let people love you—” She turned her head away and wiped at her eyes. “Fuck these hormones. You deserve to be loved. Don’t push this guy away, okay?”

  “It might be too late for that.”

  “Well, I love you. The rest of our family loves you. If this doesn’t work out with Ryan, you are still loved.”

  “Kimmy—”

  “Don’t you
‘Kimmy’ me.” She stood up. “Call your boyfriend and grovel. Then come give me a hand behind the bar.”

  Ryan pulled the Volvo into the garage, put it in park, cut the engine, and rubbed his eyes. Emotional and physical depletion were par for the course during tech week, but the voice mail notification on his phone wasn’t helping. He’d gotten a texted apology from Trey earlier, which he’d blown off because he was still pissed. What were the chances this message was from anyone else? Sure enough, when he tapped the voicemail icon, Trey Donovan, and a timestamp from the middle of rehearsal appeared. He pressed Play and Trey’s voice filled his ear.

  “It’s me. I know you’re in rehearsal, but I need to apologize, so I’m doing it here, at least until I get a chance to say it in person. I’m sorry. I was joking, but it was a bad joke. Not only was it in incredibly poor taste considering why you came home this summer, it was also a joke about your vulnerabilities, and I never meant to hurt you like that. I’m so sorry. If you never speak to me again, that’s about what I deserve. But I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  He listened to it again. And again. Finally, he got out of the car and made his way inside, closing the garage door. Ali was asleep on the couch, one arm shoved under a pillow, the other resting on her belly. She looked absurdly young and sweet, and for a moment he watched her sleep and said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d gotten sober. Then he shook her gently.

  “Ry?” She blinked awake and winced. “Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Is West home?”

  “Not yet. Is he coming in tonight?”

  She nodded sleepily and yawned. “I was waiting up for you guys, but the baby makes me so sleepy.” Rubbing absently at her belly, she smiled. “How was dress?”

  “Hectic. But good. It seems like this is the last ever tech week though. Mason and Caro think they need to close the theater at the end of the season.”

  “Oh no! When you said they had financial problems, I didn’t realize you meant closing.”

  “The worst part is they won’t let me help them. They say it’s too late. I’m not so sure about that, but I don’t know how to convince them.”

  “That’s so sad.” Ali stood up and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry, goober.”

  He squeezed her back. “Thanks. What a rotten day.”

  “Have you eaten? I made a stir-fry. Pepper steak and vegetables. There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

  “I haven’t, but I don’t have much of an appetite, to be honest.”

  Ali frowned. “Come on, you need to eat.” She towed him by one arm into the kitchen and pushed him down in a chair at the table. “Sit. You’re exhausted. I’ll heat it up for you.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  “What else happened today?” she asked as she grabbed the leftovers out of the fridge.

  “Besides the theater closing news?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How can you tell there’s more?”

  She shook her head and stirred the leftovers before sticking them in the microwave. “Because I know you, and I always know when you have something you don’t want to tell me.”

  That wasn’t fair. “I tell you everything.”

  “That doesn’t mean you want to tell. There’s a difference. So what’s up?” She pulled the steaming container from the microwave and plunked it down unceremoniously on the table in front of him, then handed him the fork she’d used to stir it.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re evading.” She gave him a pointed look.

  “I got in a fight with Trey. I think . . .” He shrugged and picked at his food.

  “You’re not sure?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we got in a fight. He was a dick. I stomped off. He apologized. Twice. Now I—I don’t know.”

  “You’re still mad.”

  “No, I’m not mad.” He shook his head and took a bite of the stir-fry. It seemed to stick in his throat when he tried to swallow, and he had to wash it down with a big gulp of water. “I’m hurt.”

  “Awww, honey.” Ali rubbed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know what to do. It scares me that he’s able to hurt me like that.”

  “Yeah. That’s the worst part about loving someone.”

  The buzzer for the gate sounded, and they looked at each other. Ali scrunched up her nose. “Well. Time to face the music.”

  Dusting off her hands on her jeans, she stood and crossed to the security panel to buzz the car service through the gate. She made a shooing gesture with her hands, and he took the hint. He put his uneaten food away—he didn’t need another “this is how we get ants” lecture—and went upstairs to give her and West their privacy.

  It was hours later and Ryan was dozing when someone knocked on his bedroom door. He sat up in bed and glanced at his phone: 1 a.m.

  “Come on in.”

  West poked his head in. “I’m sorry, the light was on. I didn’t realize you were asleep.”

  “Yeah, I fell asleep reading. Don’t just stand there, come on in. Your flight went okay?”

  West grinned and came over to sit at the foot of the bed. “I’m sure it was fine, but I was too goddamned nervous to do anything but bite my fingernails.”

  Pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees, Ryan made as much room as possible for West. “Are you a nervous flier?”

  “No.” West gave a short, brittle laugh. “I was nervous about all this. Ali—what if she didn’t love me sober?”

  “Ali loves you right down to the color of your snot,” Ryan scoffed.

  “Gross.”

  “You’re going to be someone’s dad. There’s a lot of snot in your future.”

  “And then there’s that. I’m nervous about becoming a father. This is . . . unexpected. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Ryan swallowed hard, then nodded. He couldn’t imagine. Didn’t want to imagine. He loved kids, but he still felt like one himself sometimes. Even the idea of taking care of a dog like Ferdy scared him. “Ali seems happy about it.”

  “Yeah.” The smile that broke out across West’s face rivaled a sunrise over the Atlantic in brilliance, but it faded just as fast. “So, there’s no good way to ask this, but how long have you known?”

  “Only since she got here, to Banker’s Shoals.”

  “I understand why she kept it a secret.” West blew out a breath and shook his head. “But I’m angry. And I’m terrified. And I’m furious that I’m terrified. But I love her—and oh shit, this is really fucking happening, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t look terrified. For what it’s worth.”

  “I’m a good actor.”

  Ryan smirked. “Eh, you’re all right.”

  “Asshole.”

  “So listen, Trey walks his dog insanely early and I want to try to catch him in the morning. So if you and Ali need some more privacy, I can clear out for the day. No big.”

  “Trey—the boyfriend you’ve told me absolutely nothing about? The slut-shamer?”

  Ryan blinked. What the hell? Then he remembered the conversation in the Ferrari.

  “Ah, it’s not like that. He’s not a slut-shamer—at least not on purpose. That was a miscommunication.”

  “Ali likes him a lot.”

  Ryan smiled. He loved that Ali liked Trey. Loved that she understood how he made Ryan feel—both when he was happy and when he was hurt. “Yeah. He’s the kind of guy who just makes you appreciate everything beautiful in life. And he’s smoking hot.”

  “Yeah, Ali said so too.” West flashed him a dirty smile and raised an eyebrow. “When do I get to meet him?”

  “Never, you pervert.” Ryan tossed a pillow at West’s melodramatic pout, suddenly giddy and grateful to have his friends here in Banker’s Shoals with him.

  “Come on, Ryan. Introduce me to your boyfriend. I need to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

  “But stay the fuck away from Trey Donovan. He’s too good for you.” Ryan flinched. But Mason
had been wrong.

  “He’s good enough—and we’re good together. I’ve never felt like this before. He said we’re going to leave each other better than we found each other. But he makes me not want to leave at all.”

  West whistled. “Sounds pretty amazing, bro. How come you’re sleeping alone?”

  “I don’t plan on this being permanent. We had a fight, but I’m going to fix it first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. And then maybe invite him to brunch this weekend. Ali likes him, and for as long as I can, I want to make Ali happy.”

  “Thank god. Are y’all back together for good now?”

  Smiling, West nodded. “We are. Ali changed her Facebook status from ‘It’s complicated’ to ‘In a relationship,’ so it’s even Facebook official.”

  “Well, if it’s Facebook official . . .” Ryan cackled, then sobered. “Be patient with her—she’s still working through a lot. But she loves you and the baby more than she wants to get high. I know this.”

  “I love her too. We’re making plans—we’ll be here in Banker’s Shoals through opening night, then we’re going to get her the best prenatal care money can buy in Los Angeles.”

  “Good.” Ryan yawned and stretched. “Okay, dude, I gotta kick you out of my room now, because I have to get up early, and I’m not on California time.”

  “All right, I can take a hint. Good night.” West ruffled Ryan’s hair. “Thanks for taking care of Ali. I’m glad she has you.”

  Ryan’s alarm went off at five thirty, and he almost hit the snooze button. But just because he didn’t have dress rehearsal until that evening didn’t mean he had nowhere to be. And he couldn’t really hide from this conversation anymore. For about the eight millionth time, he brought up voice mail and listened to the message Trey had left the night before.

  Lying in bed, Ryan felt claustrophobic and panicky—like he did while waiting in the wings before stepping out on stage on opening nights. Had he blown everything by falling asleep before calling Trey back? Trey’s message had made it clear that he wanted to make up. But sometimes things looked different in the light of a new day. And Ryan hadn’t called him back that night.