by E V Darcy
‘She clocked Swift?’ Casey asked, trying to bite back his smirk. Oh, it was even better if they all thought his little firecracker had been the one to bruise the prick. Tiny little woman, beating up a strapping young man… His mind snorted as he thought of how Paige would react to him saying such a thing. She’d probably show him exactly how it would work. And, at that thought, his mood turned sour again as he recalled how she’d looked at him moments before she’d left him the night before.
‘If that means punched his lights out, then looks like it, yeah.’ The other man didn’t bother to hide his smile. ‘He came out all disorientated, huge bruise forming on his cheek,’ Benji told him happily as they began heading towards the part of the sound stage that had the FBI office set-up. ‘Make up took forever to cover it up, and then for some reason, the producers rolled up and dragged him off for a chat.’
Casey pretended to know nothing about why that would have happened. Although he couldn’t be certain, he was ninety-nine percent sure it would be regarding the fact that Paige had put in a complaint against the man.
‘Finally,’ Tristan muttered as the two men approached.
‘Good luck,’ Benji whispered, before disappearing to do whatever it was he was paid to do.
Casey ensured he watched carefully as the director went through the set-up for the scene, only speaking when he wanted to clarify something so as not to mess up. He’d worked with this director a few times on Destiny. He’d only shot a few episodes, before it had been decided he wasn’t really suited to the genre; a few of the cast members had complained regarding the shots, Casey included. He hoped the guy didn’t remember. It seemed, however, that he’d found his niche, as Casey recognised the way he was framing the scenes would make the episode look fantastic.
Or it would have, if it had been able to go off without a hitch.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Casey said as he threw his hands up in the air, turning away from his co-star, lest he strangled the man. This was the fourteenth time they’d had to stop the first scene of the day because the actor had fluffed his lines. ‘Have you even read the script?’
‘Screw you, McManaman,’ Tristan snapped back as one of his personal assistants ran over with the script. Casey watched as the young woman pointed to the lines Tristan had messed up yet again. Tristan snatched the script from her hand and the two turned their backs to everyone, heads bent as if discussing something private and intimate, rather than the script everyone here had already been privy to. Casey shook his head.
‘You’re not plotting to take over the world, Tristan, we all know what the script says.’ He heard a few of the production team, those he also knew were fed up of Tristan’s inability to get through a whole scene in one take, chuckle at the comment. Damn, he missed the days of Destiny. At least when they’d fluffed lines or had something go wrong in a scene, they’d had fun with it, teased each other. They ran with the cock-up and enjoyed watching it turn into a glorious outtake to share with the fans at Desti-Nation. Here, it happened so often, it was merely a frustration to everyone.
‘Just leave him alone,’ the director said, but Casey could hear the annoyance in the guy’s voice.
Benji came over and handed him a hot drink. ‘Another slow day then, I guess?’ Casey grunted his agreement as he sipped the hot chocolate. Fuck, if he wasn’t hung up on Paige, he’d have asked Benji out. The guy always seemed to know just what he needed. And wouldn’t that make the tabloids love him once more.
He considered it, enjoying the idea of the media thinking the reason he’d switched teams was because he’d finally realised that he couldn’t find love with a woman… or that he’d just had them all and had to move on to the men.
Oh man, he really wanted to do that now. Why hadn’t he ever thought of it before?
‘—sucked his cock so well he’s still daydreaming.’ Casey blinked as someone next to him laughed and nudged him slightly, jarring the hot drink in his hand. Benji frowned over Casey’s shoulder.
‘What are you lot talking about?’ Tristan asked as he finally joined them back on their marks again. Casey handed the cup back to Benji with a smile and a thanks.
‘This one, snatched your girl,’ the man said and Casey finally turned around to see who it was—one of the assistants that Tristan preferred.
Or should he say, had preferred.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Tristan sniffed and looked towards Benji. ‘I’ll have a coffee,’ he told the young man.
‘Course you do,’ the other assistant said, chuckling some more. ‘That Paige from The After Show that you’ve been screwing. Saw her driving off with this one the day production got suspended. I figure he’s been holed up with her all this time, and if she’s anything like you said—’
‘That’s enough!’ Casey said, turning on the man. ‘I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I kid you not, you will be on your arse if you don’t shut your mouth!’
The smile on the assistant’s face vanished and his eyes widened at Casey’s threat.
‘I’m sorry, Mr. McManaman, sir. I’ll just be…’ The guy ran before he finished his sentence.
He heard Tristan sigh behind him. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me though. Dirty little tease that she is.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Casey said, spinning back around to the other man. His hands twitched to throttle something and he’d love for it to be the man standing before him.
‘I said,’ Tristan said with a sneer as he stepped towards Casey and got in his face. ‘Paige is a dirty little tease. She’s a whore, and I hope—’
He didn’t get to finish his words, Casey wrapped his hand around the other man’s throat and squeezed. ‘Say it again,’ he demanded, jerking the man forward, bringing them nose-to-nose. ‘Fucking call her that again, I dare you—’
Casey didn’t expect Tristan to head-butt him. However, the other man caught him wrong, catching Casey just above the eye rather than on his nose. Casey dropped his hand from Tristan’s throat as he stumbled backwards, feeling his vision spinning for a moment.
‘Son of a bitch!’ he hissed as he shook his head to try and clear it.
‘Casey, watch out—’ Benji tried to warn him, but the assistant’s shout only managed to raise Casey’s head before Tristan’s fist met his mouth. It exploded with the coppery taste of blood and this time he did fall, straight through the set’s wall and onto the floor behind it—he was lucky he didn’t crack his head.
‘Get up, you fucker,’ Tristan said through the hole Casey had made. ‘I’m going to kick the shit out of you and enjoy every moment of it.’ Casey glared up at the man as he spat the blood from his mouth. He pulled himself up but didn’t wait until he was at his full height before charging, using his shoulder in a rugby tackle. He lifted Tristan clear off his feet, pushing him back two or three paces before the two crashed to the floor. Tristan took the brunt of it, the wind knocked out of his sails by Casey’s shoulder slamming into the bottom of his lungs at an odd angle. He lay there for a moment, stunned, giving Casey the upper hand.
The older man sat up, knees either side of the younger star and glared down at him with utter disgust. He could hear others heading towards them, security being called, Benji telling people to back off…
‘That whore is the mother of my child,’ he told Tristan.
‘I hope you get a test to prove it,’ the other man laughed, still trying to catch his breath.
Casey’s fist smashed into Tristan’s face, knocking him out cold, only a second before security pulled him off.
Casey held the icepack to his lip with one hand as he petted Bert with the other. The old dog had his head on Casey’s lap, lulled to sleep by his master’s attentions. The snores that reverberated from the dog’s snout were white noise to Casey after being subjected to it for nine years. What he wasn’t able to ignore, however, was the throb in his lip that seemed to intensify every time Tristan spoke from his TV set.
‘…And so, I just try
to ensure the viewers can really believe I hate this guy, that I want him dead. That’s what Legacy is all about.’
Casey snorted at the comment. Christ, it didn’t even make sense. Legacy was nothing to do with their hatred; it was about how—
‘Oh, look who’s here!’ Paige’s voice came next as she walked towards a slightly amused-looking Casey. It was always strange seeing himself on television. He never really watched anything he was in unless it was mandatory… or he was trying to get someone into bed. ‘Casey McManaman. Imagine seeing you here.’
In fact, he’d only put the damned show on merely to prove his point that he wouldn’t be included despite her little attempt to sneak him in. This just proved him completely wrong. He frowned, which only made him wince as the cut above his eye was reopened at the movement. He couldn’t believe they’d included their little off-the-cuff chat.
Paige was grinning broadly at Casey on-screen as they bantered back and forth; the conversation was natural and easy; it flowed and they fed off one another, never stumbling or halting. It could be mistaken as a conversation between friends, rather than an interview, unlike all the others she had spoken to during the hour-long special.
‘…You are easy.’ Paige laughed at the comment, but the camera held on him. He sat up straight, disturbing Bert who grunted as he woke, sitting up and glaring at his master before turning around and settling down on the other end of the couch.
The television him glanced at Paige’s midriff, his eyes lingering on the swell of her stomach and a myriad of emotions fluttered over his face. And that exact moment came crashing back to him. For that single heartbeat, he’d wondered what it would have been like had Paige’s child been his. In that second, he’d wanted it to be his. He’d imagined the three of them as a family, not the mayhem a baby would bring.
He’d been wanting the baby to be his so he could have Paige, and when it turned out it was his, he’d run a mile. No wonder Paige had left him.
He was a fucking moron.
He watched without really hearing what the television versions of Paige and Casey were saying; instead he was focusing on how they looked at one another instead, how she blushed so prettily when he smiled at her, dipped her head just a fraction and gazed up at him through her lashes. He was no better; his smile was genuine, his eyes filled with warmth and secret delight as she moved closer with each question…
He grabbed his phone and took a deep breath before opening Twitter and typing in his and Paige’s names. His feed exploded as fans who were live Tweeting the special focused on the two of them.
@CMcMan @GossipyGeek @HisDest Paige doesn’t look at Tristan that way! #PaceyForever #SoHisBaby
Oh crap, they had a mash-up name!
@CMcMan @GossipyGeek @Destiny101 I dont care who hes banged b4, theres no1 else 4him but Paige! He worships her! #PaceyForever #OTPisIRL
Casey frowned at the last Tweet from @HisDest.
@HisDest @Destiny101 - Apostrophes are your friend. #GoodGrammarRulez!
He hesitated a second before adding, #PaceyForever. He hit ‘Tweet’ and closed the app. He didn’t need to see the fallout from that one. He’d probably just given the two women—he assumed—a heart attack.
But they were right, he admitted as he watched the gentle brush of Paige’s fingers down his arm, while they laughed at something he’d said. He watched how he reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear… He did worship her. His heart fluttered at the thought.
He wanted to prostrate himself at her feet, to shower her in jewels, ensure she had everything she ever wanted or needed.
Fuck. They were bloody Pacey!
He laughed. A full belly-jiggling, shoulder-shaking, laugh as he realised what an idiot he’d been. How stupid and blind and… Fuck! He had to see her, he had to make this right. He jumped to his feet, startling Bert who let his disapproval be known with a little gruff noise. Casey dashed up the stairs. He needed to grab—
He stopped short outside the door to the room Paige had occupied and frowned as he recalled her saying she’d needed to get something, except she’d returned with nothing. Intrigued, he pushed the door open.
Nothing seemed out of place. In fact, he realised as he stepped inside fully, that he wasn’t even sure he could say someone had stayed there. Everything was as it had been before Paige had arrived.
Except the remote.
He picked it up from the bed and went to put it back in front of the TV, when he saw the Blu-Ray player had a sticky note adhered. The bright yellow square had three words written across it in thick, black ink.
It’s a girl.
Casey froze. It wasn’t— Paige didn’t mean…
Fucking hell, he was having a girl! They were having a daughter. He had a tiny little princess growing inside Paige, and felt the sudden need to track mother and daughter down and lock them up to keep them safe and warm, away from anyone who could cause them harm. Like Tristan.
His hands curled into fists at the rush of rage spiking through him as he remembered the bastard who’d talked trash about Paige, smeared her name through the mud and, by proxy, his daughter’s name too. He recalled how the prick had smacked Paige, hurting not only her but potentially putting his baby girl at risk too.
He was going to rip the stuck-up little shit of a star apart next time; knocking him out wasn’t going to be good enough.
Casey, your alpha is showing. The voice in his head sounded like Tanya when she was both amused and yet also completely fed up of his shit. Bloody hell, he missed her. If she’d still been with them, he wouldn’t be in this mess. She’d have smacked him upside the head, told him right away what he should have seen from the beginning, before sitting the two of them down and knocking their heads together until they sorted their shit out.
‘A girl,’ he whispered to the room, just to try the words out. ‘I’m having a daughter.’
His eyes widened.
How the hell was he supposed to raise a little girl? He didn’t know the first thing about women—except how to please them sexually. And didn’t that just churn his stomach? Blueberry was his daughter and there was no way she was going to end up with a lout like him chasing after her.
Bloody hell, he was going to have to protect her from guys like him.
He looked down at the remote and wondered.
Whump-whump-whump— the same sound he’d heard a few days ago, started up as soon as he hit play on the controller. When the grainy black-and-white image appeared on screen, Casey knew exactly what the sound was.
‘Blueberry…’
It was his daughter’s heartbeat. Paige had been watching this when he’d come up. She’d left it for him, nearly a week before.
Casey watched in stunned silence as the child moved and was amazed she actually looked like a baby. From Paige’s descriptions, he kept imagining her as various pieces of fruit and vegetables—last week, apparently, she was the length of a banana.
He pulled his phone out and did a quick search.
‘A spaghetti squash?’ He frowned at the website. What the fuck was one of those? He did another quick search for the vegetable and only frowned harder. He glanced back at the TV set just in time to catch what looked like Blue waving at him. He hit pause on the remote and stared at the weirdest, yet most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
His daughter.
He grabbed his phone again and dashed down the stairs, forgetting about his earlier plan. He needed to see Paige, needed to tell her how much of an idiot he was, how much he wanted her and their daughter in his life, and especially how much he wanted #PaceyForever to become a reality.
Debbee raced down the coastal highway at a speed Casey didn’t want to know. He didn’t look at the speedometer as he set the window wipers on to storm mode, and point-blank refused to acknowledge that he really shouldn’t be going as fast as he was.
Julian kept calling his phone as the other man tried to catch up, but was failing dramatically against the star’s spor
ts car. Casey had only answered the first call and hung up the moment the Australian started to swear at him up and down the banks about leaving without his say-so.
Casey put his foot down harder, to piss the man off more. He didn’t need a babysitter. He didn’t need someone to tell him where he could and couldn’t go. He had to get to Paige right the fuck now, and nothing was going to stop him—
Blue lights flashed in his rear-view mirror and the siren of a police car pierced interrupted the repetitive drumming of the rain.
‘Fuck!’ he cursed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel in frustration as he forced himself to slow down. He indicated to pull over and began the manoeuvre process, pressing answer on the phone at the same time.
‘-naman you fucker. You utter—’
‘Quiet, Arnie,’ he snapped as he pulled the car to a complete stop. ‘I’ve been pulled over. Just look for the blue lights.’ He cut the line just as he switched the engine off.
‘Step out of the car, please,’ the police officer shouted over the rain as she stepped up to the DB9.
Casey frowned. ‘Don’t you want my license and registration?’ he asked as he opened the door, wincing as the downpour hit him. ‘I have them—’
‘Step out of the car, sir,’ the woman reiterated, hand at her hip where her gun sat, as she watched him from a short distance back from the door. In his side mirror, he saw her partner standing on the other side of the luxury car, also watching him warily. He slowly unfolded himself from the car, holding up his hands, trying to blink through the rain hitting his face as he glanced back and forth between the man and woman, wondering what the hell was going on.
The squeal of tyres behind as another car skidded to a stop on the river of a road, made them all jump. Casey eyes widened with fear as the two officers pulled guns from their holsters, spinning on their feet towards the second car.
‘It’s okay,’ Casey tried, but one officer spun back around to train their weapon on him. ‘He’s my security guy—my bodyguard. I’m Casey—’