Chapter 28
Patrick thought being back on set would be a good thing. He’d hoped it’d keep his mind occupied, help him find a way to start dealing with the mess he’d become. Rhys kept him busy the last few days of break, helping him clean, making him get fresh air, even taking him grocery shopping. And he’d needed the push, the attempt to get back to normalcy.
His visit to Pablo’s hadn’t been as bad as he thought it would be. Chance wasn’t there, so he’d been able to just talk to Marcy, who had fussed over him like crazy. He didn’t feel like she should have—she’d been Chance’s friend first. But when he tried to say something to that effect, she’s just shushed him and pushed a second piece of peach pie in front of him, telling him he was too skinny.
Saturday evening, Angelo and Sebastian had shown up with Rhys, insisting he go out with all of them. They’d dragged him to dinner and then the latest superhero movie full of nothing but explosions and aliens and the like. And though he didn’t want to admit it, he was glad they had.
He still didn’t want to be normal, still wasn’t quite ready for it, and had spent at least part of the movie wondering if Chance had seen it or would want to. It took a supreme effort for him to breathe when he had that thought. Because he’d had to remind himself he couldn’t ask Chance. Despite that, it had been a good distraction for him, and he appreciated Angelo and Sebastian’s efforts.
So he’d managed to get through the last few days of break thanks, in no small part, to Rhys. But now that he was back, the mess he’d become didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
And he was still a mess. Still too out of it to reasonably care for Avery. He continued to make excuses, telling his son he was still sick and didn’t want to pass it on. It wasn’t strictly a lie, since he knew if he told Avery about the breakup with Chance, it would upset his son horribly. Avery seemed satisfied with the excuse but kept asking about Chance on each call, which only made things worse.
Even worse than that, instead of him being distracted and having something to focus on besides his mental state, he’d spent the whole first day back on set hoping for a glimpse of Chance. He knew he was being ridiculous, acting like a lovesick fool. But he also knew the truth: that was exactly what he was. He missed Chance so much, he felt as if he was missing an arm.
But Chance was doing a very good job of not appearing. It wasn’t until lunchtime on the second day, when Patrick didn’t see him anywhere near the catering tables, that it occurred to Patrick that Chance might not have even come back.
So it was with a pounding heart he approached Selia. She glared at him when he first approached, but when he stepped up to the sound board, the glare faded. He didn’t know what she saw, but whatever it was, he was glad for it. Patrick wasn’t sure he could take too much outside aggression over the breakup, if only until he got an answer to his question. Then they were free to get pissed all they wanted. The only problem was, thus far, no one seemed willing to be angry.
“Hi,” he said, annoyed with himself when his voice shook a little. He cleared his throat. “Um… I just, uh, was wondering, did, uh… have you seen… um….” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Yes. He came back,” Selia said, rather more gently than Patrick had expected, and he opened his eyes to stare at her. She looked him over, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the pity he saw in her eyes or if he’d have preferred anger on Chance’s behalf, after all. “He’s busy.”
Patrick nodded. “Uh, good. Err, okay. Um. Thanks.” He pretty much bolted—that was the best word for it.
He didn’t even try to eat. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold anything down. He spent the lunch break in his dressing room, trying his best to put some of his emotional garbage away. He’d squeaked by for his first day, only having to show up in a group with no lines. And that morning, his only on-screen appearance had been as minor and just as much in the background.
As he was about to go back out, Chrissy knocked. When she came in and looked him over critically, she clicked her tongue at him and stepped up to the counter. “You’re going to be front and center this afternoon. You need some work. Chair.” She pointed, and Patrick obeyed. As he did, she looked up at him, eyes wide. “Wow, you really are in bad shape if you didn’t give me shit over that.”
Patrick shrugged a shoulder, not looking at her.
She sighed as she tilted his chin up and wielded a brush like a weapon. She paused, tilting her head, and frowned, then turned around and snagged a tube from a drawer. “A mountain troll could get lost in the circles under your eyes,” she muttered, shaking her head. When she’d applied the cover up and inspected him, she shook her head again. “Nope. I can’t get rid of them completely in this amount of time. But it’s better.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Hey, I’m just going to have to work better at my miracles.”
Patrick gave a weak smile as she moved around behind him and fixed his hair. “Honey, you need to eat better,” she said, peering at him in the mirror. “Scratch that. You need to eat.”
“I’m eating.” Patrick scowled.
Chrissy snorted. “When was the last time you ate your damned donuts?”
He looked away. He hadn’t touched them since the last one Chance gave him, the Friday morning before the story broke. Rather than answering the question, he said, “I eat. Just… haven’t had much appetite. Rhys makes sure I eat, though.”
Chrissy tsked and shook her head again. “Well. Just another miracle I’ll have to perform.” She attacked his hair with comb and hair spray, and Patrick watched her pull, spray, clip, and spray some more. She stepped back a few minutes later. “Okay. That should do it. Try not to mess it up too badly, okay?”
Patrick nodded. “Thanks, Chrissy.”
“Aww, Patrick—”
Patrick shook his head, turning away. “Don’t.” If one more person said they were sorry or had that tone of pity in their voices, Patrick was going to either get pissed and explode or fall apart. He had no wish to find out which. He didn’t deserve either the sorries or the pity, and he was getting tired of hearing it. “I’ll be fine,” he said and immediately regretted his tone. “Sorry. Just….”
“It’s okay.” She opened her mouth to speak, and Patrick frowned.
“Look, I know, okay? I need to eat. I need to get myself together. I’ve been told already by everyone that I need to try to talk to him. I can’t talk to him. He won’t talk to me after what I said, and he shouldn’t. And I’m working on the rest.” He swallowed.
Chrissy frowned at him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Let me know if you need me to fix you up again.” She leaned in and left a quick kiss on his cheek before disappearing.
Patrick struggled with himself, trying to put some of it away, to just not think about it. He checked his phone and saw an e-mail from his mom with the same question she’d been asking for more than a week. He replied with the same answer he’d been giving and stuffed his phone into his pocket. He looked around, yet again trying to collect himself. But Chance’s picture on the counter, the couch where they’d made love… there were too many memories in that room. And they all just reinforced what he couldn’t have. He gave up the fight and went back to work.
“CUT! Patrick!” Jack marched across the set and scowled. “What the hell?”
“Sorry, Jack,” Patrick mumbled, cheeks reddening. He’d missed his cue. Again. “I’ll get it this time.”
Jack glared. “Please. There’s a lot left to do today.”
Patrick nodded, not looking directly at Jack, and the director backed up. The calls were made, and Patrick tried to bring Nadir to mind and reset to his place. This time, he did pay attention to Angelo’s line, Sebastian gave his, and then Angelo again. Rhys stepped forward to Patrick, gave his line, and Patrick opened his mouth to speak.
And drew a complete blank. He had no clue what he was supposed to say. He couldn’t remember his line to save his life in that moment.
�
�CUT! God dammit, Patrick!” Jack shouted, storming across the set this time. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled, getting into Patrick’s face.
Patrick flinched. “Uh, sorry Jack. I—”
“I don’t want any fucking excuses, you—”
“Hey, uh, Jack,” Rhys said.
Jack rounded on Rhys. “You stay out of this.”
Rhys scowled. “The fuck I will.” He looked over, and Patrick followed his gaze to Sebastian, who nodded. “Look—”
“Don’t ‘look’ me. He’s been fucking up for two hours now.”
Patrick felt his cheeks redden even more, and he dropped his eyes, focusing on the floor.
“Just…. Come here a minute,” Rhys said, and Patrick looked up to see Jack’s scowl deepen, but he followed Rhys to the other side of the set.
“Patrick.” Sebastian touched his shoulder.
Patrick looked up to see sympathy in the deep brown eyes. He looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t deserve your pity.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t pity you. I wouldn’t want to talk either. And I’m not asking you to. Not about that.”
Patrick blinked and raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
With a nod Sebastian reached out and took his hand. “Do you remember when I was such a mess two years ago?”
Patrick frowned but nodded. “Yeah, I do. Early in the season, right?”
Sebastian smiled. “Yes.” He glanced over at Angelo, who’d gone over to talk to Rhys and Jack. “Uh… that was before Angelo and I got together. Well, erm, before, uh, before we committed to each other.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I was a mess, for a lot of reasons, and I really had to struggle during scenes sometimes, especially the ones alone with Angelo. But what I eventually figured out was that, if I remembered that I was an actor—if I acted—I could get through stuff better. You don’t have to all the time, but….”
Patrick nodded. “But when I’m not alone, yeah. Start using what I know how to do. Thanks.”
Sebastian leaned in and hugged him. “And no, I don’t pity you. But I do care. So does Angelo.” He pulled back and considered Patrick. “Have dinner with us.”
Patrick shook his head. “I’m not good company. Rhys is being a pain in the ass and making sure I eat, but….”
Sebastian frowned. “Okay, not tonight. But soon. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Patrick wanted to be annoyed. Just like Rhys, just like Sophia and Marcy, Sebastian was trying to take care of him. And it pissed him off—at himself—that he needed it. “Okay. Thanks.” Patrick forced a smile.
Rhys came back with Jack. “Let’s try again. We do have a lot to do yet today, okay?”
Patrick nodded. “I’ll get it this time.”
Jack went back to his spot, and the four of them reset. Patrick closed his eyes and thought about who he should be when he was out here. He was Nadir on set. He could be a—more—normal Patrick when they weren’t filming. He’d just need to remember that, pretend.
And when it was over, he could deal with it then.
He opened his eyes and nodded at Jack. The calls were made, and Patrick took a deep breath, turning to look at Angelo.
Chance emerged from the sound closet, his home the last day and a half. Selia had been very understanding, giving him the tasks to organize and test some of the equipment. It kept him away from the set, which was the absolute last place he wanted to be right now.
He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. But every time he saw Patrick, his stomach twisted into a very tight knot and he had to remind himself how to simply breathe. Take air in, let it out. Do it again.
Seeing him at Sophia’s had been like a hit to the solar plexus. Up until then, he’d done a good job of avoiding Patrick, but that had been easy. He’d stayed in his apartment, except for collecting his things from Patrick’s place.
When he’d gone home after the story broke, he’d stood in the empty studio apartment, staring at the poster that was still on the wall. When he’d moved, he hadn’t taken it with him. He’d reasoned that he had the real thing, he didn’t need a poster. He’d just figured they’d take it down when they cleaned and turned in the keys, so they’d left it there. Time had been a precious commodity around the move, anyway. They’d skipped a lot of stuff he hadn’t needed.
As he stood there, staring at Patrick’s face, pain warred with fury within him. He’d been frozen in place, unable to look away until he heard Patrick’s voice in his head again. I can’t be with a man anymore. With you.
With you.
The fury won. Chance had reached up and yanked the poster down, tearing it to shreds in the process. Then he sat hard on the bed, the anger burned out as quickly as it had flared.
In its place came the pain. He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Patrick. Deep down, that knowledge had been there, mocking him, telling him someday the sham was going to end. Patrick would wake up and realize it, and things would be over. But Chance had fooled himself enough that he’d started to think maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t the case. That despite not being good enough, Patrick wanted him anyway.
Until it went public. When the story broke and Patrick had to explain to his family who Chance really was, the lies he’d been telling himself came back to haunt him, and he knew Patrick realized the truth. He simply wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t enough to fight for.
He had no idea how long he sat on the bed like that. Eventually, he got up, picked up the pieces of the poster, and taped Patrick’s portion back together. Then he’d curled up on the bare bed in his clothes.
He’d called Sophia the next morning, after seeing the note on his door, and she came over as Tom with Andy to help him clear his stuff out of Patrick’s apartment. Tom had tried to talk him out of it—the whole way through, in fact—but finally Andy told Tom to drop it and just help. When everything was piled in the apartment, Tom had tried to get him to go out for dinner, but Chance refused. After another ten minutes of begging, threatening, and other forms of coercion, Tom gave up but made Chance promise he’d be at Sophia’s on Wednesday night.
But he didn’t go the first Wednesday. He just couldn’t bring himself to play. Every time he thought of picking up the guitar, his stomach turned. His piano sat on the floor, not even on its stand, turned off. He hadn’t reconnected his stereo or even unpacked his laptop. He didn’t want to see the e-mails he knew would be there from Vannah. It was enough for him to reply to Mama’s texts with “I’ll be fine. I’ll call later.” She accepted it, apparently understanding, and finally Vannah had left him alone too.
Of course, Sophia wasn’t going to let him go for too long. She left him alone for another week, for which he’d been grateful, though he’d done very little and hadn’t left the apartment more than once for a bit of food. He just couldn’t be interested in anything.
She’d called early on Wednesday evening. He hadn’t even answered the phone at first. He’d been getting good at ignoring it altogether since his mother and sister stopped calling. When it wouldn’t stop ringing, he’d actually gone so far as to turn it off.
Apparently that wasn’t enough to stop her. Less than an hour later, the front door buzzer started. Chance was sorely tempted to ignore it too. Possibly even just disconnect the buzzer. But something told him Sophia wouldn’t accept that either, and she would find a way in.
He got up and, without even speaking, pushed the button to let her in the front door. Then he opened his apartment door. And crawled back into bed. He had the—ridiculously—minor hope that if she saw him, she’d leave him alone.
He should have known better.
When she stepped into the apartment in full Sophia mode—wearing a simple gray dress and low-heeled shoes, but Sophia nonetheless—she simply propped her hands on her hips, looked around, and shook her head. The things he’d moved from Patrick’s still sat in the same pile in the corner of his apartment, mostly packed except for a few of his clothes and a set
of sheets and blanket. His laundry basket overflowed. His kitchen counter and garbage can held the wrappers and bags from the basic convenience foods he’d eaten—the only thing he’d bothered to eat. It certainly hadn’t been a lot, and what he had eaten of it hadn’t even sat well on his stomach.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Chance scowled, burrowing farther under the blanket. “Taking some time off. Leave me alone.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Thank you, Captain Calendar.”
She glared at him and pushed the door shut, then crossed the room and sat on the bed, forcing him to move aside.
“Please, have a seat,” Chance grumbled.
“Don’t mind if I do.” She crossed her legs, rested her folded hands on her knee, and looked him over. “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks.” He pulled the blanket tighter around him.
She shook her head. “Nope. You’re not doing this. You’re playing tonight.”
“I’m not up for it.”
“I don’t give a fuck. You’re going.”
“Fuck you.” Chance glared at her.
She had the nerve to laugh. “Nope. Not interested. Okay, well, that’s not entirely true, but you’re too young for me and Andy wouldn’t appreciate it. Here’s the thing. You don’t have a choice. You can get up on your own.” She paused and sniffed. “Get a shower and go with me. Or I will strip, shower you myself, then dress us both and carry you to the car. Even in my heels.” She glanced around. “Then I’m going to take you to dinner—and force-feed you, if necessary, since you haven’t been eating. And if you still resist, I swear by all that is in me, I will tie you up, dress you in drag, and put you on stage that way.”
Chance glared at her harder. But he knew in the end he’d never win. Partially because it was Sophia, who was a force unto herself, and partially because she was right. He hadn’t been eating. He needed to get up and out of this funk, even if he didn’t want to.
So he’d given in and gone. And regretted it as soon as he saw Patrick.
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