Where The Little Birds Go

by Celeste, B.

  “Like a movie.” He rests his head against the wall and studies me. “I want to act. That’s what I plan to do with my life. It’d be a dream to be cast for an adaptation of one of his books. Even a remake of a film already out.”

  “Like Carrie?”

  He shrugs. “Why not? He’s the only author I read, and I’ve seen all his movies. It’d be a huge achievement to be part of it as a professional.”

  “Acting,” I repeat quietly. “Cool.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t act.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  The answer is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m embarrassed to admit it. It isn’t like I aspire to be a rodeo clown or something, but everyone who knows what I enjoy doing in my pastime doesn’t understand it. They think it’s a hobby rather than a legitimate career path.

  He pokes my nose, making me go cross-eyed to look at his finger. “I see the wheels turning in your head. What is it?”

  I sigh, knowing I have nothing to lose. “I want to be a professional writer—an author. I’ve written ever since I could hold a pencil, and the more I get asked about what I want to do in the future, the more I realize how much I want to get my books published.”

  Part of me expects him to give me a funny look, like he’s wondering why I’d ever want something so random. People in small towns are raised to think practically. Being an author isn’t like being a farmer, or nurse, or teacher. That’s what people around here become. Except, I don’t want that.

  “I think that’s awesome,” he states, giving me a smile that’s anything but cocky or mischievous like normal.

  I blink. “You do?”

  Nodding, he says, “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Seems like the perfect job for you. You like books and writing, so the whole author thing makes sense.”

  “Most people don’t see it that way.”

  “Most people aren’t us.”

  Us?

  Seeing the confusion on my face, he decides to elaborate. “Few people ever act on their dreams, especially in places like this. It takes special kind of people to live them out. I’m going to act no matter what it takes. I’m willing to make sacrifices even if people don’t approve. You seem like you’d do the same to get a book published.”

  I would.

  Something in my chest lightens. Nobody has ever understood before. It feels nice to be in the same mindset as someone instead of pretending like it’s okay that they don’t get my dreams.

  He hits play on the next movie. “We’re going to be bigger than this town, Little Bird. Just you wait and see.”

  I’m not sure I want to be bigger than this town. I’m not sure I don’t either.

  Chapter Seven

  Corbin / Present

  The bedroom on set has a four-poster king sized bed directly in the middle of it. The soft white bedding is eerily familiar, like I’ve seen it somewhere before. On either side are light wooden nightstands—one with a lamp, the other with a book and alarm clock. Surrounding the furniture are cameras and lights to create the perfect shadowing and highlights for at least three different angles.

  It’s our first sex scene today, and I notice Kinley lingering outside of set staring at the placement of everything like she’s lost in thought. One of her hands holds the wall, her entire right side leaning against it keeping her up.

  Nobody bothers her as she takes it all in, and I wonder what’s going through her mind. Is she still mad about the picture? Is she cursing me? It’s probable.

  I’ve read the script twice. This scene is pivotal in cementing Ryker and Beck’s forbidden relationship. Every moral is questioned and played out in sultry, sexy detail through caresses, touches, and pleas.

  That’s when it hits me—the bedding, the books on the nightstand, everything. I cuss, letting out a strangled, “fuck me” loud enough to get Kinley’s attention while I stare at her.

  This is like a grander version of her bedroom growing up. From the white down blanket with five pillows lining the top of the bed to the folded gray throw at the end. The book on the stand isn’t the Stephen King novel she’d sometimes read to me when I procrastinated from homework or practicing lines. Honestly, I’d just wanted to hear her voice.

  Kinley blinks. A light pink color settles into her cheeks again as she breaks contact and stares at the floor. She knows I’ve made the connection.

  But why?

  Olivia walks up beside me. “We should see how she wants us to do this. You know, ask if there’s a specific way she wants our characters to act. I’m sure she has a vision.”

  I snort at that, causing Liv to give me a weird look. Brushing it off, I follow her over to where Kinley stands.

  “Hey,” Liv greets, smiling at Kinley. “Callum and I were wondering if you had any notes for us. Should our characters touch a certain way? Hesitate? Go all in?”

  Nobody else knows that the slightest widening of Kinley’s eyes means she’s internally freaking out. She hates not being prepared for a question because she freezes.

  “Uh…” She chokes out a nervous laugh, only watching Olivia. “I didn’t really think about it. I’m sure whatever is in the script for it will be fine. I trust you.”

  She didn’t emphasize that she trusted both of us, which I file away under things to let get under my skin at a later date. Preferably not one when I’ll be filmed practically naked rolling around a bed with my co-star while my ex watches from the sidelines. I know damn well where she got some of the inspiration for this setup, but I wouldn’t call her out.

  Olivia thinks she’s helping when she asks, “What about channeling from a past experience? I’m sure you wanted the scene between Beck and Ryker to be a certain way. When I read the book, it gave me chills. Their chemistry is undeniable. They’re soulmates, even when they shouldn’t be.”

  Kinley’s lips part. “You’ve read the book?”

  Olivia perks up. “I’m a big fan of your work to be honest. When I heard they were picking up rights to the film, I made my agent keep tabs on casting calls. You have no idea how happy I am to be Beck.”

  All Kinley does is blink.

  “So,” Liv presses, “should we try recreating the book the best we can? They did a pretty good job adapting it for the script, don’t you think?”

  A nod.

  “There’s almost a nervousness to Beck,” Olivia continues, practically bouncing where she stands. “I love that about her. She’s normally confident, but her love for Ryker makes her vulnerable. It was one of my favorite parts.”

  I’m having trouble swallowing.

  “Was it based on anything real?”

  I’m choking on my own spit but manage to keep my cool while my eyes pierce Kinley’s. She still refuses to make eye contact with me, so I cross my arms on my chest and watch her squirm. Call me a dick, but I’m enjoying it.

  “Not … well, no. Not really.”

  My eyes narrow.

  “Do writers ever draw from experiences?”

  If I wasn’t so pissed at Kinley’s blatant lying, I’d be amused over Liv. She’s practically fangirling her. Shit, I didn’t even know she’d read the book. I bet she’s read all of Kinley’s titles two times over and I know there’s a lot of them. Between Mom updating me and keeping tabs on local Lincoln news when another one makes a bestseller list I get my fill of everything Kinley Thomas. It’s an unhealthy obsession.

  Liv fires off more questions. “Are there any experiences worth writing about? Like, there’s an innocence to this scene, you know? Even though Beck and Ryker are far from virgins, they treat every moment with each other like it’s their first. To think you might have had that … ugh. I’m jealous just thinking about it. Your first time must have been amazing.”

  Without blinking, Kinley says, “Or so bad that I’ve had to compensate through fictional sex over the years.”

  My jaw drops.

  Olivia bursts out laughing until there are actual tears in her eyes. “Oh my
God. I didn’t even think of that. You’re officially my hero. Was it really that bad? Did he finish in like two seconds? That’s what happened to me. It might have been like ten seconds, but I was kind of relieved because of how bad it hurt.”

  That gets my attention.

  Kinley’s face is bright red. “I don’t really think about it. It’s in the past.”

  Olivia giggles. “You’re too nice. I bet you’re just trying to save the guy’s dignity. Let me guess. He didn’t even ask if you were okay. Most guys think it’s as good for us as it is them.”

  My nostrils flare. “Give the guy a break. Do girls tell guys what it’s like their first time? Get vocal about what it’s like? No.”

  Two sets of eyes land on me.

  It’s Liv who says, “You don’t have to defend some guy you don’t even know just because you share the same German sausage, Callum. You don’t understand the crap women get put through just to try getting a guy who knows what a clit is and how to work it.”

  “And girls aren’t honest about if it hurts or if they like something.” My eyebrow quirks and I try not looking at Kinley but fail. “I’m just saying, not all men are total assholes in the bedroom.”

  Olivia shoves my shoulder. “Take many virgins to bed, huh? Listen, don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re just pointing out that men have it better than women when it comes to sex.”

  Kinley clears her throat. “I don’t really have notes for you guys about the scene. If you read the book, you know there’s something unspoken between Ryker and Beck. Like everything between them is wrong but…”

  “Effortless,” I finish quietly.

  Kinley whispers, “Yeah.”

  Olivia nudges me. “If that’s your way of saying you read the book, then maybe I have some hope for your species about how to give a girl an orgasm.”

  She pats my shoulder before shooting Kinley a wink and walking off to whoever is calling her name.

  “Kinley—”

  She steps back. “Please don’t.” Her voice is barely audible, which makes my jaw tick. “Not here. Not now.”

  Buchannan chooses then to give us a five-minute warning to take our places. I see Kinley visibly ease, and hear the softest breath escape her flushed lips. She’s relieved.

  Unfortunately for her, I’m not letting it go that easily. “Beck admits to Ryker that she wishes she could go back and change everything. You trying to tell me that you don’t find some truth in that, Little Bird?”

  Her nose twitches. “I’m not her.”

  I back up, hands raising. “Aren’t you?”

  Kinley is getting ready to leave when I jog over to the car she’s heading for and stop the backdoor from opening. It shouldn’t surprise me that she opted not to wait for me while I finished the final scene of the day. She's avoided me at all costs, disappeared during the lunchbreak, and barely made eye contact with me for more than two seconds.

  The only time she paid me any attention was when Olivia or Buchannan was around to get her feedback on what she’d seen during the day. I could tell Liv wanted her approval of the sex scene, which Kinley undoubtedly gave us. It was the way she looked at us after Buchannan called cut that made me realize we nailed it exactly how she wanted—the softest glaze of tears, the slightest lip part. She loved it, even if she didn’t want to.

  “We need to talk,” I say, keeping my palm against the side of the car so she’s not tempted to try diving into the back.

  “No, we don’t.”

  Sighing, I reach behind me and pull the package of Twizzlers out from my pocket that she gave back to me this morning. Holding them out to her, I watch as she stares unblinkingly at the candy.

  I shake it. “They’re not poisoned. I can’t guarantee they’re not stale though since they stayed open all day. Plus, I got them from the vending machine, so who knows when the expiration is even good on them.”

  Slowly, her fingers wrap around them as she draws them to her side. “You got me candy from a vending machine?”

  “Would have gotten them from a store, but I didn’t have a lot of time between takes. Had someone bring them over to the hotel to deliver with dinner since you left early that day,” I answer easily, giving her a small smile.

  She wets her lips. “Thanks.”

  I tap the car. “So … talk?”

  “We are talking.”

  I all but growl. “You know damn well this isn’t the kind of conversation I’ve been waiting to have all day. In case you’ve forgotten, you gave my ego a little beat down earlier.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Did you write about us?”

  She blinks.

  I blink back.

  After a moment of awkward silence, she shifts her weight and sighs. “I didn’t write this about you. You’ve probably read the whole script, right? This story isn’t our story. We don’t have one.”

  “Everyone has a story,” I argue.

  “That’s not what I mean,” she mutters, her shoulders tensing. “Our past isn’t the kind of story I want publicized. I’ll always have pieces of personal experience in every book, but that doesn’t mean any of us finds its way onto a page.”

  My mind backtracks to the bed. “What about the set decorations?”

  No answer.

  Not willing to give up, I ask, “If I searched in the wicker bins off to the side of that set, would I find a stash of candy? Comic books? Movies? I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the scene we shot this morning was in a room identical to the one that we made a lot of memories in.”

  “Corbin—” Her voice cracks. “Stop.”

  “Why?” I throw my hands up. “Just tell me, Kinley! Is it really so hard to admit that you wrote your bedroom into that book? That you channeled something about us into those characters? I heard what Olivia said.”

  Her eyes stare holes into the pavement under her strappy heeled sandals. Bright blue nail polish peeks out from the ends, which makes me shake my head. She always insisted on wearing neon colors. Blue was her favorite, but it couldn’t be any other shade than the one currently greeting my gaze.

  “You don’t understand how much it hurts,” she finally tells me, meeting my eyes with a distance in hers that caves my chest. “I don’t want to think about the past. There’s a lot I’m proud of and wouldn’t change, but there’s also stuff that hurts too much to think about for long. You can probably guess which is which.”

  My jaw ticks. “We both had dreams, Kinley. You told me you’d support me no matter what it took.”

  “I meant it.”

  “So why do you hate me?”

  “I don’t—”

  I hit the car with my closed fist, leaving the tiniest dent in the top. Kinley steps back and stares at the blemish, before her eyes ever so slowly meet mine again.

  Taking a deep breath, I shove both hands into my pockets that way she won’t see them shaking. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t know you were upset with my decision to leave back then, but I thought you understood how much I wanted this life.”

  Her jaw tightens. “And I thought you knew how much I expected you to come back like you promised. Remember? You said ‘I’m coming back for you, Kinley. Trust me.’ I was stupid enough to believe it, Corbin. Do you know how pathetic I looked waiting for a phone call? A text? An email? Anything?

  “My mom kept telling me to try distracting myself because I’d waste all my time focusing on when you were going to reach out or show up. Weeks went by. Months. After a while, I finally listened to her. I channeled everything I had into my books, choosing to build a fictional world where nobody could hurt me like you did. I was in control for the first time. I got to decide what happened instead of being suspended in time until some teenage guy that my brother warned me away from made good on his promise.”

  My hands go to my hair, weaving through the gelled-up strands that hair and makeup put in earlier for the last scene. I know a losing battle when I see it, and Kinley
is about to sink the last battleship I have. Opening my mouth would make me sink faster, and I’m not ready to drown.

  “Thinking about you, seeing you, causes me the worst kind of pain,” she finishes, grabbing ahold of the door handle. “I tried getting my agent to make them cast someone else, just to let you know. Or to pull the project. My agent told me I was being stupid. ‘Corbin Callum will make this movie a box office success.’ I had to put aside my pride for you again when my pride should have always come first.”

  I close my eyes and palm them with the heels of my hands. “Kinley … shit.”

  “You…” Her voice breaks. “I hate how much you bring Ryker to life, but you do. You’re perfect for him. That’s probably the worst part of this whole experience.”

  My hands fall to my sides. “Seeing me as the leading role?”

  She shakes her head. “Having to share this dream with you when I swore to myself that you’d be nothing but a distant memory for good.”

  Fuck that hurt. Bad. But knowing I deserve nothing less, I stand back while she opens the car door and closes it behind her. The glass isn’t as tinted as my car, so I can see her stare at me with eyes void of emotion. They’re nothing but empty brown pits, with my reflection in the middle falling into an endless abyss.

  When the car pulls away, I find myself standing in the middle of the lot looking like the biggest dumbass on the planet because I let her go. Again.

  But did I really have a choice this time?

  She doesn’t know what her brother told me shortly after I came back to visit my family. He painted a vivid picture of what he’d do if I reached out to her before she was ready, but I thought he was messing around. Until his fist met my jaw and nearly broke the fucking thing. When my mother confirmed that Kinley was the shell of a girl I’d introduced her to the first time, I knew I fucked up.

  I’d been determined to make something of myself so the harm I caused would be worth it—so I could show something for it. The harder I worked, the further I became from making good on anything I’d told people when I left. I remember when people joked about never forgetting where I come from.