by Celeste, B.
Corbin / Present
The dim light from the floor lamp by the leather sectional I’m sitting on is the only thing letting me skim through the script to prepare for tomorrow. My obsession with picking apart every sentence is consuming me, yet I can’t force myself to go to bed until I’ve combed through the lines I’m supposed to deliver like the person who created them isn’t assessing the entire delivery.
My palm scrapes down my tired face as I pick up my phone and glance at the time. I’m usually going through useless emails that my agent sends me thinking I’ll pay attention to them by now, or already in bed. Half the shit littering my inbox and messages are different opportunities for sponsorships and commercials that would line my pockets until my next big job.
The team who represents me also knows that I ignore most of what they send me because I don’t want my name tied to a product or think it’s a complete waste to begin with. There have only been a few times in my past where I settled on doing a quick job for cash when I needed it, but I’m not the young kid starting out anymore.
Dropping my phone on my couch when I see a voicemail from Mom, I lean back and groan loudly into the room. We speak once or twice a month because my schedule is busy. Ever since I signed onto the Through Shattered Glass movie, she’s been asking for updates on how things have been going.
By things, she means Kinley.
My mother’s enthusiasm over Kinley’s movie gets me hounded with questions about how her favorite girl is doing because she hasn’t seen her in so long. Mom always wanted a daughter and treated Kinley like her own. It made having Kinley around easier because the mistakes I made stopped becoming the focus of all our conversations—especially with Dad.
The thought of Mr. Callum sours my mood instantly, causing me to peel myself from the couch and head into my bedroom to change. I would try over and over again to impress my parents only to be criticized and doubted by the man I’m so much alike. Kinley always understood where I came from because her family struggled getting why she went after writing like she needed it to breathe.
Her and I are alike in all the ways that matter, which made us inseparable. Having her in my life made everything easier. My family got along better, we got to root each other on when it came to writing contests and auditions, and when things didn’t work out we were there for one another to vent to.
Slipping into my nylon running shorts, my eyes catch the two little black lines on my left pec. Staring at them in the mirror, I run the pad of my thumb over the ink. Everyone asks about them, but they remain a mystery. Makeup usually covers the simple tattoos for movies, but Buchannan let me keep them visible during my shirtless scenes. It seems symbolic given the history and the woman who started it all.
Two lines. Two strikes. They represent the moments I realized that I loved Kinley Thomas—loved her as a friend and more. Far more. Press always wants the inside scoop on why I bothered with something so plain, so permanent. Most actors stray from marks like this. But I wanted a reminder of the feelings that stuck with me for so long. She’s always been a part of me and always will be.
Covering my chiseled torso with a loose sleeveless tee, I head into my spare room that’s been converted into a makeshift gym. The equipment isn’t as impressive as some of the professional places I’ve been to with my trainer, but it gets the job done when I work myself up and need to release my anger.
Right now, I’m full of it.
Because I can’t change how anyone sees me—the press, my peers, my family. It’s easier to ignore the opinions of people when they’re not related to you, but a different story when your own father is focused on the negative rather than something good. I can’t be the household name the same way Kinley is in Lincoln because the press made me out to be the playboy. The partier. The guy nobody can take seriously.
I was pictured at a party with two former co-stars who were known for substance abuse, so everyone assumed I was into drugs too. Some other asshole at a party a few weeks after that got a video of me smoking a joint with a few people that only sparked the rumors over me upgrading to something heavier. I’ll never forget being asked by my parents if I’m clean, like they expect me to admit I’m not. My father’s distant tone on the phone that day had cemented how I felt about him despite my denial that I’m doing drugs. Our relationship, which was always strained, became nonexistent.
I run faster on the treadmill until I struggle breathing. The images that swirl in the back of my mind range from some of the best and worst moments I’ve had since the day I told Kinley I’d be back. No longer is my resentment trained on my father, but of the girl who I still want.
Nearly tripping when my shoe catches the other, I pull the safety pin and climb off the machine. Hunched over with my palms resting above my slightly bent knees, I curse at myself as I try catching my breath.
I wonder if this is what it feels like for her when she sees me on set. Thinking about you, seeing you, causes me the worst kind of pain. Is the pain like a burn to the lungs every time she sees me going over set notes? Laughing with my co-stars? Living my dream? All I know is that it fucking hurts to think of her too.
Of the times we watched movies.
Of the times we went out on long drives.
We shared a lot—secrets about our families, things nobody else knew because we were afraid how we felt made us bad people. I know the innerworkings of Kinley like nobody else does.
Did. I did know her.
Straightening, I punch the wall as hard as I can as I pass by it. The hole left behind is nothing compared to the anger simmering in my stomach over something I can’t change.
She didn’t want me casted.
She wanted them to pull the fucking plug.
She doesn’t understand that I demanded the role as soon as I realized her name was tied to the movie. I shouldn’t have. It makes me scum to need her in my life in any form I can get it like I have a right to claim her time. But I did, and here we are a year after the decisions were made over who would make this an Oscar-worthy performance.
A second hole is left in the hallway.
Chapter Eleven
Kinley / Present
Tears blur my vision as I watch Olivia’s hands shake as they wrap around her phone. Her body slumps forward as her breathing hitches, the camera moving closer to capture the name on the phone as her fingers let it drop.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, fingers going to her hair. The cell remains screen-up on the floor, her fiancé’s picture staring back at her as she opens her eyes.
Corbin comes into the shot, kneeling beside where Olivia sits on the couch. When he reaches out, she jerks back and shakes her head.
“Beck,” he says, voice breaking as she abruptly stands up and backs away from him.
Her hands wipe at her cheeks desperately, her skin red and her hair a mess. “I can’t keep doing this, Ryker. Don’t you see that? It’s not fair to him.”
Corbin stands. “What about us?”
Olivia keeps shaking her head.
Corbin steps forward, leaving plenty of distance between them. “What about how unfair we’re being to this opportunity? You can’t just say you’re sorry and leave it at that.”
Hands cupping her face, Olivia tries evening her breathing before looking at Corbin again. “This was a mistake. It’s always a mistake with you, Ryker. We’re trapped and we’re bringing everyone down with us.”
This time Corbin moves right in front of her, tipping her chin up. “We’ll keep making the same mistakes because we never want to learn.”
Olivia pushes his hand away. “Then we’re masochists.”
Corbin smiles at her in a way that is far too familiar. It’s the same smirk he shot girls in the hallway at school. The very same one he’d give me when he was up to no good.
“Welcome to love, baby.”
I blink when Buchannan calls cut and lean back in my chair. Not realizing I’d been sitting forward as they acted out the scene, I quickly w
ipe away a stray tear and smile when Olivia looks at me.
Both she and Corbin walk over to where I sit, but it’s Olivia who embraces me in a tight hug. “I can’t believe you’re crying.” Stepping back, she swipes her own cheeks. “That scene made me tear up the first time I read it. It’s like Beck can’t decide who she’s sorrier to—Ian or Ryker.”
Swallowing, I take a deep breath. “I think when I wrote it I wanted her to feel guilt for what she’s putting them both through. But…” My eyes sneak a peek at Corbin before going back to Olivia’s waiting gaze. “I think she feels sorry for herself because she knows she deserves more but can’t allow herself happiness without misery.”
“Hence the masochist thing,” Olivia concludes in understanding. “It’d be amazing to live in that head of yours for a day. Is that really how you view love? Painfully?”
Pausing, I contemplate giving an honest answer. I’ve thought about love a lot of times, so I know what I believe. As a romance writer, it’s important to have a different view when you’re selling the chemistry written on paper.
“I think real love is almost impossible to find without some form of pain along the way,” I answer truthfully, feeling emotion swell in the back of my throat. “Sometimes you find it with the wrong person at the wrong time and sometimes…” I force a tight smile. “Sometimes you find it with the right person at the wrong time and realize you can’t keep it. Either way, there’s pain that comes with opening yourself up to somebody.”
Olivia reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it once. “That’s why I love your books. You don’t write about false hope like love is some easy to acquire thing. It hurts.”
I simply nod at her in agreement.
She let’s go of my hand and adds, “But I think that the right person will come along again when the time is right. You know, if it’s meant to be and all that bullshit.”
Choking out a laugh, I glance at Corbin. His eyes are burning into mine, causing me to look back at Olivia and pretend like the source of my belief isn’t witnessing my emotional turmoil.
“You guys did amazing,” is all I say in return, smiling at them both to get my point across. Gripping the arms of the chair, I scope out the crew moving on to the next set they’re shooting on. “This whole thing has been surreal to watch. I never expected to be here.”
“But you are.” It’s Corbin who speaks, causing both Olivia and I to look at him. “I bet everyone is really proud of you.”
He doesn’t mention our families, but I know it’s who he means. “They are. All of them.”
Olivia dismisses herself with a small wave before heading over to a woman who shakes something in her hand at her.
“You were leaning forward,” Corbin states quietly. “I always knew you were into a movie when you did that. Some things don’t change, huh?”
I slide off the chair. “Some things do.”
He turns and catches my wrist to stop me from walking away, quickly lowering his hand from mine before anyone sees. “Do you really believe what she said?”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “Don’t play stupid, Little Bird. Do you believe you’ll meet the right person again when the time is right?”
A humorless laugh bubbles out of me as I meet his gaze straight on. “I’m not the married one, Corbin. Maybe you should ask your wife.”
I walk away in silence.
The familiar name on my phone has me smiling as I walk to the car at the end of the day. There’s no hesitation in answering like when other people call. I’m never too tired to hear from my brother.
“Hey, Gav.”
“Dickwad,” he greets.
Rolling my eyes, I laugh and mouth a quick thank you to the driver who’s opening my door. Before I can climb in the back, my name is being shouted from across the lot.
“Who is that?” Gavin asks.
My eyes search the surroundings, but I don’t know why. It isn’t like I’m not familiar with the rasp of Corbin’s voice by now. I’ve seen countless scenes, watched too many interviews, and I'm pretty sure I dream in the low gravelly tone that puberty has blessed him with.
No longer is the teenage boy encompassing the burly man that is Corbin Callum. It’s almost like he doesn’t want any piece of his old self embodied in the life he lives now. It’s sad.
Knowing how Gavin feels about Corbin, I nibble my lip and watch as Corbin jogs over to where I sit with my feet still dangling out the car door.
All I get out is, “Uh…”
He deadpans. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Lie. “No?”
Dropping my head back at the questionable answer, I listen to him curse over the line. “Please tell me the asshole isn’t harassing you. It’s bad enough you’re working together—”
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” I cut it.
“Well, you have to see him every day.”
“Not the same, but whatever.” I debate on getting in and closing the door before Corbin can try talking to me, but something holds me back.
“I was checking to see how you’re doing over in the big-leagues,” Gavin redirects, though reluctant based on his mutterings.
“It’s been an experience, but I’m okay.” I want to ask him about the farm, the new barn renovation, and how my little nephew is doing. Unfortunately, I don’t get to do that before Corbin is standing beside the car.
“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “Glad I caught you. Mind talking for a minute?”
Gavin says, “Tell him no.”
“Oh, shut up.” I smile despite my brother’s obvious distaste even after all these years, causing Corbin’s brows to pinch. “Gavin is on the phone. I’ll tell him you said hi.”
“Tell him to fuck off,” my brother replies.
I don’t do that.
Corbin makes a face. “Uh, yeah. Hope he’s doing okay.”
The half-ass response is a worthy effort, but I can see something dulling his silver eyes. Instead of asking about it, I focus on my brother who’s waiting for something to happen.
“Mind if I call you back in a few?”
He sighs heavily, in his typical overdramatic manner. “I see how it is. Some rich guy talks to you and you suddenly don’t have time for the little folk.”
His six-four height isn’t what I classify as little, but I know that’s beside the point. “I’ll call you back in two minutes. Stop being a diva.”
“I need to get Little Man settled before I head off to do chores,” he tells me, making my lips curve down. “We’ll talk soon, sis. Punch the guy in the nuts for me, will ya?” He pauses. “On second thought, don’t go anywhere near that general vicinity. Keep your distance.”
“So, no dick punching?”
Corbin’s eyes widen and I’m pretty sure his hand twitches to cover himself.
“Are there any rocks you can throw?”
“Go take care of my favorite nephew.”
“He’s your only—”
“Love you. Bye.” Hanging up the phone, I shoot Corbin an innocent smile. “Gavin sends his love.”
He blinks. “I can tell.”
I shrug. “It sounded better than telling you to fuck off like he wanted. He hasn't changed much over the years. Except for the fact he’s married and has a kid. Can you believe that? I still don’t and Sam is almost two.”
Realizing that I’m having mundane conversation with someone who I considered my enemy for a while, I zip my lips.
“That’s … wow. Gavin’s a dad?”
I just nod.
“Huh.” He rubs his arm. “Didn’t really see him as the settling down type, to be honest.”
Snorting at the irony has him eying me knowingly. “Don’t look at me like that, Corbin. You were the one who said that you’d never date. Now look at you.”
He crosses his arms. “I recall breaking the no-dating thing not long after I said that. Or have you somehow blocked out your sophomore year?”
My eye twitches. �
�I’m unfortunate enough to remember everything. Thanks.”
He looks away and sighs. “I didn’t come over here to hash this out with you. We’ve established that I’m an asshole already.”
My shoulder leans against the back seat as I study him closely. “What we haven’t established is why. Why did you just up and leave without any contact? Tell me that and maybe I’ll go easier on you.”
His brows raise in disbelief. “Would you really though? I know you, Kinley. You hold on to anger to distance yourself from people. It’s easier that way.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Admit it.”
I lean forward. “No.”
He tips his head back. “It was pure selfishness. Is that what you want to hear? I found jobs that kept me on track to become what I am now and sacrificed everything to make a name for myself. I already told you that I chose me first. Happy now?”
I move my legs inside the car. “I’m happy that you admitted it. But am I happy that I was never your priority? That everything we shared didn’t matter to you like becoming famous did? No, Corbin. I’m not.”
“That’s not—” He catches the door as I go to close it. “That is not true. I know it doesn’t seem like I gave a shit, but I did come back.”
My hand drops into my lap as I stare up at him with a confused expression on my face. I would have known if he came back. People talk. The local town gossip would have made sure everyone in Lincoln knew if someone who left reappeared one day, especially someone like Corbin.
“Ask your brother.”
I wet my lips and remain silent.
He opens the door and leans in, the woodsy scent he smells like now nothing like the French vanilla that surrounded him in high school. Weirdly, I miss it. “That town is wrapped around your finger. It always has been. As soon as I hurt you, I was the enemy. It doesn’t matter what award I win, or how much money is in my bank account. Lincoln chooses you, which means they’ll protect you no matter what it takes.”
I let him fill my personal space and invade my senses before I close my eyes. “I don’t think that’s true.”