by Celeste, B.
My hands slowly map out soft curves until my fingers meet the scratchy denim hugging a slim waist. Subconsciously, I know it’s all wrong. My fingertips should be teasing the worn elastic band of black leggings, fumbling to work past the onset of giggles from the slightest area where she’s ticklish.
“Ryker.” Her ass arches back and grinds into my front, causing my lips to nip the hollow of her neck that she exposes to me. “Not here.”
“Not here,” I repeat, popping the button and stalling on the zipper. “You say that every time we meet, Beck. We can’t get caught anymore. What are you afraid of?”
Her grip on the railing tightens, and I know the effects they’ll use to emphasize the clear night will make the scene better. Our sins are masked in darkness, but our indiscretions are highlighted by the apartment behind us that my character never should have walked into.
The breathy sound of her voice says, “Us. That’s what I’m afraid of. We aren’t simple people. We ruin everything. We’re bad.”
My lips trail down the back of her neck, causing her breath to catch. “Nothing about us has ever been simple. That’s why we work. We’re complicated. Our love is complicated. Our situation—”
She turns and shoves my shoulders, but her effort is tactless. “Our situation, Ryker? I was engaged to somebody that I thought I could love. Ian is kind, and loyal, and everything I’m not. Wearing the ring he gave me reminded me of what kind of person I am—what we are. Our situation is ugly and messy and destroying me.”
Ian’s name is meant to induce anger, the kind that bulges my veins and reddens my face. I channel everything I have in personal experience to feel what it’d be like for Ryker to witness the woman he loves more than life itself settle for someone because she doesn’t think she deserves happiness.
“You’ll never love him the same way.”
“Ryker, stop.” She closes her eyes.
“You’re guilting yourself.”
“Ry—”
“You love me, Beck. Me.” I slam my palm into my chest and step forward. “Our love is the truest kind because it’s so ugly. Nobody gets a happy ending easily. Ian isn’t meant for you. I am. He knows it. You know it. I know it.”
A single tear streams down her face, but she’s too stubborn to let me wipe it away. Instead, she steps back, reaching behind her and holding onto the cold railing that separates her from the night.
I see the pain shredding her up little by little, and my comfort would do nothing to hold the pieces together. She’s self-destructing because she once told me she didn’t love me before moving on to men who she tried her best to feel even the slightest bit of passion for.
“You’re torturing yourself,” I whisper, shaking my head and refraining from touching her damp cheeks. “You don’t have to anymore. I forgive you. I…” My eyes trail over to where Kinley watches the scene unravel. “I love you even if I shouldn’t, even when I remember every ounce of pain that our past brought us.”
Buchannan throws his hands up. “Cut! What the hell was that, Callum? You’re not supposed to look over here. I don’t give a shit if you love me. You’re supposed to deliver those lines to her—to Beck.” He curses and gets off his chair, shaking his head and walking over to one of the camera guys.
My eyes stay unblinking on Kinley, whose lips are parted as she stares back. Her hands are molded together on her lap, flexing, like she wants to say or do something but holds herself back.
I mouth, I remember.
Her eyes close for a moment before she slides off her chair … and walks away.
Something smacks my shoulder. “Dude, I was really feeling that scene and you had to go all method on us. What the fuck?”
Tipping my head back, I palm my eyes before stepping away from her. “I don’t know, Liv. I just haven’t been feeling myself lately.”
“Why? Is it Lena?”
“No.”
We walk over to where a couple chairs rest unoccupied and sit down. She doesn’t bother rebuttoning her jeans, just leaves them undone while still sporting a see-through belly shirt that shows off her toned stomach and black bra underneath.
“Is it about Kinley?”
My head snaps in her direction. “What did you just say?”
She rolls her eyes and combs her fingers through her blonde tresses. “There are a lot of stupid people here, Callum. I’m not one of them. She’s the only one who calls you Corbin. Usually you correct people or disengage. You let her though.”
Trying to play it off, I say, “So?”
She eyes me. “Did you miss the part where I stated that I’m not stupid? You two stare at each other all the time. It’s not like she’s starstruck either. In fact, I think she hates your guts which is kind of amazing.” She smiles when I flip her off. “That also probably means that you two know each other, and since Google is the world’s best friend, one little search could tell me if there’s a connection between the two of you.”
On high alert, I straighten in my seat. “I really don’t think—”
“You can hire people to delete your past, but the internet always has something.” Her nose scrunches a little, then she shrugs. “Lincoln, huh? I never pictured you in a place so … rural. Most of the pictures you get when you search the town are of cows.”
“Jesus.” My knee bounces with nerves until Olivia steadies it with her hand.
“Relax, Corbin. I’m not going to say anything to anybody.” Her head tilts. “Why did you try so hard getting rid of your ties there? The newspaper picture of you in the school play was all it took to do a few more searches until I got the bigger picture.”
“Does it matter?”
Liv rolls her eyes. “Just answer me this. What was she like back then?”
I want to look behind us where Kinley’s chair is, but I know she won’t be there. Blowing out a breath, I answer truthfully. “She hasn’t changed at all.”
Liv’s eyes brighten. “It’s pretty amazing if you think about it. Two well-known public figures came from the same small town.”
“I moved there my senior year,” I admit, studying the people setting the space back up where it was before I decided to stray from the script. Absentmindedly, I add, “Kinley became my best friend.”
“No shit,” Olivia breathes, sitting back in her chair and taking it in. “Guess that explains the familiarity between you. Wait—”
I look at her warily as a grin spreads across her face. Knowing what’s coming, I close my eyes and pretend I’m anywhere else. What happened between Kinley and I shouldn’t be discussed with co-workers.
Her expression is too giddy when I finally meet her eyes again. “Was she talking about you when we asked about the sex scene? I really want you to tell me yes.”
Deadpan, I just stare at her.
She claps once. “Holy shit. She’s seriously my hero. You don’t even have to tell me. I can see it in your eyes. No man’s ego could walk away unbruised from that brutal conversation. No wonder you came to the mystery man’s defense so quickly. Was it like a virgin pact?”
Clicking my tongue, I stare at one of the assistants repositioning the chair we’d accidently knocked down in the process of our scene.
“No. It’s none of your business.”
Her hand clenches my wrist. “It’s so my business. I already know the famous Corbin Callum took my favorite author’s virginity, but you won’t tell me who took yours?”
I just glare at her.
She groans. “Eliot Sanchez.”
Why the hell is she bringing up a famous director’s kid? “What about him?”
Her wink is playful. “He’s who claimed my V-card. Right on set of his dad’s feature film. There was a couch that—”
“Stop.” I make a face. “I really don’t want to know. Why are you even telling me?”
“So you’ll tell me who took yours. Spill.”
“Again … no.”
“You’re no fun!”
“You’re nosey,”
I fire back.
“I’m mind blown,” she corrects. “The chances of this sort of thing happening have to be pretty low. Like winning the lottery low. Or, I don’t know, being attacked by a shark in a tornado low.”
I stare at her. “Did you just make a Sharknado reference? Who even are you?”
Her scoff is nonthreatening. “A fan of unique storylines, that’s who. But that is beside the point and you know it.”
“Why do you want to know so bad?”
Lifting her shoulders, she crosses her legs and drapes an arm across the back of her seat. “I don’t know. I’m a hopeless romantic who believes that things happen for a reason.”
“And knowing who I lost my virginity to somehow helps you hold that belief?”
She smacks my arm. “The point I’m slowly putting together in my head is that you two seem to have gone through a lot but look where you are. You’re both adults, both successful, and somehow found your way back to each other despite being in two totally different career paths. That means something.”
Does it though? I want to believe the same thing, but there isn’t anything we can do about it. Not publicly. I did my best at keeping Kinley out of the press when I started getting more attention, which was the only reason I got someone to take down anything they could about my past. Kinley always hated publicity and being the center of attention. I knew the second I opened up about my time in Lincoln, and the people in it, people would do anything to get a quick scoop on me.
Whether Kinley wants to believe it or not, I’ve always looked out for her. Even when she didn’t realize it. Definitely when she didn’t want me to.
“I’m not the only one she’s slept with,” I murmur begrudgingly, eye twitching from the fact I know all too goddam well.
Olivia doesn’t have to ask to know that I’m still pissed off even after all these years. Was I a saint after I left town? No. But that didn’t start until after I heard what she did. That’s really when the tale of Kinley and Corbin became ugly.
Liv nudges my leg with her foot. “All due respect but I would hope not. Did you expect her to wait for you? That’s what happened right? Small town love gone wrong?”
I don’t answer.
“Do you mind me asking why you’re still upset over something like that? It had to have happened a long time ago.”
This time, my eyes do go over my shoulder at the spot Kinley stands. Her back is turned to me while she talks to Buchannan. His hand is on her arm and he’s giving her a sleezy smile that makes me want to shove him away.
“It’s not about when it happened,” I tell her quietly. “It’s about who it happened with.”
Olivia waits for me to speak the memory I haven’t thought of since I found out about it. That little nugget of information was one her brother fed me when I got back to town, driving the final nail in the coffin.
Too bad for you, you’re too late.
My fist tightens and loosens.
She’s with Zach.
“Whatever.” I brush it off, standing up and nodding toward the markers on the floor. “I think we’ll start reshooting in a few. Coming?”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re seriously no fun when it comes to real life conversations.”
I manage to chuckle. “Get your pleasure from someone else’s pain. I can’t keep getting you off with my misery alone.”
“Misery, huh?” Her eyebrows wiggle. “It must be some strong feelings keeping you stuck in the past if that’s how you feel about it.”
“Shove it.”
“Mm.” She winks. “Maybe later, baby.”
Rolling my eyes, we get back to our places just as Buchannan calls for the set to quiet down. After telling me not to mess up this take, he gestures to start rolling.
Kinley doesn’t look at me.
I don’t look at her.
I’m surprised to see Kinley standing outside the door to my trailer when they call it for the day. After my screw up, I made sure to stay on track. Somehow, we got ahead and opted not to start filming tomorrow’s scenes.
Slowing my steps when I see the lack of emotion on her face, I mentally prepare myself for anything. I used to be able to read Kinley easily. Whatever she feels usually lingers in her eyes, lifts or lowers her lips, or causes the tiniest shift in her fair complexion.
Opening the door, I nod toward the inside. Contemplation washes over her features, and the dark tone of her brown hues make them look fear ridden. Blowing out a deep breath, I walk in without looking to see if she follows.
I kept my distance all day. Instead of seeking her out when she was alone, I made sure to keep busy that way I wasn’t tempted to ask if she was all right after what happened the other day. She didn’t show up the day after we slept together, telling someone she was on a strict deadline she needed to focus on.
Olivia took pity on me and we ate lunch together without her asking anymore questions about my past. It doesn’t stop me from remembering different pieces of it—the good, bad, and everything in between. I’ve thought of countless ways I could have fixed what happened before realizing that I can’t.
Grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge, I guzzle half of it before Kinley finally walks up the steps. She stands by the door, hesitant, watching me with blankness masking her features again.
I always loved knowing if she was happy, sad, excited, or angry. Half the time, the emotions were because of me. If I said or did something dumb, her nose would scrunch. If we set a date to watch a movie at one of our parents’ houses, her eyes would brighten.
“What’s wrong with you?” she says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. The way her palms squeeze her opposite arms makes it look like she’s hugging herself.
I lean against the counter where the fridge rests. “How long do you have?”
She doesn’t respond.
Shrugging, I push myself up and walk over to the couch. I had no intention of staying late, but there’s obviously something Kinley has to get off her chest.
In the matter of seconds, she lets it go. “I don’t have very long left here, Corbin. While I’m still not keen on the casting choices for certain parts, I do want to make the most of the experience. Whatever stunt that was—”
“It wasn’t a stunt,” I cut her off calmly.
She blinks, her arms going to her sides for a moment before they start moving. “What the hell does that mean? That’s one of the lines right from the book. It’s not delivered that way. Beck needs to know that Ryker loves her even when she doesn’t love herself. How can she understand that if he won’t even look at her?”
Laughing is not what the situation calls for, and it gets me a hasty glare. “You’re something else, Little Bird.”
“Don’t you dare call me that right now.”
I scooch forward on the couch until I’m on the edge of the cushion. “It’s your nickname, so I’m calling you it. What happened between us doesn’t change that. What kind of denial are you in? You said it yourself, that line is from the novel you wrote. Tell me what that says.”
She pauses, her lips parting and closing for a moment before she finds her words. “It doesn’t say anything. They’re just—”
“You’re lying.”
“Would you quit cutting me off!” she yells, moving further into the trailer. “You don’t get to dominate this conversation. You’re reading into the script if you think I meant anything by that scene.”
Head cocking, I set my water on the table in front of me. “What I don’t understand is why Beck still pushes Ryker away when they finally have a chance to be together.”
“You want to talk about the characters?”
I nod, sitting back again and throwing my arm over the back of the couch. “You wrote a strong, sexy, bold female who acts like she owns the world. Then you turn her into a completely different person when she’s around Ryker.”
Kinley wets her lips. “That’s the point, Corbin. We’re not ourselves around the people we care about b
ecause we’re so focused on being exactly what that other person needs. Beck and Ryker could have given it a shot when they were younger, but Beck knew it wasn’t what she needed. How many relationships last outside of high school?”
I don’t have an answer, so I remain silent.
“Look,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand Beck’s character. Even after … you know, what you told me about you and Lena. What matters is that Olivia gets it and plays her perfectly. Beck’s guilt for seeing Ryker struggle through relationships and their own friendship over the years made her feel like she was the enemy. If her best friend couldn’t be happy, why should she? That kind of things holds onto a person.”
Eyes narrowing, I say, “You made her feel like the antagonist in her own story. Why?”
At first, I don’t think she’ll answer. Her eyes go down to the carpeted floor, to the walls that have a few landscape paintings on them, to the rack of clothes for my character in the corner. She takes in the room before she can look me in the eye again, and when she does, there’s something broken in the depths staring back.
“Sometimes we can’t help but feel like the bad guy in our lives.” Her fingers trail along the molding that separates the wood paneling and beige wallpaper covering the wall. “Like maybe if we did something different it’d change the outcome. Or like … if we were different then we’d be happier somehow.”
She blames herself for what happened?
“Fuck,” I breathe, standing up and walking over to her. She tenses when I tilt her chin up to meet my eyes. “You’re not the bad guy, Little Bird. I made a promise to you that I didn’t keep because I’m a selfish bastard. There is nothing you need to change about yourself.”
Her eyes may be locked with mine, but they’re so full of disbelief that they’re distant. “You say that now, but those were the words I needed to hear when I was seventeen and thinking there was something wrong with me. Was I not skinny enough? Pretty enough? Did I stop believing in you the way you believed in me? Was there somebody else? I kept wondering if it was because I was in school still, or focused on my writing, or just not good enough…”
It’s hard to swallow past the emotion lodged in my throat. “That was never the case, and I wish I could go back again and make you never think that was why.”