Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  His eyes widened. “You’re finished.”

  “What do you think?” I mused, enjoying his faint surprise.

  “It’s great,” he answered, still looking at himself. “What about the hair?”

  I made a small sound, dropped the makeup brush in my hand, and stepped up to him, slipping between him and the mirror. I don’t know how, but I’d nearly forgotten about his hair.

  Guess I’d been too distracted with the rest of him.

  Both hands delved into the long strands on top of his head to finger-comb them. Our feet bumped when I moved slightly closer so I could reach better.

  He cleared his throat, and my eyes shot to his. Hands still tangled in his hair, my eyes bounced between his green ones, suddenly feeling shy.

  “I’m not really used to anyone being taller than me.”

  “Should I sit down?” His deep voice was low, sort of like it was meant just for me, and I fought a shiver working its way up my spine.

  “No need,” I answered briskly and returned to adjusting his hair with my fingers. Quickly stepping back, I grabbed a giant can of hairspray and attacked his head.

  He coughed dramatically. “This isn’t an eighties movie.”

  I sprayed him again, not because he needed it, but because I could.

  I set aside the can and reached up once more. At the same time, he waved away the nonexistent cloud in front of his face. The swiping motion knocked into my outstretched arms and made me slip back. Proving yet again he had lightning-fast reflexes, Nick caught me around the waist before I could fall into the mirror. Automatically, my hands fell onto his shoulders, gripping the broad muscles.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, and I swore his hands tightened around me.

  Jolting back, I came up against the mirror, pushing his body away from mine. “I just need to—ah—” Gesturing to his hair, I completely ignored the little current of excitement zinging through me.

  Clearing his throat, he lowered his chin to oblige.

  Quickly, I adjusted the strands, and he lifted his face.

  Nodding once, I gestured for him to go. “That should be good until I get out on set.”

  “Do you need help getting your stuff out there?”

  “No, I’ve got it. You go ahead. They’re waiting.”

  He watched me for another split second, then turned, nearly colliding with Callie. She squeaked and doubled back, almost falling, but Nick caught her too.

  Guess he was a real knight in shining armor, stopping women everywhere from busting their asses.

  “I was just coming to get you,” she said as he righted her.

  “Lead the way.” He motioned, turning back to me. “See you out there.”

  I nodded but didn’t breathe until he was nearly out of the trailer.

  “Gurrl,” Carson drawled, coming up close beside me. “I think I just saw some sparks.”

  “I think you’re on a sugar high from that donut.”

  “I only had two bites,” he refuted, glancing longingly at the trash can, then at the door Nick just left through. “It was worth it.”

  I giggled.

  “I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Jessica said from Carson’s chair. “Nick has sparks with everyone. It’s his job.”

  Carson gave me a look, then sauntered back over to finish his work on the starlet.

  I didn’t say anything at all as I packed up my cart. It was going to be a long day.

  “Cut!” the director yelled, and my body relaxed. Instantly, all the blood drained down into my head.

  “We’ll have you down in two shakes of a dog’s tale, Mr. Preston!” one of the hands called out.

  “Take your time,” I called as my body swayed like a pendulum. “I’m not going anywhere.” Chuckles from around the set erupted and so did the familiar constant click of a camera.

  Just another day on the job, you know. Hanging upside down, “caught” on the sail of a boat while battling the bad guys.

  “Special effects!” the director yelled.

  Even though I was woozy and dangling, I gazed around for Zoey, instead seeing a camera crew gathered close to the large tank of water. Jessica was standing there in full glamour, smiling and answering the questions the woman with the mic was asking.

  I recognized her instantly. Candace Grimes, face of Hollywood Access, the top news outlet for celebrities. I use the term news lightly because mostly it was gossip with just enough truth and entertainment coverage to qualify as legit.

  Feeling my gaze, Jessica turned her baby blues to where I was strung up and waved. Of course, everyone standing there with her turned to me as well. I delivered a devilish smile that made my job look fun and daring.

  Beep, beep, beep...

  Ear piercing, high-pitched noise shrouded everything as a large machine pulled right up to the side of the giant tank. Mechanical arms extended and a platform slid under me. One of the stagehands appeared, and I was lowered until I was sitting on it with the harness and ropes still attached around me.

  “We’re just going to leave you hooked in,” the man beside me explained, holding out a bottle of water. “Soon as the makeup people do their thing, we’ll finish shooting this scene.”

  As I sipped, there was a bit of commotion nearby, drawing my attention. The crew from Hollywood Access split, and Zoey stepped through. Her face was downturned, so I could only see the top of her dark head. Her shoulders were hunched in a bit as if she were trying to make herself look small. Noticing the kit both her hands wrapped around, I figured it was probably heavy.

  Portable stairs were leaned against the tank, and she climbed them. Arriving at the top, she paused, glancing at the beam she had to walk across to get to the platform where I sat. After glancing over her shoulder at the camera crew, then quickly back, her shoulders tensed and the grip around the kit’s handle tightened.

  “Filming resumes in ten!” someone from down below yelled.

  Her chin came up, and our eyes collided briefly, long enough for me to see the flash of panic in hers before she gazed down at the beam once more.

  Setting aside the water, I pushed up to my feet, ignoring the wash of dizziness over me as my blood went back to all the places it belonged. The harness was tight, and the long rope tangled around my feet when I moved forward.

  “You should stay there,” the stagehand advised, reaching down to move some of the rope.

  Ignoring him, I stepped onto the beam and held out my hand. “Give me the kit,” I said.

  Zoey’s eyes widened. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she started across, seeming woefully unsteady.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as I could for privacy’s sake.

  Yes. Privacy was sort of a joke with all the cameras pointed at me, but I still tried.

  “No,” she said, extending the kit.

  I took it and handed it to the stagehand. Turning back, I noticed the way she wobbled on her way across, even though the beam was wide enough for her to walk across. Her feet shuffled a bit, almost like she was dragging them.

  “Give me your hand,” I told her, extending mine.

  Her throat worked when she swallowed, hesitation clear in her face.

  “Are you getting this?” Candace said from the other side of the tank, and I practically felt the spotlight on the camera aimed at us intensify.

  Sheer panic burst across Zoey’s face. Lines around her mouth formed, and her balance seemed to get worse.

  Instead of waiting, I took a couple more steps and wrapped my hand around hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Want me to call for Carson or Laura?” I whispered.

  Her eyes slid in the direction of the camera crew, but she didn’t turn around. A slight shake of her head was all the answer I got before she was clutching my fingers like I was her lifeline and moving the rest of the way across the beam.

  Her eyes gripped mine as if I were the only person in the room, as if I were the sole reason she was still uprig
ht. A sense of trust and responsibility dropped over me like a heavy blanket, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it made me feel stronger.

  The toe of her sneaker tangled in the ropes around me, making her pitch forward. Alarm flashed over her features, and she squeezed her eyes shut so tight that wrinkles formed at the corners. Despite being slightly unsteady from hanging upside down for so long, I caught her.

  All six feet of Zoey tumbled right into my torso. Her arms reflexively pulled into her chest in a protective gesture. We rocked back slightly against the force of her tumble, but I recovered almost instantly to keep us upright.

  The click of camera shutters and buzz of voices seemed miles away, mere background noise to whatever was happening between us.

  Hands still fisted against her, my arms adjusted, taking her weight more comfortably. Then I gazed down. Slowly, she lifted her face, her lashes fluttering open as bright-pink spots bloomed across her cheeks.

  Wary brown irises fixed on mine, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m sorry.”

  “First time on a platform like this?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

  She swallowed and pushed off my chest. “No.” Straightening and flipping her hair behind her shoulders, she steadied herself quickly. “I’m okay now. You can let go.”

  When our physical contact continued, her stare flashed up. The brown was beautiful... but it just didn’t feel right.

  I shook my head. Her eye color didn’t feel right? Hanging upside was clearly messing with my brain.

  Her indignant little sound snapped me out of the thought. I smiled. “You’re the one holding on to me,” I informed her, pointedly gazing down at where her hand clutched the sleeve of my shirt.

  She snatched her hand back as if I were on fire. “Time is limited.” Her words were brisk and businesslike.

  Taking the kit from the assistant’s hand, she kneeled down with it, opening it up. “Can you sit?” she asked, not looking up.

  I did, lifting the water and taking another long sip. “So,” I mused as she began working on my face, “if you aren’t afraid of heights and have been on a platform like this before, what’s got you spooked?”

  “I’m not spooked,” she said, not even pausing in her work.

  “Liar,” I whispered.

  “I need a spray bottle. We should wet your hair down and some of your clothes. It’s unrealistic for you to be so dry.” She started to get up, but I caught her wrist, keeping her at my side.

  “Can you go grab that for us?” I asked the stagehand.

  “Sure thing,” he said, going off instantly.

  I felt her gaze when I turned back. Lifting my face, I motioned to it.

  Without another word, she started working again. “They want me to add a gash to your forearm,” she said when my face was done.

  Dropping back onto her butt, one foot pressed against the inside of her thigh while the other leg stretched across the floor. “Arm,” she instructed like she was a doctor that needed a tool.

  I held out my arm.

  “Other one.”

  Making a sound beneath my breath and pulling back, I had to turn around and slide closer to her, offering up the skin she wanted.

  “This okay?”

  Rotating a little so her knee bumped against my body, she grasped my forearm with both hands and placed it across her lap.

  The sound of her rummaging through the kit beside us affected me like heavy rain on the roof in the middle of the night. Soothing, relaxing... something I didn’t want to fall asleep and miss.

  When her hands were on me, I noted the slight tremble and frowned. She hadn’t been trembling earlier in the trailer.

  “You sure everything’s okay?” I whispered so low I wondered if she would be able to hear.

  “I’m sure,” she answered, her tone matching mine.

  How the hell we managed to create such an intimate, private space in the middle of a bustling and noisy movie set, I didn’t understand. It was a reprieve I didn’t realize I needed.

  She avoided my stare when my eyes sought her face. Could she feel it too? Was this one-sided?

  “You almost done?” Admittedly, the words came out harsher than I intended, but sitting here, realizing how drawn to her I was, annoyed me. Especially when she seemed entirely unaffected by me.

  What about the tremble in her hands? What about the way she clung to you like a lifeline?

  The thoughts confused me, making regret rise in the back of my throat.

  Zoey glanced up, then back down at her work. “Almost.”

  The platform wobbled, and her fingers momentarily gripped my arm.

  “Here it is.” The assistant burst into our little world, thrusting a large spray bottle between us.

  “Thank you.” I took the bottle and held it while she finished.

  “What do you think?” she asked, eyeing her art. “Think that’s gruesome enough?”

  I studied my arm, which still rested over her lap. The skin appeared to be ripped and draped open, revealing a bloody red gash. It was slightly shiny, oozing and uneven, just the way my arm would really look if the rope I was tangled in rubbed it raw.

  “Looks nasty,” I observed. With a grin, I met her eyes. “I love it.”

  “Oh, wait!” she mused, pulling my arm back when I started to move away.

  My leg brushed against her when I sank back down. Her hands felt cool on my skin. Producing a pair of tweezers, she leaned over me, grasping some of the rope.

  I watched her add a few fibers to the wound, making it look even more realistic.

  “There.” Satisfaction filled her tone.

  “Wet him down,” the assistant instructed.

  I pushed to my feet as she repacked the kit. Then without thinking, I reached down to help tow her to her feet.

  Clearing her throat, she took the bottle and began spraying my hair, running her hands through it. The mist was fine and floated around my head, clinging to my cheeks and ears.

  The director called out a few notes while she sprayed down my shirt and neck. Even though I was having a conversation with someone else, all my attention was focused on her. Especially when she took her palm and rubbed it across the side of my neck.

  Like a moth to a flame, my eyes fluttered to her. Sensing the change, her tentative gaze lifted to mine.

  My stomach dropped, sort of like I was on a rollercoaster, compensating for the sudden imbalance inside me. My heart began to pound.

  “Finished,” she announced, stepping back.

  “Hold the frame!” someone yelled.

  I wasn’t the number one action hero in Hollywood for my looks alone. I had skills too. So even though my brain wasn’t working, my body went on autopilot. Turning for the camera, I stood still, allowing them to zoom in with the cameras, and all the people who needed to check out my appearance gathered around the monitors.

  “Good to go!” the director yelled, signaling with a thumbs-up. “Positions!”

  “I’ll help you across,” I said, reaching for her kit.

  “Over here, Mr. Preston.” The assistant motioned for me.

  “Nick,” I corrected without thinking but didn’t move toward him.

  Zoey pulled the kit back, denying me. “You have work to do. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded and moved away.

  My name was called again, so I turned to take my place, readying to be strung upside down once more.

  Seconds later, someone shouted, the loud grinding of gears filled the set, and chaos erupted.

  I said it was going to be a long day, didn’t I?

  Understatement of the century.

  I should have known the second Nick Preston plopped his tall, handsome ass in my chair this morning and rabid laser beams from Laura’s and Jessica’s eyes nearly burned a hole in my face that my cushy, “simple” job on set would become a living nightmare.

  And I would know. I am well qualified in nightmares.

&n
bsp; That’s what makes a nightmare so horrifying, though. You can’t know when they’re coming, what form they will take, or how bad it might change everything.

  Being well qualified in nightmares didn’t stop them from coming... It only made you live in fear.

  I was well versed in that too.

  For a split second, I didn’t pay attention. For a split second, I glanced at the camera crew as I turned to leave the platform.

  The ear-splitting grinding of gears pulled my attention back, but it was too late. A bone-chilling, aggressive blast of water so cold it felt like tiny knives punched into me.

  The kit fell to the floor as I raised my hands to block the spray that was so strong it felt like a fire hydrant exploding in my face. Not only was the breath robbed from my lungs, but the unexpected onslaught knocked me back. Scrambling to get away from the explosion, I stumbled, unable to see or hear a thing.

  I was falling.

  Plummeting over the side of the small platform with nothing but air to protect me... and air was a lousy shield.

  My stomach bottomed out, and a crippling sense of panic stole what little thought I had before my back slammed into the surface of the water below, the waves sucking me under like a vacuum and swallowing me whole.

  So much turbulence. There was so much violence in the water despite it being a mere tank. It was as if I really had plunged into the ocean during a hurricane. I felt like a rag doll being tossed around without any clarity of what I needed to do to save myself.

  This wasn’t the first time in my life I’d stared into the face of death. It taught me no matter how many times a woman was about to die, it never became less scary.

  Water rushed up my nose, burning my throat as I struggled to see which way was up. It felt like I was being shoved deeper toward the bottom, and the light in the water began to fade, becoming dim, as though the sun were setting at the end of a long day.

  It had been a long life... far longer than my twenty-six years would suggest.

  Suddenly, the water seemed to calm, almost as if it knew the battle was over and it was victorious. My eyes opened, focusing immediately on a large dark figure plunging through the water, making the waves I’d just fought against appear painfully week.