Cold

by Max Monroe

  But she gave nothing in return. Her lips remained in a firm line, and her emerald eyes were so damn cold they were nearly blue.

  “Thank you so much for letting us stay here last night, Levi,” Camilla chimed in.

  “Anytime,” I responded, but my gaze stayed fixated on Ivy. “And there’s no rush. You can both stay here until you find another place to rent.”

  “I already found us something,” Ivy updated, but her eyes never met mine. “Production pulled some quick strings and found us another rental.”

  “That’s…good to hear.”

  “Yeah. It is.” Her gaze flitted to mine, but the connection didn’t last for more than a fucking second or two. “Thanks for letting us stay here last night.”

  I just nodded in return. I mean, what else could I do? My mind was one hundred versions of fucked-up, trying to figure out the meaning behind her abrupt, cold-as-ice behavior.

  “All right!” Camilla exclaimed and started to move for the door. “Well, we better get a move on it. Dane, do you mind dropping me off at our new digs so Ivy can drive the rental straight to production?”

  “It’d be my pleasure.” Dane grinned, and Camilla returned his sentiment.

  “See ya around, Levi,” he said, and with the girls’ bags in one hand, he placed the other to the small of Camilla’s back and ushered her outside.

  Before Ivy could make her way out the door, I reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. She turned on her heel, and her eyes met mine.

  “You okay?” I asked, and she shrugged.

  “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Her voice was all off. Stiff. Jolted. Too damn disconnected.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I responded. “But you’re definitely acting like you’re pretty pissed about something.”

  “Are you saying I’m acting like a bitch?” she spat and snagged her wrist from my grip with a quick yank of her arm.

  My brow furrowed of its own accord. “You said it, not me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re obviously thinking it.”

  Well, fuck, now I was definitely thinking it.

  I didn’t respond, though, just stared into her hardened emerald gaze.

  And she stared right back.

  I searched her eyes. But she gave nothing in return. Not a single inkling of what she was really thinking or feeling.

  “Are you mad about what happened last night?” I finally asked when the silence between us stretched too thin to not break it.

  “Why would I be mad about that?” she questioned. “We fucked. Big deal.”

  We fucked. Big deal.

  Ivy’s words had the strength of a thousand men pummeling my chest.

  “Wow. Yeah. Okay,” I muttered more to myself than her.

  One last look into the eyes of what felt like a stranger and I decided, instead of falling into our old routine of an all-out verbal war, I’d take the high road.

  “See ya around, Ivy,” I said and turned around, leaving her standing by herself in the foyer.

  I had no idea why, within an eight-hour span of time, Ivy had gone from a woman lying in my bed, kissing me with everything she had, to someone who acted like I’d pissed in her fucking Cheerios.

  I didn’t know what was going on with Ivy.

  But you could guarantee, I’d sure as fuck figure it out.

  My head was one hundred shades of fucked-up. And when I closed my eyes to reel in my dark and twisty emotions, all I saw was black.

  Inside the set of Walter Gaskins’s home, the walls of this remake might as well have been closing in on me.

  I’d left Levi’s house over four hours ago, and still, I couldn’t shake him from my thoughts.

  We’d had sex.

  We’d fucked.

  Big deal, right?

  It had been inevitable. I mean, the way the sexual tension had built up between us, we were bound to break and give in to it.

  But you hadn’t just fucked last night…

  All of the commotion on set, Hugo talking to the camera crew, Boyce discussing scene positioning and dialogue cues with Sal Marcello, the man who played the Cold-Hearted Killer in the film, it all faded away at the thought.

  Only the erratic beating of my heart and unsteady breaths of my lungs filled my ears as the realization of all of it soaked into my pores, my thoughts, my fucking heart.

  Last night with Levi hadn’t just been fucking.

  It’d been something else. It’d been more.

  He made love to you.

  And right on cue, there was my inner dialogue. My goddamn subconscious telling me all the things I needed to hear but didn’t want to hear.

  Instantly, the world felt closer to my eyes, and the air around me turned soupy, making it harder to breathe. A glossy sheen obscured my vision, and my thoughts scattered like there was an actual electrical storm in my head, too many short-circuits to make any sense. All the while, the only thing that persisted, the only thing that kept repeating inside my mind was, Levi didn’t fuck you last night. He made love to you. And you made love to him right back.

  It was too much.

  He was too much.

  My feelings for him…too fucking much.

  It was for all of those reasons, why the instant the sun had risen into the sky, I’d snuck out of his room like a coward. Too scared to face him. Too overwhelmed to confront what I felt for him.

  A shaky breath bubbled up from my lungs, and I knew I needed to get it together.

  I walked off the set for a brief moment and found emotional shelter off to the side of the crowd made up by the cast and crew. I leaned my back against the wall and just focused on the simplest of tasks.

  Breathe. Just breathe. In and out, Ivy.

  I placed a hand to my chest, and every muscle inside my body felt tight. Even my face felt tight, like smiling just wasn’t an option today. The usual calm and focus I maintained while I was working had been replaced by a carousel of thoughts and questions and fears.

  Despite everything I’d been through with Levi, despite the way he’d hurt me, I was still falling for him.

  You’ve already fallen.

  The way he’d made me feel last night, the emotions, the vulnerability, the fucking intimacy of it all… It overwhelmed me.

  I was scared.

  Scared I felt too much. Cared too much. Loved him too much.

  I feared I’d passed the point of no return with him, and that was the most terrifying part of it all.

  Levi Fox hadn’t proven to be someone who was delicate with my heart. Ever since I’d met him, he’d been a wildfire, and I feared that if I handed him my heart and he hurt me again, all I’d end up with was an empty chest and a world of fucking pain.

  My eyes took on a sheen of moisture again as tension built behind them.

  Fuck, I needed to shake this off. Now wasn’t the time or place for an emotional meltdown.

  I had work to do.

  A pivotal fucking scene in this movie.

  The one where Grace goes into Walter Gaskins’s house without backup.

  The one where she finds Bethany Johnson already dead.

  The one based on the real-life scene that sealed her fate.

  I pushed myself off the wall and paced the small hallway behind the set.

  If my limbs were moving, the anxiety clawing at my throat was gone.

  Well, at least, I could ignore it for a while.

  Otherwise, if I was standing still, if I was letting my mind consume me, the anxiety, the fear, it was still there, coursing through my veins as if it hitched a ride on my blood cells.

  “Ivy!” Boyce’s voice boomed from the set, and I sprung into action, moving out of the hallway and toward where he stood inside Walter Gaskins’s living room.

  “Where the fuck were you?” he spat toward me as I stepped through the makeshift front door.

  God, he could be such a bastard.

  Some days, he treated me so fucking nice, almost too nice.

  An
d others, he acted like I was the biggest thorn in his side.

  I’d be glad when this movie was finished filming just for the fact that I wouldn’t have to deal with Boyce Williams any longer. Hell, I’d already updated my agent Jason and manager Mariah that I didn’t want to work with him again.

  “Just grabbed a quick drink of water,” I responded and forced an amiable smile to my lips.

  But Boyce gave zero fucks about my excuse or the smile.

  “Well, your water break is wasting everyone’s fucking time,” he muttered just quiet enough that his words reached my ears alone.

  If only Hugo Roman could actually hear Boyce in action, I think he’d also think twice again about hiring him as a producer on future projects.

  But Boyce had proven to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Sly and malicious, lately, he always made sure his outbursts and shitty comments toward me were under everyone else’s radar but mine.

  “All right, quiet on set, everyone!” Hugo yelled from his director’s chair just as Boyce walked off the set.

  “You ready?” Sal asked me quietly, and I nodded.

  He was a good man, a fantastic actor, and if anyone could bring Walter Gaskins’s role to life, it was him.

  It wasn’t an easy role to play, a serial killer who preyed upon young women, but Sal Marcello had proven over his fifteen-year acting career that he was a master at his craft and could take on any role. Even the antagonist.

  “What about you?” I asked him, and he offered a soft little smirk.

  “I was born ready.”

  I grinned at that, but it was brief once the realization of the scene we were seconds away from delving into hit me straight in the chest.

  I thought about Grace.

  I thought about Levi finding her.

  And I thought about the fact that while she was dying in his arms and Walter Gaskins had been served his fate, “Blue Bayou” played in the background.

  Obviously, that was a part of the real-life story no one else knew, but it was a powerful and painful aspect.

  I guessed I could’ve told Hugo. I could’ve revealed the secret details Levi had shared with me last night. It would’ve only added to the film, made it more raw, more fascinating, more everything. But it wouldn’t have felt right.

  Those were his details to tell, not mine.

  With a deep inhale, I thought about my lines, and I pushed my mind to step into Grace Murphy’s shoes. I glanced down at my Cold PD costume, my gaze taking in the nameplate with her name.

  And just before Hugo called “Action!” I looked out toward the cast and crew and met the midnight-blue gaze of a man who played on my mind like it was his own personal concert venue.

  Levi stood off to the side. His face was tight and jaw was firm. I’d had no idea he was here. Had no idea when he’d arrived, but I knew this scene in particular had to be the most painful one for him to watch.

  A reenactment of the day he lost Grace.

  I averted my eyes and stared down at the little taped X’s positioned around the floor of the living room set.

  One breath. Two breaths. I pushed my mind to another world. Another reality. Another person’s life.

  “Action!” Hugo called.

  And just like that, I was Grace Murphy.

  I’d just arrived at the residence that had received a disturbance call from a neighbor. When they’d phoned in the concern, they’d told the 9-1-1 operator they’d heard female screams coming from this house. And they’d said they’d not only heard them right before they’d called in, but they’d heard them the night before too.

  This was the home of Walter Gaskins.

  A man whose wife had died a few years prior.

  A man who had no children or female relatives to speak of.

  A man who lived alone.

  “Dispatch, this is Murphy. I’ve arrived at 33 Mirror Lane. Send backup,” I said into the radio at my chest.

  I should’ve waited for backup. But I couldn’t.

  I needed to go inside.

  “Cold PD!” I yelled with three harsh bangs to the door.

  No answer.

  I did that two more times, but when no response was received, I went in alone.

  My gut clenched with impending doom, because I knew, I just knew Bethany was inside. And I prayed I wasn’t too late.

  Four hard kicks to the worn wood of the front door with my boot and I gained entry.

  Three steps into the front door, my gun was in my hands, and I scanned the room.

  No one.

  Poised and ready, I walked through Gaskins’s living room, past the kitchen and dining room, and when I reached the hallway that led to the bedrooms, I moved down it slowly, eyes searching, senses alert.

  Once I stopped my boots in front of the back bedroom, the one at the very rear of the house, I found the door shut.

  Fear clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down and pushed the door open.

  Gun poised, I peered inside, and then, everything turned to pain.

  My world crumbled down around me.

  Every fear, every worst-case scenario, came to fruition.

  Bethany.

  She lay on the bed. Her blue lips parted, her empty eyes partially open, and the cause of her death evident in the purpled bruises around the ashen skin of her dainty neck.

  A strangled sob bubbled up from my lungs.

  Frozen in shock and dismay for one second too long, I let my guard down.

  My emotions had made me vulnerable.

  And Walter Gaskins was there, behind me, ready to capitalize.

  “Goodbye, Grace.”

  “Cut!” Hugo called on take seven. He stood up from his director’s chair and offered a few celebratory claps toward the set. “Bravo, everyone!”

  I lay in Johnny Atkins’s arms, my head resting on his thigh, my body in a puddle of prop blood.

  He grinned down at me as he helped lift me to my feet, but I couldn’t muster the same expression.

  We’d shot this painful scene one too many times, and my head had to go to a far-too-dark place in order to execute it.

  I was drained, emotionally, physically, mentally.

  The emotional roller coaster that was Grace’s story had officially taken its toll.

  “I think we can call it a day,” Hugo added, and everyone on set offered a thankful cheer.

  As I headed toward my trailer, an unwelcome voice filled my ears.

  “Ivy!” Boyce called from behind me, and I grimaced. “Come here for a minute.”

  I paused my steps and turned to find him standing only a few feet in front of me.

  With two long strides, he closed the distance between us, and I internally cringed at the close proximity to a man who’d proven time and time again he was fifty percent asshole and fifty percent egotistical bastard.

  “You think you can come to work tomorrow a little more focused?” he questioned, and his harsh gaze locked with mine. “A scene that should’ve taken two takes max ended up being seven because of your inability to do what we needed you to do.”

  My brow furrowed at his unforgiving words. “I’m a little confused, Boyce,” I responded. “Hugo seemed really happy with how filming went today.”

  “Happy with everyone else but you,” he added, and even though his voice was quiet, his words boomed inside my head.

  “And why isn’t he telling me this himself?”

  “Because he has better things to do than deal with the bullshit of a diva actress.”

  What a dick.

  I’d thought I was on emotional overload a few minutes ago after finishing filming one of the hardest scenes of my acting career, but I was wrong.

  Now, I was on real overload.

  Stick a fucking fork in me, I was done with a capital D.

  My gut instinct told me he was full of shit and nearly everything that came out of this man’s mouth was lies. But the insecure part of me said other things that had me second-guessing every-fucking-thing.

>   And insecurity, once you let it seep into your thoughts, was a fucking parasite. It’d latch on and prey on every little uncertainty you had.

  Instead of making a big scene, I took the high road. And, honestly, I just didn’t have the strength to deal with him.

  “See you tomorrow, Boyce,” I said, turning to walk away, and I didn’t look back.

  Once I stepped inside my trailer, I shut the door and inhaled a long breath.

  I just need some peace and quiet, I thought as I unbuckled the prop Cold PD belt and gun holster and removed it from my hips.

  But that peace and quiet only lasted for so long.

  Two soft knocks to my door and I cringed.

  So much for peace and quiet.

  I wasn’t sure who I’d see on the other side of my trailer door, but I prayed it wasn’t Boyce.

  After a quick turn of the knob and a gentle jerk of my arm, the door opened with ease, and I wasn’t the least bit prepared for the man who stood on the other side.

  Levi.

  Just the sight of his handsome face and my heart started to race. My lungs constricted. And a million tiny butterflies fluttered inside of my belly.

  Today of all days, he was the one man I didn’t know how to face.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I didn’t know how to act.

  And more than that, I didn’t understand how I could’ve let myself feel so fucking much for him. The way I felt when I looked into the depths of his blue eyes terrified the ever-loving shit out of me.

  While watching Ivy and Sal and Johnny film that final scene, I had stood there and let all of the real-life memories flood my brain. They had effervesced to the surface and, for the first time in a really long time, I’d let myself really feel them.

  God, today had been rough, a real fucking doozy of a day. And now, even though the sun was setting in the west, I stood in front of Ivy’s trailer door, and I felt like the day was only just beginning.

  Despite the risk of emotional overload, I wanted to see her. Needed to see her.

  I needed to know why, after I’d made love to her—because that’s what I’d done—how she could just write it off as a mere fuck, a simple, emotionless notch on a bedpost.

  After two knocks to the door, Ivy opened it, and when her big green eyes met mine, I didn’t miss the surprise that flashed within them.