by Eden Butler
But J.J. knew me just as well as Will did. He’d been with me at the very beginning and he saw my reaction to Will’s outburst. He knew right away that my feelings were quite different than those of Captain Dash Thorn. He could tell that it was Will that I wanted, and that I knew I could do nothing about it.
J.J.’s hand slipped under the table, his long, wide fingers gripping mine as Will went on cutting up with Coop. J.J.’s expression was something I took to be understanding. Something I recognized as sympathy.
He wouldn’t ask why I hadn’t corrected Will, why I hadn’t let him know what I felt. J.J. knew as well as I did that I would take Will as my friend first and foremost, even if it meant I couldn’t have him as anything more. I’d take whatever he gave me, no matter how much I wanted it to be more.
CHAPTER FIVE
PRESENT
The missed call icon flashed like a neon sign. The alert was a thorn sticking inside my weak, coward’s heart because I had not been brave enough for the call when it came at two a.m.
Only three people could ever call me at that hour. One was my mother. I’d have instantly taken the call no matter how drunk or dead asleep as I was, if it had been her. Another one was J.J. and though I was convinced he was likely in Heaven telling the angels why that particular hue of white wings did not work for them, I didn’t believe he’d managed inter-dimensional supernatural calling. The only other person who’d call that late was Will and, it turns out, as I clicked open the call log, it had indeed been him who had called no less than three times.
Damn, it was too early for this. Why was I up so early? Oh, that’s right. The four a.m. set call and my internal alarm had not ended with the finale of Clockwork and so although it was barely dawn, I still had no problems partaking in a spontaneous pre-Thanksgiving ritual of comforting my broken heart with wine and dark chocolate. Another Thanksgiving and my family would be off on a cruise for the holiday. I was planning on tucking in with Ripper and eating my weight in Foo’s #13s, all while ignoring Jojo’s constant invites to join the Coop Crew for dinner. It was too risky. Will would never refuse one of Jo’s meals and she’d never forget to ask him over since it was common knowledge that Lana, Will's mother, typically spent Thanksgiving in England defying her Daughters of the American Revolution roots.
Will’s first voice message was long and slow, his words drawn out to exhibit the slur of his insults and lame jokes. “Young padawan, why have you forsaken me?” That got a small laugh from me, but my humor died with the realization that he’d muddled his source material. If you’re gonna quote Geek lore, you better make sure it’s correct.
Then next message was even slower, but peppered with a litany of stupid phrases I barely recognized. “…bullshit of the highest damn regard. You know what…you know what I think? I think you’re an asshole, leaving me alone now? What the actual hell, Raine? What did I do?” He released a weighted breath, hiccupping through the exhale. “Why…why won’t you tell me what the fuck is going on in that thick Texas head of yours?”
That was just rude. Insult me fine, I likely deserved it for not having the minuscule couth to explain to Will that A) I was desperately in love with him, and B) because I was and he could not return the sentiment, I had to lock him out of my heart and life. But insulting my home state? That was hitting below the belt.
The replacement phone I held in my hand—the one my now former P.A., Kelsi, had dropped off just last week right along with her resignation, (pfffttt married a lawyer, please,)—felt smaller, was a lot cleaner than the Cheetos-damaged iPhone I’d cracked when news came my way of Will and BFW getting cozy on their new set. The contact list had transferred, but I had asked Kelsi to keep Will’s info from it. Something she did, but with his random, two a.m. messages, the number seemed to glow and tempt and tease as I stared at it. I hadn’t called Will since we buried J.J. Since that horrible night, actually, and it was working toward Thanksgiving. But damn if his needy drunk messages had me alternatively pissed at him for the insults and aching to make things right.
You fit me. You fit me everywhere.
It always came back to that night. The flash of images, though dulled by my own drunkenness still looped in my brain, like a dream, like something unreal, something I sometimes couldn’t tell was fiction or reality. Had there really been that deep, intense look in Will’s eyes? Had he really been clueless about who he touched? Had we really been all physical reaction, without any realization of what we were doing? Did it really not mean anything to him? Really?
He’d kissed me when the music and drink had been too overwhelming. He’d danced with me tucked under his chin, with his wide, wonderful hands resting perfectly against my lower back and when I sighed, lazily stroking his bare chest, forgetting for a moment that I wasn’t supposed to kiss my best friend’s neck, that I wasn’t supposed to let my sadness overtake me, and pulled him yet closer, brushed against him like it was my right, Will had stumbled, had lost his senses and pulled my face up to his, had held it between his hands and kissed me thoroughly.
Could it really be that he could have done that to anyone?
The memory of that night slipped around my mind in flashes; segmented recollections that were all light and dark, that I couldn’t be sure were real. Fantasy and reality married inside my brain, but I still remembered the smell of his skin, the taste of it, and the deep, aching pressure of him inside me, moving inside of me, of Will, my very best friend holding me like he wanted me, like I was someone he’d never stop wanting, needing, loving.
I held my thumb above the delete key, hovering there as the memory of Will’s body, his scent and taste washed over me like a blanket, warm and right and so very much mine. It would be simple to fall back into the pattern. I could call him, beg for his forgiveness. I could demand to know what was happening with him and the BFW and why the hell he was bothering to spend time with her. I could ask him to forget the past few months, to come over and bring me Swedish Fish and Ranch dressing because only Will knew about my weird affinity for it.
But at my core I was scared. It’s how I ended up in California. My fear that I’d turn out like every other girl in my high school—at Baylor looking for a man, or forgoing college altogether to hurry up and marry off with the first guy who seemed interested—had been real. It kept me from settling. It kept me from being the clone of a good Southern girl that Taunte Clarice wanted to make of me, that the pageant circuit had tried to instill in me. Fear pushed me forward and right now it kept me from reaching out to Will. It kept me from wanting him to know that I needed more from him. I didn't want pathetic. I wanted to shine. And that wasn't possible if I kept mooning over something I could never have.
I deleted the number, letting my new phone slide from my hand and onto my stomach as I watched Ripper sleeping on the pillow next to me. There were three calls from my agent, Lynn, likely harping on me to make up my mind about the London project, but I didn’t bother returning her calls. In the background the TV played the last ten minutes of “Practical Magic.” Sandra Bullock fought for Nicole Kidman’s soul and literally brushed away the ash of the devil who tried to kill her sister just as Ripper snored in his sleep, his floppy ears blocking the bottom half of the screen. He barely moved when I scratched between his ears, watching idly as the coven of women swept that demon from the fine witches' Victorian, and out in the autumn night.
The weekend had been lonesome with my family off on their Caribbean cruise and my friends preparing for Jojo’s great Thanksgiving shindig. Those had become popular and fun affairs over the last few years and it would be the first I’d miss because of my own depression and stupid crippling worry that I’d be forced to face Will.
On my stomach, my new cell chirped and as though the thought of his wife had summoned me, Coop’s text pushed back the HEA on the screen and my own self-imposed worry that I had to find a way to fall out of love with my best friend.
Coop: Jojo wants you here for dinner.
Of course Jo did, b
ut I knew Coop. Family and friends and fun was something he always made time for. We’d spent the past decade struggling together and now that everyone in the business wanted something from him, Cooper liked to keep “his” people close. It was why he tended to work the same group of actors and directors—squad rules and we were all in the Vilmont Squad. But even my friends’ insistence that I join in the crew events could not ebb away my fear and worry that being around Will would be tantamount to letting him back in. I loved him wildly, but needed to keep him at arm’s length if I was ever going to keep him in the “Off Limits” category.
Raine: I can’t do that. Tell her thanks, but I’m not feeling up for company.
Coop: The house elves are restless and want you in the Great Hall tonight.
Raine: I really can’t. Sorry.
Coop: Then I’m calling in a favor, you little Muggle
Raine: Coop…please don’t.
Funny thing was, when your mentor and boss is a Hollyweird big shot, you don’t get to tell him no. He didn’t bother with continuing the texts and I picked up the ringing cell before the second chirp sounded.
“What favor?” I asked him, sitting up when I heard the background noise on the other line. That sounded distinctly like Will’s loud voice among the congregation of laughter. At this hour in the morning? Really? Somehow knowing they all were already up and having fun made my own situation even more pathetic.
“I want to do the contemporary Tristan and Isolde film I’ve been threatening forever.” He wasn’t joking. Coop had always wanted to put a spin on the Celtic legend; give it a contemporary twist, have Tristan taking Isolde on a road trip while escorting her to his frat brother’s place for their wedding, but getting lost and falling in love along the way. At his core, Cooper was a romantic and liked the idea of placing classic characters in contemporary lives. But doing that now? So soon after J.J.’s death when Will and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms didn’t sound like my idea of a great time. “Come on, Rainey, it’ll be sweet and funny without all the angst, lies and death by broken heart.”
“You want to film it? Like…now?”
“We’re all on a break.” More background noise filtered between Coop’s explanation and I shot a look out of my window. There was a long weekend and then the week afterward off for most people working in this crazy industry. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone willing to work from Halloween until New Year’s unless it was sporting a massive budget. Coop and Jo had just wrapped on a major blockbuster complete with super villains, alien overlords and a girl destined to save the world. Their idea of decompressing came with friends, food, wine and a several Canon C300 cameras.
Coop had flirted with the idea for this project for years and I’d committed to being all in a thousand times before. But that was then…when J.J. was still willing to kiss me if Coop wanted him as my Tristan. Will was going to be the frat brother and I’d be the object of their mutual affection. But J.J. was gone now. There was no one to replace him.
“You’re out of a job and everyone else is on winter break. Shit, Rainey, they’re all here. I just need my Isa.”
“Coop…”
The noise went mute as a door closed on the other end and I could make out Coop’s footsteps as he moved down the hardwood floors I knew ran through his hallway. Another click and then the slip against leather and I understood that Cooper was sitting at his home office desk. This meant serious business. Coop only hid in that office when he was working—which I knew wasn’t the case—or when he wanted to yell at someone. Turns out, I was the only someone he was speaking to.
“Mon zanmi, I want to eat good food, drink great wine and forget about the heartache we’ve all been dealt this year. Jo and I went from seeing you every day for six years to hardly hearing from you at all. Especially since whatever happened with Will…” He paused, seeming to take my heavy breath as the warning it was. Coop cleared his throat and I could make out the scratch of his fingers against his stubble before he spoke. “I hate to be that guy, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to pull the ‘I Made You A Star’ card.”
“Cooper…”
His voice went low, the sound somewhere between a breath and a laugh and I tried to keep my reaction controlled. Cooper was right. He and JoJo had done everything they could to help me improve, to get me in front of a camera and an audience, and help me to find my footing in this insane business. I did owe them; not just for the walk on shots on AURA or for letting this still-green redhead with a big mouth and bigger butt lead their precious steampunk historical. They’d given me a family away from my own.
Resigned to the inevitable, I didn’t comment when Cooper’s noiseless response muffled into a laugh, as though he knew my answer before I gave it. Smug bastard.
“Fi—”
“Great. Knew it. We’re at the place at the vineyard. Going to do most of the filming in the woods around the stables. Dinner’s at eight. Don’t be late.”
Ripper snorted awake when I tossed my cell on the cushion next to him. There was a sleepy, half unconscious look in his sad brown eyes and I wondered if he knew just how irrevocably his mistress had botched up her life.
“I can do it, right, Rip? I can be around him and not act like a freak? He isn’t all consuming. I can…control myself and my feelings, right?” Somehow, with the slump of my dog’s face and the slobbering yawn he released, I got the feeling that even my precious mutt didn’t have any faith in me.
INTERVAL
Raine: Michael Robinson asked me out. But, he’s Canadian so…
Will: My family is from Canada, ass.
Raine: Yeah and you avoid them. Tell me what to do. I’m hopeless with this stuff.
Will: How did he ask?
Raine: He said he liked my jokes. I did the thing…the stupid thing.
Will: You keep cracking corny jokes when you’re nervous or awkward, you’ll die alone.
Raine: My corny jokes got Michael to ask me out.
Will. Yeah? So? He’s a third-rate EP.
Raine: His show got nominated last season.
Will: He’s Canadian.
Raine: Point taken.
Will: You should reserve your corny jokes for me…and J.J.
***
Will: Why the hell am I doing this movie? I hate high fantasy.
Raine: BLASPHEMY!
Will: You hate it too.
Raine: How dare you. I’m in Gryffindor.
Will: Potter doesn’t count. Only Tolkien does.
Raine: It’s a two-month shoot. You’ll survive.
Will: I’d rather be a Jedi than a Knight.
Raine: Same difference. Jedi/Knight, different genres, same gig.
Will: I find your lack of compliance to my complaint disturbing.
Raine: Woah, Skywalker. I can have a different opinion. I can even voice it when the mood strikes. It’s what Gryffindors do. Roar!
Will: Whatever. You’re totally a Hufflepuff.
Raine: How. Very. Dare. You.
CHAPTER SIX
Christmas, Seven Years Ago,
Quinn Family Home, Waco, Texas
My father had a fit trying not to laugh at Will.
“Son, come on now. Man the hell up.”
“Daddy, don’t say that to him.” I brushed my father’s hand out back as Will looked away, skin going pale as though he’d fall to the floor in a second from the shock. “God, Will, you should know better than to listen to my daddy when he challenges you to a cast off.”
“He makes it look easy.”
“Duh.” Dad managed to keep his humor in check, shrugging at me as though he were an innocent bystander when I glared at him. He adjusted his Baylor ball cap over his dark ginger hair, making the bib slip nearly over his eyes. He did that, I knew, because he didn’t want to go hurting Will’s pride. Everything my father thought was clear as a bell in those big, gray eyes. At that moment, Daddy must have been thinking that Will was a goofball for hooking himself.
Will lost so
me of his bravado when my father disappeared back inside and only I could see now just how deeply the fishing lure was stuck into the palm of his hand. “Damn idiots, the both of you. Be still.” He listened, slumping against the wooden column that shored up the dock around my parents’ lakeside home. “He’s been challenging boys to cast offs since I was fifteen and got boobs and warranted adolescent sniffing around this place.”
“To be fair,” my best friend started, wincing when I loosened the eye of the hook back, “you do have some pretty glorious boobs.”
“Like you know.” Something caught in my base of my throat and I hoped that Will would think the warm flush on my pale skin came from the unseasonably warm temperatures and not the compliment he’d given my boobs.
“I’ve told you a dozen times before, Pinkie, I’m not dead.” Another wince and Will’s next words were muffled behind his palm as I freed his hand of the hook and he sucked on the tender skin there. “Besides, even J.J. has noticed them and we both know his interest in your body is purely scientific.”
“No. His interest comes from his horrible nosiness.” Will let me look over the cut on his palm as I twisted his hand closer toward the yellow bug light above us. The mosquitoes shouldn’t be this abundant, but the temperatures had lingered toward the humid side and no front had yet moved through to take the sting out of the temperatures. The annoying critters were sticking around and just then they zipped and zapped right into an electric death. But I only noticed my best friend, inching closer as I looked over the small slice against his skin. That familiar sandalwood scent hit me hard and I dropped Will’s hand and inched away before I’d do something drastically foolish. I was pretty sure he’d not appreciated me going at his neck like a blood hound on the trail of a juicy rabbit.
