by Skye Jordan
The harsh rejection stung. “Troy—”
He turned away and started toward the suite, slapping her ass in the process. A squeak of surprise pushed aside the argument brewing in her heart just before he dismissed her with, “Make sure the door closes when you leave.”
Without looking back, he sauntered down the short hallway and turned into a room, closing the door behind him.
All Giselle’s air leaked from her lungs and left a sharp ache throbbing beneath her ribs.
What the…?
Water ran behind the closed door, snapping Giselle out of her shock. Hurt flushed her system, quickly transforming into anger. Anger exploded in fury.
That piece of shit.
Rage, hurt, and shame took turns slicing at her heart and self-worth.
The burning need to barge into that bathroom and tell him just what she thought of being treated like nothing more than another one of his slutty one-night stands made Giselle fist her hands and clench her teeth.
Then the water turned off, and reality cut into her thoughts. Where would that get her? Deeper into heartache. Deeper into resentment. Deeper into self-hatred.
No.
She purposely exhaled, pivoted, and swung the hotel room door open.
He was damn right—this was definitely over.
She walked out of the room, slamming the door at her back, a punctuation to officially leaving Troy Jacobs behind her.
Sweat ran down Troy’s left temple and into his eye, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it unless he wanted to lose his grip on the rock, fall into the cavern, get jerked around by his harness, and start the damn climb all over again.
All ten of his fingertips were raw, the muscles of his forearms were chanting an ear-piercing curse, and his biceps were tuning up to join the choir.
“Fuckin’ heat,” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes tight and giving his head a shake. But when he opened his eyes again, the sweat burned like a chemical. He found his toeholds and tested his bounce. “Let’s go.”
“Slate,” Jeff called without hesitation. The slate kid called out the scene and take. Troy lowered his head and listened. “Ready… And… Action.”
Already coiled for release, Troy pushed off the wall and opened his body wide as he fell at full speed down the cavern. But today, like yesterday and the day before and the day before that, no euphoria filled Troy. The air swept past him, his heart rate picked up, his reactions kicked in, but there was no joy. No thrill. He was just…numb. Worse than numb. He was nothing.
The decelerator jolted Troy in a drastic speed reduction, and an involuntary grunt rolled from his chest.
“And cut,” Jeff called from the top of the cavern. “Looked great. You’ve just got one more shot, the one-armed hang, and you can take a break while we let Channing play.”
“Dude,” Channing called down to him. “Are you leaving blood on those ledges? I might need a full medical disclosure before I follow in your fingerprints.”
Troy rolled to a seated position as the machine slowly wrapped the cable on a giant spool and drew him toward the top. “Why do you think I went first? I’m the smart one.”
Channing made some quip Troy didn’t hear over the crew’s laughter, but at the moment, he wasn’t up for their usual sparring. His fingertips throbbed, and he lifted his hands to blow on them, but his mind was on Giselle. Nothing new there, only that today was her last day on set, and he hadn’t seen or spoken to her since he’d fucked her dizzy in the hallway of his room, then kicked her out—four days ago.
If he defined success by goals achieved, then he’d been successful at silencing her unstoppable declarations of regret. There was no need, no place, no purpose for those now. And he couldn’t stand to have that knife plunged into his heart over and over and over. It had to stop.
He couldn’t see it now, but he had to believe it would benefit them both in the long run. They needed to let go of something that had been destined to fail from the start, something that still had no future, and focus on the success they’d found.
The fact that she hadn’t fought him harder, the fact that she hadn’t contacted him since, told him he’d finally done it. Finally chased her off permanently. Which was the only way. She had bigger, better things and people in her future than the likes of him, and she’d eventually move on. He couldn’t take that kind of heartbreak again.
The cable stopped Troy before he reached the top of the cavern, and he stared dully at the rock wall.
“Hey.” Keaton’s voice sounded above, and Troy looked up. His friend stood at the edge, hands on knees. “Finish up so we can all head over to the air-conditioned cave, listen to Giselle sing, and eat cake.”
A tiny spark burned a path through his heart. Hearing her sing in person one more time was the last thing he needed before he could permanently close the door on that part of his life.
“Then let’s get this done.” He swung himself to the wall, caught himself by the fingertips on a narrow ridge of rock, and clenched his teeth against the pain as he maneuvered himself into position for the shot. “Go, Jeff.”
He set his feet, fit and refit his bloody fingertips on the rough stone edge, and focused. But a new pain resided deep at the center of his body, one with sharp edges that cut on every breath. Heartache—he knew it well. The feeling of someone you love more than life slipping through your fingers. The knowledge that no matter how badly you wanted to hold on, forces in the universe took control. The idea that there was a bigger meaning to life that you couldn’t see but that needed to be fulfilled, which could only happen if you weren’t together.
“Ready,” Jeff called. Troy refocused. “And…action.”
Troy let his feet slip off the foothold and pretended to scramble for traction while he clung to the side of the cavern by five raw, bloody fingertips.
“And…cut.”
Troy grimaced and swore as he released the ledge and let his body fall into the harness, then blew on his fingertips as the cables drew him up. That was his last major scene in the movie, and while on one hand he was relieved, on another it unnerved him to have time on his hands. Time to think about Giselle. Time to think about all his mistakes—then, now…
“Wrap Troy’s role,” Jeff said. “Take thirty, everyone. Channing’s up when we get back.”
By the time Troy reached the cave floor and wrestled out of his harness, everyone was headed to the other cave, and, Don, a guy from Ed’s crew was crouched near the metal spike, a toolbox at his side.
“Hey.” Troy wandered that direction, grabbed a hand towel, and wiped down as he checked out the crack that had begun as a hairline fracture but which had grown over the course of the week. “What’s up?”
Don glanced over, then returned his gaze to the floor, fitting a long, thin metal stake into the thickest section of the crack. “Just checking the depth on this. Ed doesn’t think it’s anything, but I’ve seen a couple of others pop up at other stress points in other caves, and I want to make sure they don’t go deep enough to damage the structural integrity or connect or do anything weird.”
“Anything weird,” Troy repeated. “That’s the really scary stuff, right?”
Don laughed. “How much longer are you going to be using this stake? I might just put in a new one somewhere else.”
“Only a couple more scenes,” Troy said. “And we’ll just be using the harnesses for support in those. No more throwing ourselves into the cavern.”
“Hallelujah. You guys are hell on engineers.” Don pulled a drill out of the toolbox. “I’m going to do a few tests while you’re all next door.”
“Knock yourself out.” Troy wrapped the towel around his neck. “I’ll bring you back some cake.”
He wandered from the cave, wincing at the ruthless Vegas afternoon sun. Passing equipment trailers and tents, he tossed the towel over his head to give himself a shield as he trekked across the desert set, then paused after stepping inside to let his eyes adjust to the new darkness.
An excited buzz filled the cave with lots of chatter and light laughter, but Troy’s ears homed in on the strum of a guitar. The simple sound evoked a rush of sweet memories—wildflowers stolen from a random garden, washing, brushing, and braiding her hair as she played with new lyrics or new chords, staying up late to catch Saturday Night Live even when they both had to work in the morning, but unable to take his eyes off her face when she fell asleep on his lap… They went on and on, overwhelming him in a sudden wash of emotion—so much love, so much loss. Sometimes it still mystified him how something so good could have gone so bad.
“Quiet, everyone, quiet.”
Jeff’s voice dragged Troy’s thoughts back to the present, and he wandered deeper into the cave and stepped off to the side, into the shadows. He gripped the ends of the towel tight, anticipating both pleasure and pain when Giselle opened that beautiful mouth.
Jeff went through the motions of instructing everyone watching to stay quiet, gave the actors in the foreground a couple of notes, and checked the camera angles.
Giselle leaned against a simple wooden stool on stage, one heel of one cowboy-booted foot hooked in the rungs. She wore ripped jeans that hugged her beautiful legs and a translucent blouse with a floral pattern. Her hair was braided down one side and hanging over one shoulder, almost touching the body of the guitar where it rested in her lap.
She could still steal his breath.
“Ready…” Jeff said.
Giselle started strumming, and the crisp, smooth notes filled the space. Troy instantly recognized the song “All These Regrets,” from her latest album. A song that emphasized both the range and power of her voice, a song that could rip Troy’s heart out and bring him to fucking tears when he listened to it alone, the volume cranked up, his headphones on. He’d always thought that was as close to touching Giselle as he’d ever get again.
“And…action.”
The camera’s lights flashed red, the actors read their lines, the extras played their parts, but all Troy saw or heard was Giselle. Her voice had grown even richer, deeper, and stronger than he’d been able to appreciate on her album recordings. And just as it always had, her voice moved him. His chest filled. His heart squeezed. His eyes burned. Tingles spread through his body, raising gooseflesh along his skin. The emotions she could elicit with the simple combination of voice, words, and guitar chords remained unfathomable.
She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the ceiling, opening her throat to belt out a line in the song with such passion, such talent, no one could doubt that voice was a gift straight from heaven. A gift she was now using to bring joy to millions, not just Troy, reminding him that everything happened for a reason.
But in that moment, he would have sold his soul to the devil for one chance to make different choices in his life. One chance to go back in time and handle everything with Giselle in their last months together, in this last week together, differently.
A murmur rumbled in the back right corner of the cave. The unacceptable noise during filming drew everyone’s gaze. Giselle continued singing, oblivious to the fact that the shot had been ruined and would have to be redone.
“Cut, cut…” Jeff turned to Giselle as she sat back on her stool, stilling her guitar strings. “Sorry, honey.” He turned toward the back of the room again. “Whoever’s making noise, get the hell—”
A louder clatter came from the far corner, followed by a female scream, a cloud of dust, then Jeff’s rough “What the hell’s going on back—”
Rocks tumbled from the ceiling. Screams and yells echoed through the cave. The hair on Troy’s neck prickled. He pushed through the crowd toward the commotion. Until more rock fell. And dust erupted through the cave in a murky cloud.
Alarm stopped Troy’s feet and turned him toward the stage. Giselle had pushed from the stool and pulled her guitar strap off, but held the guitar close like a shield, her eyes wide, darting and scared. Before he could take one step toward the stage, more rocks tumbled from the ceiling.
Like falling dominos, rock cascaded, the devastation running toward the stage. Stalactites dropped and toppled. Screams ricocheted through the space. Panic erupted. And Troy became a salmon swimming upstream, trying to reach Giselle while everyone else rushed for the exit.
Troy fought his way between and around people pushing to get through. He kept his eyes pinned to Giselle, which was easy because she was frozen in terror, standing in the middle of the stage—beneath a cluster of stalactites.
“Ellie!” His yell drowned in the chaos. His gaze darted to the ceiling, to Giselle, to the nearest exit. And panic burned up his spine. “Giselle!”
She didn’t hear him. Just curled around that damn guitar like it was a magic shield.
Urgency drove him forward. Someone elbowed him in the ribs. Someone else kicked his shins, knocked his head, nailed his jaw. Still, he drove through the surging, panicked crowd toward Giselle.
He gained five feet and reassessed—ceiling, Giselle, exit.
Fuck.
His strategy shifted from getting her out to getting her to safety. And he was almost there. Turning sideways, he pushed between two production assistants, diving onto the stage. “Ellie—”
But he didn’t have time to say more. The ceiling came flying at them. Troy grabbed her arm, dragged her into him, and yanked her into a dive off the stage and beneath the nearest table. He landed on his back and immediately flipped her over, covering her body with his.
The room thundered around them. The table cracked and caved in, slamming Troy’s back. He forced himself to his knees, dragging his body off Giselle’s so he didn’t crush her.
Long moments of terror loomed as the thunder continued and absolute darkness closed in. Dust filled the small space, making them both cough. Then a sudden and unexpected quiet cut through. An eerie, consuming, end-of-the-world-type silence that made ice streak through Troy’s veins.
“Ellie?” his voice came out harsh and low. He leaned into one hand so he could run his other hand over her, searching for injuries. “Ellie, baby, say something.”
“O-out.” Her hand clasped onto his wrist with the desperation of a drowning victim. Her raspy, quick breaths filled the space. “Need…to get…out.”
He twisted his wrist from her grasp and stroked her face. “Shh, Ellie, it’s Troy. I’m right here, baby. I’m”—he paused for a coughing fit—“right here.”
Her breaths quickened, labored. Her hands darted out and around, feeling, searching. “Out. Out!” Terror turned her voice shrill. She struggled, squirming under him, and the rock around them shifted. She coughed. “Get me out.”
Troy grabbed both her hands and pinned them to the cave floor. “Stop moving.”
“Let me go. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I have to get out. Please, let me out!”
“Ellie!” He screamed, purposely startling her brain out of the panic pattern, then had to stop to cough again. “Listen to me. The only thing keeping tons of rock off us is this broken table. If you don’t hold still, it will all come down.”
“But, but—” The uncontrollable terror filling her voice tore at him. “No.”
“I need your help to get us out of here.” He kept his voice measured and soothing. “Are you listening to me?”
“I can’t help. I can’t breathe. Please. Please, let me out.” A sob escaped.
Troy squeezed his eyes shut, praying this wasn’t the start of a complete mental breakdown. “Baby, we’ll get out, but you have to stay calm. And all this screaming and sobbing is damaging those perfect vocal cords. Please don’t do that.”
A terrified, heartrending mewl started deep in her throat and grew, rolling out of her body as she fought his hold like a goddamned demon.
Troy held her down while reining in his own fear and fighting new and rising pain in his head, back, and shoulder. This snap of PTSD would pass, she would calm, and Troy would start the reasoning process all over again. She’d had several severe panic attacks
during their years together. Countless night terrors. They’d get through this trauma just like they’d gotten through all the others.
Only, after long minutes of unrelenting terror, Troy was losing strength against her fight. And if he let go, if she tried to dig and claw her way out of this avalanche…
No. He couldn’t let that happen.
He tightened his grip on her arms, drew her up with the last of his strength, and slammed her back against the floor, screaming, “Ellie! Stop!”
She froze, but tremors shivered through her body. While she was lucid, he said, “If you don’t hold still, we will both be crushed. Do you understand what I’m telling you? We will both die here, if you don’t get ahold of your panic.”
“H-h-holy hell.” She breathed heavy and fast. Her hands flexed and fisted. “I can’t… I can’t…”
“Use your breathing, El. Focus on my voice. Long, slow, deep breath in, two, three, four…” He counted to eight, cautiously releasing her wrists. “Good. And out, two, three…”
The dust had died down, making it easier to breathe. And as he continued to count in a steady, reassuring voice, he pushed himself into a sitting position. “And again,” he said, repeating the count as he grasped her arms gently and eased her slowly toward him, pulling her into his lap and the circle of his arms. “Good. And out, two, three…”
He shimmied his butt backward until he felt something solid behind him and tested his weight against the rock. When nothing shifted or crumbled, he relaxed, tucking her head beneath his chin. But she remained stiff.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Nothing’s going to be okay,” she bit back, shaky but adamant and angry. “Nothing. This is a perfect metaphor for my life right now—I was finally making headway. Getting serious name recognition, great sales, sold-out concerts. I have a good manager, an ambitious agent. Here I am, telling myself, ‘Push yourself just a little more Giselle. Do the sexy video, do the sexy part, it’s no big deal.’ I’m this close to reaching that breakthrough level, where I choose my concert dates, and I choose my venues, where I get courted instead of being the one to court others. I can see that glimmer of finally having some control over my life—and then you show up, and everything threatens to cave in around me. Just. Like. This.”
