by Nikki Logan
And, more importantly, how he knew what he knew.
She was going to find out soon enough. Nanna too. In fact, the whole damned district was about to discover exactly why the Larrikin abandoned his family for the bright lights of Hollywood all those years ago. It was spelled out in intimate detail in the final act of the play that he’d written.
And it was going to kill Kenzie and her family.
Chapter Thirteen
Thank goodness for un-cancellable excursions and minimum-supervision legal requirements. Kenzie had used her four days out of Brachen to good effect.
Technically, she’d been a supervising adult over the weekend just gone, accompanying the CJ’s Youth Theatre excursion to Sydney. Terrible timing with so much pressure on them to get Larrikin up by the bicentennial but trips like that were booked a year out so it was very much a case of ‘on with the show’. Even with a loudly ticking production clock and a one-hundred-per-cent vagued-out chaperone. But it was even more impossible for Lexi to go and so Kenzie to the rescue.
Except, in some ways, it had been CJ’s that had rescued her that weekend—from her obsessive and unrelenting self-examination since the Nanna’s bathroom moment.
Ugh, kissing was always so complex. Not that she’d locked lips with uncountable numbers of men in her time but it never made things simpler. No matter how hard she hoped that the right kiss would just make all the other pieces fall cooperatively into place.
Like magic.
Kissing wasn’t like making magic, it was more like making … zombies; the first one naturally created more that eventually took over completely until there was nothing left of the planet but swarming, writhing kisses. That made last week’s bathroom kiss kiss zero: the one that started it all. And she’d foolishly imagined that after a few cups of coffee and a good lie-down she’d be in a perfectly good position to resume said kissing.
As many as they wanted!
So why, then, had Dylan done everything he could in the week since then to limit how often they found themselves alone, or in potential kiss-appropriate circumstances, or even physically within reach of each other.
Didn’t he like zombies? Or was it just her?
No part of Kenzie wanted that to be true. She was self-aware enough to admit that she’d effectively stolen kiss zero from Dylan—she’d half climbed up his torso to achieve it—but he’d taken over the kissing whole-heartedly by the end there. Those hotly roving lips were not those of a man who was trying to extricate himself.
Or was it just that zombies seemed exciting until the moment one was feasting on your own brains.
Maybe Dylan just wanted to take things between them back to prezombie stage. What a depressing thought.
But it would certainly explain the sad and confusing absence of kisses in the week since Nanna’s bathroom.
There was no stage intimacy required between Ron and Mary—courtesy of a stage-play centred largely on a man and his sister—and so it would likely be some time before Dylan’s lips weren’t the last pair that had been mushed up against hers.
She had that much, at least. For later, when he was gone—
‘You’re a dreamer.’
Kenzie’s eyes refocused. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re a dreamer,’ Shelley called from prompt corner in that soft-but-loud-but-soft whisper that prompt callers always had, and when Kenzie just stared at her she added, ‘Your line, Kenz.’
Dylan’s gorgeously soft and utterly inviting lips evaporated from view leaving behind the tight little cat’s bum of a ticked-off Richard Yeates. The man swung like a pendulum between infatuated and infuriated with her and, right now, he was the latter. Then again, there were fewer than four weeks until Larrikin went up and they weren’t going to get there if she didn’t nail her lines. His frustration was deserved.
‘Sorry, Richard.’ Let him believe she just hadn’t learned them yet.
Better that than the sad truth.
‘Where is your head at?’ he grumbled. ‘We’d all be somewhere else if we could.’
Not her. This was exactly where she wanted to be. Always and forever.
‘I was thinking about, um, zombies.’
The truth wouldn’t have changed the incredulity on Yeates’s face. But at least this way she got to save a little of her own.
She shook the memories free and looked into the auditorium seating for their ever-patient director. ‘Sorry, Lexi. Can we go again from the stage cross?’
Lexi just waved her hand and shifted butt cheeks.
This day wasn’t getting any shorter.
‘I’m sorry … What?’
Yeates didn’t do nonplussed very often. Or very well. His usually composed lips gawped open like the fish that anglers occasionally pulled out of Brachen River.
Lexi had waited until the end of their rehearsals, after the younger cast had arrived after school to run their scenes. The closest the director was going to get to everyone together. The rest would have to be done by the ever-efficient Rivervue grapevine. Lexi had probably already told Bruce.
Young Toby looked from one stunned expression to another in the workshop space. ‘Who is Draven …?’
‘Seriously, Toby?’ Emma clucked. ‘Could you be any more oblivious?’
‘I don’t know who it is!’ the kid defended.
‘Draven is a playwright.’ Kenzie swooped into peacekeeper mode. ‘He’s famous. Kind of a big deal.’
‘I thought Lexi wrote Larrikin.’ Toby battled on, turning to his director and doing his best to deflect from his own ignorance.
‘I just said that while we were keeping it a secret.’ Lexi turned her focus more outward, back to all of them. ‘It’s going to be public soon. I’m telling the shire in the morning. But I wanted you guys to hear it from me first.’
‘Question is, why was it a secret at all?’ Yeates pressed, recovering from his speechlessness. ‘It’s such a phenomenal opportunity.’
‘Exactly why,’ Lexi said. ‘I didn’t want you guys getting starstruck. Or worse.’
‘You don’t seem very surprised,’ Yeates grumbled, eyeballing Kenzie.
She shifted in her seat. ‘I’ve known for a while. I was there six months ago when we received the script.’
‘So not a complete secret then.’ Really? Could Yeates not even let her have that much without finding something in it to resent? ‘I suppose that explains the ludicrous production conditions.’
If he could see past his own self-interest for a nanosecond, Yeates would maybe have recognised the danger in Lexi’s expression. She looked like she’d been pushed about as far as a person could go. No-one had ever seen her snap, but Kenzie was willing to bet it would be stratospheric.
‘I’ve enjoyed it,’ Kenzie said brightly, recruiting Emma with bright eyes and lifted brows. ‘It’s made it exciting. Getting the script bit by bit.’
Her theatre-camp partner-in-crime hit her cue perfectly. ‘Yeah, me too.’
‘Oh, in your vast collective experience?’ Yeates said, and Emma’s face fell.
Dick.
‘Alright,’ Lexi finally interrupted. ‘I recognise it’s been difficult and you guys have been very patient. But you have to accept that it was necessary to preserve the mystique around the production, to facilitate the big marketing reveal that is about to launch. That’s my job. My responsibility. The right tool at the right moment. The theatre’s needs and yours won’t always align completely.’
‘You’re telling everyone here first,’ Kenzie offered. ‘I’m sure that’s appreciated.’
Well, by most of them. One of them didn’t have it in him to be grateful about anything.
‘So … we’ve only got eleven more scene rehearsals before the full runs,’ Kenzie added, taking the opportunity. ‘Any chance of seeing act three soonish?’
They’d pretty much nailed acts one and two but what came after was a mystery to them all. Opening night was always a bit of a wing-and-a-prayer thing but actually reading the script be
fore opening night was generally recommended, unless you wanted to be that You from your nightmares—the one where you’re standing on stage, spotlight blazing and you realise you neglected to go to any rehearsals, at all. Or you forgot your pants. Or you learned the wrong play.
Or you’d only learned two acts of it.
Lexi sighed deeply. ‘Yeah, I guess it’s time.’
Why did she say it like that? So … resigned. Were they the recipients of the only Draven that wasn’t going to be a standout commercial blockbuster?
Kenzie took care not to let that question into her voice. ‘That’s good. Thank you.’
Again, Emma-the-room-reader nailed the atmosphere perfectly. ‘I’m excited.’ The kid had clearly had some experience placating adults.
Lexi’s head came up. ‘It is. It’s good. We’re ready. This is going to be amazing.’
Go team! But Lexi’s optimism forgot to send a memo to her teeth, which nibbled decidedly on her bottom lip.
‘Okay, break for fifteen while we set up for scene six. Java time.’
Kenzie turned for the hall. ‘Hurrying back to your cave?’ Yeates murmured. ‘Or should I say your caveman?’
Patience was never her strong suit but Yeates fully tested what little she had. Every time.
‘Dylan—’ She put the emphasis on his first name so that he had to admit he actually had one ‘—is taking up the slack in props and has the least Rivervue experience of all of us. I don’t want to leave him unsupported.’
He snorted. ‘Support. Right.’
His twisted grin would have been attractive to anyone who didn’t know him but despite how pretty Yeates was, he had astonishingly ugly body language. Kenzie saw the truth right through that winning smile.
‘Give it a rest, Richard. How about taking a leaf from your character’s book and try to bring some joy now and again.’ Wait. Was that her invoking the Larrikin and holding him up as a role model? Did hell just freeze over? ‘We’ve got a lot of play left to get through.’
But he was entirely unfazed by her request or her tone. The only part of him that moved was his chin, tilting his head back towards where Lexi stood over by the sink. His eyes stayed firmly on his adversary. ‘Told you, Lexi. Like a wildcat in defence of its territory.’
Fury coloured Lexi’s cheeks but Kenzie knew her too well to imagine that the two of them had had any part of this conversation before.
She purposefully misunderstood. ‘Responsibility, not territory. I’ll be going back to the props department when Larrikin is over, so I don’t want to let things slide.’
‘There’s not going to be any props room to go back to, Mackenzie,’ Yeates took pains to remind her. ‘We all learned about it from the mayor at the same time. Council meeting?’ he said when she just stared at him. ‘Redevelopment. Remember?’
Like she could possibly forget. Losing Rivervue was a dismal thought for all of them, especially her and even more so now given how alive she felt on stage—and with Dylan around. Rivervue going away meant all of that would go away.
Including Dylan.
Her house was woefully short of fire exits.
‘Rivervue’s redevelopment is only proposed …’ Lexi said automatically, but even she ran out of puff. How many times could you say something and keep on believing it? The look she threw Kenzie was the most defeated she’d ever seen on her friend. But it was only momentary and then it blanked over with the usual fierce determination the Rivervue fam knew well. ‘Okay, ten minutes, then back here ready to run scene six again.’
As comebacks went, Lexi’s was barely functional. Something told Kenzie that Yeates was after any reaction. Like a misbehaving dog. Except that comparison was unkind to dogs.
Speaking of which …
‘Hey, Phantom,’ Kenzie murmured as she bent a few moments later to scratch behind the dog’s favourite ear when he met her at the props-room door. Warm, silky and grateful. Just how she liked it. Something about all three of those things together that took her brain back down to DEFCON Three. It would help her to face Dylan with some semblance of dignity.
She rounded the store shelves and found him hard at work hand-sanding an ornate, old desk. The rhythmic strokes masked the tiny sound of her arrival which meant she had extra time to think about what she was going to say and how she was going to say it.
And to quietly check Dylan out while she was brooding.
Bad friend.
When she sanded it was usually a furious battle with time, sawdust flying. When Dylan did it, it was a languid dance. His hands worked in perfect unison: one sanding with decisive strokes, the other brushing away the sawdust onto the drop sheet below. Long fingers traced the timber like a braille reader, feeling for any slight imperfections. The other hand following up with firm control that stripped away one layer after another.
Not unlike how she was feeling around him. She’d told him about her great-grandfather, and he’d told her about his mutism—both of them revealing some hidden timber with every stroke of their new relationship.
Friendship? It was foolish to think of it as anything more. If nothing else, this past week of careful manners between them made Dylan the poster child for platonic relationships.
Her brain knew it, it was just that her heart was struggling to get on board.
Phantom brought an end to her stalking by trotting over to Dylan and wagging madly. He ceased the hypnotic caressing and turned towards the props-room entrance.
‘Hey.’ Hazel eyes came up to meet hers.
‘We’ve used that in three productions,’ she murmured, stepping closer. ‘I didn’t realise how beautiful it would be under all those old varnish layers. You’ve got a hidden superpower should travelling not work out for you.’
He smiled and it almost hurt her heart after five days of unaddressed tension between them. In such a short friendship timeline, five days was an eternity.
‘I enjoy getting underneath things. Discovering what’s really there.’
Phantom sat on her foot and leaned into her with all his weight. Very much an honour. And it put his ears at the perfect height for casual attention. It also felt like he was lending her his strength. For what she knew she needed to do.
‘Dylan, listen—’ Ugh, she sucked at this whole adulting thing. ‘I know that things have been awkward between us since visiting Nanna’s. Since … you know, the … zombie.’
He bent his head to check her mumble. ‘Zombie?’
‘In the bathroom,’ she puffed. ‘The kiss in Nanna’s bathroom. The one we’re not talking about.’
Phantom turned his snout up to her and licked her fingers.
‘The thing is, Dylan, I’m uncomfortable with being the cause of that. I kissed you first and so I’m sorry that I’ve stuffed things up between us.’
‘You’re not comfortable around me anymore?’
Was that it? No. Quite the opposite; she wanted to get very comfortable with him indeed. ‘No, I am.’
‘You don’t sound sure.’
Did he have to throw such sad-eye at her when she was trying to stay focused? ‘Us not being okay makes me uncomfortable.’
‘Us?’
There was no ‘us’, she knew that. ‘I’m very conscious that I am the only person here that you speak to and I feel the responsibility of that, so us not talking makes me anxious.’ Plus she would much rather go back to the kissing. It was such good kissing. Such very good kissing. ‘Therefore, I’m sorry for the whole bathroom thing.’
‘Right. You regret it?’
God he was precise with words, this man. He’d be running the world if he could only utter them aloud. She pulled her focus in and continued to pick every verbal footfall carefully. ‘Okay, look. Things are awkward, you must feel it. And I caused that, so it falls to me to undo it.’
‘I’m a grown man, Kenzie. If you were the reason things are awkward, I’d have told you.’
Finally! An admission that he felt it too. Felt … something.
&nbs
p; ‘It wasn’t the kiss?’ she challenged.
He took a step closer. ‘That was a great kiss. Not awkward at all.’
His steady gaze sucked half the air from the little room.
‘But since then … I know I’m not imagining it. I feel like I forced an intimacy we weren’t ready for.’
First us, now we. Sure was a lot of together-talk for two people who weren’t together.
‘Well, first of all, you’ve been gone for four days. You remember that, right?’
‘On camp.’
‘I know. Longest and dullest four days of my life. But we can scarcely blame that on the kiss, can we?’
‘No. But—’
‘You and I have been intimate since I realised you were the one person here that I could speak to.’ Dylan’s sizzle grew serious. ‘That intimacy is not why it’s awkward, it’s the reason it’s not more awkward.’
Then what was it? Her genetic line? Bringing him in on the de Vue secret was the only other thing that had changed between them. The Russells could be over-the-top at times. Maybe that was genetic too? ‘I guess I get why you’d not want to be part of the Russell family intrigue.’
He laughed. ‘It’s not your family, Kenzie.’
Frustration puffed out of her. She was flat out of insight. ‘Then what is it?’
Thoughts flittered across his expression like leaves on a wind gust. He grasped for the closest one. Like a life-ring.
‘I’m travelling, Kenzie. Always moving on.’
The monument of that punched her gut. Imagining the back of him, cycling away … Phantom’s little wiggle butt running alongside … Over the hill.
Gone.
But she was too disciplined to let him see it. ‘I know. So?’
‘So, it’s not a good idea to get into anything serious.’
