by EMILIE ROSE
How could he tell his son he was aware of what was happening but was helpless to stop it?
Jennelle was killing herself in that house. And he didn’t have the balls to do a thing about it. In his imagination, he saw himself marching in there and pulling her bodily from that prison and telling her that things were going to be different from now on. He was going to quit selling pot and go back to carving, just as Jennelle and his kids wanted him to. But as he mustered up the energy to make it happen, he remembered that it didn’t matter if he stopped selling pot. His daughter was still dead; his kids never visited; and his wife was slowly losing her mind from unchecked grief.
The reality of his life wasn’t a Hallmark card. There were no happy endings and nothing would change, even if he wanted desperately to try to fix what had been irrevocably broken.
And suddenly, faced with that knowledge, the will to change evaporated like the smoke that he’d come to cherish so much.
In the end, there was simply no point—so why bother?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DELAINEY SCRIBBLED LIKE MAD, jotting down the script for the reenactment while her crew got settled in the two-bedroom house Otter had provided. Thankfully, the house was already fully furnished, which was one less headache for Delainey to worry about, though she could already hear the squabbling over who was going to get the beds and who was getting the floor and sofa.
“Listen, the accommodations aren’t deluxe, but it’s better than the alternative, which was sleeping outside,” she reminded them when the complaints came to her.
“This is what happens when you’re not in the union,” grumbled Trevor Gann, the camera operator. “This would never fly. I’m not sleeping on the floor,” he announced, returning to the master bedroom to stake his claim. Trevor was a good cameraman but a bit of a pain. However, it was a short shoot so she wasn’t too worried about handling his little outbursts of petulance. At least that was her hope.
It was an all-male crew, which alleviated her other worry about housing men and women in the same place without proper privacy. Now, they could all bunk together and pretend they were at camp.
“How are we supposed to start shooting if you haven’t completed the script yet?” Trevor asked, returning to the kitchen, where Delainey was seated. She didn’t look up as she answered.
“It’s an easy script. A reenactment isn’t too complicated. Besides, let me worry about the shooting schedule, okay? Your job is to worry about capturing the footage.” She smiled and he got the point, but she could hear him grumbling under his breath. She sighed and returned to her scribbling, all the while checking her phone for an update on the auditions from her production assistant. She trusted Brett could handle the auditions, and frankly it was the least of her worries. The members of the crew, accustomed to sunny California and only rare location shoots, were not properly outfitted for an Alaskan outing. In short, they were going to freeze their L.A.–acclimated asses off.
Her phone went off and a text message came through from Brett with two photo attachments of little girls. Brett wanted her opinion on which looked the part. She gave the girls a quick once-over and then texted back, “Doesn’t matter what she looks like—make sure she can act!” She wondered if she’d overestimated Brett’s abilities. Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. She read over her script notes and nodded to herself. She’d give her notes to Brett when he returned so he could transcribe the scribbled mess into a script form and then run off copies. In the meantime, she and Trace had to scout the location. More alone time with Trace. She hated that she looked forward to that most of all because it was a bad sign. She couldn’t afford to get attached, not again. It’d been hard enough to leave in the first place. She didn’t think she could handle doing it again. Plus, if she played with Trace’s heart a second time, well, she didn’t like to think what Trace would do.
She scooped her papers and headed for the door with instructions to the crew. “I will be out and about all day. I suggest each and every one of you visit the store for some more appropriate cold-weather gear. A light windbreaker isn’t going to cut it here, and if I have to have any of you airlifted to a hospital for treatment of hypothermia, I will not be happy. Got it?”
There were head nods and grumbles but no outward dissent, which was a miracle given that Trevor was already in one of his querulous moods. Why’d she hired him? She second-guessed herself as she hurried to her rental car. She was meeting Trace at the Search and Rescue parking lot and they were taking his truck from there.
Her body ached in private places from all the action it’d seen after a long hiatus, and she couldn’t help the happy smile that followed. Trace was a god between the sheets. Time had definitely honed his natural skill. Good gravy, what was she doing ruminating on activities she shouldn’t have done in the first place? She was sinking in quicksand and she didn’t know how to stop from going under. Thoughts of Trace still managed to take her breath away, and now that she had fresh memories—heaven help her, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Was she a terrible person that she caught herself daydreaming about spending the evening curled up next to Trace, worshipping each other’s bodies? Her cheeks flared with heat and she touched them, glancing around furtively to see if anyone else had noticed her flushing red in the face. Delainey trained her thoughts to more appropriate subjects, such as keeping the production on schedule, but before she reached the Search and Rescue, her cell phone went off and she saw that it was Thad. She hesitated, nearly sending his call to voice mail, but guilt for being a largely absent sister made her answer.
“What’s up, Thad?” she asked via her Bluetooth as she navigated the roads.
“Laney...it’s Dad,” he said, worry in his voice. “He’s in the hospital.”
“What?” Delainey hoped she’d heard her brother incorrectly. “Did you just say that Dad is in the hospital? What happened?”
“Yeah....” He hesitated and then said, “I would’ve told you sooner but he made me promise not to say anything. The thing is...he’s real sick and the doc is throwing around words that scare me.”
“Such as?” she asked, her lips suddenly numb. “What’s he sick with?”
“It’s something with his pancreas,” Thad said, his voice clogged with tears. “I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”
Delainey knew Thad expected her to drop everything and go to the hospital to see Harlan. That’s what would happen with a normal family. But the Clarke clan was anything but normal. Sweat dotted her brow as she considered what to do. “I’m sorry about Dad, but I have an appointment that I can’t miss,” she started, not sure she wanted to see her father in the hospital. It was selfish and cowardly, but she wasn’t ready to say her goodbyes. She and her father had too many conversations that needed to be said to let it all go. It wasn’t fair. Irrational anger flooded her chest. “I can’t. I’ll check in on him later. I’m sure the hospital staff are doing everything they possibly can for him.”
“Laney—” Thad’s voice was incredulous and tinged with disappointment. “He needs you now. There might not be a later.”
“I can’t... I’m sorry, Thad. I...have work to do.” She clicked off and pulled her Bluetooth from her ear to toss it to the passenger seat, tears blurring her vision. She had a production to shoot and her career to save. She didn’t have time to star in her own Movie of the Week with a dying father. He’d been a miserable father anyway. Maybe it was a mercy that she wasn’t standing at his bedside. Besides, wouldn’t that be hypocritical of her to profess some sort of daughterly concern when he’d been a mean SOB her entire life? If she were writing that script, she’d immediately find that character development inconsistent. She nearly barked a hysterical laugh. He didn’t get to die and get off the hook so easily. Not fair. Just not fair. And why was Thad so damn loyal to the man? Just because he took him
out fishing? Hell, if that’d been the magical key to her father’s heart, maybe she ought to have learned.
By the time she pulled into the Search and Rescue parking lot, she was nearing a full mental breakdown and was holding on to her sanity by the tiniest threads. Trace’s expression changed when he saw her and immediately sensed that something was wrong. It took everything in her not to fall into his arms and cling to him as if the world was ending. “Something the matter?” he asked.
“My dad...he’s, I don’t know, sick or something. Thad called me and said he’s in the hospital.” She pushed away the hair in her eyes and shouldered her purse, determined to get her job done, no matter what stood in her way. Why was her life always so damn complicated? “How far is the location from here?” she asked, her voice shaking as she glanced at her watch. “I want to let my production assistant know how long I’ll be so we can set the production meeting.”
“Delainey, what are you talking about? If your dad is in the hospital, you need to go see him. I doubt Thad would exaggerate the situation.”
“I don’t have time to sit around a hospital bed and pretend that I had a rosy relationship with my father. I have a job to do and people are depending on me to get it done.”
“Your dad was a gruff man, but he did the best he could by you and Thad.”
“Trace, please stick to things you know, such as tracking and hunting. You don’t know the first thing about my relationship with my father, so butt out.”
His mouth tightened as anger flashed in his eyes, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need anyone telling her how she should act or feel when it concerned her father, because they hadn’t lived her life. “You’re making a mistake,” Trace said. “You’re putting your career in front of the people who matter, not that I’m surprised—just disappointed. I’d hoped you’d changed in the eight years since you’d split, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Yes, well, apparently. Because I am the job and the job is me. Anything else is just window dressing. My father made his bed, he can lie in it. He has Thad and Brenda.... He doesn’t need me.”
Trace held her stare but she didn’t back down. Couldn’t he just leave it be? It wasn’t his business anyway. She needed to work. Otherwise, she might crumble and cave. Harlan Clarke didn’t deserve her sympathy and he didn’t deserve her tears. He was a bitter, angry, short-tempered brute with a tiny fuse and absolutely no interest in his daughter, and she wasn’t about to forgive that because suddenly he was sick. How could Thad so easily forgive the man after their wretched, bleak childhood? Because Thad was good and sweet and had a heart big enough to make up for their father’s shortfalls, a voice answered.
Well, it’s poetic justice that her heart was fashioned after her father’s because it felt cold and barren right about now.
She walked away from Trace and went to his truck, turning to ask sharply, “Are we going? We’re wasting precious daylight.”
Trace’s mouth firmed as if he were holding back what he really wanted to say and he followed. “You’re the boss,” he muttered and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Yes, that’s right. She was the boss.
And the boss did not have time for family drama. No matter how dire.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TRACE CLIMBED INTO the truck and Delainey followed. He knew Delainey needed to go see her father, but he didn’t know how to convince her to do so. She was digging in her heels pretty hard and he couldn’t say he didn’t understand, even if she didn’t think he did. The truth was, everything that Delainey had said was true. Harlan had been a terrible father to his children, but Trace also knew that Harlan had done the best that he could have, given the circumstances.
And now Harlan was sick? Trace knew a thing or two about abrupt goodbyes. There was never enough time when it came to losing a loved one. And he knew that if Delainey didn’t say her piece to her father, she would live with the regret forever. However, it wasn’t his place to tell her how to live her life, even if she was screwing it up. All he could do was offer his advice, and if she didn’t want to listen he had to let it go.
“How far will we have to hike from the main road to get to the location?” she asked, seemingly back to business as she scribbled notes in her notepad, her father forgotten. “I have a small crew, but they’re definitely not used to hiking. We might have to take some liberty with the location if it turns out to be prohibitive for the crew. I’m not too worried though. We can fake it. The terrain is similar enough that no one is going to point a finger and say, ‘Hey, that’s not where that happened!’”
“It might’ve been better to hire a crew from Anchorage. At least they’d have a better idea of what the terrain is like,” Trace said. Was she going to ignore the fact that her father was in the hospital as if it was no big deal? Trace slanted his gaze at her, troubled. “The city boys you flew in aren’t cut out for the Alaskan wilderness. Those yahoos are more accustomed to midmorning lattes and lunchtime pedicures than tromping through rough brush and rocky terrain. We’ll end up having to save them from breaking their fool necks.”
“Don’t worry about my crew. I’ve got it handled. I’m more concerned about the weather holding. I can’t afford to be losing shooting days because of snow or rain.”
“Can’t control Mother Nature. Last time I checked she ran by her schedule and no one else’s.”
“More’s the pity. Location shooting is such a nightmare. It’s almost as bad as shooting with kids or animals. Anything that can and will go wrong usually does. At least that’s been my experience.”
“I know this isn’t your first gig, but how many have you done before this one?” he asked.
“This is my fifth production. Well, fifth production where I’m completely in charge. I’ve been an associate producer on a number of other shows. You might have heard of a few.... Did you catch Vertical Blind? I think you would’ve enjoyed that one. It was about rock climbers. It was a challenge to shoot but I was so proud of it.” She paused, a subtle, pained frown following. “Ultimately it didn’t test as well as I’d hoped. I think if the network had given it a little more time we could have had a hit on our hands. Some shows aren’t quick flares of success, but rather a slow burn. Unfortunately, the network disagreed and yanked it after only four episodes aired.”
“What happens when a show fails?”
“Depends. In my case, it was one failure too many. Unfortunately, Hollywood is an unforgiving town and the people who hold the money even more so. It’s been rough. I had a bunch of other ideas but no one wanted to hear them. It wasn’t until your name popped up that anyone even remembered who I was.”
He frowned. “And you like this place? Sounds like a hellhole.”
“Yes, I like it,” she said, bristling a little, then she clarified. “Well, I don’t like the backstabbing and the double-talk and the politics, but I enjoy creating something from start to finish and seeing it succeed. I can’t draw, I can’t sing, but I’m a good producer. If it’s true that everyone has one talent where they can really shine...this one is mine.”
Trace heard the desperate pride in her voice, as if she were clinging to that one single thing about her that was worth talking about, and sadness followed. If she based her value solely on the successes that other people deemed good or bad, by his estimation that seemed a recipe for a lifetime of misery. It wasn’t that he felt the way he lived his life was better, but at least he didn’t live and die by the expectations or the opinions of others. “Why did Vertical Blind fail?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? Bad time slot, wrong demographic, plain bad luck...take your pick. In the end excuses don’t matter—all that matters is results. And Vertical Blind didn’t measure up. But this show we’re shooting here, it’s going to be amazing. I just know it. I have a feeling that this is going to make you a star.”
“I don’t want t
o be a star,” Trace reminded her quietly. “I want to live my life the way I always have. I don’t think being a star would allow me to do that.” He valued his privacy, and from what he knew about celebrities, they didn’t have any. The thought of having his private business splashed on the television for all to see was akin to standing in front of the high school marching band in nothing but his underwear. He didn’t understand why Delainey would want anything close to that. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The reasons I’m doing this job haven’t changed. After the pilot’s shot and finished, I’m not interested in seeing it go on to make a full series.”
“Your feelings might change when you see it all cut together,” she said with confidence. “I think once you see what a good job I can do, you’ll change your mind.”
He hated to burst her bubble but he had to set her straight. “I won’t. It’s not a reflection of how well you do your job. It’s that I have no interest in pursuing that lifestyle.”
“You could be a household name,” she protested with open consternation. “A job like this could make you a very wealthy man. You’d never have to worry about money again.”
“I don’t worry about money now because I don’t have expenses I can’t afford. And I don’t want to be a household name. People have been talking about the Sinclairs for long enough. I don’t need to give them more to gossip about.”
Delainey’s expression dimmed and she fell quiet. After a moment she said, “I know. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want. And it’s not something you would ever seek out. But I need this. Without it, I might as well stay here in Alaska because I’m through in L.A. No one will take my calls, no one wants to hear my pitches and I’m dangerously close to losing my condo. The fact is, Trace, I’m on the verge of losing everything, and that’s why this pilot has to be successful. I know I’m asking a lot, but I don’t have a choice.”
