by Ally Blue
Sympathy softened her expression. “Don’t worry, it’s not anything bad.”
Heat rushed into Nat’s cheeks. Thank God for the wolf face hiding his blush. Stupid pale skin. “Um. Okay. Good.”
Her eyes took on the sharp glint that reminded him why she was a well-respected director. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d consider tackling a higher profile role. Maybe even a speaking part.”
Okay, he hadn’t expected that. “What?”
“I’m not talking about a full-time, major role here. I want to be clear on that.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still watching his face with uncomfortable intensity. “But as a physical actor, you’re a natural. I’d like to bring you more to the front, give you a line here and there, and see what you can do. If you’re willing, that is.”
He managed to suppress the urge to let out a victory whoop, but it was a near thing. “I’d love that. Thank you.” Overcome with gratitude—and, honestly, excitement—he grasped her hand and shook it. “I won’t let you down, Anna. Thank you so much for this opportunity. Seriously.”
“Hey, you wouldn’t be getting it if I didn’t think you could do it.” She pressed his hand between both of hers for a moment, then let go. Her smile held a tilt that said she had an idea of how much the extra money would mean to him. She pulled her jacket tighter around her as a cool, damp breeze flowed through the trees. “You and I can get together with the legal people and the union reps and hammer out your new contract details in the next few days, if that works for you.”
Terror and anticipation slammed into Nat’s gut. God this was a speaking role. Like, actually saying words on TV. Yeah, it was exciting. But now that it was an actual reality, the possibility of failure loomed like the childhood closet monster. What if he couldn’t do it? What if he fucked up so bad they kicked him off the show? What if, what if, what if?
Stop it. You can do this. At least, you have to try.
He swallowed hard. “That’ll be fine.”
She smiled. “Great. I’ll have my assistant give you a call. See you, Nat.”
“Yeah. See you.” He waved at her as she walked away. “Thanks again.”
He stood there for a second, soaking up the happiness of the moment. Deliberately focusing on the good to drown out the nagging voice whispering, What if you fail? Maybe now he could save enough to buy a car he wouldn’t need to fix every other day. Hell, maybe this would lead to a steadier job. Something he could count on for daily work. Then he and his dad could get a new place, he could hire someone to look after his dad while he was working, he could have a life, finally . . .
Someone’s nearby laughter jolted him out of his thoughts. He shook his head. Good Lord, what was wrong with him? One mention of him maybe getting more screen time and he was already spending the money he didn’t have yet. Inventing a life where he got to choose his own path rather than following the moldy breadcrumbs laid out for him. Like that was ever going to happen.
You’re a daydreamer, son, said his dad’s voice in his head. Your mom always said so.
Of course, his mother had always said if you lost your dreams, you lost yourself. But his dad never seemed to remember that part of her. He never seemed to remember any parts of her that meant he didn’t get to passive-aggressively cut Nat down.
Oh well. Maybe a new car and house were pie-in-the-sky, but if the more visible role worked out, it really would mean more money. Possibly a lot more money. Which Nat definitely needed.
Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he strode off down the dirt road toward the makeup trailers.
When he finally got home at four fifteen in the morning, a sharp burning smell greeted him. Black smoke trickled from the kitchen doorway.
Shit.
Throwing his keys on the little table beside the door, he ran for the kitchen. A pan sat smoking on the stove, something unidentifiable charred in black lumps on the bottom. He covered his mouth and nose with his shirt, grabbed the pan, dropped it in the sink, and turned off the burner. “Dad? Where are you?” He flung open the window over the sink, crossed the sagging floor, and opened the door to the tiny backyard. Damn it, he needed to put in a smoke detector.
“Mmf.” The sofa springs squealed, and his father’s tousled head peered over the back of the couch. “Oh, Nat. You’re home. I made dinner.”
Relief and fury played tug-of-war in Nat’s gut. “You nearly burned the house down. You could’ve died.” He flipped the switch for the overhead fan. The old motor ground to life, and the smoke began to swirl outside. He glared at his father, heart hammering and the sour taste of fear lingering on the back of his tongue. “What the hell were you thinking? How many times have I told you not to use the stove when you’re on your meds?”
His father peered at him with a remorse Nat had long ago learned not to trust. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d turned off the stove before I took my Vicodin, honest. And I wouldn’t have taken it at all, but you know how my back gets when it’s damp like this, then you were so late getting home, and I just . . . fell asleep.”
“Uh-huh.” Nat glanced around. The three empty beer cans weren’t enough to explain the slur in his dad’s voice. Not after his heavier and heavier drinking lately—both on the sly and not so much—along with increasing doses of painkillers and muscle relaxers. Christ. If he could figure out which of his dad’s old drinking buddies kept supplying him with beer, Nat would have them arrested. No matter how many cans Nat poured out, more kept popping up. “How many pills did you take?”
“Only two. I swear.” His dad’s eyelids drifted down, settled there for a heartbeat, then rose like they weighed ten pounds each. His forehead creased, his mouth twisting in a pained rictus Nat had seen all too often. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Nat turned away. The fact was, he really didn’t know what it was like. He knew how his father had writhed in agony on a hospital stretcher when he was first injured. He knew he’d watched the man who’d been so physically strong all his life dwindle to a thin, stooped shadow of himself since that accident. He knew he’d seen the spark of life and hope go out of his father’s eyes, replaced by the fever of addiction.
He knew his father was in constant pain—both physical and mental. But, no, he didn’t know what it was like.
Worse, he had no idea how to fix it.
For a single, searing second, Nat stood there staring at the charred mess in the sink and fighting the overwhelming urge to run. To bolt out the open door and keep going until he dropped. To never look back.
But he couldn’t do that, and not only because he refused to be the sort of man who abandoned his responsibilities. His father hadn’t always been the shell of a person he was now. He’d been a loving, caring, attentive dad. And he’d worked hard to make sure Nat and his sister had had everything they needed after their mother died. Nat had only been seven when he’d lost his mother to cancer, but he still remembered her face, and the sound of her laugh. And he remembered his father holding him tight while he cried for his mother, telling him everything would be all right. That Dad would look after him.
Jerome Horn wasn’t a perfect man, or a perfect father. But he’d been strong for his children when they needed him. The way Nat saw it, he owed his father the same now that their situations were reversed.
A soft snore told him the drugs in his dad’s system had taken over again. With a sigh, Nat turned, pulled the old plaid blanket up over his father’s bony frame, and went to scrub the burned pan.
When he got to work Monday morning, Rafael heard the argument going on inside Solari’s trailer before he’d even gotten to the bottom of the steps.
Good God. He stopped below the tiny window she always left open and listened to the one-sided stream of vitriol. Solari Praveen yelling at her girlfriend over the phone wasn’t exactly unusual, but it wasn’t his favorite way to start the day. Especially when he’d finally worked up his nerve to ask her to speak to Anna for him.<
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Well. No point in putting off the inevitable. Squaring his shoulders, he climbed the steps and knocked on the trailer door. “Solari? Coffee’s here.”
The yelling stopped. “Come in.”
He pulled the handle and shoved at the same time. The door swung inward with a squeal. Wolf’s Landing’s latest sensation sat at the little round table in her bathrobe, her features twisted with fury and her cheeks flaming. Instead of ordering him to put the coffee on the counter like she usually did, she jumped up and took it from him. “Thanks.”
Concerned, he watched her swivel on one bare foot and march back to her chair. “Everything all right?”
“Fine.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. She gulped coffee, then set her cup down so hard drops of brown liquid splashed through the opening in the plastic lid. “That horrible, horrible cow. How dare she treat me like this.”
“What did she do?” God, this was so none of his business. But Solari obviously needed to vent, and if he helped her out now, maybe she’d help him out later. Plus he really did like her. She was a nice person and he hated to see her upset.
“She said she’d leave me if I don’t go public with our relationship.”
Rafael shuffled from foot to foot, uncomfortable and unsure what to say.
“Well, not in those exact words,” Solari continued before Rafael could come up with anything suitably supportive. “She said she was tired of being my dirty little secret”—those three words spoken in a whisper—“and if I was that ashamed of her, maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.”
Having been a closeted man’s down-low lover before, Rafael couldn’t disagree. On the other hand, coming out in Hollywood could be pretty awful. On the hypothetical third hand, this was absolutely, positively not his business. “Uh . . .”
Solari shot him a barbed look. “Oh, yes, it’s all just lovely for you, I suppose. You’re behind the scenes. You’re allowed to be whoever you like. Hollywood makes a lot of pretty noises, but an out gay woman in this business is the most chained-down creature you can imagine. I cannot and will not sacrifice my career for anyone. Not even Gina Carrington. I’m awfully sorry if that’s a problem for the rest of the world, but it’s my life and I’ll live it as I see fit.”
“Of course you should.” He wasn’t about to get into the whole thorny mess that was a gay person’s life in the entertainment business. Her experience was her own, and he couldn’t dispute it. “I know there’s nothing I can do. But if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”
Her features relaxed into the sweet smile that had charmed the whole country since she’d taken over the role of Alicia on the show. “I appreciate that. And I’m sorry for snapping at you. Fighting with Gina puts me in an awful mood. I hate that.”
“It’s okay. I totally get it.” He smiled back. “I’m supposed to remind you that you’re due at makeup in half an hour.”
“I’ll be there. Thank you.” She made a shooing motion with one hand. “Now go on. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
He didn’t at the moment. But it didn’t matter. “Sure. I’ll see you later. Text me if you need anything.”
She nodded, her attention already turning inward. As he left the trailer, she folded her legs beneath her in the chair and curled both hands around her coffee cup. Her expression was sad.
Rafael almost stopped, but didn’t. He didn’t know her well, but he’d learned enough to know when she wanted to be alone.
He pulled the door firmly shut behind him and hurried down the steps.
Not ten feet away, the tall, slender blond man who’d been blatantly staring at Solari’s trailer turned away and pretended to check his phone.
Rafael studied the other man’s long legs and graceful back with interest. He knew exactly two things about this person: he played one of the recurrent nonspeaking werewolves on the show, and he’d been drooling at Solari’s feet practically ever since she’d arrived on set.
Well. He also knew the guy was a low-key sort of sexy. And the way his stare turned intense once he got his wolf makeup on . . . Did he even know he did that?
He was made for film. The camera loved him. The director in Rafael wanted to know more about this man with such a wealth of raw talent.
Acting purely on impulse, Rafael strode over and planted himself directly in front of Sexy Werewolf. “Hi. We’ve seen each other around set, but we haven’t been formally introduced.” He stuck out his hand and put on his biggest, brightest smile. “I’m Rafael Cortez, Ms. Praveen’s personal assistant. Pleased to meet you.”
Blondie gaped at him. “Huh?”
“I’m Rafael.” He held his pose, hand out and smile in place, though he was starting to feel like an idiot. “What’s your name?”
After a couple of endless, painful seconds, Sexy Werewolf finally shook his hand. “Nat Horn. I play a werewolf on the show.” His voice was deep, slow, and soft, as if he were thinking through each word individually before he spoke. Rafael found it intriguing.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you act.” Rafael peered up into Nat’s eyes, a washed-out, almost white blue. Eyes like a husky. He’d always thought they were contacts. Apparently not. “You’re a natural.”
Nat’s pale cheeks colored. “Um. Thanks.”
“Nothing but the truth.” A damp, chilly breeze flowed down the lane between trailers, and Rafael shivered. “I was about to go get some hot tea or something. You want to join me?”
Nat shrugged. “Why not? I have a few minutes before I need to be in the makeup chair.”
The two of them strolled toward craft services in companionable silence. Rafael zipped his jacket all the way to his chin and wondered how Nat managed not to freeze in his thin long-sleeved T-shirt. The morning was misty and cool, like most March mornings in coastal Washington, and Rafael couldn’t have survived without his fleece jacket. He’d been brought up in the southern California sunshine. This whole cold-and-damp business didn’t work for him.
“So,” Rafael said as they took their place in the coffee cart line. “Are you from here?”
“Yeah. Born and raised.” Nat cut him a knowing look. “I don’t need to ask about you.”
Rafael laughed. “You got me. I’m one of those Hollywood invaders.”
A crooked smile softened Nat’s sharp features. “This place never had it so good.”
It wasn’t the first time Rafael had heard that sentiment. Seemed the town had been breathing its last before Wolf’s Landing came along and revived it. Most of the locals loved the economic boost, if nothing else.
“It’s gorgeous here. I love it.” Which wasn’t a lie. Hollywood held Rafael’s heart, but the natural beauty of this place had knocked him sideways from the first. It still did. “And everyone’s been super nice.”
The sardonic arch of Nat’s right eyebrow said he knew that wasn’t completely true, but he didn’t argue. Then it was their turn to order and the subject was dropped in favor of hot beverages.
Nat got his Americano first, because this was Washington State and coffee was king, always fresh brewed and ready to go. He went to find them a seat while Rafael waited for the girl with the green buzz cut to make him his chai tea.
When he finally got his lusciously warm cup and turned to find Nat, he was startled to see Solari standing beside Nat at the edge of the crowd. Her hand was resting on his arm, her face was tilted up toward his with that smile that had the whole world under her spell.
If Rafael didn’t know better, he’d have said she was flirting.
Whether she was or not, poor Nat was clearly neck-deep in that deliciously torturous territory you fall into when your crush acknowledges your existence. His cheeks burned bright red, and he stared at Solari like she was a storybook princess magically made flesh.
Rafael watched the two of them talk, curiosity eating at him. After a couple of minutes, Solari gave Nat’s arm a squeeze and hurried off toward the makeup trailer. Nat gazed after her like a starstruck tourist rather t
han a guy who’d shared a set with her more than once.
Rafael strolled up to Nat, cradling his tea in his palms. “What was that all about?”
Nat started, blinked, and peered at Rafael with shock stamped all over his face. “She . . . um. Nothing.”
A short girl with two high ponytails leaned out the half-open door of the extras trailer. “Nat! C’mon, will you? You’re gonna be late.”
Nat half turned, his gaze still fixed in the middle distance. “Yeah. Coming.” His eyes focused on Rafael’s face. “I gotta go to makeup. I’ll see you around, though, huh?”
“Yeah, for sure.”
Nat grinned, gave Rafael a nod, and strode off to the makeup trailer. Rafael watched him go. No wonder Anna had wanted the guy as a werewolf. He looked like one. Hell, he even moved like one: all slinky and graceful.
Rafael’s phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, then answered with a smile. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Hi, love. I was wondering if you’re going to make it home for your father’s birthday party this weekend?”
“I don’t think so. I have to be on set.”
“Oh no. I thought you said you might be able to get a couple of days off.”
“Yeah, I thought I might. But it didn’t work out.” Guilt needled him. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really did want to make it home.”
“I know, honey. Don’t worry about it. Dad knows you’re thinking of him. If you could give him a call, though, he’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing. I’d love to talk to him.” One of the show’s other stars, Carter Samuels, leaned around the corner of the makeup trailer and mouthed, Call me, miming a phone to his ear with his left hand. Rafael gave him a thumbs-up. Carter flashed his megawatt smile and popped out of sight. “I have to go, Mom, I’m being paged. I’ll talk to you and Dad on Sunday, okay?”
“All right, sweetheart. I love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Rafael ended the call and gave himself a moment to brood before he called to see what Carter needed. He’d taken this job mostly for the potential to work with one of his directorial heroes, Anna Maxwell, even if he had to start—and probably stay—in the role of assistant to the stars. He didn’t regret it. But his heart remained in Hollywood, with his history and his family. As much as he loved Bluewater Bay and the chance to be a part of Wolf’s Landing, he wasn’t sure he’d have had the stomach to come here if he had known how seldom he’d get to go back home.
